experience. 'Marina, what are we going to do with our lives? I feel like we're back in college,
sitting on your bed and plotting our futures. Remember how sorted we thought we'd be by the time we hit thirty?'
'I know. Everything seemed so uncomplicated at twenty-one.' Then, out of the blue, Marina observed, 'You don't seem ready
to go home.'
'I'm not, I'm only just starting to get this. I mean, of course I miss Charles, but what's another two weeks. He'll understand.'
'Maybe the baths of the world need your energies more than Charles right now.'
I wanted to change the subject. 'Marina, how are things with Colin?' Marina, unlike most women, did not like to talk about
her boyfriend, and the moment, naked and relaxed, seemed opportune for prying.
'Same old, same old,' she said dismissively. 'I think our hamam should be alabaster instead of marble.'
'Fight, break up, decide you can't live without each other?' I surmised from 'same old, same old.'
'Exactly, the co-dependency continues. Three years of calling each other seven times a day.'
Marina would be the first to admit her relationship was dysfunctional. She envied the stability and honesty that Charles and
I maintained effortlessly. I envied the passion that she and Colin had —they would fight, make up, then disappear for hours.
While I accepted the universal rule always to side with your girlfriend, I knew Marina well, and I knew she was extraordinarily
high-maintenance. I had been on the receiving end of some of her tirades. So I did have some sympathy with Colin's tribulations,
though I would accept at face value any story that depicted him as an insensitive scoundrel bent on ignoring Marina's wishes.
Marina's wishes, however, were many and very specific. Compromise to Marina meant meeting you one-eighth of the way. But she
was a lovable bully.
We stayed at the kurna, staring up at the dome's darkening skylights that reminded me of Kemal's portholes. Both were windows that admitted light
but offered no view of the outside world, nor did they provide the outside world a view into this intimate sanctum. It was
getting late, soon we would have to leave this world.
'Are you hungry?' I asked.
'Famished. Let's get cheese borek,' Marina said. Cheese borek, a noodle pastry lined with filo, goat's cheese, and parsley,
was her favorite Turkish food, second only to baklava.
'We had that for breakfast. Please let's have grilled fish,' I suggested. A fish restaurant wouldn't serve cheese borek and
vice versa.
Marina adopted her open-eyed, beseeching look. Her eyebrows went up and her head tilted toward me. 'Oh, but I'm only here
for three days. After I'm gone you can have fish every night.'
'Okay, fine. But we're supposed to meet Baksim for dinner. What if he doesn't want cheese borek?'
'I'm sure he won't mind.' Poor Colin.
Back in the camekân, our pestamals exchanged for jeans and sweaters, Rusen brought over two orange juices and inquired after our bath. We were too deliciously
spent for conversation. 'It's like a narcotic,' I said. 'I'm too messed up to say anything, and I'll be back tomorrow for
more.'
We said good-bye to Rusen, who again invited us to visit his thermal hamam in Bodrum and to stay in his house there. Bodrum
is about six hours south of Istanbul and located on top of geothermal springs. Rusen's Bodrum hamam is more spa than public
bath. Because the waters are thermal, the Turks are allowed to soak despite the normal Islamic interdiction against soaking
in still waters. For a Muslim to soak in a body of water, it must be continually flowing and replenishing itself. Otherwise
it is considered unclean.
Rusen's offer was kind and tempting, but it seemed much more friendly and forward than anything I was used to, and the suspicious
New Yorker in me didn't quite know what to make of his generosity. I hadn't yet learned to recognize a good adventure from
a bad, and I still regret that I didn't take Rusen up on
sitting on your bed and plotting our futures. Remember how sorted we thought we'd be by the time we hit thirty?'
'I know. Everything seemed so uncomplicated at twenty-one.' Then, out of the blue, Marina observed, 'You don't seem ready
to go home.'
'I'm not, I'm only just starting to get this. I mean, of course I miss Charles, but what's another two weeks. He'll understand.'
'Maybe the baths of the world need your energies more than Charles right now.'
I wanted to change the subject. 'Marina, how are things with Colin?' Marina, unlike most women, did not like to talk about
her boyfriend, and the moment, naked and relaxed, seemed opportune for prying.
'Same old, same old,' she said dismissively. 'I think our hamam should be alabaster instead of marble.'
'Fight, break up, decide you can't live without each other?' I surmised from 'same old, same old.'
'Exactly, the co-dependency continues. Three years of calling each other seven times a day.'
Marina would be the first to admit her relationship was dysfunctional. She envied the stability and honesty that Charles and
I maintained effortlessly. I envied the passion that she and Colin had —they would fight, make up, then disappear for hours.
While I accepted the universal rule always to side with your girlfriend, I knew Marina well, and I knew she was extraordinarily
high-maintenance. I had been on the receiving end of some of her tirades. So I did have some sympathy with Colin's tribulations,
though I would accept at face value any story that depicted him as an insensitive scoundrel bent on ignoring Marina's wishes.
Marina's wishes, however, were many and very specific. Compromise to Marina meant meeting you one-eighth of the way. But she
was a lovable bully.
We stayed at the kurna, staring up at the dome's darkening skylights that reminded me of Kemal's portholes. Both were windows that admitted light
but offered no view of the outside world, nor did they provide the outside world a view into this intimate sanctum. It was
getting late, soon we would have to leave this world.
'Are you hungry?' I asked.
'Famished. Let's get cheese borek,' Marina said. Cheese borek, a noodle pastry lined with filo, goat's cheese, and parsley,
was her favorite Turkish food, second only to baklava.
'We had that for breakfast. Please let's have grilled fish,' I suggested. A fish restaurant wouldn't serve cheese borek and
vice versa.
Marina adopted her open-eyed, beseeching look. Her eyebrows went up and her head tilted toward me. 'Oh, but I'm only here
for three days. After I'm gone you can have fish every night.'
'Okay, fine. But we're supposed to meet Baksim for dinner. What if he doesn't want cheese borek?'
'I'm sure he won't mind.' Poor Colin.
Back in the camekân, our pestamals exchanged for jeans and sweaters, Rusen brought over two orange juices and inquired after our bath. We were too deliciously
spent for conversation. 'It's like a narcotic,' I said. 'I'm too messed up to say anything, and I'll be back tomorrow for
more.'
We said good-bye to Rusen, who again invited us to visit his thermal hamam in Bodrum and to stay in his house there. Bodrum
is about six hours south of Istanbul and located on top of geothermal springs. Rusen's Bodrum hamam is more spa than public
bath. Because the waters are thermal, the Turks are allowed to soak despite the normal Islamic interdiction against soaking
in still waters. For a Muslim to soak in a body of water, it must be continually flowing and replenishing itself. Otherwise
it is considered unclean.
Rusen's offer was kind and tempting, but it seemed much more friendly and forward than anything I was used to, and the suspicious
New Yorker in me didn't quite know what to make of his generosity. I hadn't yet learned to recognize a good adventure from
a bad, and I still regret that I didn't take Rusen up on
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