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.