So my life's hard, not the I need to you all. Everyday the clock strikes 10 and its GO! GO! GO! (until lunch). And the decisions! Oh the decisions that need to be made: 'What cafe am I going to kill 6 hrs in today? How little am I going to try to speak the native language? Is it cold enough to warrant long-johns, or will I be sweaty?' With all this pressure, I now know what Alan Greenspan feels like. So none of you can blame me for wanting to pamper myself. NONE OF YOU!

Lucky for me, my sister Nell was feeling the same sense of entitlement (its in the genes). So we decided to treat ourselves to the legendary Turkish bath (that I'd never heard of before getting to Istanbul). Of the many around town, we chose the hamam featured in an Indian Jones movie, for obvious reasons. Not knowing what to expect, we were forced to wing it, always a good idea in the Middle East.

We walked in and immediately we were on our own (separate baths for men and women). I was ushered into my little locker room, where a wafer thin towel and a pair of wooden slippers awaited. Not understanding any of the instructions that were being barked at me, I decided to done the towel and not surprisingly too small wooden slippers. And let me tell you, I didn't look awkward or scared AT ALL while I was walking around, half naked, in front of 20 Turkish men. Not. At. All.

They led me into a large marble atrium-like room. I was instructed to wait in the "Hot Room," basically a sauna. So I sat down with two fellow bathers in the hot room (kept hot by heating the marble walls, somehow) and enjoyed a half hour of eye averting and silence. Oh, and sweating. Aggressive sweating and trying not breathe through my nose. When I was just about to pass out from dehydration, I staggered out to the atrium and awaited my 'Scrub Assisted Bath.'

So I was washed by a equally naked, mustachioed Turk. And I don't want to take about it. But I'll give you some highlights (or awkward lights). There were big bowls of water being dumped on my head. There was luffa-ing. There was a soap mop. There was my thin towel that basically disappeared when wet. There was eye contact. There was Turkish being spoken, which I interperted as "You better fucking tip me, considering how awkward this is."

I hope you're all happy.

Actually, aside from the obvious oddity, I'd highly recommend the experience. I was able to get rid of the layers of Istanbul pollution I'd acquired in a little over an hour. And when you work as hard as I do, you need treatments like that to keep the mind, body, and soul as one.

I didn't know my inner thigh required such extensive scrubbing,
Chefka