Bathing with strangers: what to expect at a Turkish hammam

by Melanie Renzulli on




In Turkey, one of the quickest ways to break the ice is to get naked in a room full of strangers. I’m talking, of course, about visiting the hammam. The hammam, or Turkish bath, has been around since the ancient Romans ruled much of Anatolia, and flourished during the Ottoman Empire, when baths were built in almost every city to address both public hygiene as well as provide a place for socializing.

Turks today have their own baths and they typically go to the café or çayhane (tea house) to meet up with friends. Modern spas have also edged out hammams. But while the practice of going to the hammam is on the wane, it is still possible – and downright enjoyable – to bathe at a hammam in Turkey. A hammam visit is also an incredible cultural experience, allowing you, in many cases, to see the interior of baths that have been in operation since the 16th century and an opportunity to meet other Turks in a relaxed setting.

Seeing as how going to a public bath is unusual for many travelers, I’ve put together a list of things to expect when going to a Turkish hammam.Disclaimer: These tips hold true for female hammam-goers. I can not speak for the men’s baths. But I understand from male friends who have gone to the hammam that the experience is similar but with naked men instead of naked ladies.

Carry your own supplies. If you’re planning on visiting a hammam when you go to Turkey, consider packing a waterproof toiletries bag that you don’t mind getting wet as you’ll carry the bag and your supplies into the hammam. Suggested toiletries include shampoo, conditioner, bath soap (preferably shower gel), and a loofah or one of those plastic shower puffs. You’ll also want a “kese,” an abrasive cloth that is used to scrub off all of your dead skin cells. These are almost always available for purchase at the hammam for a few lira, but you can also buy them on the local market at textile stores and in some toiletries sections of drugstores. Flip flops or other shower shoes are a must, though the hammams will have (usually wooden and uncomfortable) slippers called nalın that you can use during your visit. Bring a towel with you. A thin, cotton cover-up (peştemal) similar to a sarong, will be provided, but it is no substitute for a towel.

Don’t take valuables with you. When you arrive at the hammam, you will be given a changing room where you can take off your clothes or, if you’re the modest type, change into your swimsuit (preferably a two-piece). Then you will have to leave your belongings behind as you head into the steam rooms of the hammam. Most changing rooms that I encountered during my hammam excursions did not have locks, nor did they provide latches on which to hang your own padlocks. Rest assured, I never had anything stolen in Turkey. But you should be aware that theft in high tourist areas is always possible.

Go with a friend. Taking a friend with you to the hammam is by no means required. But know that for the first half an hour or so, you will sit in what is called a “warm room.” There, you will be absorbing steam, scooping warm water from a perpetually running fountain, and pouring it over yourself to prepare your epidermis for scrubbing. During this time, it’s great to have a friend to talk to and to share the experience with. And, when I say “friend,” I mean someone of the same sex. Hammams are either divided into men’s and women’s sections or they will require men and women to come at separate times.

Respect others’ space. No matter if you are at a hammam in Istanbul or Anatolia, you will encounter others – and don’t expect them to be clothed. Most people who have been going to hammams all their lives are comfortable taking it all off at the hammam and many women that I (gingerly) observed in hammams across Turkey had no qualms about doing personal maintenance, such as shaving, while in the baths. Don’t stare or balk. But also don’t be surprised if the naked woman at the basin next to you tries to strike up a conversation.

Prepare to be intimate with the hammam worker. The moment of truth. When it is your turn to be splayed on the marble slab in the central room of the hammam, the hamamci (Turkish for hammam worker), clad in her hammam uniform (i.e., her underwear), will come to the warm room to fetch you. Once you are in the central room, the hamamci will proceed to scrub your whole body, front and back, with soap. When your skin is perfectly saturated, the kese scrubbing will begin. Note that a hamam attendant armed with a kese is the original microdermabrasion. The hamamci will be able to will rolls and rolls of dead skin cells from your body, the result being, of course, a healthier glow. Endure it. After this portion of the scrub-down, the hamamci will typically give you a coarse massage (unless you’ve paid more for the privilege), wash your hair, and give you another thorough rinsing.

Leave a tip. The price for a basic hammam visit in Istanbul and around tourist centers like Antalya runs near $40 to $50 these days. In Ankara and many other parts of Anatolia where there are more locals than tourists visiting the hammam, you can expect to pay less than $30 for a soap and kese scrub. Most hammams also offer other services, such as waxing, manicures/pedicures, and hair dyeing, for an additional cost. A good rule of thumb is to tip your hamamci approximately 20 percent of the total services.

Photo of the painting Pipe Lighter by Jean-Léon Gérôme by Flickr user Heilemann

Five unusual monuments of London

by Sean McLachlan on

The historic city of London is filled with monuments of all kinds: to politicians, heroes, kings, and queens. Many blend into the background, just some more overdressed statues on plinths looking down at the traffic. Here are five unusual monuments that really stand out.

