“It is now safe to use your portable electronic devices,” is my cue to open my laptop once again to write the next installment in the adventures of Ms. Traveling Pants.  Now returning from a trip to the Hudson River Valley in Upstate New York, I had the opportunity to travel with my husband who asked me today, out of the blue, probably because of the frigid temperature, “Have you ever experienced a thermal bath?”

I wish I had a better answer, but no I have not experienced the thermal baths that are world renowned such as those in Iceland and Turkey; I must put them on my list. However, I must admit I have had one memorable bathing experience in my travels in Turkey. Unknown to me, baths in Turkey are a common thing. There are typically various bathing houses or Hamams in each town or neighborhood that one may join as a member (see picture below). I would consider them almost social or community clubs that are part of the weekly routine. Just for your information, Hamams are easy to spot as they all have high dome shaped buildings with skylights.

It is almost what in the U.S. we consider the spa culture, where you may spend the day or the afternoon at the spa with friends. While in Turkey, my travel companions and I spent the afternoon at the hamam. As it was wintertime, we all went to the locker room and removed our many layers to enter a large grey, earthen room filled with steam and the sounds of water running and women singing. Before getting our personal treatments, we were instructed to first bathe in the faucets of running warm water and then to steam on the benches.

The process of the Turkish bath involves lying down almost naked (underwear only) and being scrubbed from head to toe by a bather, typically another woman that also is well, naked. All of this may sound erotic, but believe me there was nothing erotic about the appearance of the bathers as they were 50 year olds that were rather voluptuous and we aren’t talking like the looks of Anne Nicole Smith. The bath included a complete exfoliation with a loofta. Although somewhat relaxing with the heat and water rinse, the loofta was either the strength of a brillo pad or I was ultra-sensitive.
I remember quite vividly the bather starting to sing as a component of the exfoliation and massage. It struck me as odd, but when you think about it now when you go to the spa there is either calming sounds playing over a stereo or waterfalls to induce that tranquil environment. Despite the singing, there was nothing that was going to cover up the fact that the exfoliation was taking more than the primary layer of dead skin, but I would have to say down to raw. This was combined with the fact that time and again the woman’s breast would brush me in her massage strokes. As you can imagine, this brings “personal space” to yet another level.

After what was hours, we all left the bath feeling warm and well-rubbed. I added that I felt that I would need a little recovering time before my next bath of this sort as I truly felt rubbed raw. As you can tell from my post, Turkish baths are an experience, but there is much to be said for a traditional Swedish massage or even one of those neat Brookstone feet/leg massagers.

Let me know if you have any recommendations for great thermal baths as I am awaiting trying one for my first time.

Yes, the holidays are upon us and another year is coming to an end. The time to think of past holidays, the year in review, and reminisce is here. So, let me share with you a “Christmas Eve to Remember” some ten years ago in Izmir, Turkey.

I was traveling with three seasoned travelers over the winter holiday break. One was a classmate going to school with me in Madrid, but from Indiana. Her name was Chandra. And the other two were Chandra’s friends from Indiana; however, both were Russian born, Katia and Natalia.

We all met in Istanbul and after a few days of imbibing our weight in apple tea, touring many rug shops, taking our first Turkish bath, and sightseeing in Cappadocia, we planned a visit to the port town of Izmir just prior to departing Turkey and continuing our holiday travels in Italy.

With our handy travel bible in hand, Let’s Go Turkey, we found our reasonable accommodations in what seemed to be a respectable area in a hostel called Hostel Duvon. We split up into two rooms, left our bags, and hit the town. After a full day of sightseeing, tea drinking, and culinary experimentation whether a Turkish version of Baklava or Musakka, which resembles Lasagna, we all returned to our hostel to find that the once empty lobby now had many men sitting on the couches smoking and drinking tea. We continued to our rooms and noticed that strangely some of the other hostel guests seemed to be rather moved into their rooms. In particular, we caught a sneak peek of a room with a radio, ample décor, no suitcases, and full closets. It surely did not look like our rooms with two twin beds, stark décor, two large traveling backpacks, and recently washed clothes hanging to dry.

