Istanbul, Why Not?

Part one of a four-part Istanbul saga.

As we’re running a bit behind enthralling you with our holiday trip, I’ve been charged to catch it up by introducing part of our Istanbul adventures. We arrived at Sabiha Gokcen International Airport, allegedly within Istanbul and 30 miles from our destination of Taksim, a major shopping and hotel district in Istanbul. However we rolled into Taksim Square a stuffy 2.5 hours later, confused and disoriented by the hallucinogenic mega-heater aboard the bus, (which we found with relative ease after I sat in a fountain I mistook for a bench.) Our hotel was not directly across the street of our dismembarkment point as told, but a short walk away which became a lengthy hunt upon the discovery that there were two hotels of the same name within half a mile of one another. Seemingly unaware of this issue, the first hotel was unable to give us clear directions to the second. We have a helpful taxi driver to thank for our eventual successful arrival at the Golden Age 2, a hotel whose staff no doubt hated us before the two weeks was out. But I digress.

As it was late we kept close to Taksim while searching for my favorite Turkish “fast” food, the pide (pronounced pidah.) It is the best of all worlds, as it’s like a pizza but within a boat-shaped pita, complete with melty cheesy goodness and topped with a special, spicy sausage called sucuk. Stuffed with pide, traditional lentil soup, and vinegar-soaked tomato/cucumber salad, a common favorite, we wandered the streets, taking in our new location.

Touring Istanbul on a budget and independent of tourist companies is common and our practice for most of our stay. However, so many guide groups exist and have apparently all decided to offer the exact same tours (with the same titles) at the same prices, so picking the right company usually depends on recommendations. Being part of a group enables you to navigate long lines at popular destinations and for those who love informative tidbits, like us, tour guides provide tons of extra  information. Far too early the next morning I called one of these companies, Plan Tours, as I had had a good experience with them in the past. We signed up for the “Ottoman Relics” half day tour but were mistakenly placed on a mini-bus destined for the “Istanbul Classics” expertly provided in both English and German (because Kevin simply had not had enough of that beautiful language). C’est la vie, we thought, and carried on with our small group to tour the Hippodrome, Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, and Grand Bazaar.

Sultanahmet Meydani houses remnants of Constantinople’s original Hippodrome used when it served as the capital of the Byzantine Empire. Renovating a previously built hippodrome was a pet project of Constantine, who, like many ruling men throughout history, had a propensity for large-scale building projects. Along with the oval shape of the surrounding area, certain monuments from the bygone era remain. Mounting stolen spoils taken from conquered nations, either through war or colonialism, has been in practice long before our beloved world-class museums ever built halls to accommodate such relics. The Hippodrome provides excellent examples as its Serpent Column was separated from its base in Delphi, where it acted as a celebratory monument of the Persian Wars. An obelisk in Egypt was chopped into three pieces, all but one lost to posterity. The remaining piece was erected in the Hippodrome.

Today the Hippodrome is a much beloved tourist destination not only for it’s history and beauty but because it’s sort of tacked onto a number of the guided tours. Thousands of tourists are ushered in, take their photos, and promptly bound off for the Blue Mosque opposite. On this day we were two of those tourists, tagged as such by our little, red, circular numbered stickers. We  returned to the Hippodrome later in the week to spend some quality time with this important historic ground. As our tour was a partially German, it is worth noting that German Emperor Wilhelm II visited Istanbul in 1898 and to show that he had a hell of a time, swiftly commissioned a fountain in 1900, which is also located in the Hippodrome. Built in Germany and transported to Istanbul piece by piece, it was a gift that was also a fun puzzle. Quite awesomely the fountain features Abdülhamid II's tughra, or seal, along with Wilhelm’s very creative mark of “W.”

