In the Bath, and the Bathroom

One essential ritual for the tourist is to visit a Turkish bath, or hammam. So we trooped off to one well-known 400-year-old place in the old city:


Here's how it goes. You pay your money and get handed a key to a private dressing room. In the dressing room, you take off your clothes and lock your valuables away, and put on a shawl-like piece of cloth, wrapping it around yourself like an oversized bath towel.

Then you go into the main room, which is domed (you can see the dome from the outside in this picture; I was not able to take photos inside) and somewhat steamy, though not as hot as a sauna; and you lay down on a large heated marble table in the center until one of the attendants is free.

The attendant douses you in a bucket of soapy water, rubs you down for 15 minutes or so with a rough cloth for a mild exfoliation, then rinses you off with another couple buckets of water, all while you are wearing your wrap, which naturally gets drenched in the process.

Then you can sit around in the steam room for awhile, go get a massage (for an extra fee), take a shower, or whatever. You can exchange your wrap for a dry one at this point.

I found the experience mildly interesting, but not something I would need to repeat.

A friend who has been living in Turkey for two years said he has come to feel differently about it, though. He lives in a suburb of Izmir, a city some 200 miles south of Istanbul, and is about the only foreigner in his neighborhood. He said he goes to the hammam once every couple of weeks and enjoys it for the fellowship as much as for the exfoliation. My friend is not Turkish but has learned to speak it while living there, and I suspect that makes a lot of difference.

The Turkish toilet is as famous worldwide as the Turkish bath, but with associations that are generally much less positive.

Thankfully, I can report that almost all public toilets in Turkey (or at least the areas we visited) now use standard Western European commodes and other fixtures. In fact, the general standard of hygiene in public toilets in Turkey equals or exceeds that in the United States. (Turks are actually somewhat fanatical about cleanliness in public spaces; everywhere you go you will see workmen sweeping, scrubbing and picking up trash.)

We encountered only a couple of the old-fashioned kind of toilets, but in case you're wondering, here's what one looks like:


If you're wondering how to use it for, um, sitting down, I can't tell you. Especially since they don't come with toilet paper. The spigot and red bucket provide water that you're supposed to use to wash your nether regions after use. I presume Turkish fathers teach their sons these skills at an early age, but I haven't a clue how it works.

And I'm glad I didn't have to find out.