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TIME OUT

Photo: AP

Dominating the skyline: The Blue Mosque of Istanbul.

Even our burly taxi-driver from the airport seemed primed to sell us this must-do activity in his city. Looking unflinchingly at my sister and me through his rear view mirror, he gallantly offered, “I take you ladies both for very good bath”.

Quite sure we didn’t want to discover this dubious Turkish pleasure with Mr. Burly here, we gave him a stern no-thank-you look back. Meanwhile Istanbul was already beginning to mesmerize us…

No matter where we stood or looked, there was the dazzling dome of a palace, a stately group of minarets, or the stunning rising of a mosque, each compelling us to rush there and explore it. As we wandered amazed through Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman wonders, we had, by day’s end, come to that breathless point travellers reach, of extreme exhilaration and exhaustion. And thought longingly of a rejuvenating bath at our hotel.

In a well-timed moment of tourism promotion, a boy in a street corner handed us a leaflet for the 300-year-old Cagaloglu Hamam, labelled as the city’s oldest ever bath house. “Have you never been in a Turkish Bath? Then you missed life’s great experience and never been clean!” Intrigued by this impolite declaration of our unclean lives thus far, we read on…

Apparently a curious line-up of celebrity bathers had dropped by this ancient hamam over the centuries — Lawrence of Arabia, Florence Nightingale, the composer Franz Liszt, Rockefeller, Omar Sharif, Tony Curtis, Harrison Ford… and lately, Cameron Diaz! The Hollywood glamour did it for me. I’d recently seen a fabulously well-scrubbed and glowing Ms. Diaz at a Jay Leno show — now it was my turn.

Suddenly a bath at a hotel seemed like a mere wet-tissue. We promptly rushed off to this house of exotic resuscitation,

Built in 1541, Cagaloglu Hamam ( www.cagalogluhamami.com ) was the Roman-Greco world’s first real “entertainment multiplex” — gigantic, towering white domes held up by ornate Corinthian columns. Here, recreation-seeking citizens of all classes socialised, gossiped, dined and lazed contentedly by the public bathing pool, though in separate chambers for men and women …even as women checked out the stock for a future daughter-in-law. As we descended the steps to this famous bathhouse, we were suddenly in a courtyard of sculpted marble basins with murmuring fountains and winged cherubs. Posters proudly announced that Hollywood regularly came here to shoot, including a scene for Indiana Jones!

We looked at our options: a Bath, Bath + Massage or the Full Service? We hit the middle path at $20 — bath and massage — and were led off to the Women’s cubicles to get ourselves “bath ready”. And then emerged rather tentatively into the gigantic circular open bathing hall, in nothing more than a skimpy “pestemal” or wrap-around.

The first shock of seeing several nonchalant American women tourists walking around — not in bathing suits but in birthday suits —made one firmly resolve that our modesty codes were stricter, as we clung desperately to our tiny cloth wraps. But one didn’t account for the no-nonsense bathing attendants assigned to each of us. Mine was Habiba — a buxom, 6o+ Turkish big momma. One firm yank of the wrap and we were like nervous novices in a nudist colony, scuttling in panic to hide in the pre-bath alcoves, where we had to douse ourselves with tepid water from ornate copper goblets.

Suddenly Habiba appeared jabbering away in Turkish — summoning me to the central dome. I walked towards the circular platform in ungainly steps, clattering away in the fat wooden malma clogs given to each bather, to prevent us from skidding along the soapy floors. That would have meant further loss of dignity — as it is, my sister and I were carefully avoiding eye contact, in case we got suddenly convulsed with hysterical laughter, or simply burst into tears.

I was led to my personal slaughter-table — a heated marble slab — to lie down and work up a fine sweat. Dramatic shafts of light streamed down from the huge pin-holed dome way above, adding an aura of mystique. Was this exactly where Cameron Diaz lay too? Around me, on other marble slabs were women in various stages of “torture” — too late now to escape in panic, as Habiba, breaking into a Turkish song, fixed a gigantic kese or loofah onto her unforgiving hand — and proceeded to scrub me down to a near-death exfoliating experience while I meekly drowned in a soapy haze of froth, foam and bubbles. This hamam, I recalled, had been listed in “1000 Places to See Before You Die”. I began to wonder if this chapter had said, “A place to see as you die”.

But there was more: the incredible scalp massage and shampoo — and soon my hair with its giant cloak of foam was piled high exactly like Marge Simpson’s head, till it collapsed in blasts of steaming hot water flung with much gusto by the relentless Habiba.

Somewhere far away in another planet I heard my sister laughing and even singing along with her bathing attendant Ela (hey, wasn’t that Mustapha Ya Mustapha?!). Later Ela explained in her fine broken English that she was singing the Turkish version (of a girl scolding her boyfriend) that translated means “Let’s get married and put an end to this, oh Mustapha. I have a child in my belly!”

Right then, my own belly was rapidly turning into jelly, as the grand, full-body massage was on. I transformed into a submissive lump of dough: greased, pummelled, beaten, kneaded, stretched and pounded till my bones became a defenceless obedient mass…

In a deeply contented haze, we were led away. Gentle young girls slipped silky robes on us, in the cosy after-bath cool-down room, settling us amidst soft cushions. We were ready to take a short nap lasting about a hundred years. And then Habiba and Ela reappeared with the most sensational Turkish invention — a cup of steaming Apple Tea.

By now these hefty 150-pounders appeared like celestial angels to us. “Big Teep?” they chorused.

Ironically, we pressed grateful dollars into the very hands that had recently attempted to kill us. Feeling as uncoordinated as a bowl of freshly boiled noodles, we slithered out of the hamam, blissfully clean, glowing and completely exhilarated.

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