Animals in War Memorial

While London is full of war memorials, this one on Park Lane next to Hyde Park is a bit different, as you can see from this Wikimedia Commons image. It’s dedicated to all the animals who served in war. Used as mounts for cavalry or as beasts of burden, they suffered and died alongside their human comrades. The inscription says:

“This monument is dedicated to all the animals
that served and died alongside British and allied forces
in wars and campaigns throughout time
They had no choice”

The Golden Boy of Gluttony

This fat little naked guy commemorates the Great Fire of 1666, when much of London burnt down. The plaque claims the fire was caused by the “sin of gluttony”. Located at the corner of Giltspur and Cock Lane, the fire stopped just short of here. That’s a shame because the old inn that stood on this site was the scene of sins far greater than gluttony. At a time when the only bodies surgeons could get for study were those of the executed, “resurrection men” would steal the recently buried from graveyards and lay them out for sale in the upper floors of the inn. The practice became so widespread that cemeteries had to post armed guards.

%Gallery-134951%Monument

Simply called “Monument”, the 202-foot column at the corner of Monument St. and Fish St. Hill also commemorates the Great Fire. Unlike the people who erected the Golden Boy, the builders of this memorial blamed the Catholics. The anti-Catholic plaque was removed in 1831. The column’s height is significant-it’s the exact distance from the pillar to the house in Pudding Lane where the fire started.

Monument was designed by the famous architect Sir Christopher Wren (who also designed St. Paul’s Cathedral) and was completed in 1677. It sports a bright golden flame at the top and an observation tower with splendid views reachable by 311 steep steps. Making it all the way up earns you an official certificate proving your accomplishment. The platform became a popular place for distraught Londoners to hurl themselves to their deaths; more people died at the Monument than from the fire itself until a protective screen was installed.

Cleopatra’s Needle

Dramatically set alongside the Thames Embankment between Waterloo and Hungerford Bridges is something you don’t expect to see in London-an ancient Egyptian obelisk covered in hieroglyphs. The name is misleading. It wasn’t erected by Cleopatra but rather by Thothmes III around 1500 BC. Two centuries later Ramses the Great added some inscriptions boasting of his military prowess. When Cleopatra was redecorating Alexandria in 12 BC she had the obelisk moved there.

It was donated to the British Empire in 1819 by Muhammad Ali, viceroy of Egypt, as thanks for the English kicking Napoleon out of Egypt. Getting it to England proved problematic. They didn’t even try until 1877, when the obelisk was encased in a metal cylinder and towed out to sea. It was lost in a storm in the Bay of Biscay only to be spotted by another ship floating peacefully on the waves. The chips out of its bottom are courtesy of German bombing during World War One.

Watts Memorial in Postman’s Park

Next to the 18th century church of St. Botolph-without-Aldersgate on Aldersgate Street stands Postman’s Park, a tranquil oasis amid the rush of the city. A curious feature of this park is the Watts Memorial, erected in 1900 by a parishioner who wanted to honor those who had given their lives while trying to save others. Each hero or heroine is given a plaque briefly telling their story. The accumulated effect of the dozens of plaques is deeply moving.

Visiting monuments is one way to travel on a budget. All except Monument are free, and they tell you a lot about British history and worldview. Are going to London? Check out AOL Travel’s London guide!

In San Francisco, savoring a slice of heaven on France’s Cote d’Azur

by Don George on


September 20, 2011 — I’m sitting on the sun-washed terrace of La Terrasse restaurant in San Francisco‘s gorgeous green Presidio. It’s a spectacular Indian summer day, with the rays warming my bones and the bay sparkling in the distance under a cerulean sky. All around me, California Mission-style buildings – pale yellow walls, curving arches, terra-cotta roof tiles – shine.

I’ve been eating escargots and poulet roti avec pommes frites, and sipping a crisp Loire Valley Sancerre, celebrating because in a week I’ll be in la belle France, exploring the regions of Burgundy and Champagne. Moments ago I was poring over the itinerary, giddy at the prospect of traveling once again in the country that changed my life decades ago. Suddenly this combination – the frisson of anticipation, the dejeuner francais, and the sun, roof tiles and glinting waters beyond — concocted a terraced time machine-magic, and I was transported to a sunny scene 18 summers before, and a time-stopping, life-enlarging afternoon at the singular – and to my mind, sacred – restaurant called La Colombe d’Or, in St.-Paul-de-Vence, on France‘s Cote d’Azur….

I am ensconced under a white parasol at a red bouquet-brightened table, looking out on a somnolent scene of green hills and straw-colored houses with terra-cotta roofs.

I have just finished a plate of green melon and jambon de Parme, and now the waiter has placed before me with a flourish a platter of grilled sea bream, known locally as daurade.

Around me is a symphony of sounds: the clink of silverware on china, the splash of wine into glasses, the mellifluous laughter and multilingual chatter of diners in summery clothes.

We are all caught up in a buoyant bubble of bonte and bonhomie — a celebration of life’s bounty and of our own good fortune to be sharing it on this sun-dappled summer terrace in the middle of one of the most blessed places on Earth.

