his well-intentioned offer.
Marina and I got busy. For the next three days, Marina put her textile obsession on hold and we racked up the baths, visiting
ten different hamams. Sometimes we just stopped to peek in, like wine connoisseurs who just swirl and spit but won't taste
a wine that doesn't meet their standards.
• Çemberlita? . The best, most authentic of the big 'tourist' hamams, owned and run by a man who gets misty-eyed when he talks about hamam
culture.
• Caalolu. Designed in the Baroque style in 1741, so it's interesting for connoisseurs of hamam architecture. The bathing experience,
however, will leave you desiring nothing so much as a hot shower and a bar of soap, since I think the place is dirty and neglected.
Guidebooks that suggest this as a good first stop for the uninitiated are woefully out-of-date. It appears that the owners
stopped caring about this place years ago.
• Galatasaray. One of the most famous 'tourist' hamams near Istiklal Caddesi. While the men's side is charming, an original from 1481, the
women's side was a second thought built in 1963, and some of the women who work here are better at cleaning wallets than bodies.
• Tarabya. An excellent and faithful modern re-creation of a hamam in the Tarabya Hotel, an establishment favored by rich Arab businessmen.
Though it requires a long taxi ride north along the Bosphorus, past Bebek and Etiler, it's worth the trip if you're looking
for a mixed-gender bath - bathing suits required - and American levels of hygiene.
• Bosphorus Princess Hotel. A kitsch hotel bath. Small, clean, boring, architecturally flat. Might as well be in an American gym steamroom.
• Baths of Roxelana. Now a carpet store and the ideal place to see a Mimar Sinan—designed hamam without taking off your clothes.
• Dolmabah ç e Palace. The most beautiful hamam in the world, adorned with honey-colored alabaster delicately carved so as to give the impression
of snowflakes masquerading as lace. To see the sultans' former hamam, you must take the Dolmabahçe Palace tour while wearing
surgical slippers over your shoes.
• Beylerbeyi. We peeked into this stunning gem of a neighborhood hamam on the Asian side, just next door the Beylerbeyi Sarayi (palace).
It was about to close for the day.
• Ç inili in Üsküdar. Marina and I arrived during the men's hours and were given a tour and invited to bathe. We declined, recognizing
this as the 'bad' kind of adventure. This old-school hamam is a rare find, though. They have several styles of pestamals depending
on whether you're bathing or resting.
• Kalig Ali Pasa in Tophane. We managed also to hit this old Mimar Sinan—designed hamam during men's hours and were invited to tour the stcakhk. Immeasurably grand and sorrowfully neglected, this is the only hamam in which I saw a cockroach.
Marina and I had taken the measurements. Caalolu had the best architecture, Çemberlita? the best management and a close
second in ambiance, Tarabya the nicest changing area and camekân. Galatasaray was everything we didn't want to be (apple tea pushers and baksheesh seekers), and the neighborhood hamams all
had sweet hamam ladies who acted like adoptive mothers.
Despite our action-packed three days, I felt that my work was just beginning, my interest growing rather than satisfied. Getting
a handle on the hamam's architecture and accoutrements only raised more questions. Where did the hamam tradition come from?
Surely from the Roman baths. The hamam, after all, was an Islamic interpretation of the Roman bath. And where might I find
an enduring bath culture? A place where a visit to the baths might serve the same social function as meeting at a restaurant
for dinner. In Turkey, the hamam no longer played the coffeehouse role, but perhaps the Russians, Finns, and Japanese were
still bathing with frolicsome abandon. I needed to find out.
Midway through my stay in Istanbul, I was still looking
Marina and I got busy. For the next three days, Marina put her textile obsession on hold and we racked up the baths, visiting
ten different hamams. Sometimes we just stopped to peek in, like wine connoisseurs who just swirl and spit but won't taste
a wine that doesn't meet their standards.
• Çemberlita? . The best, most authentic of the big 'tourist' hamams, owned and run by a man who gets misty-eyed when he talks about hamam
culture.
• Caalolu. Designed in the Baroque style in 1741, so it's interesting for connoisseurs of hamam architecture. The bathing experience,
however, will leave you desiring nothing so much as a hot shower and a bar of soap, since I think the place is dirty and neglected.
Guidebooks that suggest this as a good first stop for the uninitiated are woefully out-of-date. It appears that the owners
stopped caring about this place years ago.
• Galatasaray. One of the most famous 'tourist' hamams near Istiklal Caddesi. While the men's side is charming, an original from 1481, the
women's side was a second thought built in 1963, and some of the women who work here are better at cleaning wallets than bodies.
• Tarabya. An excellent and faithful modern re-creation of a hamam in the Tarabya Hotel, an establishment favored by rich Arab businessmen.
Though it requires a long taxi ride north along the Bosphorus, past Bebek and Etiler, it's worth the trip if you're looking
for a mixed-gender bath - bathing suits required - and American levels of hygiene.
• Bosphorus Princess Hotel. A kitsch hotel bath. Small, clean, boring, architecturally flat. Might as well be in an American gym steamroom.
• Baths of Roxelana. Now a carpet store and the ideal place to see a Mimar Sinan—designed hamam without taking off your clothes.
• Dolmabah ç e Palace. The most beautiful hamam in the world, adorned with honey-colored alabaster delicately carved so as to give the impression
of snowflakes masquerading as lace. To see the sultans' former hamam, you must take the Dolmabahçe Palace tour while wearing
surgical slippers over your shoes.
• Beylerbeyi. We peeked into this stunning gem of a neighborhood hamam on the Asian side, just next door the Beylerbeyi Sarayi (palace).
It was about to close for the day.
• Ç inili in Üsküdar. Marina and I arrived during the men's hours and were given a tour and invited to bathe. We declined, recognizing
this as the 'bad' kind of adventure. This old-school hamam is a rare find, though. They have several styles of pestamals depending
on whether you're bathing or resting.
• Kalig Ali Pasa in Tophane. We managed also to hit this old Mimar Sinan—designed hamam during men's hours and were invited to tour the stcakhk. Immeasurably grand and sorrowfully neglected, this is the only hamam in which I saw a cockroach.
Marina and I had taken the measurements. Caalolu had the best architecture, Çemberlita? the best management and a close
second in ambiance, Tarabya the nicest changing area and camekân. Galatasaray was everything we didn't want to be (apple tea pushers and baksheesh seekers), and the neighborhood hamams all
had sweet hamam ladies who acted like adoptive mothers.
Despite our action-packed three days, I felt that my work was just beginning, my interest growing rather than satisfied. Getting
a handle on the hamam's architecture and accoutrements only raised more questions. Where did the hamam tradition come from?
Surely from the Roman baths. The hamam, after all, was an Islamic interpretation of the Roman bath. And where might I find
an enduring bath culture? A place where a visit to the baths might serve the same social function as meeting at a restaurant
for dinner. In Turkey, the hamam no longer played the coffeehouse role, but perhaps the Russians, Finns, and Japanese were
still bathing with frolicsome abandon. I needed to find out.
Midway through my stay in Istanbul, I was still looking
Similar Books
