Nat Locke: Was this cultural experience relaxation or torture? I'll let you decide

West Australian

4 days ago

When I travel to a different country I like to try local cultural experiences.
It's a way of understanding the social customs and traditions of a society that is different to our own. And that's how I found myself mostly naked and sliding all over an array of marble surfaces at a Turkish hammam.
A hammam, in case you weren't aware, is like a day spa, if the day spa therapists like to take turns beating and almost drowning you. It's obviously amazing.
But maybe you can't get yourself to Istanbul anytime soon, so let me run you through my experience.
Firstly, I was shown through into a small change room where I stripped down and attempted to pop on a comically small pair of disposable knickers. It is not immediately apparent which is the front, and which is the back, but honestly, they are so tiny I don't think it matters. I then wrapped a Turkish towel around myself and was led into the steam room where I sat for about 15 minutes pondering my life choices.
Next, my therapist, or Hammummy, as I liked to call her, fetched me and took me by the hand to a flat piece of marble next to a pool. It's around this point that I noticed she has slipped into a fetching pair of black bathers, which should have been the first red flag. But I didn't have time to think about that, because my towel was removed and I was ordered to lie on my back — yes, boobs akimbo — on the marble slab while two Hammummies started scrubbing me with large mitts with the consistency of pot scourers.
At some point one of them took my hand and made me feel the complete layers of skin that were now in small piles all over my abdomen. Yes, it was vaguely gross.
Next these two women took me by the hands and led me over to the corner of the room where they proceeded to pour great buckets of water over my head. We all hoped my recently removed skin wasn't going to block the drains.
They then led me back to the marble slab and covered me in vast amounts of foam before massaging me vigorously. Like, really vigorously. The laws of physics state that foam plus marble plus four firm hands equals substantial sliding all over the place. I was constantly concerned that I was going to slip right onto the floor, which was also marble. It was at this point that I realised the reason they constantly held my hands when moving about was to literally stop me from falling over. Rumours of my clumsiness had preceded me.
And as if it wasn't slippery enough with all that foam and water, the next step was to slather me in a clay mask. 'Like Cleopatra' one of the Hammummies whispered. I did not feel like the Queen of the Nile, let me tell you.
More dousing with buckets of water was next, including a particularly humiliating episode where I sat slumped on a step in my disposable knickers while the Hammummies washed my hair. At one stage, between being practically drowned, I glanced over at the only other women in the hammam to see that she too was being summarily soaked. And it wasn't a pretty sight. Imagine what she thought of me.
Then it was off for an aromatherapy massage because I had decided to treat myself and get the full works. By this stage, all I wanted to do was slip back into my properly-fitting undies and get out of there, but I had to withstand 40 minutes of relaxation.
Unfortunately — and here's a plot twist you probably didn't see coming — my capacity to relax was somewhat hampered by the fact that just minutes before this experience had started, my friend and house sitter had called to tell me that my dog had run off on his dog walker and was currently at large in the North Fremantle area. This sort of issue is concerning enough when you're overseas, but when you're wearing ill-fitting disposable underwear and your mobile phone is locked away, it's practically torture.
By the time I was scrubbed and pummelled to within an inch of my life, I'm happy to report that my dog had been found in the river by a lovely lady named Susie and was in the care of the Fremantle rangers, who in my dog's best interests were refusing to release him to just anyone, even if that person happened to be my very devoted house sitter who definitely did not sign up for this. Anyway, I don't know if you've ever had to send a flurry of text messages and emails whilst only wearing a Turkish towel and covered in oil, but it's trickier than you might imagine.
In the end, though, my dog got to go home, my skin had never looked fresher and I didn't fall over.
I guess we would call that a win.