It’s as close to my own personal Hamman as I’ll ever get

 

I’ve only ever been to Istanbul once when on a jolly with some mates. It’s a beautiful, vibrant city and I had a great time for 3 days. The Bosphorus beauty was enchanting, the Hajia Sofia jaw dropping and the food and hospitality excellent. However my abiding memory of the City where East meets West, was that I have never felt cleaner in my whole life after I had visited one of the cities Hammans.
Alright the backdrop was a bit superior to your average bathroom. A Byzantine opulence of domes, polychrome brick and stone work greeted me as I wandered into the cavernous hot room, a towel wrapped round my waist. I took a seat on a stone slab, the heat felt like I was inside a tropical tumble drier. I was soon sweating like a pig, every pore turned on like a tap. Soon a wiry looking bloke turned up and scrubbed me down with a pumice cloth, defoliating my skin before washing me in olive oil soap, scrubbed again and then rinsed off in cold water.
My skin felt alive as I left popping into the barbers next door for a No1 haircut and a shave to finish the pampering off – the barber used his lighter like a flamethrower ridding my ears of any hair and his cut throat razor like a skilled swordsman. The whole cleansing experience was truly memorable but alas because of severe disability and MS and the issues with accessibility, it’s not one that I’ve repeated. I’d lived in a flat in London for the last 10 years which only had a walk in shower but when we moved to Devon recently I was determined to re-kindle my love for a bit of decadence and have a bath installed.
My Dad would always laugh at me when I’d surface after one of my long soaks, looking like a shrivelled prune, chuckling that I’d been born a Roman in a former life. Perhaps he had a point and I’d trod the same path in Istanbul as a Legionairre a millenia ago, but there’s something about bathing which to me is totally addictive. Maybe its the indulgence, the heat, the woft of Euculptus clearing my sinuses but I can sit in a hot bath for ages allowing it to cleanse my skin and relieve my tired and sore muscles. I was somewhat dumbfounded then to find that only 4% of Brits share my passion for wallowing in it.
Whether because of our hectic lifestyles or the misconception that we’re immersed in our own grime; 80% of us would rather take a shower and rarely take a bath. Then there is the remainder of of us who don’t bathe at all –  in the classic way, happily prepared to let their natural oils do the job, avoiding soap at all costs. On top of that environmental factors thrown in such as water shortages, old age, disability and dry skin, have all helped to create the perfect storm which would drown your rubber duck if you even put your toe in the water. The baths demise therefore in my eyes has attributed somewhat to societies mental decline and well-being, in part because we have no time for ourselves.
It’s estimated that we spend between 4-8 hours a day on our mobiles, 8 hours asleep and 8 hours working; it’s hardly surprising then that people run around like headless chickens complaining where did all the time go. Everything has to be completed at break-neck speed which can only be detrimental in the long term. I appreciate being a freelance writer, living with a disability and abiding in the country, means I’m not exactly in a rush, but the bath has done amazing things for my wellbeing since moving back here.
Perhaps it’s a peace of mind thing: I don’t spasm out of my shower chair anymore and as for the soft water; my skin feels so much better. Sadly I cannot read a book or thankfully check my mobile phone because of my dexterity being poor, but new technology has it’s advantages. My son Connor brought me an Alexa for Xmas and it’s a game changer. I can tune into whatever radio station I want and have started listening to audio books just by issuing a verbal instruction without moving. Of course there is the odd disadvantage, I’m reliant on a hoist to get me in and out, but once there I’m as happy as a pig in muck alone with my thoughts before rinsing down with a cold shower. Alright, it’s not Istanbul but it’s as close to my own personal Hamman as I’ll ever get and I love it.