I’m in Cyprus at the moment, staying with Cath and having a lovely time.

Yesterday, we went exploring in Nicosia, the capital, which is delightful. A little research had revealed a hidden gem, the Hamam Omerye, a traditional bathhouse. Dating from the 14th century, it’s been restored recently, capturing a Europa Nostra award (Europe’s top gong for conservation) in 2006. We were lucky, in that bathing is usually single-sex; Monday is the only “couples” day.

The place is a delight, a haven from the heat and bustle of the world outside – all fluffy towels and relaxing massages. The Hamam bath itself is a set of seven rooms, each at a different temperature; one sits (or lies) on the hot stone benches, unwinding, scrubbing oneself (or one’s partner) gently in the warm waters. It’s quite gorgeous.

Of course, as we relaxed, I told tale of the sultan in Ottoman times. The girls of his harem would have been sent here to bathe, no doubt. No towels to cover his young ladies in those days, of course; as a result, the marks of his displeasure would be plain to see, a lesson to all.

Yet one new girl had clearly not learnt said lesson: she’d displeased the sultan, and her fate awaited her: “You are to report to his chamber on your return from the bathhouse.” She’d plead for his mercy, but she knew that none would be forthcoming. By tomorrow, she’d be the one wearing fresh stripes from his whip as she bathed naked with the others.

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