Hello friends!
I am happy to report that over the last week and a half things in Damascus have really started to roll. After my trip to Lathakia, I quickly began to feel much more at ease with the lifestyle here. Accepting the slower pace was hard for me, but once I did, I've found myself much happier.
One of the best experiences that I had in my last week of freedom, before classes started last Sunday, was a visit to the Turkish bath (or hammam, as the Arabic goes). I had read about Damascus' hammams in my guidebook and was excited to check one out, so off I headed with roommate Charles in tow.
We walked to the Hammam Nur Ad-Din, which is located just down the street from my house, in the Old City’s spice district. The bathhouse was built around the year 400 A.D. and is said to be one of the oldest functioning hammams in the world. Despite its age it has not lost charm.
A misleadingly small doorway led to a cavernous lounge with a domed ceiling that rose at least 40 feet. We traded our valuables for towels, swapped our sneakers for wooden sandals, and headed to the bath facilities. At the rear of the welcoming lounge lay a portal, behind which the humidity increased noticeably and the age of the building was suddenly apparent. Carpets and wood dissolved into bare stone walls and floors are in the classic Damascene black-and-white-striped pattern; the doorways were large and arched. We took a seat on a bench opposite a large wooden door, and awaited further directions.
A bathhouse attendant, disguised in the standard loner towel, handed us each a bar of soap and a scrubbing tool of wound twine, then ushered us into an adjoining room with three doorways. On the sides, two open doorways lead to smaller rooms where attendants soaped and rinsed visitors. In front stood a door of heavy dark wood, reinforced with black steel crossbars for an extra medieval appearance. This was opened to reveal a a white stone steam room about thirty feet wide and fifteen feet long. The air was just clear enough to see through.
The attendant motioned for us to sit on the floor on either side of a stone basin with a double faucet. He used a stainless steel bowl to splash us each with lukewarm water from the sink, and left us to enjoy the steam. Charles shared some tidbits of history about the bath with me - that they were primarily intended to be used to weary travelers recovering from journeys through the desert - and we commented on how good the humidity felt after the persistent dry heat of Damascus.
After a few minutes of enjoying the humidity, the attendant returned and pointed us through an open doorway into a small square-shaped room in the corner of the large steam room. This, I soon realized, housed the steam pipes that controlled the climate of the entire facility. Sitting just a few feet from the jets of scalding steam, Charles and I looked at each other and laughed, like two fraternity brothers who, after throwing back a pair of shots, realize that they have just had one too many. The steam spewing from the open pipes settled like a large cloud at about shoulder level, so everyone seated in the small room would stand up intermittently to breath in the heavy steam and to to suppress a cough. The room was far hotter and more humid than any sauna or steam room back home. When I stood up and breathed in the heavy steam directly it felt like inhaling soup. The sensation in my lungs was incredible.
Just when I was about to throw in the towel, a new attendant came in and lead Charles and I back into one of the washrooms where we were directed to lie, turn over, and sit up, as he scrubbed us each with a steel wool-like exfoliating cloth, then soaped and rinsed us each in turn. When he was done, he instructed us to return to the steam room to use the soap and scrubbers we had been given to wash at our leisure. Sitting by the basin, Charles passed me a pommace stone, which I used to scrub three weeks worth of dead skin and Damascus funk from my feet.
After we were properly clean and had taken a few last breaths of the heavy steam, we headed for the pre-exit cold shower, which felt like nothing short of heaven. A bathhouse employee used a fresh sheet to shield me from view as I shed my now-sopping-and-transparent towel. He wrapped me in the one fresh sheet and covered my shoulders with a second. After he had done the same to Charles, he sent us clomping in our wooden sandals to the main entrance room, where a friendly attendant replaced my covers yet again. He covered me from ankle to shoulders in freshly laundered towels and sheets, wrapped a third towel around my head. He asked where I was from and welcomed me to Damascus.
Charles and I took a seat on the Syrian carpets that cover the waist-high benches surrounding the large front room. In moments, a bathhouse attendant brought us tea and cold water, and we sat there with our feet dangling from the bench, drinking, talking, and observing the late-afternoon crowd that was now trickling in. I felt a profound calm. Around the room, fathers helped their young children undress and replaced their own thobes with hammam-issued towels. Men emerged from the steam rooms, knelt in prayer, then joked with one another.
Everyone was smiling.
I think this was the moment I began to feel at home in Damascus. The site seeing that I had done previously was fascinating, but always left me feeling like an outside observer. At the bathhouse I felt actively engaged in Middle Eastern life. It was really great to see that the staff treating everyone with the same kindness and hospitality. No one even seemed to notice that the two visitors.
When Charles and I agreed that it was time to get some food, we headed to the front desk, collected our valuables and paid the grand total for our luxurious visit: 350 sp each – roughly $7.50 – a very reasonable price for such an incredible and relaxing experience.
I hope everyone is well and that I haven’t lost too many readers due to my sporadic posting; with school having started, I find myself with less and less time to write and get to the internet café, but I will do my best to stay keep current.
Cheers,
Eric
I am happy to report that over the last week and a half things in Damascus have really started to roll. After my trip to Lathakia, I quickly began to feel much more at ease with the lifestyle here. Accepting the slower pace was hard for me, but once I did, I've found myself much happier.
One of the best experiences that I had in my last week of freedom, before classes started last Sunday, was a visit to the Turkish bath (or hammam, as the Arabic goes). I had read about Damascus' hammams in my guidebook and was excited to check one out, so off I headed with roommate Charles in tow.
We walked to the Hammam Nur Ad-Din, which is located just down the street from my house, in the Old City’s spice district. The bathhouse was built around the year 400 A.D. and is said to be one of the oldest functioning hammams in the world. Despite its age it has not lost charm.
