![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.turkishnews.com\/en\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/09\/OD-AT125_TBATHS_G_20120829142531.jpg\" "\\"OD-AT125_TBATHS_G_20120829142531\\"")
<\/p>\n
HAMMAMARAMA | The opulent hammam, now an event space, at \u00c7iragan Palace Kempinski<\/p>\n
ISTANBUL AWAKENS <\/strong>the senses like few places on earth, with its centuries-old minarets, fragrant bazaars, clanging trolleys, all the ships and ferries chugging up and down the mighty Bosporus.<\/p>\n For a long time, Istanbul has also offered a distinctive type of sanctuary from all that overstimulation: the Turkish bathhouse, or hammam. When much of Europe was still emerging from the Dark Ages, the sophisticated Ottomans were transforming the ablution centers of their Greek, Roman and Byzantine predecessors into salon-like relaxation palaces.<\/p>\n The Wall Street Journal takes an inside look into the Turkish bath experience in Istanbul, from chic, contemporary hotel spas to rough-and-tumble local joints. Sara Clemence has photos and details on Lunch Break. Photo: Andres Gonzalez for The Wall Street Journal.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n During a weeklong trip to Istanbul this year, I had the chance to immerse myself in this ancient tradition, visiting haute spots and local haunts in search of the city’s most satisfying Turkish bath.<\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n I knew that the authentic hammam experience involves a big dose of tough love. You sweat it out in an overheated room or two, then allow a man to attempt to dislocate various body parts before he forcefully removes your skin, all in the name of well-being. (Women, I’m told, receive gentler treatment.)<\/p>\n Let’s just say I preferred to ease my way into it. Day one found me at Espa, in the chic new Istanbul Edition hotel, steaming in an ultramodern, stove-heated chamber complete with mood lighting. A polite little man wearing a pestemal<\/em> (loincloth) came to fetch me, gave me an unhurried scraping with the abrasive mitt the Turkish call a kese<\/em>, and then, laying me on a marble slab, executed a practiced massage using (as tradition demands) an olive soap lather. So far, so good.<\/p>\n View Slideshow<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Andres Gonzalez for The Wall Street Journal<\/cite>Click to view the slideshow<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Next, though, came the memorable part: the foam. I found myself enveloped in suds so light and delicate that I barely noticed until my caretaker, or keseci<\/em>, had me roll over onto my back. I watched with childlike delight as he took a soapy cloth and squeezed huge gobs of bubbles onto my chest like a pastry chef working on an oversize dessert. To finish, he washed my hair and doused me in a moisturizing mask of milk and honey.<\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Examining the results of the hourlong treatment later, I could hardly believe my eyes. My veins seemed raised, my arms buffed and sculpted. Each pore shone on my newly supple skin. And not for a moment had it felt like punishment.<\/p>\n Then again, as I discovered on my tour, that seems to be the trend. Upwardly mobile Turks are opting for nouveau pampering of the Espa variety in lieu of old-fashioned soaping and pummeling. And now that Turks tend to take morning showers like the rest of us, visits to public bathhouses\u2014where men and women once went to kick back and socialize, their entry fees often helping fund a nearby mosque\u2014have gone from a weekly ritual to a special-occasion sort of thing.<\/p>\n Enlarge Image<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Andres Gonzalez for The Wall Street Journal<\/cite>Espa at the Istanbul Edition<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Today, a handful of the city’s monumental bathhouses\u2014\u00c7emberlitas and Cagaloglu being two of the most famous\u2014are sustained almost entirely by tourists. Meanwhile, many others have become relics.<\/p>\n The day after my Espa treatment, I paid a visit to the five-star \u00c7iragan Palace Kempinski. A hotel rep walked me through the opulent 19th-century residence from which the property takes its name, and which is now a handsome VIP and events annex. Behind giant wooden doors lay a chamber made entirely of white marble. Geometric patterns of breathtaking detail adorned the walls and balustrades. Surely, I thought, this is the finest hammam in Istanbul. But it has been years since water flowed through its pipes. The hotel now rents the space out for cocktail parties.<\/p>\n \u201cAyasofya was high-ceilinged, flooded with light and alive with the sounds of chirping birds. \u201d <\/cite><\/p><\/blockquote>\n Later that day, after an hour or so of walking in circles and querying baffled-looking shopkeepers, I found the once-famous bathhouse in the old bazaar surrounding the 16th-century R\u00fcstem Pasha mosque. The glorious Tahtakale Hamami sat empty, except for some cardboard boxes and a couple of slapdash cosmetics shops. The cafe I’d read about had closed months ago.<\/p>\n Enlarge Image<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Andres Gonzalez for The Wall Street Journal<\/cite>Urns at Tarihi Galatasaray Hamami<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Luckily, on my next day’s itinerary was Ayasofya H\u00fcrrem Sultan Hamami, which is very much open for business. High-ceilinged, flooded with sunlight and alive with the sounds of chirping birds and a burbling fountain, the Ayasofya could hardly be more different than the haute-design bunker at the Edition. It also smells pleasantly of cedar, new woodwork being part of the $10 million renovation this 456-year-old bathhouse underwent last summer.