I think it moved...

I’ve been told I have a low pain tolerance. But I also believe that I also have a rather high threshold for the unforeseen. Which is why my first trip to a Turkish Hamam had the potential to bring some spontaneity my way.

It took a lot of convincing for me to overcome the trepidation I felt towards the idea of a Hamam in general, let alone a visit. I’d tried everything authentic within my first few weeks in Istanbul; be it amongst fervent fans at the Besiktas Inonu, or at the bottom of a bottle of Raki draped on a chair in a smoke-filled bar. None of these brought any physical pain to me however. But knowing that I’d spent the majority of my early weeks here drinking Efes alone in my pad, I knew it was time to move.

You might want to blame my trepidation on my crew (Consisting of two well-travelled Aussies...."It's Melbuuurn you fool, not MelbORNE!" Right.) They’d warned me that while females find Hamams to be a therapeutic and wholly uplifting experience, most men must fight through pain and embarrassment to achieve physical transcendence the first time around. That didn’t seem so bad; transcendence usually comes at a cost. But often it’s at the result of a few lost brain cells. And I tried to remain totally lucid as I entered the Hamam.

Upon entering, you’re forced to swallow your pride and wear nothing more than a towel that’s better suited to clean your dirty dishes. We wished the females luck as they went their way. They could barely contain their laughter as if to say “It’s you who’s going to need it, chump.”

I immediately found comfort in a painting hung beside my dressing room. There the bodies of three naked females lazed casually around a dude who seemed to have the run of the joint. It wasn’t my first look inside the Hamam which disavowed this notion; it was the first thing I heard. I was led into the marble dome amidst howls of restrained horror.

You barely have time to feel humbled by the aesthetics of the room before you’re doused with buckets of warm water. “Shit!” I screamed. It was honest, but for my cursing I was banished into the “Hot room”. My companion and I didn’t feel relaxed; we were sedated. Our muscles lost all feeling and our minds lost all pretense. It didn’t seem to matter that we were surrounded by bigger men than us. They were used to the Hamam, and we were not. I had my place in the corner and that’s where I wanted to stay. Adam wasn’t able to feel the same fortune I did; he was called out into the lion’s den early on.

A damn shame too; he missed some genuine hospitality. A fully-clothed dude begged our drink orders out of us. While others stuck to local tea, I figured a beer might be the only thing to assuage my bemusement at this point. That can of Efes felt good, though I could barely hold onto the thing. I was sweating out the hangover I’d battled with for the past three weeks.

Halfway into the beer and it was going straight to my head. I was beginning to get a little paranoid. It seemed like all the men around me had begun to laugh uncontrollably. I began to suffer terrible flashbacks from high school. Back then, I was the butt of jokes because I lacked facial hair of any kind. It was kind of the same gig now; though they seemed to get a kick out of the fact that I was the only one without any back hair this time around. I figured my time in the hot room was all but finished.

I slipped into the marble dome and found Adam hunched over. His entire body was beat red. I froze. The exit didn’t seem so far away, but I didn’t trust my ability to make a run for it with those plastic slippers.

Sensing my hesitation, my masseuse grabbed me by the shoulder and beckoned me to my grave. As he did, I saw Adam heading back to the hot room. He didn’t smile; his body was lifeless.

The masseuse went to work on my calves, shooting me sly grins the entire time. As he cracked life into my elbows, he asked me where I was from. This is no time for small talk I thought. I won’t even talk to my barber, let alone a man who’s paid to bruise. As he turned me around and kneaded his fists into my back, I bit the pillow and felt bad for any injustices I’d committed in the past. Maybe that’s the feeling you’re supposed to attain. It certainly wasn’t the sensation of having your toes brought to the back of your neck.

He then pulled me over to a tiny fountain in the corner of the dome. It’s the place where skin cells go to die. He began to scrub furiously, peeling sins of the past from me. And just when I thought I could look around and feel good about myself, he went to work on my face. What he did to my eyes would be grounds for disqualification in any respectable wrestling affiliation.

So I felt blind now and thinking only my most primitive desires. This is probably why I yelped for the first time during this entire ordeal when he threw more hot water at me, endangering the can of beer beside me. I looked at him without any guile, trying to come across as a simple man. But I’m sure I looked sadistic; my contacts had since rolled into the back of my head.

Thinking about it now, I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d paid for originally. I can only hope that by taking responsibility for dousing my beer, he decided to give me more than I’d paid for. He soaped me down and mumbled impatiently about a “Tip”. I was ready to throw my month’s wages at him if he’d leave me with any skin whatsoever.

But like all transcendence, it ends before you’ve got a moment to take stock of it all. He “Finished me off” with a hearty slap to the chest. I doubt that any massage parlours in my native country would still be in business if they finished their customers off in the same fashion.

I don’t remember making my way back to the hot room, though I was told later I sat motionless for minutes on end. When I finally mustered up the strength to leave, I was surprised to discover that they don’t exactly allow you to leave without one last moment of shame. But I’ll let you experience that loss of pride yourself. I still can’t do it much justice anyway.

Endless cans of beer afterwards brought us back to reality. We didn’t say much, but I know whatever we said was totally benign in nature. The Hamam had humbled me, and that felt good. You could argue that any man who goes into a Hamam deserves as much.

Our female counterparts emerged over an hour later, looking like a gift from above. Apparently their experience wasn’t as painful. Though I still wonder if it was nearly as enlightening.

Describing the pain.

Though they're still too relaxed to give a shit.