What is a hammam?

The hammam, or Turkish baths we know today, are a combination of the ancient Roman and Ottoman bathing traditions. While the ritual started as a way to keep clean, the intricately decorated, domed bathhouses became important places in town where men and women could gather (separately) to catch up on news and gossip. In fact, hammams were so important in the social fabric of Ottoman society that a wife could file for divorce if her husband prohibited her from visiting one.

While many modern homes now have their own bathrooms, the tradition of communal bathing still exists for special occasions, such as weekend catch-ups with friends and family and, of course, for the curious traveller wanting to take the plunge. Bathing is not rocket science, but there is etiquette to wrap your head around for the hammam initiate.

So, what do I do?

A typical hammam is a series of interconnecting bathing rooms. The camekan or entrance hall is your first port of call and can best be compared to a locker room. Here you undress and receive a thin cotton pestemal (Turkish towel) and nalin (a precarious pair of wooden slippers) that, in my experience, pose quite the threat on those slippery marble floors of the inner sanctum. Tread carefully!

From here you head into the hararet – the steaming ‘hot room’ with a central dome dotted with small clerestory windows that diffuse a low light above a huge slab of wet marble, also called the ‘belly’ or ‘navel’ stone because of its central position. Around the perimeter of the room are running fountains, useful for giving yourself an initial splash before you are called by your masseuse to lie on the marble slab for an invigorating head-to-toe scrub down using a kese (rough mitt).

Slipping around the belly stone we looked like a pieces of sashimi on display at Tsukiji Fish Market, and my masseuse took particular pleasure in slapping me on the derriere to get my attention to proudly show-off the amount of debris she was sloughing off my body.

Your masseuse will vigorously douse you with water as if you were a flaming saucepan before instructing you ‘dress’ in your wooden sandals (aka death traps), which now feel like ice skates on the slippery, soapy marble. Tottering naked to the hook where you hung your towel, you’ll dry off your likely red-but-glowing body, and then head to the soğukluk (cool room) where you can recline, relax and rehydrate with some cold tea.

What do I wear?

Nothing. Nada. Niente. Unlike the public baths in countries such as Hungary, you do not wear a swimming costume. Don those wooden clogs and embrace the liberation.

How will I feel afterwards?

Spankingly clean and fresh. Your circulation will be in full throttle after all that steam and scrubbing, your skin will be glowing, and you’ll hopefully feel calm and relaxed as you step out of the marble sanctuary back into the daylight.