For dinner that evening, we left the hostel walking through the smoke filled room of men. And in discussing some of the Red Flags we had witnessed, we all stumbled upon a place to eat. In Turkey, or at least ten years ago, it was uncommon for a group of young women to go out to dinner together let alone ask for a drink as alcohol was rather limited. However, it was Christmas Eve and we wanted to celebrate. While enjoying the meal, we pulled the waiter aside and asked him about the area that we were staying and specifically Hostel Duvon. He left the table to get the manager who spoke some English who explained that we were staying in a brothel. Yes, you read it correctly, Christmas Eve in a Turkish Brothel. Now, nothing says Christmas more than that.

Ok, so now the tricky decision comes. What do we do? Should we stay out all night in Izmir where is it uncommon to see women out at that hour or be able to find a place that would be safe to catch some cocktails? Could we go back to the Brothel and hope that strength in numbers works and that moving the furniture in front of the door would keep us safe? Or do we do none of the above? Yep, you got it we decided upon another option.

The manager a very nice man, Ahmet, offered for us to stay with him. Ok, four young women, one complete stranger, Christmas Eve, and in a foreign country. We evaluated the plan. No option seemed safe and we just needed to choose the lesser of all of the bad plans.

Ahmet and his friend that luckily owned a car took us back to the hostel where we took our bags and checked out. I remember that the owner was quite upset at us for cancelling our reservation, but who could blame us for not wanting to be subject to such a place. With all of our bags, we could not fit in one car; so, we needed to get a cab to fit four savvy travelers escaping a hostel turned brothel and our bags. After what seemed like one of the most uncomfortable “sardine can” car rides out to the suburbs of Izmir, we arrived at Ahmet’s apartment. It was a rather unkept, cement high rise. There was an elevator, but I don’t remember that it worked.

After walking up various flights of stairs rather unknowingly trusting our new host, we arrived. It was a bare apartment with a Turkish bathroom (yet another story), a small kitchen, and two rooms, neither of which were very equipped. One was his bedroom and the other a living room now turned into our bedroom for the night. As hospitable hosts, Ahmet and his friend with an English/Turkish dictionary in hand began the “conversations” of the evening. And, in the spirit of the holidays, they brought us snacks. Now, there were not chestnuts or egg nog, but walnuts to be cracked and fresh sardines. Yes, whole sardines freshly caught and then fried. They were presented to the four of us as well as the walnuts on a blanket of newspaper covering the center of the living room floor. I guess that is as “family style” as you can get. Surprisingly enough, this was the first time that I had eaten a whole fish with bones and all. What I do remember is that they were absolutely delicious. This is a tremendous compliment as I am not a fish person.

The night was long with stories in a language never spoken before English/Turkish/sign language. However, the night did have to come to an end and Ahmet was gracious enough to give us various blankets. I remember that it was cold in the apartment and that he did not have a heater so the blankets were needed; however, there was something about them that was just foul. Yes, they stunk. The closest thing I can describe it as would be barnyard.

Regardless of the stinky blankets and being in a stranger’s house, it still seemed like a better place than being prey in the Hostel Duvon. By the way, you start to become immune to the spell by morning and yes, we smelled like barnyard too.

The next day, Christmas, was a new day with new friends. We all safely awoke in not such a strange apartment. In the spirit of Christmas, Ahmet and his friend both helped us find another hotel, this time respectable, clean, and well, not a brothel. We were in Izmir for only a day or two more and saw Ahmet on one other occasion where he took us to a tearoom. We all exchanged addresses and many years later I was still receiving “when come back to Turkey” postcards.

So the lesson to be learned…trust your gut instinct about your surroundings and the people you meet. And, if you go to Izmir, skip the Hostel Duvon.