This morning after breakfast Coen and Vincent pay admission to see the Hagia Sophia before we head off to pick up our passports from the Pakistani Consulate. Having seen both the Hagia Sophia and Topkapi Palace, I recommend that this would take less time to see, and the admission price is lower too. I wait for them at the Hippodrome around noon.
I hope to see Ilio, that poor lost soul, but he isn't around today. I hope he is OK. It is cloudy and cooler today; a clear sign that winter is coming. I wonder what he will do when winter arrives. Traveling has shown to me on this trip that health and security are never guaranteed, and that life itself is sometimes precarious. Hopefully, mine won't be threatened over the next four months.
Coen and Vincent return. I ask if they enjoyed it and they nod, but not enthusiastically. I suspect they are not museum-going guys but, like me, it's just something one must see when he is here. We walk down to Eminonu to catch a bus up to Taksim Square again to get to the consulate.
Our passports are ready, though they keep us waiting half an hour for them. Coen and Vincent are each charged US$35 for their visas but mine is free. They look at me questioningly. "Did you give someone a blow job?" Vincent asks. "Definitely not," I answer. "They would have charged me for that." He and Coen enjoy giving me gentle ribbing over my gayness, and I rather like it too.
With our new visas in our passports, we hurry back to Sultanahmet to arrive at the Iranian Consulate before 2 pm to submit our applications for our Iranian visas, leaving our passports with our applications. We are told they could be ready in as little as three days, but they made no promises.
The consulate is on the same street as a hamam a Turkish bath called Cagaloglu Kadinlar Hamami. Vincent had noticed it yesterday and seeing it again he asks if Coen and I would like to go in. We do, and it is a memorable experience.
We check our clothes into lockers, but beyond this it bears no resemblance to any gay bath house I have been in. As with other bathhouses, there is always the mystique and allure of naked men and steam - "Gorillas in the Mist" (the gay version) - but this also has the exotic feel of an ancient stone hamam. Although it isn't gay, it is more home-erotic than gay saunas. There's more touch involved, and there's no haughty, judgmental gym bunnies walking around constant cruising and getting off by rejecting every advance with a sense of jaded fatigue.
A central room with a high, domed ceiling has a circular stone platform used for massage and relaxation. We are each assigned young men in their late teens who massage our muscles in the central room after we have spent time in the sauna. I am lying on my front feeling so pampered. I am so used to associating saunas with sex, that when I have touch like this from a handsome lad I have to do my best not to sprout a boner. 
After the massage, our boys lead us to one of the smaller side rooms where they scrub our backs and limbs ferociously to remove the dead skin. I suppose part of me loves being mauled, but it's a bit scary at times too. At some level, I think my young man is cleaning the dirty thoughts out of my imagination. He likes having control over an older man. He smiles a lot as he roughs me up. My skin is tingling and a tad raw by the time he is finished. When the scrubbing is done he rinses me by pouring large pails of water over my head continuously. I have a fear of drowning and a fear of smothering. I turn my face away from the spray when I shower because I don't like water in my face. I try to brave so not to panic in front of my young man but after a few pails I lose my composure and stop his hands from dumping the next pail over me. My young man enjoys my reaction and treats it like a game. Vincent and Coen and laughing too, and Vincent is teasing me, asking me what is wrong. I smile at my young man with his dark eyes and ready smile, his sparse whiskers sprinkled like pioneer settlers on his otherwise smooth face. My cock starts to swell when he looks at me kindly, so I signal him to keep pouring before he notices. If he does, he doesn't let on.
I am very relaxed when I get out of there, and ready for a nap. I return to the hostel while Coen and Vincent do to do errands. As I am lying here, I am trying to remember the last time I was in a gay-oriented space. I guess it was in Budapest. That seems like an eon ago. Istanbul is the first place since leaving Hungary that has had a gay establishment, or least one that is listed. Spartacus Guide lists a couple clubs and a gay steam bath - not the one we visited. I want check them out before I leave because I have no notes from the guide for Asia and I not see another gay establishment until I am back in Canada.
I must have snoozed off. I am dreaming of the young masseur in the hamam, making love to me with his hands, but suddenly he is shaking my shoulder. No, it's Coen waking me for dinner. We make our way down to the cafeteria where Vincent is already eating. I wonder if the Dutch boys get as lonely as I do on the road. They have girlfriends so they are probably not used to being without them, but then I have been traveling for more almost 8 months and they have been gone just a little over a month. I feel a bit awkward traveling with straight men because I'm not sure whether I should let my needs and feeling show. I have not had to live "under cover" for years. I suppose I should get used to it though since there will be little opportunity to be a gay man in Asia.
We go out this evening for drinks and desserts again. It feels like a tradition after three nights of it. I think the three of us are a good fit. I am looking forward to being on the road with them.
PHOTO 1: outside the Cagaloglu Kadinlar Hamam
PHOTO 2: the central massage room with domed ceiling
PHOTO 3: the scrub room
PHOTO 4: scene from the movie "Steam" ("Il Hamam" in Italian)
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