From the Hippodrome we crossed the street to the grounds of the Sultanahmet Mosque, known as the Blue Mosque due to the thousands of blue tiles adorning the interior. Built between 1609 and 1617, the architecture encompasses two centuries of Ottoman and Byzantine development. We wandered through the forecourt to a short line where we removed our shoes and acquired a brochure about Islam. Walking soberly into the Mosque, one is immediately hit with the vast central space and the sense of wonder created by the over 20,000 handmade tiles. These were of the tulip design made in Iznik. After spending two  weeks in Istanbul, it is impossible not to learn about historic tile production and appreciate the regional and craftsmanship differences. Well, impossible for me and those who share my affinity for preindustrial workmanship…I digress again…

From Sultanahmet Mosque, and shod once again, we ventured to Hagia Sophia. I’ll admit that on my last visit to the famous church-made-mosque-made-museum I was not impressed. Harsh, I know. I appreciated its historical context and religious importance, but it did not resonate with me. This time, however, I fell in love with the structure and its surprise-filled morsels at every turn. Perhaps the tour guide was better. Perhaps the crowds were thinned. I can pinpoint that this go-around included much more information about the use of the building, the special  seating arrangements for the Sultan and his wife, and better vantage points from which to spot the famous mosaics depicting Christ and Christian imagery.

The story of the mosaics is really one of survival. Finished as an Orthodox basilica in 360, rebuilt in 415, and again in 532 (resulting in its current architecture) the Hagia Sophia and its  mosaics have overcome their fair share of turbulence. Between 532 and its becoming a mosque in 1453, the church withstood five earthquakes, the destruction of religious icons under Emperor Leo, fires, and crusade-related ransacks.  Talk about a rough millennia.

A dilapidated Hagia Sophia was inherited by the Ottoman Turks and refurbished into a Mosque. During this time many of the mosaics were covered with plaster. Later, researchers were allowed to uncover and document the hidden Christian icons, which afterward were recovered with paint. The most iconic of the mosaics today might be the Virgin and Child depicted on the apse. A symbol of religious tolerance, the image is directly above the qiblah wall. A striking angel mosaic caught my attention during the entirety of the visit, appearing to my eye as both a proud and tragic figure within the walls and context of Hagia Sophia.

At this point we were itching to remove our tour-group stickers, burning into us like brands. But, one stop to go; the Grand Bazaar. Now I love the Grand Bazaar because I love to shop, haggle, and eat. Our tour guide provided us with some maps of the massive, indoor marketplace and some free Turkish Delight then abandoned us to our own devices. I had forgotten how massive the intricate system of allies and side streets is within the Bazaar. We were lucky to arrive during a lull in the roughly 350,000 visitors a day, and navigated quite easily due to Kevin’s ability to keep my lust for shiny things at bay and on target. An actual shopping trip to the Bazaar occurred later in the week; this was a purely observational visit despite the best efforts of the pitch-men. Surrounded by a spectrum of goods ranging from tourist chachkies to world-renown jewelry, it was easy to imagine that this covered bazaar had been in operation since 1461 in a city whose market culture is deeply ingrained.

At this point we met up with Atalay, the brother of the bride, and his American classmate, Anthony. After fulfilling his task of procuring more bath sets from a towel merchant inside the Bazaar, Atalay led the way to a köfte (meatball) restaurant. While in the Sultanahmet neighborhood, we had to visit a Sultanahmet Köftecisi. Like many regional eateries, there is no real menu but a general understanding of what is served. The meal consists of meatballs, green peppers, and bread. You are expected to eat and leave; not really a place for lingering. Atalay expertly ordered for the group and we were swiftly fed and on our way to the Basilica Cistern.

Having subsisted on canned-food and cistern water for an entire summer, I was excited to see a cistern done up in style. The cold, damp air was surprisingly welcoming as we descended the stairs into Istanbul’s underbelly. The large cistern was seemingly the size of a football field, eerily lit, and the sound of dripping abounded. Its size made me contemplate the engineering abilities of the 6th century. Originally constructed under a basilica, the cistern held the personal water supply of Sultans and others living and working in the palaces. With a cathedral-like ambiance, the cistern contains hundred of columns. Two mysterious Medusa-head columns are among this marble army, turned sideways and upside-down. Some might recognize the cistern as being a location used in From Russia with Love, because that makes total sense.