A misleadingly small doorway led to a cavernous lounge with a domed ceiling that rose at least 40 feet. We traded our valuables for towels, swapped our sneakers for wooden sandals, and headed to the bath facilities. At the rear of the welcoming lounge lay a portal, behind which the humidity increased noticeably and the age of the building was suddenly apparent. Carpets and wood dissolved into bare stone walls and floors are in the classic Damascene black-and-white-striped pattern; the doorways were large and arched. We took a seat on a bench opposite a large wooden door, and awaited further directions.
A bathhouse attendant, disguised in the standard loner towel, handed us each a bar of soap and a scrubbing tool of wound twine, then ushered us into an adjoining room with three doorways. On the sides, two open doorways lead to smaller rooms where attendants soaped and rinsed visitors. In front stood a door of heavy dark wood, reinforced with black steel crossbars for an extra medieval appearance. This was opened to reveal a a white stone steam room about thirty feet wide and fifteen feet long. The air was just clear enough to see through.
The attendant motioned for us to sit on the floor on either side of a stone basin with a double faucet. He used a stainless steel bowl to splash us each with lukewarm water from the sink, and left us to enjoy the steam. Charles shared some tidbits of history about the bath with me - that they were primarily intended to be used to weary travelers recovering from journeys through the desert - and we commented on how good the humidity felt after the persistent dry heat of Damascus.
After a few minutes of enjoying the humidity, the attendant returned and pointed us through an open doorway into a small square-shaped room in the corner of the large steam room. This, I soon realized, housed the steam pipes that controlled the climate of the entire facility. Sitting just a few feet from the jets of scalding steam, Charles and I looked at each other and laughed, like two fraternity brothers who, after throwing back a pair of shots, realize that they have just had one too many. The steam spewing from the open pipes settled like a large cloud at about shoulder level, so everyone seated in the small room would stand up intermittently to breath in the heavy steam and to to suppress a cough. The room was far hotter and more humid than any sauna or steam room back home. When I stood up and breathed in the heavy steam directly it felt like inhaling soup. The sensation in my lungs was incredible.
Just when I was about to throw in the towel, a new attendant came in and lead Charles and I back into one of the washrooms where we were directed to lie, turn over, and sit up, as he scrubbed us each with a steel wool-like exfoliating cloth, then soaped and rinsed us each in turn. When he was done, he instructed us to return to the steam room to use the soap and scrubbers we had been given to wash at our leisure. Sitting by the basin, Charles passed me a pommace stone, which I used to scrub three weeks worth of dead skin and Damascus funk from my feet.
After we were properly clean and had taken a few last breaths of the heavy steam, we headed for the pre-exit cold shower, which felt like nothing short of heaven. A bathhouse employee used a fresh sheet to shield me from view as I shed my now-sopping-and-transparent towel. He wrapped me in the one fresh sheet and covered my shoulders with a second. After he had done the same to Charles, he sent us clomping in our wooden sandals to the main entrance room, where a friendly attendant replaced my covers yet again. He covered me from ankle to shoulders in freshly laundered towels and sheets, wrapped a third towel around my head. He asked where I was from and welcomed me to Damascus.
Charles and I took a seat on the Syrian carpets that cover the waist-high benches surrounding the large front room. In moments, a bathhouse attendant brought us tea and cold water, and we sat there with our feet dangling from the bench, drinking, talking, and observing the late-afternoon crowd that was now trickling in. I felt a profound calm. Around the room, fathers helped their young children undress and replaced their own thobes with hammam-issued towels. Men emerged from the steam rooms, knelt in prayer, then joked with one another.
Everyone was smiling.
I think this was the moment I began to feel at home in Damascus. The site seeing that I had done previously was fascinating, but always left me feeling like an outside observer. At the bathhouse I felt actively engaged in Middle Eastern life. It was really great to see that the staff treating everyone with the same kindness and hospitality. No one even seemed to notice that the two visitors.
When Charles and I agreed that it was time to get some food, we headed to the front desk, collected our valuables and paid the grand total for our luxurious visit: 350 sp each – roughly $7.50 – a very reasonable price for such an incredible and relaxing experience.
I hope everyone is well and that I haven’t lost too many readers due to my sporadic posting; with school having started, I find myself with less and less time to write and get to the internet café, but I will do my best to stay keep current.
Cheers,
Eric
Sounds like a great experience, and interesting that such a luxurious experience exists in what otherwise sounds like a fairly depressed city.
ReplyDeleteI have to tell you, though, that "inauspicious" means "unfortunate," "unlucky," or "unfavorable." I think you meant to write "inconspicuous."
Or, if you did mean "inauspicious," it sounds like the Hammam should consider getting a new door. I hope classes are going well!
You know you are on to something when you notice that everyone around you is smiling!
ReplyDeleteThat was auto-correct, not my fault.
ReplyDeleteWow ! Now I too want to go to Syria. Are women allowed at the bath, or do they have their own?
ReplyDeletemom
Yeah you needed a bath, beginning to pong a bit.
ReplyDeleteJust got of the ferry in Egypt, all the RaRas on the boat got on a bus to Sharm el Sheikh but I thought fuck it, so took a walk down the dessert road with the camels. Bedouin chappy in his ancient jeep let me jump in the back - thinking I might find a campsite and spend the night here. Port here was amazing - as Arab and chaotic as you could possibly wish for. Hut to pay for visa (no one there), General's office to collect visa and passport, luggage inspection looked like a refugee reception centre.
So - this is Egypt's second chance - so far so good.
walton.fref@btinternet.com