The Arasan Baths: Where Soviet Architecture Meets Ancient Ritual (and You’ll Definately Need a Guide)
I used to think all hammams were basically the same—hot rooms, some scrubbing, maybe mint tea afterward.
Then I spent three hours at the Arasan in central Tashkent, and honestly, I’m still processing it. The building itself is this monumental Soviet-era structure that somehow manages to feel both imposing and oddly welcoming, with its blue-tiled facade that locals say was renovated sometime in the 1980s, give or take a few years. Inside, there’s a labyrinth of chambers—some Turkish-style, some Finnish sauna, some Russian banya—and the attendants will absolutely scrub layers of skin off you that you didn’t know existed. I watched a middle-aged German tourist turn legitimately pink after his kese mitt treatment, and the attendant just shrugged like this was normal. The men’s and women’s sections are completely separate, which surprised exactly no one familiar with Central Asian bathing culture, but here’s the thing: you need to bring your own towels and slippers, or you’ll pay roughly triple for the rentals.
The water comes from natural springs outside the city, or at least that’s what the pamphlet claims, and the main steam room reaches temperatures that make you question your life choices. Wait—maybe that’s the point? Anyway, it’s located on Bobur Street, walking distance from the Chorsu Bazaar.
Bodomzor Health Complex: The One That Feels Like a Spa Retreat (But Isn’t Quite)
Bodomzor sits on the outskirts, past the Tashkent TV Tower, in what feels like a resort area even though it’s technically still within city limits.
I guess it makes sense that this place caters more to Uzbek families than backpackers—there’s a whole complex with pools, massage rooms, and these private cabanas where groups gather for hours. The hammam itself is smaller than Arasan, more intimate, with marble surfaces that stay surprisingly cool even in the steam. I’ve seen people bring elaborate picnics to enjoy between bathing sessions, which felt bizarre at first but then kind of lovely. The scrub-down here is gentler, almost medical in its precision, and the staff speak better English than most places, probably because they get tour groups from South Korea and Japan fairly regularly. Prices fluctuate depending on season—winter is cheaper, apparently because fewer people want to drive out here when Tashkent gets buried in snow. The contrast between the scalding steam room and the cold plunge pool is genuinely shocking to the system.
Turns out your circulation improves dramatically, or so the attendant told me in a mix of Russian and broken English.
Historical Hammam on Zarkaynar Street: The Neighborhood Secret That Tourists Accidentally Stumble Into
This one doesn’t have a fancy name, which is part of its charm.
Locals just call it “the old hammam,” and it’s tucked behind a metalworking shop in a residential area where tourists almost never wander unless they’re very lost or very curious. The building dates back to the early 1900s, though parts have been rebuilt after the 1966 earthquake that flattened much of old Tashkent—you can still see the original brickwork in certain sections. Here’s the thing: it’s not luxurious, it’s not Instagram-worthy, but it’s probably the most authentic experience you’ll get. The changing room has wooden benches worn smooth by decades of use, the ceiling has water stains that management clearly stopped caring about sometime in the 1970s, and the whole place smells like eucalyptus and wet stone. I watched an elderly Uzbek man recieve a massage that looked borderline violent, and he emerged looking twenty years younger. The price is absurdly cheap—less than $5 for the full treatment—and they don’t really advertise because they don’t need to.
Everyone in the neighborhood already knows.
Oq Suv Hammam: The Modern Interpretation That Actually Works (Mostly)
Oq Suv opened maybe five years ago, and it’s clearly designed with international tourists in mind, which could’ve gone very wrong but somehow didn’t. The architecture blends traditional Uzbek tilework—those intricate blue and turquoise patterns you see everywhere in Samarkand—with contemporary minimalism, and the result is this bright, airy space that feels both rooted and fresh. They offer aromatherapy options, which feels slightly gimmicky until you realize the oils are locally sourced from Fergana Valley herbs, and suddenly it makes sense. The staff here are young, enthusiastic, sometimes overly so, and they’ll walk you through every step if you’re a first-timer, which I appreciated even though I’d been to hammams before. Wait—maybe I hadn’t been to one quite like this? The main steam room has fiber-optic lights embedded in the ceiling that mimic stars, which sounds tacky but actually creates this unexpectedly meditative atmosphere. Prices are higher than the neighborhood spots, roughly $25-30 for a full session, but they include tea service and these little honey pastries that are genuinely excellent. I guess the tradeoff is you lose some authenticity but gain comfort, and honestly, after a long day navigating Tashkent’s chaotic streets, comfort felt like a reasonable exchange.