Little slices of lemon float in the pitcher of water on my table, and as I take another sip of wine and contemplate the still life — “”Daurade with green beans and rice” — before me, I feel a little like floating, too.

To my left is a vibrant Leger mural, wrought into a section of the terrace’s streetside wall. And straight ahead are the rustic interior rooms of this celebrated hotel-restaurant, where I wandered a half hour ago in search of a restroom and instead found an astonishment of modern masterpieces — canvases by Modigliani, Bonnard, Dufy, Utrillo, Chagall, Picasso, Braque, Matisse and Miro, among others, all given by the artists when they were still struggling unknowns to the generous and perspicacious owner, Paul Roux, in lieu of payment.

This place is an enchanted little world, I think — reluctant to take fork to fish, reluctant even to move, wanting to hold and savor this moment forever.

Awaiting me, I know, is a medieval meander through St.-Paul; an espresso at the Cafe de la Place, where I will watch local gentlemen enact their afternoon rite of boules; and then the piney Fondation Maeght, with its incomparable open-air display of modern art.

But for now the world is wondrously reduced to this: the sunlight catching in the canopy of branches above and blessing the hills beyond, the murmuring music of the diners behind me, the perfume of the flowers mingling with the scents of the chef’s seasonings, the exuberant atmosphere of artwork all around, the cobbled stones beneath me, the fish and bread before me, the wine as red as the flowers, the tablecloth as white as the parasol; an ineffable moment of ease and artfulness, a soul-fulfilling scene of life lived to the full — the whole afternoon floating like a lemon in a pitcher of Evian, a little slice of heaven on the Cote d’Azur.

[flickr image via Wolfgang Staudt]

Was this strange stone a prehistoric calendar?

by Sean McLachlan on


This odd stone may look like an unusual product of nature, but it’s actually a monument from about 4,000 years ago called a menhir. Archaeologists have long debated what menhirs were for, perhaps boundary markers or gravestones or something else. Now experts are saying this one, at Gardom’s Edge in the Derbyshire Peak District, England, may be a prehistoric calendar.

Archaeoastronomers, who study astronomical alignments in ancient monuments, studied the stone and found that where the sun hit the slanted side may have acted as a marker for seasons. Other prehistoric remains are nearby, including the mysterious carvings shown below.

Local Bronze Age people are believed to have kept their herds in the higher hills during summer and moved to the warmer valleys when winter set in. This handy calendar would have told them when to move their herds. While the researchers say this sundial may be unique, some other megalithic monuments have astronomical alignments, the most famous being Stonehenge. Megalithic monuments such as stone circles and menhirs can be found all over the British Isles and make for some interesting stops while hiking. Trails such as the Ridgeway Trail pass by several.

The Peak District is one of England’s most beautiful natural spots and Gardom’s Edge is a favorite spot for rock climbing.

[Images courtesy artq55 via flickr]

Brand Finland, Finnair, and Blue Wings

by Alex Robertson Textor on

Finland is widely recognized for having an amazing brand, which draws substance from several sources: its educational system, its technological strengths, its tradition of modern design and architecture, its physical environment (forests, water, and the extreme north), and distinctive cultural experiences like sauna.

In light of Finland’s high performance across several broad categories of evaluation (education and income, among others) it’s perhaps no huge leap of logic that the country would also operate a strong national brand, though clearly there are many powerful and exciting countries that don’t have well considered or promoted national brands.

The Finnish brand centers on clarity, transparency, innovation, and direct communication. There is also a strongly physical element of the brand, which references the actual territory of the country, making sure that the essentially unruly, wild nature of the land itself is not ignored.

It’s fair to say that the brand is pretty successful. Helsinki pops up on all sorts of most-livable cities lists in part for its strong infrastructure and facilities but also in part because there is an unyielding buzz about Finland.

Also very helpful for the promotion of the brand is Finnair itself, an airline viewed as strongly innovative for capturing lucrative Northern Europe-Asia air routes. (Currently, Finnair flies to 11 destinations in Asia; they’ll add their 12th, to Chongqing, in May.)

Finnair’s Blue Wings in-flight magazine lines up with Finland’s national brand in some very obvious ways. There is a directness to its graphics. A detailed diagram of Helsinki’s Vantaa Airport, for example, is easily the most helpful example of its type I’ve ever seen.

There’s also a Finland in Figures page with a ton of information organized in a very straightforward, simple manner: export and import figures; population; area; government details; economic structure; monthly temperatures and precipitation figures for Helsinki, a comparative GDP table, and some notes on working life. There’s also a column by Alexander Stubb, a Finnish politician who has served as Foreign Minister. Throughout, there are stories on things that dovetail with the Brand Finland: design, nature, technology, and organic restaurants.

It’s a satisfying read and it’s also a reminder of how badly so many in-flight magazines miss the boat. A lack of a sense of direction and haphazardly outsourced editorial does not produce a compelling in-flight magazine. Self-awareness, focus, and innovative articles do.