By: Judy Conrad
Posted: October 1, 2025
I was about to leave the bus when Karen called to me from the back.
“Hey, Judy, Gary and I are going to that historic Turkish bath tonight. Want to come along?”
My instant thought was, “Public nudity/strangers/unknown circumstances.” But then I realized, “Yes! I want to come along.”
Karen and Gary were a fun couple along with about 24 of us who had signed up for this three week tour of Turkey in May, 1997. They started including me in several adventures early on, as we all travelled through what was historic Anatolia. Our group had just returned from Konya this morning to our hotel in Istanbul, and this was our last night in Turkey. I knew absolutely nothing about what was involved in a Turkish bath. Truthfully, I had never experienced any type of a public bath in my life. But here we were in the heart of ancient Constantinople. I just knew that if I was ever going to experience a real Turkish bath, it had better be tonight.
Turkish baths are the Ottoman version of Roman thermal baths, a place that combines cleanliness with social and cultural interaction. It is a more humid version of a sauna, and is divided into parts: the atrium (cold room), dressing room (warm room), and caldarium (hot room). The inside of the baths are usually mostly marble, as a material that heats well.
And so it was agreed. Karen, Gary and I met at the front of our hotel after dinner. I discovered they knew as little as I about what awaited us, but we were all totally sure the men and women would be separated, as there was such a strong separation of the sexes in every respect throughout Turkey.
We taxied to the oldest and most famous “hamam” in Istanbul, the Cemberlitas Bath, built in 1584 and one of the most important works of sixteenth century Ottoman architecture. The Bath was open from 6 AM until midnight daily. It was a majestic domed building divided evenly into sections for men and women, with two separate entrances.
After paying, you enter the lockers area where you leave your clothes and valuables. Women generally are very circumspect about not looking at other women as they disrobe, but these circumstances were different for us. Here, you saw some women arriving dressed in burkas from head to toe. All you could see were their eyes. It was somehow perplexing that they could go so quickly from that state to nudity right in front of us. To us, not to them. They were completely comfortable doing that and it was apparent it bothered them not at all. We made sure they didn't notice our slight struggle with the cultural differences, of course.
An attendant tells you when it's your turn to leave the dressing room and enter the hot room. It has a large, round, heated marble platform in the center of a massive marble room, with perhaps fifteen glass-covered holes spread over the domed ceiling very, very high above, each about six inches in diameter, which allows a modest amount of light into the room. Surrounding the platform, indented into the walls, are several exfoliating rinsing areas for use following your soapy water massage. Everyone entering the room is nude. We are motioned to lie down on the warm marble to await our turn. There are five of us. We situate ourselves on the round platform like blobs of naked flesh spokes.
I am filled with wonder/trepidation at the newness of it all. On opposite sides of the circular marble slab sit two gargantuan women, wearing the sheerest of gauzy fabrics draped loosely over their pendulous breasts, which rest upon their mounding bellies. The warm wetness of the room causes the loose sheers to cling to their skin, rendering the covering basically invisible. If women could be Sumo wrestlers, naked except for panties, that would be what we are seeing. I have absolutely no idea what comes next.
The woman facing me raises a large and very fleshy hand, signaling me to come to her. I feel a little stab of fear of the unknown, but I walk unsteadily over to her. She motions me to lie down in front of her. She has a small bucket of clean, soapy water nearby, and passing her hand over my head, wordlessly asks me if I want my hair washed also. At this point, I figure I'm all in, so I nod yes. And with one swift gesture my hair is soaking wet. Very soon, she passed those huge, doughy hands, carrying squishy new sponges laden with the clean-smelling soapy water, up and down the length of my body many times over. She flops me over as casually as one would clean a fish and repeats the motions. For some reason which I can't sort out in my head, all this is surprisingly freeing and relaxing. My muscles lie loose within me.
She swiftly, deftly wraps a towel around my head, hands me a larger towel for myself, and points me to a small, open showering area carved into the side of the marble wall. As I sit on the small stool provided along with the shower, I marvel at the amount of dead skin being flushed from my body. Exfoliation is definitely part of the package.
You are welcome to return to the warm marble and lie there, relaxing afterwards, for as long as you like.
And that, my friends, is a Turkish bath. I recommend it.
About the Author:
Judy Conrad, a longtime Phoenix resident, was a flutist/piccoloist with the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra for almost 20 years. She then dedicated another 20 years as Artistic Director and flute faculty at Rosie’s House, https://rosieshouse.org/ a free music academy for children in Phoenix. The organization was founded on the belief that music education is a catalyst for changing a child's life, which she witnessed many times over in her years there.
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