GETTING LOST IN ISTANBUL

HERE’S A VALUABLE PIECE OF ADVICE: IF YOU ARE GOING TO WALK AROUND IN A CITY UNKNOWN TO YOU WHERE YOU DON’T KNOW THE LANGUAGE: GET A PROPER MAP!

THE ONES THAT COME FOR FREE LACK DETAILS LIKE, FOR EXAMPLE, UP AND DOWN INCLINATION...

Sunday, May 25^th, 2008

The men were picked up in to morning to give their conferences at the Bogaziçi University’s Güney Campus - about 30 minutes from the Golden Horn going up the Bosporus. Adrienne and I set two goals for our day: the ancient Cagualogulo Hamami (baths) and the Süleymananiye Camii (Mosque of Suleyman the Magnificient), which towers above the meeting point of the Marmara Sea and the Golden Horn. Armed with free maps from the hotel we set out and immediately got lost. Problem was that the terrain involved a great deal of slopes, so we went down steep (deserted) alleys - most shops closed due to Sunday - only to find we had to climb others. 

Eventually we reached the 300+ year old baths, (said to have been enjoyed by Florence Nightingale and Cameron Diaz...), a little concerned about procedure: Drop all the clothes, or use, as the guidebook suggested, “replacement knickers”? After selecting the 35 Euro Ottoman treatment and enquiring whether we would have women masseuses (answer: “In the ladies section, only ladies”), we were shown into a dim room with a central fountain surrounded by old wooden cubicles. Short plump Turkish bath assistants grabbed us by the arm and gestured for us to remove our shoes, put on some wobbly wooden sandals, and gave us a cover up. 

Having left everything behind in our cubicle (including, alas, glasses) we were again led by the arm to a high marbled steam room and told to sit and wait. In the centre naked women were stretched out on a circular grey marble slab lit by daylight coming through an opening in the domed ceiling, and the sound of dripping and slashing water was everywhere. We sat lazily in the steam taking in the scene: stocky dark-haired Turkish women in worn bathing suits massaging what looked like northern European women. (When Adrienne worried about being able to recognize our masseuse I suggested she look for the one that looked like a prison guard at the Gulag). After the massage front and back, the client was led to sit on the floor near a marble sink, where the masseuse shampooed the her hair and then drenched her with basin after basin of (as it turned out) increasingly cold water. When it was our turn we turned ourselves willingly over to ‘the prison guard” and Tanya, my masseuse, who set to rubbing us fiercely with rough gloves before massaging with a creamy soap and slashing warm water over our recumbent bodies. When we were done (and could move again - I needed a lot of water to get going, I had been so relaxed), we felt tingly fresh and utterly CLEAN.

We then plotted a foolproof route to the mosque - or so we thought. At the bottom of the hill we got lost again. Why is it that this always happens when one has to go uphill??? Eventually we did find the mosque and sat in the shade enjoying a selection of fresh fruit bought from a stall and washed with our water bottles, before going in. Disappointment was in store: after the whole thing about covering our heads and removing our shoes, it turned out the mosque was in the middle of renovation and only a very small and narrow area was visible. Interesting, however, was Suleyman’s tomb, as well of that of his wife. In the cemetery area we mingled with every type of hijab dress code, from headscarves to full black chador. Many women wear long khaki colored fitted coats to the ground with headscarves in muted colors, others wear looser long pastel-colored coats with very bright and silky scarves. Others again seems to wear a little hat on the top of their skull, which gives the head an elongated profile when wrapped in the silk scarf.

It was getting late and after pushing our way through the most crowded alleys I have seen in my life (backpack worn in front Rio-style), we grabbed a taxi, which whisked us back to the 21st century, driving at full speed through modern suburbs to the university campus, where we saw the end of Oswaldo’s session, chatted with the faculty and staff present, and were installed in faculty quarters on the beautiful leafy campus overlooking the Bosporus. We finished the evening at a waterside restaurant sampling Turkish mezze, small flavorful dishes, mostly vegetarian, excellent Turkish white wine and a selection of desserts. http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157631337488394/

THE SPICE BAZAAR, THE “TÜNEL” AND GETTING LOST...

TURKS ARE INTO APHRODISIACS. A SELLING POINT IS TO SAY: “ THE SULTAN USED THIS...” WITH A MEANINGFUL LOOK...

