Squeaky Clean!

Yesterday we went to the local Turkish bath (hamam): Aylin, Selin, Babaanne and I. We drove the kilometre or so to the hamam and parked under the shade of a spreading plane tree.

The sounds of jack-hammer construction assailed our ears from the carpark but, surprisingly it wasn't obvious from inside the baths. From blazing white heat, we stepped over the marble threshold into cool shadows and muted sounds. A woman took our valuable items and placed them in a safe deposit box behind her desk. She gave us the keys, tied with an elastic band to slip over our wrists while in the bath.

This particular hamam is for women only. Others have separate times and days allocated for men and women. It is only in touristic baths that men and women would ever bathe together.

We stripped off our clothes, hung them in our locker and proceeded, clad only in underpants to the inner rooms of the baths. Our plastic slippers slapped over the marble floors, echoing off the marble walls and from the domed ceilings. We looked into several marble rooms but each of their marble wash basins were already spoken for.

Finally we made our way into a room, again with marble floor and walls which was empty and silent. It too was arched over by a domed roof with small glassed skylights which let a soft light filter in. The quiet was suddenly disturbed as first a few drops and then a steady stream of very hot natural spring water flowed from pipes into each of the six marble basins in the room.

We selected our basins and turned on the cold water from elaborate brass taps. When the water was a suitable temperature, we began to scoop it over our heads and bodies. I had elected to have a scrub and soap massage, and we scooped the water over ourselves, keeping warm and softening the skin, until it became time for my scrub.

Aylin, Selin and I went into the scrub room, slightly cooler than the warmth of the bath room. I waited a few minutes before being led to the scrubbing table. Among the grey marble surfaces, the cream plastic and chrome seemed somewhat out of place!

The scrubber, Hazel, was clad in black lace underwear, but that barely covered her stout build. With practiced hands, she slid the kese - a rough hair cloth - over her right hand, laid me face down on the table and began to scrub.

My skin, not having been subjected to such abrasion for nearly two years now, almost screamed at me! Selin, who was standing beside my legs, was very worried to see long grey strips of something slide from my back. I explained that it was dead skin, but she didn't seem terribly convinced. She and Aylin soon went off with Babaanne to the hot pool and the room with the basins, leaving me to cringe under the ministrations of the scrubber in peace!

Hazel rubbed and rubbed up and down my back, down my legs, around my ankles, knocked on my heel to alert me to roll over and then she worked her way up and over my front. Most of the time I kept my eyes closed, but when I occasionally opened them, it was to see more swathes of skin roll from her scrubbing cloth. At last it was over - at least that part of it.

Hazel stepped back and wiped one forearm over her dripping forehead. Sweat glistened all over her, bursting from every pore of her face, arms and chest. She took a swig of water then got me to stand up for a moment to wash down the scrubbing table. She tossed a couple of dishes of water at it and the grubby rolls of my skin swished from the table, swirled and eddied across the floor before disappearing down the drain.

She motioned again to me to lie down on my tummy. She lathered up her hands, no kese this time, and began a vigorous massage. From neck to toes she worked down each muscle and sinew. Her fingers pried between every joint and pressed into the flesh of my legs. She used her not inconsiderable weight to help. She cracked every joint in my toes. Then she rolled me over. I was concerned about sliding off the soapy surface of the table, but she manoeuvred me to where she wanted me. And then she worked up from my toes to neck. I feared my ribs would crack with the way she pressed on me!

At last she told me to sit up. She rubbed and shook my arms, pushed her fingers between mine and cracked every joint again in a practised flip. Finally she worked in my neck and head. I feel lucky to still have my scalp, the way that she pushed and pulled and pressed and rubbed! After half an hour of lathery massage, and an hour or more of dunking and dousing the skin on my fingers was all pruned. But it wasn't over yet!

Now it was time for the soak in the hot pool. There was no steam but the conditions in the pool room were heavy and humid. Women of all shapes and sizes sat around the edges of the pool, with their feet in the water, or just outside. A young woman was coaxing her six or seven year old daughter to let go of the rail and be carried in the water. I dipped one foot into the water.

Oh! It was hot!! I withdrew for a moment before braving it again. Gradually, I eased myself into the water, all the way up to my neck. It was very restful to be buoyed up by the water - and would have been peaceful but for the echoing sounds of everyone's conversation in the domed areas.

The water in these baths is natural hot spring water. Baths are scattered around the whole area of Kukurtlu and Cekirge, suburbs of Bursa, on the foot hills of the great mountain of Uludag. The mountain reaches higher than the highest mountain of Australia, and snow remains in sheltered valleys throughout the year, however here it is considered a smallish mountain.

In times past, the springs area has been very popular for 'taking the waters' and people would come and stay at hotels associated with the various springs for several weeks for the cure to heal them of various ills. It is not so common now, but the hamams are always busy with locals and visitors.

After I had had my fill of the hot waters, I emerged, returned to the room where our soap, washers and things were by our basin and rinsed off. Aylin and Selin had had enough by now too. We gathered our things, turned off the cold water tap and returned to the locker to retrieve our clothes. We slowly dressed. Others also emerged and were dressing. It was strange to see the wrinkled or firm, fleshy or bony, twisted or straight bodies finally encased by clothing. Many of the women dressed themselves in long dark jackets and completely covered their hair with a dark or patterned silk headscarf. They lost their own singular identities and I could barely recognise them each from the other.

We donned our hats and stepped out into the hot early summer sunshine and were again assailed by the noise and dust of the never-ending traffic. We made our way home, enjoyed a light lunch and then I lay down to rest from the travails of the Turkish bath, squeaky clean and several layers of skin lighter.