19 August - There's a fine line between pleasure and pain

I'm no stranger to the communal bath experience. I even have a ten trip discount card for Ofuroya Japanese bath house in Collingwood. I'm down with the nakedness, I'm down with the public scrubbing, but most of all, I'm down with the unbelievable relaxation a communal bath can offer. 

So here I find myself in Istanbul. A long way from Japan and even further away from Collingwood. A Turkish bath will surely offer me the same blissed out, comfortably naked washing experience right?

The great Turkish bath experiment started with me mistakenly stumbling in to the men's section, only to have my credit card swiped and my person manhandled towards the more appropriate bathing area. Here I was greeted by a gaggle of large Turkish women who knew no English but who appeared highly practiced in playing charades with the gormless tourist. I was directed to undress in a strange little booth, which, with clear glass enclosing it, seemed to me utterly redundant. In spite of this, I took off my clothes (I knew I had to do this by wildly gesticulating arms and sharp words), and wrapped a tablecloth-like bit of material around myself. I was then instructed to put on wooden shoes which made me walk like a Geisha (giving me heart that maybe my Japanese bath experience wasn't unrealistic after all). But, balancing on wooden shoes, while holding up a bit of cloth to cover my naked body, and being shoved through a door by a large Turkish woman, soon put an end to my dreams of Japanese style tranquility. 

Upon entering the bathroom I was confronted by two naked women lying face down on a marble slab in the middle of the room. Again, more flaying of the arms and soon I too was laid out much too literally like a slab of meat on the marble. 

Feeling foolish and embarrassed, I stole quick glances at my marble slab companions. They appeared to know what was going on, so, while they stayed put, I stayed put. Lying on a hot marble slab is quite unlike anything I've experienced before. Both relaxing, and slightly unnerving, I didn't know what to make of it all. I looked around at my surroundings - at the beautiful domed ceiling, the ancient sinks and the equally ancient mold covering the walls. Suddenly the fact that I was in Istanbul, naked, sweating and lying on a marble slab didn't seem quite as ridiculous as I initially thought. It felt like an amazing privilege.

After what felt like an hour of cooking on the slab (but was likely ten minutes), my Turkish washer lady arrived. She was about sixty, topless and sporting a pair of very disconcerting pink lacy underpants. She took me firmly by the hand to the sinks and started pouring cold water over my head. After the heat of the marble, this was shocking at first, but then rather blissful. Back over to the slab I went, where she proceeded to use an exfoliating mitt over my entire body. After scrubbing my feet, next was my face. Same mitt. She joyfully showed me the skin that had been removed from my body. She was joyful, I was mostly grossed out.
Then back for another cold water rinse, before moving back to the slab again. Next up, soap. So much soap it appeared as if I were in one of those sitcoms where the series idiot puts too much washing powder in the machine. I was covered in this soap which then got massaged into my body. I tried not to think about its stain removal properties. 

Finally, back to the last rinse in the cycle. I was instructed to sit by the sink where I had bucket after bucket of water poured over my head. This is where the fine line between pleasure and pain came in. Now I'm not suggesting that my Turkish friend was engaging in any waterboarding activity, but, there were times when I thought I might suffocate. But, there were also times when the feeling of the cool water running over my face was close to bliss. I felt sparkling clean and more high than relaxed.

So, by the end, and after a small deliberation, Turkey was pronounced the winner in the battle of the baths.