The Hamam in Safronbolu

I hesitate to write this article. Safronbolu is one of the most charming towns in the world and it was known by few until recently. A recent Blue Planet television program exposed it to millions, so I imagine that many more are putting it on their itinerary. I would prefer that it be kept a secret.

When we were there in 1999, two Australians were the only other tourists in town. We stayed in a hotel where the air conditioning in the main room was a big pool of cool water.

The old part of Safronbolu is a small town with narrow streets nestled in a valley. In fact, its name means saffron valley.

It used to be on the silk trade routes years ago, and being there was being transported back in time to a gentle, relaxed pace.

The focal point of the town seemed to be the local hamam, a centuries-old Turkish bath.

When we were there, for about six dollars you could feel like a million. This was price of the full treatment consisting of the bath, a shampoo, a defoliation of skin and a massage.

Turkish baths are sort of like saunas, but wetter. You sit on a hot marble slab and sweat all of the impurities out of you. There is a section for men and another for women.

The most interesting part of the experience of my purification was the people who worked there. They were a husband and wife team who looked after their section of the hamam. Both were deaf mutes.

After about 45 minutes being baked on a marble griddle, I emerged into a cooler room and reclined onto a marble table for my massage. As I lay on my tummy, muscular hands grabbed at my muscles. The were sensitive at first and I let out a yelp. Then I realized that the man in charge probably couldn’t hear me or see my painful face. I’m sure he felt the sound in his hands and he could see me writhing like a snake. I turned my head and he made a motion with his hands that this pain was good. As he worked all of the knots out, his prediction came true. I emerged from the bath totally relaxed.

As I walked through the door with my tormenter, he saw his wife in front of the women’s section. Then I saw it. Unable to speak with their mouths or hear, he gave her a glance that gently shouted his affection for her. It was returned with the same intensity. You could see the love that passed between them.

I have fond memories of Safranbolu, but it is strange that my strongest is of a couple’s glance at each other, a communication that was much more powerful than the words anyone could speak. And it took two people who couldn't speak to show me that.