Turkish Delight

The minute you step off the plane, you know you are somewhere special. The energy on the streets of Turkey is amazing. Everyone is engaged, doing something to earn a living. This is the country of entrepreneurs. Businesses spill into the street. Everyone has something to tear the lira out of your wallet. The smells of spices and cooked food waffle in the air. Mosques are liberally scattered throughout the neighborhoods. And we hear the first call to prayer that permeates throughout the street at 6:30 in the morning, sometimes overlapping and competing with another nearby mosque. It is a kind of singsong whining cry that brings the faithful to the domed places of worship. Each of them have a minuet reaching to the sky much like steeples on Christian churches reminding worshipers of where their prayers are directed. You can feel the energy of Turkish life.


We flew into the very Turkish town of Izmir. It isn’t a tourist town. There are no postcard racks or silk-screened tee shirts with Bob Marley pictures on the stores. It is a big city that sprawls over a rolling terrain.

After dropping our bags at a local hotel, we wander the streets absorbing the sights and sounds. We decide to head to a nearby harman for a traditional Turkish bath which have been used for centuries as places of relaxation and social gathering spots. Most of the harmans have seen better days. They are a bit ragged, but with enough architectural structure there that you can see the grandeur of a former time. Most of them are built around a star-domed central room that has a large marble stone slab in the center. The slab is heated from underneath radiating warmth through it that when you lie on it, your bones feel its healing therapy. Surrounding the marble slab are small rooms with marble basins. Warm water flows continuously to these basins and you sit beside them scooping up the warm water with metal bowls, poring the soothing water over your head and letting it cascade over your body. The corner rooms provided the most privacy. Guys would take off their towels that are more like cotton plaid table cloths given to wrap around their bodies to drape over the entryway. Straight guys and gay guys seemed to blend together for a little sex in the corner. I mean what straight Turk doesn’t mind his dick being sucked by a talented gay man willing to take it. While the sex is not out in the open, it is often understood by all those present what is going on.

We decide to have a traditional scrub. This is done by lying on the warm marble slab in the center of the room. A burly Turk comes in and after first rinsing your body with bowls of warm water, proceeds to scrub you down with what feels like a green Brillo scrub pad. This is not a gentle process. Your skin feels raw as his powerful hands push down on the skin revealing fresh layers beneath the old skin. After the scrubbing, more rinsing takes place and then a sponge that is about a foot square and 6” thick is rubbed all over. It feels more like a car wash than a bath. Then his powerful hands start kneading your muscles to the bone like no other back rub you have had. This is not a back rub for sissies. This is serious business. He uses his considerable weight and strength to dig deep into the muscle tissue. The manhandling does not last long fortunately and just when you are about to cry uncle and give up, more rinsing is done. As tortuous as the process is, you feel amazingly refreshed and tingly all over. It is like all that new skin that has been exposed is ready to take its place on the outer layer of your body. It is a perfect treatment for the long hours on the plane from the trip over here.