Turkish baths

I have spent the first seven years of my life living in the historical center of Thessaloniki, in an apartment that was surrounded by busy markets and old landmarks. Regardless of its prime location, the apartment lacked essential conveniences, such as hot water, a bathtub or a shower. For our daily ablutions we used the kitchen sink. More serious bathing was a nuisance that took place once a week.

Saturday was the day we got ready for Sunday, which meant cleaning the apartment, shopping for the elaborate Sunday meal, buying fresh flowers and decorating the dining table. It was also the day for taking a bath, so we would be ready for our Sunday best.

Taking a bath was a production that required planning and preparation. We had two options; to set it up in the kitchen where my mom and grandma boiled hot water, set the laundry basin in lieu of a bath tub and brought out all the necessary accoutrements: soap, sponges, combs, a big bucket for mixing hot and cold water, a pitcher for rinsing, towels, special wooden shoes to wear afterwards, clean clothes and, of course, a mop for cleaning up the spilled water. It was plain hard work and ceased to be a pleasure.

The other more delightful option was to walk a couple of city blocks up the street to the Hamam Paradisos, the Turkish Baths. In the mid 1950s there were at least five active Turkish Baths in Thessaloniki. The Hamam was not only a place for bathing, but also a place to socialize in a leisurely and sensual environment. We always went in a group, my mom, my grandmother, her sister whose body was beautiful like that of the Venus of Milo, plus the arms, my god mother, her mother in law, her sister in law and my god sister Mary. A happy party of eight. We walked to the Hamam carrying our bags with the clean clothes, towels, toiletries and the tasia, metal bowls with a concave middle that fit perfectly in the wet hands. We used these vessels for throwing warm water on our bodies and for rinsing our hair.

Sultan Murat II built the Hamam of our in 1444, at a time prior to the birth of Columbus. It was one of the first Turkish public buildings built in the newly conquered Thessaloniki. After over 500 years of continuous use as a public bath open to all, nowadays it has acquired a monument status. A public space used for art exhibitions and music concerts. My god sister Mary and I have recently visited Bey Hamam, as it is now officially called. We found it dry, cold and somewhat dead. We have a different impression of the place.

Upon entering the Moorish door of the building we could smell the sweet aroma of soap,  jasmine and rose oil, and feel the excitement of the anticipation of playing with the warm water. After taking our clothes off and leaving them in wooden lockers, we would walk on our little    special clogs into the first chamber, a bare place filled with sweet smelling steam that hid the naked bodies in a warm fog. From there passing through a small marble threshold we could finally enter a paradisiac room with marble alcoves and a round center under the big domed ceiling. Walking into that space the first thing we noticed was the sound of the water coming endlessly out of a dozen bronze faucets that kept the marble alcoves filled with warm water. A sound mixed with the murmuration of women’s voices. Steam was rising up to the dome with the star shaped windows. From there, shafts of light were penetrating the mist, creating a magical ambience. Mary and I always managed to escape the attention of our relatives and getting rid of our clogs run around splashing each other, dipping ourselves into the other bathers’ alcoves. We were often scolded, nevertheless we always managed to amuse ourselves.

There were two other adjacent rooms: one with extreme heat that I was never permitted to walk into. The other, small with a marble bed it it’s middle, was the domain of a big menacing looking woman with a mustache, who gave massages. We loved peeking through the threshold and getting ourselves scared watching her rubbing the big naked bodies till they would turn red and sometimes using a long brush made out of horse hair, she was flaying their skin to improve the circulation.

We stopped going to the Hamam once we moved to another apartment that finally had hot water and a bathroom. Now we could bathe whenever we wanted, but we were missing the fun and the magical atmosphere of the Turkish Baths.