One big surprise of the trade mission delegation part of my recent trip to Paris, combined with my stay-in-touch-with-friends-meet-Paris business persons part of the trip, was a belated exposure to how great Turkish culture must be. [I was the only one in our group who had not been to Istanbul. I was on trip no. 13 to Paris, but, no, no trips to Istanbul.] This new awareness all started with a meeting we were scheduled to have at FATIAD, for the delegation to meet with thisgroup supporting "entrepreneurs franco-turcs." A Houstonian of Turkish descent in our group, just recently moved, I think, from Turkey and owner of a software company, was very concerned about the confusion about the food situation surrounding this morning meeting. We were scheduled to have breakfast there at the FATIAD offices. Then he heard that breakfast had been dropped from the agenda. This was very distrubing to him. I heard him say that this made no sense: no Turkish person would ever cancel an opportunity to eat.
Now, this is totally something I would be very concerned about as well: what is the food situation, and I hope I do not end up being hungry and no access to food for an unbearable about of time. The fact that he summed up his entire culture, and was highly preoccupied, out loud, about the breakfast situation really impressed me. I like this country. Suddenly, I was even more sad that I might be missing out on whatever a Turkish breakfast might be. I instead had coffee with our group in the giant business/tourist hotel (which was near to my alternate lodging arrangement but seemed worlds away from my charming Rue Cler cafe quartier, despite the downside of my cheap(er) and dark hotel room...), and then we were off in the shuttle.
We arrived at the FATIAD offices, and I was so very delighted to find set out before us a colorful array of Turkish pastries and adorable glassware all up and down the long conference table. Tea! Pastries! With the Paris sun shining in through the tall windows with the wrought iron balconies, and the table glistening with colorful pastries and glassware, well, I was just wondering how I could diplomatically excuse myself to remove my Invisalign appliance to dig in a-s-a-p. This thought consumed my attention for a good part of the presentation. I had to make do with the delicious mint tea in the meantime.
I don't understand how anyone could not be charmed by the water, the white platters of these lovely bright green - pistachio flavor? - delicacies, and what had to be baklava. No one else was eating! And they had no encumbrances to doing so as I did (except self-control I guess).
After imbibing all the delicious mint tea I could, I in the end was able to rid myself of the impediment to enjoying the food that had been so up in the air, and - wow. I don't know - as the only one in our group not familiar with Turkey - if it is a cultural standard for baklava to taste this way and this delicious. It was delicious because it was so not sweet. With the cloying sweetness not there, you could really enjoy the textures, the layers, the combination thereof.
And because the group hosting us was all men, I had to marvel that the men folk had put this all together: the selection of waters, the tea, the arrangement of the pastries. This just does not happen all that often in my little world in Austin, Texas. I've seen it, but on this scale, representing an entire culture, no. This is another vote for Turkish culture in my book.
I would have another such cultural pastry experience in Paris, just days later. In an extraordinary life-changing decision (just a slight exaggeration), all thanks to my new neighbor in Austin and her trip to Paris in March and a recommendation to her from American in Paris investment banker with exquisite French and intense Paris street cred, I branched out of my usual Paris groove and did something completely different - as I must try to do more often in Paris besides checking out new architectural monuments (bridges) and new wine bars and taquerias. I went for the hammam experience at O'Kari.
And, yes, you (it's women only) should go. You should save your bread money (and that is really saying something from me), and splurge on this experience. It is worth the 3-4 hours. It is worth the hefty price tag.
It is a "spa" exprience that combines a holistic view of a woman's mental, emotional well-being through a thorough steaming, cooling, steaming, cooling, then scrubbing, then fresh lemon juice all over the body, then more water all over, then a scrubbing with rose petal scents of the scalp, massaging of scalp in the scrubbing, then more steaming, then a finally-permitted series of plunges into the cool water of a "jacuzzi," alternating again then more steaming (I loved pouring the cool(er) water in the steam room over myself - do not forget to do that!), more cooling - with a fresh, light, thirst-quenching orange-essence beverage while sitting (yea, pretty much without garments this entire time) in the cool waters. Then, there is more steaming -- then they come summon you, in the blissed-out state, for a massage. On the massage table, as my mind drifted into complete lack of consciousness, I heard my caretaker whisper to me (in French): would you like some aromatic oils? Uh. Yea. Oils. More massage. A towel over the length of one's person for you to lie there. In complete and total peace. Alas, it is then time to rise, take the robe off the hook, slip into the thongs again, and be invited to lounge in the salon and take tea and - yes - pastries.
In this blissed-out state, with the pores on my face looking fantastic I think (which is to say, non-existent pretty much I hope - and, yes, they were quite taut), I sit, with two French women, in the lounge, curled up on the cushioned bench in my plush white robe, completely cleansed, and take mint tea. I hear from the owner expounding on the health benefits of this and the stupendous success of her spa in Paris - the rave reviews - the need for women to pay attention to the crisis their bodies are in with women drawn mentally and emotionally in so many directions. The need for women to so something for themselves - and utterly and completely for themselves - yet enjoy too the company and camaraderie of other women. I am so thinking, Amen sister.
And I help myself to two of the lovely pastries set out along the counter in this post-hammam moment. I was starving. The French ladies, they take none. This may be part of the Paris poundage problem I now face one week back from this amazing trip for business and long-term Paris planning, but, seriously, how often will I be lounging in a white robe drinking mint tea in Paris after 3-4 hours of such a ritual?? Actually, a lot I hope. I'm hooked. I cannot wait to go back.
