Istanbul’s historic baths keep hammam tradition alive

Istanbul’s historic baths keep hammam tradition alive
For centuries, hammams were central to Ottoman society, and while they fell out of use in Turkiye with the advent of running water. (AFP)
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Updated 13 November 2024

Istanbul’s historic baths keep hammam tradition alive

Istanbul’s historic baths keep hammam tradition alive
  • For centuries, hammams were central to Ottoman society, and while they fell out of use in Turkiye with the advent of running water

ISTANBUL: For centuries, hammams were central to Ottoman society, and while they fell out of use in Turkiye with the advent of running water, many are being restored to revive an ancient ritual bathing tradition.
Often featured in older Turkish films, hammam scenes are highly entertaining, with women not only bathing but enjoying these historical bathhouses as a place to socialize, eat, drink and even dance.
Last year, the 500-year-old Zeyrek Cinili Hammam — built during the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent by the celebrated Ottoman architect Sinan — reopened to the public after a painstaking 13-year restoration.
Alongside a functioning hammam, it also houses a museum explaining its history and the Ottoman ritual of bathing.
“The restoration somehow turned into an archaeological dig” that gave insight into how the hammam once looked, museum manager Beril Gur Tanyeli told AFP.
“Around 3,000 pieces of missing tiles were found which helped solve the puzzle of why this hammam was called Cinili” — Turkish for “covered with tiles.”
The beautiful Iznik tiles that once lined its walls were exclusively produced for the hammam, with no other bathhouse having such a rich interior, museum officials say.
Although most were damaged by fires or earthquakes, or sold off to European antique dealers in the 19th century, some are still visible.
The restoration also exposed several Byzantine cisterns beneath the hammam.
“Sinan the Architect is believed to have built the hammam on top of these cisterns to use them as a foundation and as a source of water,” Tanyeli said.

In ancient Rome, bathing culture was very important and it was “traditional for traders to wash before entering the city, especially in baths at the (city) entrance,” archaeologist Gurol Tali told AFP.
During the Ottoman empire, bathing culture had its golden age, with the ritual symbolising both bodily cleanliness and purity of soul.
In Islam, a Muslim must wash before praying, in an act known as ablution.
Hammams were also a place for celebrating births and weddings.
“Baths were used not only for cleansing the body but for socialising, relaxing, healing and even celebrating important life events,” with special rites for brides, soldiers and those who had undergone circumcision, Tali said.
Since households at the time did not have running water, hammams were an essential part of life until the 19th century, with census figures from 1638 showing there were 14,536 public and private baths in Istanbul, the museum says.
And that tradition has survived until today.
“You come here to get clean and leave handsome,” said Zafer Akgul, who was visiting one of the city’s hammams in the city with his son, telling AFP he visited often, particularly during religious feasts or for a wedding.
“We don’t want this tradition to die.”

That is where Istanbul’s ancient hammams can serve a bigger purpose, Tali said.
“Restoring historical baths in Istanbul and putting them to use may be the most effective way to transfer cultural heritage to future generations,” he said.
Another nearby bath house from the same era, the Beyazid II Hammam, underwent years of restoration and reopened as a museum in 2015.
One of the largest hammams in the city at the time, some historians believe it was where a notorious male bathing attendant, or “tellak,” called Halil plotted an uprising that in 1730 overthrew Sultan Ahmed III.
For Manolya Gokgoz, who does publicity for Cemberlitas Hammam, another 16th-century bathhouse built by the royal architect Sinan, the connection is more personal: her grandmother worked there as a “natir” — a woman’s bathing attendant.
“When I was two or three years old, I would go to the baths in the morning, wash and play by myself until the evening without getting bored,” she told AFP.
For Gokgoz, the tradition lives on — although mostly among tourists, which for her is a shame.
“In the past, we used to go to the hammam with our mothers and grandmothers. Now 70 percent of our customers are foreign tourists and 30 percent locals,” she said.
These days, the hammam experience — which lets bathers relax in hot, warm or cool pools alongside extras like massages or peeling — is quite expensive, with the basic service costing around $100.
Celebrities, both Turkish and international, often visit Cemberlitas, with the last being Spanish actor Pedro Alonso — the character Berlin in the Netflix hit “Money Heist” — who visited in September.
“Hammam is not a luxury, but a need,” Gokgoz said.
“Yes, it’s not like in the past because we have hot water at our fingertips, but we need to keep this tradition alive.”


