How I Learned to Love the Hammam
It was on a brief four-day stopover in Istanbul in the late eighties that I first experienced the pleasure of the ancient Islamic ‘hammam’. Hammam is derived from the Arabic for “spreader of warmth” and is the ritual Turkish hot-steam room that is combination cleansing spot; social gathering and gossip place; and a relaxing brief getaway from the modern world. Hammams go back to the 7th century and initially had probably more of religious purification significance.
The one I went to in Istanbul was the Cagacoglu Hammami built in the 1500s. It is situated between the Grand Bazaar and the Hagia Sophia Mosque. Florence Nightingale, Winston Churchill and probably every other historic figure that passed through ancient Constantinople had been here. As in all hammams, there are either separate entrances and/or hours for men and women. Men must wear a swimsuit or underwear at all times. The Cagacoglu has been written up in many travel articles on Istanbul and so attracts its share of foreigners but your average local still predominated.
I took the “Sultan’s Treatment” where for a paltry $4 – after taking the steam and feeling like a boiled lobster – I was pummeled, stretched, twisted like a pretzel, and scrubbed with a floor-like brush for about an hour. All this took place in the grand domed central room, while I lay on the circumference of an ornate central pool for the massage. For the subsequent scrubbing, I sat in a niche, one among many built into the walls for such a purpose. As I discovered later on, there are never any windows in a hammam , but just enough light filters through via a dome in the ceiling. The massage attendant was small in stature but had hands like steamrollers. I suffered in silence for the experience, which felt so good when it was over! I was then led to my cubicle (where I had left my clothing) which contained a cot for a needed and well-deserved lie down and a soothing glass of tea. Two days later, I felt reborn and probably had a new layer of skin to boot.
It was only on a three-week solo trip to Morocco in 1996, spending time in smaller villages as well as the old quarter of Marrakech that I developed some real insight into the hammam. By the way, being a good hammam-consumer as a tourist is difficult due to the wide differences in facilities, friendliness to tourists, and hygiene. Ask for a local recommendation where you are staying and be prepared for the old adage “you pays your money and you takes your choice”.
The best and most relaxing experience was in the small town of Tineghrir in a valley of the Atlas Mountains near the beautiful Todra Gorge. By great coincidence, the Spanish owner of my small hotel in a refurbished dar or Arab mansion told me about the local unmarked hammam close by. He advised me to bring a towel, soap and shampoo and even suggested which masseur to ask for.
I set out after a light supper and was most pleasantly surprised at the warm welcome and homey atmosphere. Seeing that I was both a hammam novice and very nearsighted without my glasses, the owner who checked my clothes assigned his nine-year old son to clue me in to the ritual and show me the procedures (speaking French did help). He carried two old wooden buckets and patiently led me to two wells of hot and tepid water, which I could draw from for both washing and dousing.
There were basically three interior rooms: the hot room for sweating the steam, the warm room for sitting and massage on the floor, and the third was a cool down room at room temperature. (Sounds like Goldilocks meets the hammam!) While waiting my turn, I had a chance to converse with some of the local men and gained some insight into their regular use of the hammam both for cleansing and for socializing with friends and neighbours, akin to the local pubs in Britain I suppose.
The masseur, whose name now escapes me, was excellent and told me he had been training since he was a boy. He obviously had no formal education in physiology or physiotherapy but knew what to bend and stretch without pain while I was on the tile floor. Though feeling a bit like a trussed-up chicken being flicked around at will, I just relaxed and felt finally experienced at ‘hammaming’. One could pay just for admission and steam use (about 50 cents) or add on a massage for another two dollars. A tip is optional and most appreciated. The outer room contained couches for resting after one got dressed before leaving.
All in all, this hammam was a 10! This experience gave me the incentive to try hammams again in Tunisia in 1998 in Tunis, Houmt-Souk (the main town of the island of Jerba), and Gabès. The last, a dreamy-like town in the south with a huge date-palm oasis had the most well run and comfortable facilities of the three including a television room and was spotlessly clean.
Be sure to try a hammam outside of a westernized hotel the next time you visit an Islamic country but get a local recommendation first to make sure which are welcoming of travelers. As well, check the opening hours and times set aside for males and females (men’s hours tend to be early morning and evenings).
This is a great opportunity to get an inside glimpse of a very civilized and ancient custom not to mention an invigorating and inexpensive way to lose the stresses and strains of travel. Inshallah (Allah or God-willing), the hammams will be around for centuries to come.