Raki is also a Turkish test of fortitude — one I was determined to pass. With each glass I drank, Elif, our waiter and what felt like everyone in the restaurant cheered me on, and soon my mind was as cloudy as my drink (110 lira for three). Luckily, the Grand Hotel de Londres was only a stumble away.
I awoke Sunday having narrowly avoided a crushing hangover. Rejuvenation was in order, Turkish style — I needed a bath. Istanbul's oldest bathhouse is Cemberlitas Hamami, built in 1584, but I was betting that Cagaloglu Hamami, a sprightly 265, would be less crowded with raki-racked Westerners.
I was right: Cagaloglu, which has separate facilities for men and women, was nearly empty. I ordered the Complete Oriental Luxury Service (60 lira), and after changing into a towel was led into the hamam by a tubby older man. The interior was steamily beautiful, all marble floors and elegant arches, with beams of sunlight shooting in from holes in the high dome.
My attendant let me sweat in a hot antechamber for 10 minutes, then placed me on a ledge under the dome and proceeded to lather, scrub, rinse, rub, knead, shampoo, stretch, step on and otherwise manhandle my naked body.
An hour later, I wobbled back to the changing area, drank a glass of orchard-fresh orange juice and plopped into the chair of a barber, who trimmed my beard and deftly shaved my neck while hacking a painful smoker's cough. "Allah, Allah!" he'd mutter after each spasm.
Tips and the trim cost me an extra 56 lira, but as I strode out into the ancient city, it seemed a small price to pay to feel like a brand-new man.
Total: 773 lira (or about US$498.70).
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