Teen behind the Louvre heist ‘Fedora Man’ photo embraces his mystery moment

Teen behind the Louvre heist ‘Fedora Man’ photo embraces his mystery moment
Updated 09 November 2025

Teen behind the Louvre heist ‘Fedora Man’ photo embraces his mystery moment

Teen behind the Louvre heist ‘Fedora Man’ photo embraces his mystery moment
  • A photo of Pedro Elias Garzon Delvaux at the Louvre on the day of the crown jewels heist had drawn millions of views
  • The image shows him in a fedora and three-piece suit, sparking online speculation that he was a detective or even AI-generated

PARIS: When 15-year-old Pedro Elias Garzon Delvaux realized a photo of him at the Louvre on the day of the crown jewels heist had drawn millions of views, his first instinct was not to rush online and unmask himself.
Quite the opposite. A fan of Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot who lives with his parents and grandfather in Rambouillet, 30 kilometers from Paris, Pedro decided to play along with the world’s suspense.
As theories swirled about the sharply dressed stranger in the “Fedora Man” shot – detective, insider, AI fake – he decided to stay silent and watch.
“I didn’t want to say immediately it was me,” he said. “With this photo there is a mystery, so you have to make it last.”
For his only in-person interview since that snap turned him into an international curiosity, he appeared for the AP cameras at his home much as he did that Sunday: in a fedora hat, Yves Saint Laurent waistcoat borrowed from his father, jacket chosen by his mother, neat tie, Tommy Hilfiger trousers and a restored, war-battered Russian watch.
The fedora, angled just so, is his homage to French Resistance hero Jean Moulin.
In person, he is a bright, amused teenager who wandered, by accident, into a global story.
From photo to fame
The image that made him famous was meant to document a crime scene. Three police officers lean on a silver car blocking a Louvre entrance, hours after thieves carried out a daylight raid on French crown jewels. To the right, a lone figure in a three-piece suit strides past – a flash of film noir in a modern-day manhunt.
The Internet did the rest. “Fedora Man,” as users dubbed him, was cast as an old-school detective, an inside man, a Netflix pitch – or not human at all. Many were convinced he was AI-generated.
Pedro understood why. “In the photo, I’m dressed more in the 1940s, and we are in 2025,” he said. “There is a contrast.”
Even some relatives and friends hesitated until they spotted his mother in the background. Only then were they sure: The Internet’s favorite fake detective was a real boy.
The real story was simple. Pedro, his mother and grandfather had come to visit the Louvre.
“We wanted to go to the Louvre, but it was closed,” he said. “We didn’t know there was a heist.”
They asked officers why the gates were shut. Seconds later, AP photographer Thibault Camus, documenting the security cordon, caught Pedro midstride.
“When the picture was taken, I didn’t know,” Pedro said. “I was just passing through.”
Four days later, an acquaintance messaged: Is that you?
“She told me there were 5 million views,” he said. “I was a bit surprised.” Then his mother called to say he was in The New York Times. “It’s not every day,” he said. Cousins in Colombia, friends in Austria, family friends and classmates followed with screenshots and calls.
“People said, ‘You’ve become a star,’” he said. “I was astonished that just with one photo you can become viral in a few days.”
An inspired style
The look that jolted tens of millions is not a costume whipped up for a museum trip. Pedro began dressing this way less than a year ago, inspired by 20th-century history and black-and-white images of suited statesmen and fictional detectives.
“I like to be chic,” he said. “I go to school like this.”
In a sea of hoodies and sneakers, he shows up in a three-piece suit. And the hat? No, that’s its own ritual. The fedora is reserved for weekends, holidays and museum visits.
At his no-uniform school, his style has already started to spread. “One of my friends came this week with a tie,” he said.
He understands why people projected a whole sleuth character onto him: improbable heist, improbable detective. He loves Poirot – “very elegant” – and likes the idea that an unusual crime calls for someone who looks unusual. “When something unusual happens, you don’t imagine a normal detective,” he said. “You imagine someone different.”
That instinct fits the world he comes from. His mother, Félicité Garzon Delvaux, grew up in an 18th-century museum-palace, daughter of a curator and an artist – and regularly takes her son to exhibits.
“Art and museums are living spaces,” she said. “Life without art is not life.”
For Pedro, art and imagery were part of everyday life. So when millions projected stories onto a single frame of him in a fedora beside armed police at the Louvre, he recognized the power of an image and let the myth breathe before stepping forward.
He stayed silent for several days, then switched his Instagram from private to public.
“People had to try to find who I am,” he said. “Then journalists came, and I told them my age. They were extremely surprised.”
He is relaxed about whatever comes next. “I’m waiting for people to contact me for films,” he said, grinning. “That would be very funny.”
In a story of theft and security lapses, “Fedora Man” is a gentler counterpoint – a teenager who believes art, style and a good mystery belong to ordinary life. One photo turned him into a symbol. Meeting him confirms he is, reassuringly, real.
“I’m a star,” he says – less brag than experiment, as if he’s trying on the words the way he tries on a hat. “I’ll keep dressing like this. It’s my style.”