On Friday my friend and I, after practicing yoga, decided to go to the Hammam that I had read about. Described by the Lonely Planet as "a gorgeous Mamluk-era bathhouse" whose name means "the bath of the Samaritans", the Hammam is reputed to be over 1000 years old.
We headed off in a battered taxi to the Zeitoun Quarter of the Old City- a characterful place with a gold-market and a warren of lanes off the main road. We found the Hammam tucked down a lane just off the main road with the assistance of two locals who became a little too helpful- perhaps the request for directions has an altogether more suggestive meaning here? When one tried to put his arm around my friend's shoulders I used the magic word "Haram", which translates roughly as forbidden or sinful - it worked a treat and they scarpered.
It soon became clear that the baths weren't open -Friday is holy day here and most places are closed- a bit like Sunday in Ireland 30 years ago. Disappointed, we wandered around a little while and then went for compensatory treats of lemon and mint juice and shisha in Al Deira, which we knew would be open.
The next day, after yoga, we determinedly set off again. The wooden door of what was, from the outside at least, an unremarkable building, stood invitingly open. Descending to 3 meters below street-level we walked down a narrow, dimly-lit passage whose marble-flagged floor was yellowed with age. The passage opened into a stunningly beautiful atrium, its domed roof illuminated by coloured glass insets which threw shafts of diffuse light onto the mosaic floor below. We were greeted by an elderly man sitting sentinal at the door to the baths. He allowed us to take photos of the exquisite atrium but then insistently made us hand over our cameras- no photos in the bathing area- fair enough!
Having been directed through a curtain, we walked down a hall and turned a corner only to be greeted by a row of women in undies wearing face masks and sitting in the gentle warmth of an ante-room. The women greeted us, introducing themselves and repeating our names as we introduced ourselves- they were curious about these two foreign women in a pleasant, interested way. One woman spoke English well, fortunate for us as we did not know what the procedure was: what do do and where to go. I changed into the clothes I had brought for the experience- vest and leggings only to be told that I was wearing too many clothes- this is a first for me in Gaza. The inner sanctum, all the space this side of the curtain, was administered by a formidable matriarch who, for a small charge, dispensed massages, facials and hair treatments.
Having purchased a buffer each, my friend and I went into the baths proper, through a heavy door to a cavernous space, marble flagged floor and vaulted ceiling crowned with another light-speckled dome. The searing heat whacked us in the face the second we stepped through the door, the baths are heated in the traditional way, by wood burning stoves and aqueducts. Having explored the many nooks and crannies off the main area we puzzled as to where to sit. Our English-speaking friend came to the rescue - we were to wash in one of the many deep marble basins that lined the walls, buff ourselves, lie on the floor and then repeat the exercise. The floor was scorching and the room filled with steam, but it was surprisingly relaxing as we surrendered to the experience. When I had as much as I could bear, I filled a small metal basin with deliciously cold water, doused myself and repeated the exercise.
I'm not going to go into all the details as what made the visit so special, in part, was this private, shared women's space. Suffice to say we spent two hours there being pampered, chatting and preening ourselves.
It was like watching the trick of an wonderful illusionist to see the women, when preparing to leave, transform into the public versions of themselves. Two of the young women donned niqabs- exquisite presents wrapped in the plainest of paper that gave no clue as to what treasure was underneath.
Hammam al-Samara was precious for the sensory experience alone, but experiencing this ancient culture, in this ancient place was a pure privilege. I feel like I have been initiated into a new sisterhood.
We headed off in a battered taxi to the Zeitoun Quarter of the Old City- a characterful place with a gold-market and a warren of lanes off the main road. We found the Hammam tucked down a lane just off the main road with the assistance of two locals who became a little too helpful- perhaps the request for directions has an altogether more suggestive meaning here? When one tried to put his arm around my friend's shoulders I used the magic word "Haram", which translates roughly as forbidden or sinful - it worked a treat and they scarpered.
It soon became clear that the baths weren't open -Friday is holy day here and most places are closed- a bit like Sunday in Ireland 30 years ago. Disappointed, we wandered around a little while and then went for compensatory treats of lemon and mint juice and shisha in Al Deira, which we knew would be open.
The next day, after yoga, we determinedly set off again. The wooden door of what was, from the outside at least, an unremarkable building, stood invitingly open. Descending to 3 meters below street-level we walked down a narrow, dimly-lit passage whose marble-flagged floor was yellowed with age. The passage opened into a stunningly beautiful atrium, its domed roof illuminated by coloured glass insets which threw shafts of diffuse light onto the mosaic floor below. We were greeted by an elderly man sitting sentinal at the door to the baths. He allowed us to take photos of the exquisite atrium but then insistently made us hand over our cameras- no photos in the bathing area- fair enough!
Having been directed through a curtain, we walked down a hall and turned a corner only to be greeted by a row of women in undies wearing face masks and sitting in the gentle warmth of an ante-room. The women greeted us, introducing themselves and repeating our names as we introduced ourselves- they were curious about these two foreign women in a pleasant, interested way. One woman spoke English well, fortunate for us as we did not know what the procedure was: what do do and where to go. I changed into the clothes I had brought for the experience- vest and leggings only to be told that I was wearing too many clothes- this is a first for me in Gaza. The inner sanctum, all the space this side of the curtain, was administered by a formidable matriarch who, for a small charge, dispensed massages, facials and hair treatments.
Having purchased a buffer each, my friend and I went into the baths proper, through a heavy door to a cavernous space, marble flagged floor and vaulted ceiling crowned with another light-speckled dome. The searing heat whacked us in the face the second we stepped through the door, the baths are heated in the traditional way, by wood burning stoves and aqueducts. Having explored the many nooks and crannies off the main area we puzzled as to where to sit. Our English-speaking friend came to the rescue - we were to wash in one of the many deep marble basins that lined the walls, buff ourselves, lie on the floor and then repeat the exercise. The floor was scorching and the room filled with steam, but it was surprisingly relaxing as we surrendered to the experience. When I had as much as I could bear, I filled a small metal basin with deliciously cold water, doused myself and repeated the exercise.
I'm not going to go into all the details as what made the visit so special, in part, was this private, shared women's space. Suffice to say we spent two hours there being pampered, chatting and preening ourselves.
It was like watching the trick of an wonderful illusionist to see the women, when preparing to leave, transform into the public versions of themselves. Two of the young women donned niqabs- exquisite presents wrapped in the plainest of paper that gave no clue as to what treasure was underneath.
Hammam al-Samara was precious for the sensory experience alone, but experiencing this ancient culture, in this ancient place was a pure privilege. I feel like I have been initiated into a new sisterhood.
Dear Elaine,
ReplyDeleteReading about your Hammam al-Samara experience made me feel once more your enormous sensitivity & respect for this precious people & culture here.
After a long & hard working day, I'm always looking forward to find a new post in your blog. It's getting a facinating kaleidoscope of everyday life in the biggest open air prison on earth.
as one of the owner of hammam el samamra you are always welocme
ReplyDeleteThank you. I will be back in Gaza next spring and will certainly be returning to Hammam el Samara.
Delete