Istanbul, Turkey

On Tuesday morning I met Hungary's chief archaeologist in charge of Ottoman era excavations, who also happens to be a specialist in Turkish baths, conducting research here in Istanbul. Inspired by our brief converation, I headed to Çemberlitaş Hamamı, a traditional, 16th century bathhouse in the heart of Istanbul. It was an experience to be remembered, but not repeated. The "bath" itself was nothing more than a large slab of hot marble with several small fountains and basins situated around it. After laying on the hot slab and working up a sweat for about 10 minutes, a large, hairy, gorilla-like man entered the room and abruptly splashed me with a bucket of warm water. He then tied a loofa mit to his hand, much as a boxer puts on gloves prior to beating someone senseless, and he began scrubbing my skin in an apparent attempt to draw blood. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and tossed me about like a rag doll, scrubbing my back and arms and legs as I tried not to squeal.

Finished with round one, he left the room, and I foolishly thought I had survived the worst of it. Returning a few minutes later for round two, he had a bar of soap and a large bag of suds. He proceeded to cover my body in about six inches of lather and began massaging the lather into my skin. The massage actually felt good for about 30 seconds, but it quickly turned violent. He yanked me around into a dozen unnatural positions. As he attempted to rip my left arm out of its socket, I finally broke down and let out a shrill scream. He stopped, looked me in the eye, and angrily said, "I give good massage!" I timidly agreed, but then tried to explain that I have bursitis in my left shoulder and it doesn't feel good when people try to remove my arm by force. My explanation only seemed to enrage the man, and he continued his attempts at detaching my limbs. Tossing me onto my stomach, he began to massage my legs, driving my boney knee-caps into the hard marble slab. I tried to scamper away, but my sudsy body just slipped around on the smooth surface, and his iron grip held me in place.

Slapping my back, he ordered me to stand up and follow him into another room for round three. Seating me beside a marble basin that bore an uncanny resemblance to a toilet, he splashed me with water before scrubbing my neck and behind my ears. I felt like a small child being angrily cleansed by his over-zealous, cleanliness-is-next-to-godliness, doesn't-know-her-own-strength grandmother. A shampooing followed. Like every other step in the process, it was pleasant at first, but then his scalp massage turned into an aggresive attempt to push his thumbs through my skullcap and into my brain. While I am fairly certain I suffered a small amount of brain damage, my cranium somehow remained intact.

At the end of round three I was ordered back onto the marble slab to rest and sweat before round four. Another man entered the room and told me to go take a shower. A shower? Why in the world did I need a shower at this point? But I dared not argue. Emerging from the shower I was led into another room for a massage. Hadn't I already suffered through enough massages for the day? Exhausted from the first three rounds, my opponent was replaced by another gorilla for round four. Couldn't I have a replacement as well?

This last massage was done on an antique massage table with rusty legs. The man firmly ran his hands over my back and legs, attempting to find any tender spots that he might exploit during this final round. Having discovered all of my weaknesses, he set about methodically exploiting them to his advantage. Using the full weight of his body, he drove his thumbs into every tender strip of muscle on my body. Resistance was futile. The match was won, and he knew it. After 50 minutes of abuse, the referee stepped in to declare a t.k.o. I was finished.

Heading back to the shower, limp and thoroughly defeated, I wondered if I could make it back up the stairs to the dressing room. Back in my hotel, I fell into a deep sleep, my brain too damaged to dream. I awoke the next morning with aching muscles from head to toe, understanding why the Ottomans had lost their empire.

On Wednesday I dragged myself out of bed to visit the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar, the Süleymaniye Mosque and the Eyüp Sultan Mosque, and the tombs of Beyazıt II, Süleyman the Magnificent, Hürrem (a.k.a. Roxelana, Süleyman's favorite concubine), Mehmed IV, Hatice Turhan Valide, Eyüp Sultan (a Companion of the Prophet Muhammad), and a half-dozen other sultans, sultanas, and pashas. While the mosques were fairly empty, the tombs were crowded with worshipers, particularly the Eyüp Sultan Türbe, which boasted a footprint of the Prophet Muhammad and had a magic tree in the courtyard that seemed to drive a lot of people to tears. Perhaps they were grateful for surviving the previous day's bath.

Today (Thursday) I took a passenger ferry up the Bosporos strait to the mouth of the Black Sea. After climbing around a medieval fortress and enjoying lunch near the water, I returned to Istanbul to arrange my travel plans.

I will be leaving for rural Transylvania tomorrow, and I won't have access internet for at least a week. I probably won't pick up the blog again until I get to Bosnia-Herzegovina, in two or three weeks. I desperately need a vacation from this blog, and my trip to Transylvania seems like a natural place to take a break.

Sending my love to all of you, I'll see you again in Sarajevo!

(Photo by Eric: Venerable tombs, Istanbul, Turkey)