I had a list of places and things I wanted to see and do while visiting Turkey. Hagia Sofia was at the top along with the Blue Mosque. I intended to travel from Eroupe to Asia by crossing the Galata Bridge, surviving a ride in one Istanbul’s infamous taxis, avoid getting hooked by a Turkish carpet salesmen, of which I failed, and braving the Grand Bazaar. However, none of these things where as scary as going to a Hammam, which is known as a Turkish bath.
Istanbul is know for its Hammams, which is a method of cleansing and relaxation and is a vestige of the Roman baths that once dotted Europe and the Mideast. I wanted to experience this tradition but I was sorely afraid I might end up at a gay bath house and not realize it before I had already surrendered my clothes.
My fears were allayed after asking around and doing a little research. There are Hammams that unabashedly tout themselves as gay establishments and others that are low key and cater to the gay community. Some Hammams only cater to men while others cater to both men and women and some to couples. I was looking for a straight Hammam (both in sexual orientation and services offered) so I could fully and properly experience Turkey.
I made a reservation at the Ambassador Hotel and Spa located at Ticarethane Sokak 19, Sultanahmet after reading a few reviews.
When I arrived I was taken down some rather narrow and winding stares by an older Turkish guy named Zeki Ulusoy who really needs to stop coloring his hair coal black. Zeki is professionally trained and a licensed massage therapist, which made me feel comfortable because I get massages regularly.
He had handed me paperwork that I guessed would probably be some kind of release from liability forms to protect him if something went horribly wrong but discovered it was a health questionnaire he would use to tailor my treatment. Zeki led me to a typical massage room with a massage bed and side table with oils. In the corner there was a dressing room with lockers where I could put my valuables and keep the key with me while receiving treatment. Zeki had me completely undress and put a cloth wrap around my waist to hide my nether regions. He also asked me to use some absurdly small wooden sandals, which made a horrible clomping sound against the marble tile floor. As I walked towards the massage table I sounded like a lame horse being led to the slaughter house. Then things got really interesting and a little bizarre.
Zeki intercepted me before I got to the table and escorted me through a large wooden door I had not noticed before, which led to a posterior room that looked like something from the film Spartacus with Kirk Douglas as Spartacus and Tony Curtis as Antonius.
Zeki had laid out towels on this large round marble table and asked me to lay down face first. The marble table was certainly not the most comfortable thing I’ve every laid on but I did as I was told. He then removed the cloth wrap which exposed my derriere in all of its fine pasty white glory. Then Zeki began to take off his shirt, which made my blood run cold. Was this it? What would I do? Would I politely tell him I’m not gay then esxcuse myself? Should I yell for help? My fears were somewhat assuaged as he left his swim trucks on and began to through bowl full after bowl full of water over my backside. With each bowl the water temperature changed from tepid to hot. He continued to turn up the heat slowly so I wouldn’t jump off the table like a frog thrown into boiling water. He then told me turn my head from the side to straight forward so that my chin and moth were on the towel under me. He then threw a huge bowl of water over my head. Suddenly, I couldn’t breath because the water pooled rapidly on the towel in front of my mouth and nose and all I could do was gurgle like an Al Qaeda prisoner being water boarded at Guantanamo Prison. Bowl full after bowl full of water kept pouring over my head. I began to wonder how the newspaper headline would read back home. “Mormon Bishop Dies in Turkish Bathhouse!” with the subtitle “Posthumous Excommunication Expected to Be Announced Soon.” Then Zeki stopped throwing water over my head just before I passed out. And then, the soap bubbles came.
The next step was for Zeki to begin lathering soap in the wash basin with a towel and then squeeze mounds of it out of the towel over my backside. Once he had me covered in mountains of bubbles from head to tow he began to exfoliate what felt like the first two layers of my hide. After a good rinse, which was like being water boarded a second time he asked me to do the impossible. Yes that’s right, he asked me to do the front side flip!
Embarrassed, I rolled onto my back and thought Zeki would be quick about putting my cloth wrap back over my maleness. Well that didn’t happen. There I laid exposed to the world with an old Turkish guy, that desperately needs a new hair stylist, pouring soap over my body. I couldn’t have been more mortified if had been running naked through Sultanahmet Square in the middle of the day as the call to prayer blasted from the minarets of the Blue Mosque. When he finally poured bubbles over my aforementioned nether region I could then lie to myself that I was covered and had at least some sense of modesty while he exfoliated my front side until…the rinse cycle came.
Zeki rinsed me one last time and as he got to my head I wondered if this would be the time he actually put a towel over my face and really water boarded me. Instead he showed mercy and squeezed my nose closed with is thumb and forefinger, like he was giving me a nose tweek, when he poured water over my face. Each time he squeezed my nose all I could think of was “honk!” like a goose honking. That thought would have been funny had I not been so aware of my full nudity on display.
After the bath and exfoliating I received a full 45-minutes therapeutic massage, which was welcome after all the walking and lugging of my backpack through several countries. 75-minutes later I was done.
If you were to ask if I would have another Turkish bath I would have to say no. If you’ve never valued your privacy try having an older Turkish guy scrub you down you’ll change your tune quickly.
In all seriousness Zeki Ulusoy was and is a professional and the service he provided was outstanding. My humor, if it can be called that, is just my way of dealing with my homophobia and to try and make you chuckle. If I have done so then I have
succeeded in my endeavor to tell a good story albeit a little embellished. That really is Zeki above although the picture is a little unflattering. I’ve decided there is no possible way of taking a good picture of Zeki so here he is with me after my session.
Epic Adventures 