Naked in Yalova (or don’t get caught with your pants down in a Turkish Bath)

Photo of woman’s Hamam in Yalova, Turkey


I must be a Mermaid, I have no fear of depths, and a great fear of shallow living”
Anais Nin

“You must have a Turkish Bath in Istanbul!” my well travelled friend advised me before I set out on my latest adventure. Upon arrival in Turkey I continued to hear about  a Hamam ( Turkish Bath) as something one must experience and I resolved to book an appointment on my return to Istanbul.

I am in the small Turkish village of Yalova built on Thermal Springs and my destination for a dance and whirling workshop attended by a group of beautiful and diverse women from all over the planet.

Sitting in the van on a return from an afternoon excursion my seat mate Caroline told me she was going to head down to the local Hamam before dinner, I expressed interest and when we reached the hotel we both headed down into town. Neither of us had ever had a Hamam and naively agreed that this would no doubt be an ‘authentic’ experience.

We bought tickets at a kiosk and then proceeded to try to find the actual building that housed the ‘women’s’ Hamam. After a few false starts we were rescued by a street artist who spoke some English and handed us over to a woman in an official looking jacket that ushered us to the entrance.

Once inside there was no doubt that this was indeed going to be an ‘authentic’ experience. No pampering North American  mood music or lush white robes offered here, we were confronted with two no nonsense Turkish women surrounded by numerous signs all in Turkish that I assume explained everything we needed to know. Caroline took charge by holding up her bathing suit and through sign language we figured out we needed to put them on and head into the marble catacombs below.

It was at this point I realized that perhaps I should have done a little research as to what exactly was involved with Hamam. Caroline figured out that we had not paid for a ‘full treatment’ so after more money was exchanged, down we went into the pool area.

The building was old and the marble stained in places by years of running water and bathing bodies. There were two rooms, both circular with marble sinks every six feet containing bright plastic coloured bowls .The only other participant was a large voluptuous naked Turkish woman who had filled her sink and was pouring water on herself as she sat on the floor.

Caroline and I sized up the situation and decided to take our cue from the only other customer and by the time one of the attendants had made her way down to check on us Caroline had her suit off and was filling her sink and I had my suit down around my knees.

Standing there naked except for my tangled bathing suit at my knees we were now confronted by a loud angry attendant attempting to tell us  that we were breaking a rule that was not obvious to either of us. Frustrated by our lack of comprehension she then grabbed a Turkish sign from the wall, held it in front of her and continued to berate us.

Desperate to figure out what she was saying I searched the signs on the wall behind her looking for something in English. The only English sign in the entire building said “No Photos or Videos”. Even in the heat of the moment I found it amusing that anyone would think to take photos or videos down there and at the same time considered what a priceless video this would make.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed our large naked companion had risen to her feet and it was revealed that she was not completely naked, she had some form of bikini bottom on.  It became clear this was our problem and we quickly remedied the situation.

Now half naked we attempted to soak in the too hot pool, lie on the burning hot marble that could not be cooled even when doused with buckets of cold water and breathe in a sauna that was just this side of suffocating.

The large Turkish woman was led away to have done to her whatever we had each paid an extra 30 Turkish lira to have done to us. It was decided I would go first and when the attendant came to get me I followed dutifully  behind.

We travelled a narrow cave like opening to a small room and into a rather strange situation. There were two marble sinks, our fellow bather was still in the room pouring water on herself and I was told to hoist myself on to what looked like a picnic table draped with a red plastic tablecloth. I am not sure what was said between the two women but eventually the other woman left.

What happened next would best be described as having your whole body scraped with sandpaper, front, back and face. I sat up ready to leave and then without warning a bucket of water was poured over my head and body leaving me gasping for air.

I went out and got Caroline gave her a little smile and warning and off she went. We were going to do a bit of shopping afterwards but Caroline’s comment as we left was “I would like to get back to the security of the hotel”which had us both chuckling.

Authentic it certainly was, fodder for a great story and I must say my skin has never felt so soft. So my well travelled friend I did the Hamam and survived.


















Wanderlust, Dance and Blogging

©photo credit westcoastwoman


” I had known almost every pleasure and discomfort, all the happiness and all the suffering that can befall man as a social animal. Useless to give you the details: the repertory of possible events in human destinies is rather limited, and they are nearly always the same stories. I will tell you that one day I found myself alone, all alone, fully convinced that I had completed one cycle of existence. I had travelled widely, studied the most esoteric sciences, learned more than ten trades. Life treated me a little the way an organism treats a foreign body: it was obviously trying either to enclose me or expel me, and I myself thirsted for ‘something else.’

Quote from Mount Analogue by Rene Daumal

Reading this rather quirky and inspiring allegory for the journey of life before setting off on my own journey/adventure in a few days.

“Ridin’ on a Freeway…..”

garden ornament bad 007 (1)
©photo credit westcoastwoman

I am a gardener. A number of years ago while studying Garden Design I was asked to do a project on garden ornamentation.

I started by scouring the better parts of the city looking for aesthetically pleasing displays, they were easily found but something was lacking. I wandered collecting the photographs but as I walked I felt like I needed something more. Yes, the gardens were lovely but that was it, they were ‘just’ lovely. All trimmed and ornamented  everything in it’s place….. this would not do, I needed some meat, something interesting.

That is when I stumbled upon the Adam and Eve of Cadillacs, pink and blue, male and female, here in a rather dishevelled display I could almost see the yin and yang of life. I was so taken with the partially interred Pink Cadillac I almost completely missed her blue mate in the background.

Standing in awe of this rather strange spectacle I was joined by one of the neighbours who shared with me that the brake lights on Eve were lit up every night. I assume in a show of ‘Respect’ and a reflection that there was life in the old girl yet.

Obviously there was great affection for the ‘deceased’ vehicle (although she could have used a bit of a wash). I like to think that perhaps parts of Eve had been used to keep Adam up and running and that he paid her homage each time he backed out of the driveway.

Now this was garden ornamentation! perhaps gone wrong, but certainly never forgotten. My completed project consisted only of what I considered wacky garden art, gardens on the edge and they were easier to find than one would imagine. The Garden Designers, the ‘people’ on the edge of the garden, now there is a story waiting to be told.

I think there are a couple of Aretha Franklin songs in here somewhere.

“We’re going ridin’ on a freeway of love in a Pink Cadillac”  Aretha Franklin”

©westcoastwoman 2019
















Southern Magnolia
©photo credit westcoastwoman


Morning light streamed through the shutters, she awoke finding herself hovering somewhere between content and completely unhinged.

Thoughts flitted from place to place never sure where to settle these days, the cocoon of certainty and safety broken open long ago.

The garden provided refuge but even insects only stayed temporarily taking what was offered in the moment as blooms and nectars ebb and flow.

Relationship offered comfort as long as undeniable incremental changes were factored in, together and apart nothing ever as it seems.

Illusion of control was obvious, nothing to hang on to, thoughts, garden, relationships all morphing into their next incarnation with no action required but Witness.

The New Normal beckoned her with a smile, her thought finally settled:
“Precarious is the New Stable”

©westcoastwoman 2019


©photo credit westcoastwoman

Written in response to Girlie on the Edge  Six Sentence Stories
Word prompt: STABLE