After our first full day in Istanbul, we met up with my friend Ebru at her parent’s house in Levent, another neighborhood, eventually making our way back to Taksim for some much deserved sleep. The next day was New Years Eve and with plans that evening to return to Levent, we took advantage of our free day and further explored Taksim. The main artery of Taksim is Istiklal Street, a long shopping center which eventually empties out in Galata, another neighborhood and our destination for that day’s roaming. We strolled down the main road, minding the occasional street trolley rolling by, and from time to time stepping out to explore a side street or two. Side streets host numbers of relaxing cafes where patrons from all walks of life enjoy a hookah and a friendly game of backgammon. At night these venues become crowded and popular. We quite happily ate lunch at an outdoor cafe amidst the sun and stray cats, enjoying what I call “real” olives. Our  wanderings led us to two somewhat hidden churches along the road, one of which was St. Antoine. I remembered going through this Catholic church during my last visit to the city and upon my return took obnoxious photographs with its Pope John XXIII monument, because who doesn’t just love a good Pope statue?

The street suddenly flushed out into smaller veins, allies running through Galata, a former Genoese settlement now characterized by numerous music shops and art studios. I grabbed a cup of fresh pomegranate juice, a must, and we headed towards Galata Tower. The market culture surrounded us; a knife sharpener had taken up business in the middle of a crowded street, döner kebab salesmen called out to the crowd while a man pushing a cart of carefully stacked eggs rounded the corner. The tower rose from the center of a small square in the heart of the neighborhood. From across the Golden Horn, its stark beauty dominates the skyline. On top of its nine stories one can enjoy a panoramic view of Old Istanbul. That is if you care to shimmy around a balcony made for tiny, tiny people with tiny, tiny feet while many, many oversized tourists smoking cigarettes decide to squeeze past you as you plaster yourself to the tower’s outer walls, searching for sweet salvation. That is why some of us enjoyed the view from the rooftop restaurant, drinking tea, and some of us were outside in the windy terror.

After leaving the tower, which was built in 1348 as part of the fortifications around the Genoese colony and from which an early aviator flew, using constructed wings, over the Golden Horn and was subsequently arrested for being a dangerous “threat,” we headed back to Levent to usher in the New Year and kick off the wedding celebration. However when we arrived only Ebru’s older relatives greeted us and we waiting in somewhat amusing silence for a family member who spoke English to aid us and translate. During this stare-off we mistakenly tried to convey our interest in learning how Turkish tea is made, but our confusing hand signals were read as either asking for cigarettes or the sad dance of complete fools. After many failed attempts, Kevin used his Blackberry to translate the question from English to French because Ebru’s grandmother is a former French professor. After staring at it quizzically for some time, as the translation was undoubtedly muddled and senseless, she understood that we in fact did not want cigarettes. Everyone had a good laugh and three Turkish women paraded us into the kitchen where we learned, through a mixture of hand gestures, pantomime, and broken French how exactly Turkish tea is made.

On the first day of 2010 Kevin and I split up, men with the men and women with the women, for the very unique experience of the authentic Turkish bath (please see future blogs on our individual experiences.) After a long day of wedding-related activities and a delicious and cheap dinner of falafel and hummus from a Middle Eastern restaurant, we returned to our beloved hotel with the single desire to take a relaxing dip in the pool. That would have happened, if the hotel didn’t make you pay for swim caps and special pool-only towels before allowing you entry to the tiny pool. Retreating into the elevator we adjusted our evening to include an early bedtime in preparation for the expected late night the next evening for the wedding.

The wedding day had arrived. Due to a harsh rain storm which included hail, we changed our morning plans to include a serious shopping trip to the covered Grand Bazaar. On the way we dined in a Turkish restaurant empty for all but us and a very overzealous matradee. Kevin enjoyed a ground-meat pide while I had a full plate of Adana kebab, rice, and grilled vegetables. The meal was completed by baskets of fresh pita bread and goat cheese. Returning to the Bazaar, we priced some beautiful hookahs and returned to a shop where we had bartered a bit with a salesman earlier in the week. We danced the bartering dance until all were happy. He invited us into his shop for tea and conversation, which inevitably ended with more bartering and the wrapping up of a tea tray (at a severely reduced price.) The Turkish are known for their hospitality, and enjoying tea while haggling is part of the market experience. The remainder of the evening consisted of navigating the hail, jumping in a cab, and enjoying the wedding.