In Berlin, I met my first modern
bathhouses, places created intentionally for this generation, the
daughters of those cultural edifices reaching out to us from
Tradition. Intercultural lovestories and our modern access to
everything actually can, I'm grateful to say, create spaces of beauty
and healing. Berlin shines in my mind as a hopeful answer from many
directions.
Hamam is a women's bathhouse, embedded
in a larger women's community center, all of which is housed in what
used to be a chocolate factory just to the east of the Wall. The
neighborhood is lively and human-scale, though the architecture is
made of bland Bloc blocks. As I walked from the train station, the temperature dropped by degrees, and powdery snow fell. Down a alley into a courtyard used in the
warm months for sunning and sipping, Hamam already feels tucked away
and special. I rang a blue doorbell and was welcomed into a jeweled
oasis, and by far the sweetest bathhouse I have ever relaxed in.
It's beautiful inside, warm light,
white plaster arches and the scent of honey and tea. A theme of
couches and pillows begins in the welcome room and is repeated in
every part of the hamam that isn't actively wet. The walls are
studded with colored glass lamps, reproductions of romantic-era hamam
paintings and photographs of modern hamams in action. In the upper
lounge, there is a large bookshelf for browsing, and a counter with
astringent tea and oranges to buy and massages to schedule. The
changing room is a logistical afterthought, lockers in a curtained
hallway. Everyone after is wrapped in huge fluffy towels, their own
robes or pestemals (soft plaid fabric worn like a sarong, or Indian
lungi.) Women carry their potions and tools in duffel bags or
baskets. Carpeted stairs wind down to curtained glass doors and the
baths.Within the hamam itself the air is warm and lights softer, and
the ceiling hung with glowing fabrics. The couches, deep as twin
beds, are upholstered in vinyl, piled with pillows, and every few
feet supplied with throw blankets. Women sit and doze and read and
chat softly, rosy from bathing and relaxed.
Past the resting room, narrow halls
decorated with tile mosaic branch to massage rooms, sauna and cold
shower, and the beating heart of the hamam: the bellystone room.
Little bells of falling water ring off
the raw marble walls from the deep
marble sinks set into alcoves. The air is dim and warm and carries
light scents of lemon and rose. The domed ceiling holds a
gold-flecked floral mosaic rosette in blues and greens, and round
frosted skylights. The bellystone, an octagonal slab of polished
marble and bigger than a king-sized bed, fills the space at
knee-height. I lay my towel on the stone and lay myself on the towel,
and warmth began pouring into my skin. The bellystone is not hot, but
warm like an electric blanket, enough to prompt sweat but also enough
to provoke absolute contentment. After a very few moments I was
drifting, melted like butter.
Eventually, I wandered to an alcove,
filled a sink with warm water, and used a silver bowl and soft cloth
to douse and polish myself clean. I was visiting Hamam on “children's
day” (it was also my birthday) and for the first time, I got to see
what babies think of bathhouses. Giggling and splashing, shining
pinkly after their bath, curled napping between reclining women on
the bellystone, melted like little pats of butter. In no particular
order, and with as much repetition as desired, the activities of the
bellystone room seem to rotate around this dousing and dosing, and as
the hours slip by, all bodies ease into a languid, liquid comfort. I
did visit the sauna down the hall (small and wooden in classic
Finnish homage, 80 degrees and filled with heavy lemongrass steam)
but stayed only long enough to admire the efficient layout. The pace
of the hamam was so contrary to extremes, I didn't miss sweating at
all.
Hamam offers its tickets in 3-hour increments. I usually find I'm done with my bathing routines somewhere around 2 hours, and then I bounce or slide out of the bathhouse feeling rejuvenated and fresh. At Hamam, I spent a post-bath hour curled up on their magnificent couches, sipping tea and looking at the pictures in German magazines. During the extra time relaxing, the warmth and softness from the bellystone worked its way deeper under my skin, releasing tension and resolving my body into balance. When I finally left, snow was sticking, and it was colder still, but I was completely warm. I was warm for hours after.
Hamam: Bathing in the Chocolate Factory Women's Center
Hamam: Bathing in the Chocolate Factory Women's Center