Saturday, May 25^th, 2008

No Turkcell today. All is well. We ventured out on highly used-friendly tram (reminded us Brazilians of Curitiba)  and found the Spice Bazaar with no trouble at all. Lots of fun. I bought odd spices, hibiscus tea (good for cholesterol, I was assured), the usual t-shirts and trinkets, and finally ended at a Weleda type stall that mixed perfumes according to your likes and personality. So much fun to sniff and choose - and the Turks, of course, are amazing salesmen, charming, courteous, but firm. Difficult not to buy, and difficult to resist “Turkish Cocktail”, “Samsara”, “Ma Ha”, “Aphrodisiac for Women” (!), and “King of the Night” (!!). The eloquent Erden (as in Adam) warned me that my husband would take his guns along if I wore the second last in public, but, alas, in spite of a generous dose of the stuff,  I worked my way unmolested through the throng of people, but maybe the effect was equalized by his aura of “King of the Night”?

The Lehrers chose a quiet boat ride on the (today) blue Bosporus, and Oswaldo and I walked across busy Galata Bridge in search of the Tünel funicular. This took us to the final stop of an ancient red tramway and that in turn to Taksim Square -a busy roundabout in a modern cityscape - which we observed with a well-deserved goblet of Turkish beer. The we walked on in search of a designer, which I had read about in a guide. We got totally lost in a large dry and sunny park and finally, when we were cranky and desperate, found a taxi, which deposited us in the very chic Tesvikiye part of town, where we sank down at a café to silently enjoy an excellent cappuccino. The foam was the smoothest I have ever tasted. Then on to the designers: Gonül and Sema Paksoy - one does clothes, the other jewelry. Well, Sema had closed down, and Gonül turned out to produce exquisite dark  clothes made for women, who would prefer to wear generous and loose garments with really heavy, also exquisite, jewelry and with not a thought of cost. One thin jacket was about $1000 - and we were out of there. Exhausted now we caught a cab home where I fell asleep immediately. 

Dinner with the Lehrers was at cheerful Hamdi’s down by the ferry terminals with the most beautiful view of the sea, which we caught just before and during sunset, when the gulls begin to twirl and screech around the minarets. I got into a nice conversation with the mother of two little girls: one smart and independent - 9 

- and the other wild and 5. Her concerns was like any other mother’s: how will they grow up? Do I discipline the wild girl or leave her be? Can the older one study in Europe? Oddly enough she worked at the Turkish production end for H&M, where my Swedish friend Madelein worked for many years. There are always moments when the world is small. http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157631337380058/

TOPKAPI AND THE UNDERGROUND CISTERNS

TODAY WAS A GORGEOUS SUNNY AND WINDY DAY.

THE WIND BLEW THE SMOG AWAY AND REVEALED THE BEAUTIFUL TURQUOISE BLUE OF THE BOSPORUS STRAIT

Friday, May 23^rd, 2008

Woke up late to discover that my phone with its expensive Turkish SIM card purchased yesterday has been blocked. This after wordy messages in incomprehensible Turkish had appeared on my screen, all of which I deleted, of course. Turned out I was supposed to register the phone - they could have said this (but didn’t), and now it will take 5 days to do start the process over. We push this to the back of our minds and march over to the Topkapi palace, where we spend the whole day, there is just so much to see, battling for space with the hundreds of schoolchildren (many of whom now know my name!), who are out for the day. I am innocently taking pictures of the Sultan's garments, when over the din of the many children I hear the angry shouting of a guard. He may be screaming for the children to quiet down, but also at me, who has failed to see the little sign that says NO PHOTOS. I am so shocked at being screamed at that I feel quite rattled, but after that am very careful about when I can use the camera. There is something strange about the massive wealth showered on the Sultan - the emeralds are the biggest I have ever seen - and so many! Not to mention rubies and diamonds. There is a whole throne in solid gold liberally dotted with large emeralds over every available surface. Meanwhile the concubines ‘recruited’ from all over the country were confined to the Harem under the command of the Sultan’s mom.

The less accomplished and/or unattractive girls ended up as servants, whereas the luckier one, the ones that bore the Sultan’s children, got to live near his mother in nicer apartments. They never left the Harem, of course.

We take a lunch break in the Konyali restaurant set in the grounds of the palace and overlooking the Sea of Marmara. Oswaldo, with his parking-place-finding karma finds us a perfect table, where we enjoy cold beer and Turkish specialties.

