Golden hour in Istanbul, and the sublime light of the precious moments before sunset filters through the round windows at the Cinili Hammam, tucked into a quiet side street in the Uskudar district on the Bosphorus Strait's Asian shore.
The bathhouse has washed off the grime of Istanbul since 1640, when it was built as part of a complex containing a library and a mosque in the city's Ottoman heyday.
Inside, a wide octagonal slab of marble known as the gobektasi – meaning, “belly stone” – sits between chunky water basins topped with ornate copper taps. Steam fills the air, as a large woman vigorously scrubs another’s back with an exfoliation mitt called a “kese”. In the reception room outside – the “cold room” in hammam culture – tiles decorated with blue and red tulips line the walls as a round light fitted with bulbous lamps sits like a headdress over the room.
The former empire took public health seriously and while bathhouses have a history that long preceded it, the hammam ritual gained prominence under the sultans. “The Ottoman bathing culture encouraged cleanliness through regular ‘deep cleans’ of the skin," writes author Diana Darke in her book The Ottomans: A Cultural Legacy.
"Istanbul was said to have boasted some 1,400 public toilets at the empire’s height, at a time when such things were still a rarity in European cities and many Christian Europeans believed it was purer not to bathe at all".
Bathhouses have historically been places to socialise, gossip, look for possible partners for family members, and, of course, keep clean. “There are many rituals occurring in hammams," says a Turkish architect involved in the restoration of one of Istanbul’s most exquisite bath houses in the city’s historic Fatih district, who asked not be named.
"Mothers look for brides for their sons, the bride bathes before the wedding, women have post-partum baths ... also don’t forget in hammams, you can eat, drink, smoke and rest as well.”
Surviving soaring inflation
Many of Istanbul’s historic hammams have been superbly restored, preserving their tiling, fountains and muqarnas – a decorative architectural feature that forms a honeycomb-like pattern in the brickwork. They are extraordinary parts of the city’s heritage. But the cost of services in some of them – often more than $80 for a basic wash and scrub – mean they are out of reach of most in Turkey, where the minimum wage is 17,000 liras a month (just under $500).
Today, Cinili Hammam is one of the few left in the city of 16 million people that still serves the local community at affordable prices. It charges 600 Turkish liras for a deep scrub, a wash and a massage.
Most of the hammams “have become aimed at tourists,” said Emine Ucar, who inherited the Cinili Hammam from her father in 1964. “We cater to the general public here. We have a very decent selection of customers. People come to us from all over – from nearby and faraway.”
Just down the road, beside a spare car parts shop on “Old Topstone street,” sits Valide-i Atik Hamam, which was built in 1529. It serves everyone from tourists to local labourers, says manager Teslime Ucar.
“Customers from all walks of life come here. State employees, labourers, doctors, teachers, housewives, tourists,” she told The National. Teslime says they attract a large number of tourists even for whom the prices of other hammams have become excessive.
“Our prices are reasonable. There are hammams that are really expensive. Foreigners say the [other hammams] charge us too much."
Valide-i Atik Hamam charges a reasonable 400 lira for its services. "They [other hammams] hike the prices because they are tourists. Here, we display our prices and we charge the same for Turks and tourists,” she explains, pointing to a paper list hanging on the wall.
Although the vast majority of homes in Istanbul today are fitted with water systems heated using natural gas, the hammam owners say that customers still use the public bathhouses, where water is heated by burning wood chips or logs, because they offer the chance for a really good sweat and scrub by a mitt-wielding “keseci” – scrubber – that just cannot be recreated at home.
“The thing is, there's usually no such thing as a scrub in home bathrooms when there is only one person,” says Ms Ucar of the Cinili Hammam.
Gulseren, a customer in the Cinili Hammam, agrees. She says: “The main reason for coming to the hammam is a detox,” as she sits wrapped in a pale blue pestemal – a traditional thin cotton towel. “The skin is rejuvenated when it’s scrubbed, your circulation speeds up, and the warmth treats muscle spasms. Hammams are also more affordable than spas.”
The Turkish architect points out that there are a range of hammams in Istanbul at all price points, and those that charge more are offering the chance to see architecture designed by some of the Ottoman Empire’s most famous craftsmen.
“If you invest millions of euros to resurrect the building, offer a high service quality, top standard goods and the opportunity to experience a 16th century building of a well-known Ottoman architect’s hammam, then you may demand a reasonable high price for this service,” he says. “I hope other expensive hammams have similar qualities and are not tourist traps.”
Even with her lower prices, Emine admits that Turkey’s current economic crisis has impacted the number of customer frequenting hammams. Inflation is currently running at 50 per cent and purchasing power has shrunk across the country. But she still gets a decent number of bathers on the gobektasi.
“You never know how many customers will come. Today 10 people could come, and tomorrow it will be 30,” she says.
Groups of between 10-15 women come before weddings in a traditional prenuptial ritual.
“The young women come and have fun the old fashioned way,” she says with a smile.