<\/p>\n The only other guest there around midday was a middle-aged Australian, and as we marinated in a steamy side room he marveled aloud at how much Turkey had changed since he’d backpacked through in the ’70s. As if on cue, a young therapist appeared, and tended to me as gently as a sparrow; after the scrubbing and soaping routine, he led me upstairs to a partitioned cabin for an oil massage. I walked out smelling like a bouquet of lavender.<\/p>\n Enlarge Image<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Andres Gonzalez for The Wall Street Journal<\/cite>Ayasofya H\u00fcrrem Sultan Hamami<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Don’t get me wrong\u2014I like being taken care of. At the same time, part of me wished the whole experience hadn’t been so sanitized and softened. At Ayasofya, I’d gotten a pleasant rubdown and a sense of what Ottoman-era Istanbul might have looked and felt like. But I wanted to feel both those things in my bones.<\/p>\n Two days later, I was at the Tarihi Galatasaray Hamami, a 15th-century bathhouse located a short walk up the hill from my hotel in Beyoglu. I’d be lying if I said it was a local secret. But there were no tour buses in sight and no pretension in the d\u00e9cor or anywhere else: The changing rooms resembled barracks. The pestemal felt like a waxed tablecloth. My keseci had a thick mustache, an enormous belly and a dark scowl on his face.<\/p>\n He waddled wordlessly into the baths, and I followed as confidently as I could manage in wooden platform sandals. (At fancier joints, the footwear has been updated to comfy gel.) The keseci gestured at the central marble platform and then left the room. As I lay there on my back, stewing and watching droplets of condensation fall from the domed ceiling, I thought about a lot of things\u2014including, eventually, the possibility that my handler had left for the day. I was pacing impatiently by the time he entered, which only seemed to make him angrier.<\/p>\n He attacked my muscles with a brute force I hadn’t felt since playing full-contact sports in high school, seemingly determined to ram my knees and chest through the stone. The key to survival, I decided, was to exhale right at the moment the keseci put all his weight on me. I was wheezing like a bellows, but it worked. Even better, my refusal to wince or complain seemed to lighten his mood. “Very good,” he said.<\/p>\n We moved over to the wall, where my caretaker more or less flung aside the modesty-preserving pestemal his counterparts at the previous two bathhouses had treated with such assiduous respect. The moment he ran the kese down my arm, his scowl returned. “New skin,” he muttered.<\/p>\n With exfoliation reduced to a mere formality, the treatment was not the magical (if brutal) renewal it might have been. My skin didn’t feel dewy afterward\u2014actually, it felt a bit dried out. But I liked the oily, organic smell of the pumpkin-fiber soaping bags. I didn’t mind having stray suds flung carelessly in my face. I couldn’t remember the last time my muscles had felt so relaxed. Most bracingly exotic of all had been the utter lack of fuss or ceremony.<\/p>\n To a coddled neophyte like me, the whole thing was a shock\u2014but an experience I’d gladly submit to again.<\/p>\n Next time, of course, I’ll bring dead skin.<\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Getting There:<\/strong> Daily flights to Istanbul Atat\u00fcrk Airport depart from New York, Chicago, Washington, and Los Angeles.<\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Staying There:<\/strong> Housed in a converted turn-of-the-century convent, stylish and well-situated Tomtom Suites offers 20 upscale-bohemian rooms (from about $270 per night, tomtomsuites.com. \u00c7iragan Palace Kempinski has a commanding location on the Bosporus and the bustling, extravagant feel of a grand, old-world hotel (from about $500 per night, kempinski.com).<\/p>\n Enlarge Image<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Tomtom Suites<\/cite>Tomtom Suites<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Eating There:<\/strong> Tasty and unpretentious tavern food (smoked fish, stuffed grape leaves, thyme-spiced grilled lamb) is the signature fare at Sarni\u00e7, housed in a thousand-year-old Roman cistern at end of a narrow street (Soguk\u00e7esme Sokagi 38, Sultanahmet, sarnicrestaurant.com). Newcomer Lokanta Maya serves fresh Aegean cuisine (caramelized sea bass, zucchini fritters) in an airy, vaguely rustic dining room (Kemankes Caddesi 35-A, Karak\u00f6y, lokantamaya.com).<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"http:\/\/m.wsj.net\/video\/20120831\/083112lunchtbaths\/083112lunchtbaths_512x288.jpg\")
<\/div>\nPhotos: Luxurious Turkish Bathhouses<\/h3>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
![\"[SB10000872396390444914904577619610294660358]\"](\"http:\/\/s.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OB-UJ012_turkwe_D_20120829143429.jpg\")
<\/div>\n![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT122_TBATHS_D_20120829142654.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT122_TBATHS_P_20120829142654.jpg\")
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT123_TBATHS_D_20120829142728.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT123_TBATHS_P_20120829142728.jpg\")
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT124_TBATHS_D_20120829142810.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT124_TBATHS_G_20120829142810.jpg\")
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\nThe Lowdown: Istanbul<\/h6>\n
![\"[image]\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT121_OFFDUT_NS_20120828122402.jpg\")
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT126_TBATHS_D_20120829142918.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n![\"image\"](\"http:\/\/si.wsj.net\/public\/resources\/images\/OD-AT126_TBATHS_P_20120829142918.jpg\")
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n