When you are in is the sound of a few strokes more lukewarm moisture. The water poured from flat copper bowls on the bodies and on the marble, the water that collects in the basins. But it is above the falling drops with distance from the dome of the ceiling where they are concentrated vapors. Everything is so slow that you have the time to follow them as they fall off, stretch out and fall off leaving a small echo on the marble and the softness of the bodies. In these caskets of placenta fluffy women become deeply spiritual, away from the sight of men on and off from belligerence seductive. We in the West we are inundated with images that give us in any moment the idea of \u200b\u200ba perfect female body, young, healthy, clear, recognizable indefinitely without change. The bath contains precious but we have forgotten. When heat and water have now made the veins and the flesh soft, approaching women hammam spending their lives there to wash other women, her hair dripping, with lined faces and the rough ways of their work .
Their half-naked bodies are strong, solid and big breasts and tired. Yet rub on the backs big clouds of white soap. But the soap is soothing, not their hands. Their movements are away from the idea of \u200b\u200bsoftness with which Eastern you lie for the first time on the hot marble hammam. It takes strong hands and bend down to wash and scrub and the hot vapors rise up my breath. We understand their familiarity with the naked bodies on how you get around to the different environments and working with their drawers chipped, useless. Sometimes a break in between shifts meet to land in a small adjoining room, laughing with each other and playing with real laughter. In a women's hammam what unfolds is a woman's body, every woman who has come here to make a simple gesture, humble to his body, wash it. Besides the marble basins where water collects, which bloom and there are breasts others that stretch faded, but in the end it seems that every woman is recognized in the other, in what has been or will be and what every look at the bottom is languid and distracted. There 
the image of the female body coincides with the natural things of life, with what is happening without major remedies to stop its progress. It might surprise some to see how well you pass the soap in the folds of her belly felt, but at that gesture is evident as his presence as a woman, as it is, as each may be behind closed doors, clothes and the matters that lead to the streets. And so it is for young bodies. Even good ones are not arrogant. There would be too many warnings in the hammam. And for a look all the female breasts, with their different forms, in their cheeky, their frequent strabismus, are basically nothing more than breasts. Without the men and made large, soft vapor, those are just breasts. It happens sometimes that a mother brings with her child. Women are there to wash. Naturally our thoughts turn to what remains of these visions in a little of four years in his memories as an adult. Maybe bring a man in her life the memory of a woman arched her back under a long gray hair days may well be helpful, even to love.
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( The Gazette Istanbul, Year XVII, No. 12, December 2009)
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