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Naturally, I did what travelers have been doing since the beginning of bathhouse history — I parked my things in a lodging and promptly went to the hamam to wash away the long travel day. The hamam is in the older alley-riddled quarter of the town nearest the harbor.
I went in at about The bath is a standard hamam with modern embellishments: Before long, I found the emptiness meditative and the heat just right. He conducted the kese entirely with me seated rather than lying down, which I found refreshing.
Maybe in Sivas they have a different style. As the Turkish elections were just around the corner, he also regaled me with his views on Turkish politics and American politics and I found them to be equally refreshing. The kese was basic and fine. After I went back into the bath and a group of young men came in the bath, loud and boisterous, two by two. They, in fact, kept coming in, until there were ten or twelve, each sitting in their own area on the edge of the room near a basin.
I would say they were around years old, in the army. What I was first struck by was that young Turkish men still came to the bath at all. They were cavorting, using the plastic hamam bowls to whip water at each other, and chasing each other as best as they could on the slippery floor. Their shouts reverberated around the hamam, the wet plastered walls amplifying, their voices bouncing off the walls. Until then, like many other Turkish city-dwellers being used to single bathing in bathtubs and showers in their bathrooms, communal bathing had been an extraordinary activity for me.
This personal belief had mainly resulted from the collective cultural memory that considers the hamam as the only ethnographic figure representative of the Ottoman-Turkish bathing culture. At that moment, the hamam manager and employees stared at me strangely.