Turkey’s hammams return as living heritage, not just tourist attractions

Once essential to daily life in Ottoman cities, Turkey’s public bathhouses—known as hammams—are finding new purpose in a modern world that no longer relies on communal spaces for hygiene. 

While the advent of indoor plumbing dimmed their original function, a wave of restorations across Istanbul has brought these centuries-old structures back into focus—not just as relics, but as living cultural sites.

The most high-profile example is the Zeyrek Cinili Hammam, which reopened in 2024 after a 13-year restoration effort. Built in the 16th century during the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent, the hammam was the work of Mimar Sinan, the empire’s most celebrated architect. 

Today, it stands as both a functioning bathhouse and a museum, offering visitors a glimpse into the layered history of ritual bathing in the Ottoman world.

“The restoration turned into a kind of archaeological mission,” says Beril Gur Tanyeli, who manages the museum space attached to the hammam. 

Excavation beneath the site revealed several Byzantine cisterns—vast underground reservoirs once used for water storage. “Sinan likely designed the hammam to rest on these cisterns, using them both structurally and as a water source,” she adds.

A Ritual That Endures

Bathing has deep roots in the region, stretching back to Roman times, when travelers were expected to wash before entering a city. Under the Ottomans, the tradition evolved into a social and spiritual act. Hammams were more than practical—they were places for community bonding, pre-wedding rituals, and postpartum celebrations. Islamic ablution practices, which require washing before prayer, further embedded the hammam into daily life.

At its peak in the 17th century, Istanbul had more than 14,000 public and private bathhouses, according to archival records. That number has dwindled drastically, but the symbolic weight remains.

“Going to the hammam was part of growing up,” recalls Manolya Gokgoz, who now works with the 16th-century Cemberlitas Hammam, another Sinan creation. “Today, about 70% of our guests are foreign tourists. But locals are returning too—some seeking nostalgia, others just wanting to disconnect.”

In 2025, the experience is less necessity and more luxury. A full session—access to hot, warm, and cool rooms, often paired with massages and skin treatments—can easily exceed $100. Still, for many, the appeal lies in the continuity of the experience, rather than just relaxation.

“Yes, it’s not like before—we all have hot water at home now,” Gokgoz admits. “But these spaces still matter. They remind us of a different rhythm of life.”

Revival, Not Reenactment

The renaissance of the hammam is not limited to Zeyrek or Cemberlitas. The Bayezid II Hammam, just a short walk away, was restored and reopened as a museum in 2015. And more restorations are in the pipeline, fueled by a combination of state funding, private initiatives, and growing public interest in cultural heritage preservation.

This renewed focus comes amid broader conversations about how to sustain living traditions without turning them into tourist caricatures. For many heritage advocates, the goal is clear: the hammam shouldn’t become a static museum piece, nor should it be reduced to a spa day with Ottoman wallpaper.

Instead, Turkey’s remaining bathhouses are being positioned as multi-use spaces—where one can bathe, reflect, and understand the architecture, history, and social dynamics that once defined an empire.

In Istanbul’s layered urban fabric, the hammam survives not just as a luxury or a memory—but as an echo of a culture that prized both physical and spiritual cleanliness. 

And in a world speeding toward digital abstraction, a centuries-old steam room may still offer something modern life lacks: a pause.