On our weary way back to the hotel we find the Basilica Cisterns, deep underground and curiously restful with the cool humid air and columns lit in red and orange. Oswaldo and I then struggle uphill to deal with Turkcell, stopping to make a couple of purchases in a local English bookstore (one should always support bookstores!), and eventually accept that we have to BUY yet another phone (we’ve lost count of how many we have at home) - and then we drag ourselves home. Outside a little kitten is stuck somewhere and meowing steadily waiting to be found. I try, but cannot see her. Later we slip out to try local Raki, surprisingly pleasant and smooth milky anise-tasting liquor with a light meal, but when we get back, and even now, much later as I write this, the kitten is still hoping to be found. Here are the photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/siric/sets/72157631337199830/

SECOND DAY IN ISTANBUL

 AYA SOFYA AND THE GRAND BAZAAR

Cutest moment of the day: being interviewed by tourist school students Elif and Zerrin as part of a school assignment and making up creative new questions and answers for them

Thursday, May 22, 2008

In spite of having arrived at 1.30m from Arizona via London the Lehrers appear rested and energetic for breakfast, where Oswaldo and I have been watching a recently arrived couple from New Zealand prepare their itinerary for the day as one would prepare a battle: fully concentrated, consulting notebooks, maps and guides. We head out for the Blue Mosque after a brief and eventually frustrating interlude with Turkcell, local SIM card provider. While the Lehrers brave the huge throng milling in and out of the mosque, which we saw yesterday, we sit outside in the sun and have fun with being interviewed by two sweet and giggly girls. One key question put by English-speaking Turks are: “What is your name?”  Everybody asks us this, especially the school children, herded by strained teachers through the attractions we too pass through. Problem is, they rarely understand our answer and nudge each other with great glee, then pose the second key question: “Where are you from?”

We ask the questions back and also have a hard time understanding THEIR names, but the nice thing is their direct and open look and innocence. This is generally true of the Turks we have met so far: they are friendly and open and very quick at establishing some common interest, (which may lead us to a longer conversation - and - in many cases - a sale).

The Aya Sofya is astonishing in sheer size, It is amazing to stand in a structure more than 1400 years old. Where the Blue Mosque was suffused by bluish tones from the famous tiles, here the hues are primarily yellow, although supported by greens, blue and black.

After many hours exploring each detail we head over to the Grand Bazaar for a bite to eat. The Sultan Café, in the middle of a warren of stalls selling very similar stuff, offers a nice toasted sandwich and salad with a cold beer, or, in my case, a refreshing carrot and orange juice prettily served in a tall narrow glass. The Lehrer's head back to the hotel, while Oswaldo and I walk through the bazaar without really getting excited about anything. Even the book bazaar is not tempting. We end up in an area outside where older men show articles furtively spread out on cloths, and where we get an uncomfortable feeling of something illicit. Speeding on, we find the University of Istanbul - closed (isn’t that weird?), and then back to the hotel to rest before dinner.

Dinner is soulful in the rooftop Rami restaurant overlooking the Blue Mosque and the Dervish dancer in his self-absorbed trance. We sample Turkish wines with our meal and later walk back through an open space near our hotel, where groups of noisy, festive adolescents are gathered, dressed (as in our part of the world) in jeans, t-shirts and tops. One girl stands out in a bright purple Muslim kaftan and head scarf and seems as part of the group as the other girls. When they spot us leaning against the railing of an ancient obelisk, they chant “What is your name, where are you from?” and run giggling away as we shout our names like the good sports we are. 

FIRST DAY IN ISTANBUL – THE BLUE MOSQUE

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

WHAT AN INCREDIBLE CITY. STUPENDOUS ANCIENT BUILDINGS MIXED WITH CONTEMPORARY STRUCTURES. PEOPLE OUT EVERYWHERE ENJOYING THE AFTERNOON SUN AND EVENING BALM. A LANGUAGE THAT SOUNDS AND LOOKS LIKE A MIXTURE OF HUNGARIAN AND FINNISH. NO RECOGNIZABLE WORDS, EXCEPT FOR - SO FAR - ‘TAKSI’ AND ‘OTOPARK’ (SELF PARKING).

We arrived in the late afternoon to find the temperature at a high 28C. The throngs at the immigration made JFK seem like child’s play. Very different atmosphere, though. No herding by stern officials. Brief panic when we realized Oswaldo was rolling the wrong suitcase towards customs. Outside waited a cheery driver, Musa, with our name on a board, As he pulled intrepidly into the traffic we recognized a distinct similarity to Brazilian driving. Camera in hand I watched the passing view. Deep red flags with a white star and crescents hung everywhere celebrate the just past Atatürk Commmoration. We drove along the Sea of Marmara lined with parks where groups of families had strung out hammocks and were setting up picnics. 

