IN THE words of the Greek philosopher Heraclitus: “You cannot step into the same river twice.”
And sometimes two experiences are as different as they can possibly be – as I discovered when I visited not one, but two Turkish bath houses in Istanbul.
I visited the first after a hot and grumpy morning among plodding swarms of cruise passengers in the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque and the Topaki Palace.
The 300-year-old Cagaloglu Hamam is down a side street past the entrance to the Basilica Roman Cistern. The entrance is decorated with gorgeous pictures of Kate Moss, naked and glistening on the stone slab. Florence Nightingale and Edward VIII were visitors to this Turkish bath, which is one of the oldest in the city.
I signed up for an exotic foam massage – which turned out to be one of the most blissful hours I have ever spent in my life. The masseuse was, quite simply, a genius.
After I had lain for 20 minutes on a giant stone table in the steam this marvellous woman did the most amazing things with a bar of soap, a bucket of warm water and some ripped up pieces of loofah. It was impossible to work out exactly what she was up to – my eyes were shut and I was covered in bubbles – but it was utterly marvellous.
When I eventually floated back out into the street I overheard a couple of tourists saying: “Wow – let’s have whatever she just had.”
Were all the masseuses of Istanbul so talented? I started making serious plans to move to Turkey.
But I came back to earth with a clatter when I visited Cemberlitas – another of Istanbul’s most famous baths. Sadly the masseuse here was no gentle genius – but a hefty bad tempered madam straight out of Benny Hill, who seemed to enjoy poking me, slapping me and dousing me in cold water. She even started singing what sounded like a sarcastic song.
I don’t think I’ve ever come across a more extreme illustration of the difference between good and terrible customer service. But at least I don’t have to figure out a way to move to Turkey.