The History of Sex: Istanbul -- Entering the Harem (Privates Intact) -- (Chap. II, Pt. 5)

Last time I was in Istanbul, when I read that the Ottoman Harem was still standing—and that it was open to the likes of me—I responded the same way as in Pompeii: I beat a path to the Old City, even though I was only passing through.

Now, obviously, my fascination with this sort of thing raises some potentially disturbing questions about my own psyche.

All I can say is that the Harem of Topkapi Palace is one of those truly unique places that allow you to peer into history and glimpse how people before us lived and died (often in manners most horrible).

What's more, past generations of foreigners could only dream of setting foot in the sultans' very own garden of earthly delights.

Your guide looking far too pleased with himself
about being allowed into the Harem

The few men who entered did so at the cost of their manhoods—there were three degrees of castration—and most of the women had either been captured as literal war booty or pimped by their parents for consumption by a hairy doughball of an emperor.

So it's a real privilege to be able to saunter through the Palace of Felicity unmolested.

BY MOHAMMED'S BEARD

Throw in the fact that the building next door supposedly houses relics of Mohammed himself—including whiskers from his beard, a cast of his footprint, and his sword and mantle—and it's obviously a must-see. 

Hairs from Mohammed's beard?

Not that you'd know it.

The Harem sits in an unassuming building marked with a small museum sign—and dozens of tourists unwittingly lining up to be bored out of their minds.

For what should be one of the most fascinating experiences on the planet ranks right up there with the most frustrating.

And I should know—I've been through the Harem three times, on different days, with different guides, each time hoping that it would live up to the seraglio's past. Instead, the mandatory tour is a wasted opportunity, seemingly devised by someone who hates the Ottomans or has an autistic taste for names and dates but can't cope with the messy stuff that puts the 'story' into 'history.'

Even with an audioguide—and a flesh-and-blood guide—the knowledge imparted is of the historical anorak variety, telling you everything you don't need to know and very little that you might actually want to know: 'Here we can see the bath,' says the guide, in a chirpy voice that pings off the tiles. 'Which is where the sultan bathed.'

The sultan's toilet,
which is where the sultan...