We stopped briefly at the Kirkit Travel agency to arrange details and then were deposited at the Fehmi Bay Hotel, right down the road from the Blue Mosque, where in a fairly small and simple room we were delighted to discover free wi-fi. Showered and refreshed we ventured out a a little later to see the Mosque and on the way became aware of the vast possibilities of future shopping,

When we were served tea at the travel agency, I noticed that the woman there deliberately avoided serving me first, and now, when we are accosted (constantly) by prospective guides, I see they always address my husband. Women have to enter the mosque with their heads and arms covered, and to this end a heap of shawls are stacked in a corner (I come prepared with a bright shawl bought in Iceland). 

We can also not wear shoes when we enter and are given plastic bags to carry them in.  The hushed carpeted inside reveals an immense latticed central dome surrounded by smaller ones all separated by delicate blue-decorated tiled. A small group of men are kneeling and praying in the central area. Others are having their picture taken. Tucked away in a corner at the back on both sides is the place for women to worship.

Moved by hunger and the 6hr time difference we find a rooftop restaurant, where we dine and watch the sun set over the mosque. Below us, in an open-air restaurant, we observe customers smoking water pipes with their attention on the ‘Whirling Dervish’ twirling with elegance and concentration to the contemplative Sufi music played and sung by two people on a string instrument and a drum. After each set the dancer bows, covers himself in a black cloth and sinks to his knees on a lambskin. The endless twirls are a form of meditation to bring the dancer/monk into closer communication with God.

After a little walk around the neighborhood filled with tourist shops and restaurants we are back at the hotel, where we inevitably crash.

WE'RE OFF

WE’RE OFF

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

I am sitting in the Air France seat with no legroom at all, computer awkwardly poised on my lap pushing into my belly. In front of me is a sulking vegetarian. He preordered his vegetarian meal, which did not arrive (of course!), so he refused all food and drink and pushed his seat back HARD, where I, also a vegetarian, sat peacefully picking away at a meal, which contained a dead chicken - better than the alternative, which was a dead cow! He probably dreamed of crispy vegetables done just so with a touch of ginger, but I have ordered and received a vegetarian meal once, which consisted of a plastic tray with a sad collection of watery steamed veggies, a packaged juice and a fruit. Never again.

I have also watched - with the terrible sound produced by the complimentary Air France speakers - a reportage on the shock reverberating through Turkey, a nation of heavy smokers, with the recent ban of all indoor cigarette smoking. I will forgo watching the American movie on the main screen, which is shown with a choice of French or Portuguese sound with American subtitles and try to sleep. We land in Paris at 3am our time.

PRELIMINARIES FOR MAY-JUNE 2008 TRIP.

PROLOGUE

Thursday, May 15, 2008.

This has been planned for many, many months: 3 philosophers/logicians will travel to Turkey with their spouses, giving talks and attending conferences in Istanbul and Ankara, and seeing as much as possible of Turkey in between. Oswaldo and I come from Rio de Janeiro, whereas the other two couples are based in Tucson, Arizona, albeit one with a Brazilian wife, who with the experience of previous travel to Turkey, has taken on the task of pre-organizing the trip. Unused to such planning, Oswaldo and I have been slow to get involved.  Recently, however, we been stunned by the news that due to serious health issues, our friends, the Brazilian/US couple, will not be able to travel with us. This blog is for Lilian and John - and for whoever else wants to travel along.

PREPARING FOR THE UNKNOWN
I am unusually excited about this trip. I have traveled a fair amount in my life, but always to places in Western Europe, North and South America. This is the furthest East I have ever gone, to a civilization as different from what I am used to. In preparation I am looking through several guidebooks, as well as trawling the internet, so as to prepare a mini-guide of our specific itinerary. For background I am reading BIRDS WITHOUT WINGS by Louis de Bernières, as well as Orham Pamuk’s Istanbul memoirs.

 

TRACING OUR ITINERARY
I have been slaving over Google maps in order to create a an itinerary for our trip. A slow and frustrating learning process. Trial - error - trial - error until maybe OK... This is how it is for the older IT enthusiast who approaches the computer curious, but afraid to mess up the machine for ever!