kiva flashbacks
Yesterday I decided to extend my cultural experiences by visiting a hammam. Yes, more orientalist fantasies run amok, but also a pragmatic step, given the much-remarked on deficiencies of my own bathroom. And, really, what sounds more inviting when it's 100 degrees out then to go sit in a sauna? Obviously, this post will not be accompanied by photos...
So, what is a hammam? It's a public bath house (generally without the SF connotations), usually open only to men, but with hours or days reserved for women. If you've ever visited ruins of ancient Roman baths, you have a sense of the layout: changing room, sauna, and larger spaces with water taps and basins for washing body, hair, and generally hanging out. Although they're practical spaces, especially in neighborhoods where houses lack showers, they're also social ones. People often spend hours in the hammams, drinking tea, smoking sheeshas, and talking.
This was my first visit to one, so I can't say whether my experience was typical or not. I was very surprised, when I first walked in, to find myself in what looked like a living room. Vaulted ceilings, central fountain, lots of spaces to sit. The only indication that it was more than a pleasant salon was the woman half clad in a towel getting her legs waxed.
Undettered, I woman who seemed to be in charge and basically said "give me the works!" Which turned out to be:
Step 1: abandon all modesty and strip in the middle of the nicely appointed living room.
Step 2: follow the very large, kind, but also rather intimidating proprietess to the sauna. Spend about 10 minutes getting delightfully steamed in small room that looks like something straight out of "I Claudius": marble, water falling onto a hot surface, steam rising up through holes in the arched ceiling...
Step 3: move on to a scrubbing room. Sit on the floor, and get thoroughly doused by the proprietess, who then uses an abrasive mitten to scrub the living daylights out of you. Arms, front, legs, and back are all mercilessless sandpapered.
Step 4: after another dousing, move on to the massage room, for a brief and somewhat perfunctory rub down by another attendent. I'm told that in other places, the massage is more extensive.
Step 5: return to scrubbing/washing room to wash hair, self.
Step 6: back to the living room for tea, conversation, and to reclaim clothes.
It actually is a really enjoyable experience. Next time I hope to go to a more popular hammam and spend more time there to get a better sense of the social side of things. This time, I went late during womens' hours and it was only me and the women getting her legs waxed, who turned out to be someone I had seen the day before at the Danish Cultural Institute, where a friend of mine is living (Damascus is a SMALL world). As we were sipping tea and chatting, she gestured to the wall, which was hung with the ubiquitous photos of former and current presidents Assad. She lowered her voice and whispered, "All I could think while I was getting waxed, was that there they were, staring at my crotch."
So, what is a hammam? It's a public bath house (generally without the SF connotations), usually open only to men, but with hours or days reserved for women. If you've ever visited ruins of ancient Roman baths, you have a sense of the layout: changing room, sauna, and larger spaces with water taps and basins for washing body, hair, and generally hanging out. Although they're practical spaces, especially in neighborhoods where houses lack showers, they're also social ones. People often spend hours in the hammams, drinking tea, smoking sheeshas, and talking.
This was my first visit to one, so I can't say whether my experience was typical or not. I was very surprised, when I first walked in, to find myself in what looked like a living room. Vaulted ceilings, central fountain, lots of spaces to sit. The only indication that it was more than a pleasant salon was the woman half clad in a towel getting her legs waxed.
Undettered, I woman who seemed to be in charge and basically said "give me the works!" Which turned out to be:
Step 1: abandon all modesty and strip in the middle of the nicely appointed living room.
Step 2: follow the very large, kind, but also rather intimidating proprietess to the sauna. Spend about 10 minutes getting delightfully steamed in small room that looks like something straight out of "I Claudius": marble, water falling onto a hot surface, steam rising up through holes in the arched ceiling...
Step 3: move on to a scrubbing room. Sit on the floor, and get thoroughly doused by the proprietess, who then uses an abrasive mitten to scrub the living daylights out of you. Arms, front, legs, and back are all mercilessless sandpapered.
Step 4: after another dousing, move on to the massage room, for a brief and somewhat perfunctory rub down by another attendent. I'm told that in other places, the massage is more extensive.
Step 5: return to scrubbing/washing room to wash hair, self.
Step 6: back to the living room for tea, conversation, and to reclaim clothes.
It actually is a really enjoyable experience. Next time I hope to go to a more popular hammam and spend more time there to get a better sense of the social side of things. This time, I went late during womens' hours and it was only me and the women getting her legs waxed, who turned out to be someone I had seen the day before at the Danish Cultural Institute, where a friend of mine is living (Damascus is a SMALL world). As we were sipping tea and chatting, she gestured to the wall, which was hung with the ubiquitous photos of former and current presidents Assad. She lowered her voice and whispered, "All I could think while I was getting waxed, was that there they were, staring at my crotch."
posted by Emily at 1:29 PM
2 Comments:
sounds very pleasant, actually. is it expensive? if not, it might be a nicely therapuetic habit...
And somehow we think we're more civilized over here. That sounds like the way to live.
-D. Ransom
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