Naked and Foreign in Istanbul

'My body is a temple'... I whisper to myself as I undress and slip on a pair of elasticated, barely there knickers I was given upon entry to the Hamam.

I mutter it under my breath lying in a pool of soapy bubbles as a semi naked Turkish woman presses her hands into knots in my back. I am being observed by another naked customer. 

I stare at the dome ceiling and count the coloured lights as my limbs are scrubbed raw and I am subjected to luxury. This is the life?

The whole experience was absurd. The main reason why it was so absurd, to me at least, was the nakedness of everyone in the room and the sheer lack of decency. Yet, no one batted an eyelid at the infinite nudity, or the tastefully lacy underwear my masseur paraded around. 

In Istanbul, it is relatively westernised and the average tourist can expect to comfortably wear semi revealing clothing. Of course, there are inevitably women who wear full coverings. In fact, there is a whole spectrum of lengths to which women cover up their bodies in Istanbul. Reasons may be religious. Reasons may be because the woman feels self-conscious or perhaps she is wary of the male gaze. On my first day here I opted to wear long trousers and a long sleeved top. Other women around me were comfortably wearing shorts and vest tops. I know I would feel slightly uncomfortable in shorts and a vest top. That is nothing in comparison to how I felt in the Hamam.
But, I think about how unperturbed I was by the other semi-naked women in the Hamam apart from my astonishment by how at ease they were. I think about how women should not be self conscious of their bodies in public because other women do not judge as much as they think. Nor is the male gaze the fault of the woman being stared at. So, we shouldn't be so afraid to wear what we like.

I have come to realise how ridiculous self-consciousness can be sometimes. Why should I be uncomfortable in the situation I was in?  The naked body is natural, and, especially in the presence of other woman with similar bodies and concerns, I should feel completely at ease. But, it's different in public and in the Hamam, even though I felt as though I was counting the minutes until I didn't have to be almost naked in a public sauna.

I suppose I am writing this in order to try and work out why it seemed to be such a surreal experience. I suppose it was a culture shock. This is part of travelling.
I felt the need to share this experience with others. I'm very glad that I simply decided to just go and do it. I was very far from my comfort zone but that's where life begins: the moment you step out of your comfort zone. Despite my discomfort, I would do it again.

When you visit another country where the culture is significantly different, you have to be mentally naked. You have to be open minded, like a sponge, ready to adapt and soak in the culture and customs and atmosphere. That may include getting naked and being washed or wearing a chador so I can enter a mosque. It's pointless getting a McDonald's when you can authentically try one of the best cuisines in the world. I urge everyone to embrace the culture wherever they go. If you don't like it, you never have to do it again.

Why I Don't Mind Looking Like a Tourist

One thing that resonated in my journal over my inter-railing trip was the way in which the people make a city; not only the locals but the tourists, not only the permanent residents but the visitors make the city. I am predominantly interested in the culture, in the way that I am almost invading someone else's home. I am fascinated by the way that I could be standing or sitting in the spot that someone had their first kiss, got engaged or found out they were a grandparent. I arrived in each city knowing only about the iconic views and the famous sights. Sightseeing is by no means the be all and end all of travelling.

On the way back to London from Paris, my fellow travellers and I read each other's recordings of the trip. I noticed that I was the only one who noted down our encounters with people.

Of course, my fascination with people watching is evident from previous blog posts and perhaps this is an extension of that thought process.

Our only unfortunate encounters were a little too frequent. As a group of three girls we had more than our fair share of catcalls or unwanted male attention. However, we were also approached by friendly male travellers. We met two Canadian boys on the way from Vienna to Prague and two slightly more than friendly Australian boys in Amsterdam (see below). I enjoyed the unity that formed when we, fellow traveller, Callum from Manchester and a German student were forced to fit into a six seater compartment where eight resided.

I was astounded at the friendliness of one traveller to another. In Vienna, we were caught in a group photo when a party of Turkish tourists lined up next to us. After meekly edging away we were invited to join the group photo and even take selfies with them. One man kissed our hands before departing. 

In Prague, a man offered to give us a free segway trial run: kindness in a different form.

Sometimes, overhearing English tourists relieved home sickness for a little time. Whilst bizarre, they made me laugh. In Budapest, walking past a violinist, a tourist behind me chirped 'do you think he knows any Dizzee Rascal?'.
A man in Berlin took a look at the Brandenburg gate and asked 'Is this where Hitler what done his speech?'.

I admired how much music brought people together. At the station in Amsterdam there was a piano open to the public to be played. Every time I walked past, someone was playing their heart out, singing at the top of their voice. A piano also rested on the top floor of Shakespeare and Company in Paris. No one was playing but the sentiment was there. I was still charmed by the knowledge of the piano's musical past.
Dancing was prominent in Paris. At the Sacre Coeur, a man with headphones was dancing on his own in the middle of the steps facing the magnificent view of the city skyline. Whilst he was gyrating his hips with added occasional thrusting, I was just glad he was enjoying himself.
On the evening of our second night in Paris, a group of dancers were tangoing at sunset opposite the Eiffel Tower. Two men in matching anoraks joined in, or at least attempted to copy the dancers. Their intoxicated bodies tripping over themselves created a new dance in itself.

Of course there are the places where the presence of others makes little difference. There are places, that I believe, have innate charm. Whilst affected by the people, they are beautiful in solitude or bustling with tourists. Shakespeare and Company held innate charm for me. I especially adored Prague Beer Garden. We sat at sunset by the river drinking Czech beer whilst music played behind us. I feel as though I would have enjoyed this in solitude or in company.