The Turkish Bath - Petra Jordan

Petra is spectacular but it is dusty and hot; plus you walk miles when you visit – it’s a mile or more of walking just to get into the site, and your return is all up hill. I must have walked in and out of that site six times in the three days we were there.

Dusty day in Petra

So, when I saw the sign offering Turkish baths (Hammam) a few doors down from our hotel, I grabbed at it. I’d never had one before so wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve had a couple of memorable massages over the years, but that’s another story...

I walked in and was ushered into a changing room. A woman in a hijab sat outside. It turns out I should have worn swim pants. “Strip down to what you are comfortable with,” the man said - I had to go beyond that. I walked out holding my clothes strategically, wearing only my underwear and walked past the woman to my locker.

I entered the hot tub as quickly as I could - a young woman in a bathing suit was already there. As we both drank our fruit tea, I asked her where she was from. “Toronto,” she said – a surprise to neither of us!

Shortly, the woman in the hijab appeared and called the woman into a side room. At last, I sat alone in my boxers.

Petra @ Night - Candles in paper bags

“Mr Robert,” a voice called and my masseur Ali arrived. He led me to a room that, frankly, looked like a 19^th century morgue; filled with tomb-like marble ‘beds’. I climbed on one as I was told and led face down.

Ali quickly hosed me all over with hot water at some pressure, then rubbed and washed me all over with a large bar of soap. Following this, he scrubbed me with a coarse block. This was not entirely pleasurable – I am, to say the least, ticklish. But then he climbed up on top of the block and began pummelling and kneading me; pushing his fists and elbows into various knots and lumps. He climbed down, asked me to turn on my back and started all over again. I was helpless as he pulled on my arms and legs, yet as he threw me around I could feel the aches slipping away.

Donkey @ Roman Theatre - Petra

Finally it was over. “You can go and shower off in the corner,” he said, as he left me. But, this was easier said than done. Climbing down from a marble slab that, like me, is covered with soapy water is no mean feat. I slipped and slithered and somehow got back to the changing room without losing my soaking wet shorts.

I was glowing with an inner peace as I strolled back to the hotel …and, it didn’t hurt to be unfettered by underwear…

Chariot ride through the Siq - entry to Petra