Hamam: a survivor's report

What could be better to round off a weekend of excess than a good scrub in the bath? In essence, that is what the Hamam is all about.

Having become acclimatised to the modest ways of the Middle East, with its strictly single sex spas, conservative dress codes and laws against PDAs (public displays of affection, not the mobile devices), I was more than a little dubious to receive a scrap of material and a towel without any specific instructions on how this ensemble was supposed to cover me up! Especially when I peered tentatively through the gap in the changing room door to see that the pool area on the other side was unisex. Horror struck, before I remembered I am in fact British and regularly wear less by the pool.

But obviously this modesty has permeated my mindset, because I was shocked to discover a unisex steam room where one man was doing very bizarre leg stretches and, on entering the scrubbing area, another guy happily lathering up. Fortunately he was cleared out and the door firmly locked before my treatment got under way.

From there onwards, it was a slightly surreal experience that has to be tried to be believed. At the same time invigorating and relaxing, I came out of the treatment room feeling like I was all brand new but ready for a good kip...though that might have also been as a result of the weekend. After sharing with the therapist (female - phew - and no moustache!) my three and a half words of Turkish, and the five phrases she knew in English, there was no needless chatter as my knotted muscles were pummeled and lathered. With all that soap around it took a fair amount of concentration not to go sliding off the marble slab though!

I left for the airport a layer of skin lighter, but feeling brighter and more relaxed for the experience. Much recommended.