Not Constantinople...
I hardly know where to begin...Istanbul is as magical, engrossing, and exotic as anyplace else I've been. I've got dozens of photos to upload at some point, but they don't begin to do justice to the snapshots in my mind, so I'll share those with you all as well.
- Standing on the Galata Bridge over the Golden Horn at sunset, dozens of minarets silhouetted in hazy grey on the hills with a pink and blue backdrop.
- Cruising across the Bosphorous Strait to the Asian side as the call to prayer echoes across the port and the fishmongers call out selling the day's catch.
- Standing on the roof terrace of our most charming hotel (www.uyanhotel.com - affordable and the best and friendliest service I've ever had, bar none!), watching the flotilla of cargo and fishing boats and breathing in the salty breeze blowing in off the Sea of Marmara as two of the world's greatest architectural marvels, the Blue Mosque and the 1,400 year old Hagia Sofia loom large just 100 meters away.
- Melting into a just-shy-of-too-hot marble slab after having my body suds, soaked, exfoliated and pummeled in a hamam - so relaxed that when my friend looked at me with heavily hooded eyes and asked if I felt like rubber, too - I couldn't muster the energy to come up with the words, but just smiled and oozed my head back to its little pillow. Most suprising development? To find later that evening that my butt, thus gone over with a heavy loofah, did indeed again feel like a baby's bottom.
- Laughing and singing Turkish folk songs with a rowdy group of Ankarans while spending hours talking and dining on tasty meze and the rarest stuffed grape leaves ever in the Cirjak Pasaj (0ld flower market).
- Driving the wrong way down a one-way street, through narrow alleys clogged with traffic and merchants in a UPS delivery van.
- Standing on the balcony of the Ciragyan Palace, where a crazy sultan was once imprisoned and converted to a hotel where JFK Jr. stayed on his honeymoon, sipping wine and chatting with a friend while we waved at tour groups sailing up the Bosphorous.
- Heading to Asia for dinner (a 10 minute trans-continental ferry ride) only to ride around with a thouroughly frustrated and stumped taxi driver for 20 minutes, give up, and head back to Europe less than an hour later. Got a cheeseburger and chocolate ice cream instead.
- Spending several hours learning about rugs - differences between Kilims, Rahrah, Turkmen, and many many more - knots per square meter, depth of pile, natural versus chemical dye, machine woven versus by hand... the symbolism interwoven with trees of life, evil eyes, dowries - each as individual works of art.
- Getting lost in the Grand Bazar - the world's oldest shopping center (thus, a pilgramage for a Jersey girl) getting hollered at and accosted at just about each of the 4,000 stalls along 65 streets.
- Sipping a mighty fine gin & tonic and winning a round of dice in the elegant Pera Palas hotel, where Agatha Christie wrote the Orient Express and many dignitaries have stayed, including Jackie O, Ernest Hemingway, Mata Hari among many others. It is a breathing remnant of old Istanbul at the turn of the century. We had the whole glorious and beautfiul bar to ourselves...
- Walking through the alleys of Beyoglu to find a restaurant recommended by a friend of a friend (who never fails to score when he brings a lady there...) - only to find the entrance to a shabby looking house, with a bouncer at the door telling us it's on the 6th floor. So we start walking up the stairs, where the lights have gone out from floors 3-5 and I'm seriously starting to question the wisdom of this dining choice, only to emerge at the entrance of a really smart, trendy restaurant (with an elevator, as it turns out ;) with stunning, amazing, gorgeous views over all of Istanbul and tourist-free (save for us). Late at night, it reminded my friend very strongly of San Francisco, gazing out at the twinkling city lights and hills over the bays and rivers. I, however, did not score.
- Savoring the richest most delicious pistachio and almond pudding ever in a beautiful sunken courtyard that was once the kitchen of the Sulimanye Mosque.
- Waking at 5.30 am on our first morning there as the breeze through the open window carried the beautiful call to prayer from the speakers mounted on the minarets of the Blue Mosque just outside our room - looking at my friend with sleepy eyes as we both smiled wordlessly and listened for its 10 minute or so duration and then drifted back to sleep.
- Gazing out over the mouth of the Black Sea after a 1.5 hour cruise up the Bosphorous and climbing a small hill to an old 15th c. fort where the wind was so strong, I literally felt my earlobes flapping and struggled to stay afoot. But when you lay back on the green grass, the wind was much less a factor, and there was just the quick scattering of the puffy clouds in the blue sky...
- Following this climb in the little fishing village with a satisfying lunch of the most light and tender calamari I'd ever had (not at all chewy!), as it was fresh off the boat. Also french fries of a day-glo yellow.
- Dining our first night in an ancient cistern (which held water carried by aqueducts from the Belgrade Forest and was also briefly used as an auto repair shop in the mid-20th century) - 40 foot ceilings and dramatic stone columns all lit by candlelight. Followed by a champagne toast to celebrate my friend's Fulbright grant.
- Teaching this Fulbright scholar how to count sheep. This is the second such conversation I've had with a friend in the past month, which is concerning. How is it that people do not know how to count sheep??? According to my friend Beth - 'I can't get them to go over the fence - the first one jumps but then the rest of them just walk around it'; Alys 'So, do all of them jump over at the same time? What happens to the last sheep?'. I really don't understand.
- Our waiter one evening who asked our names (as did many people actually, who also frequently asked if Alys and I were sisters - which we've never heard before in the 10 years we've been friends. Of course, someone also asked if I was from Turkmenistan, so go figure). This waiter kept calling me Kylie (as in Minogue, he says) and singing that Na na na song all night, which was my earworm for the week. When we told him how much we dislike Kylie, he said she is second most famous female after Madonna. I balked at his comparing lowly Kylie Minogue to the superlative Madonna and he stopped calling me Kylie and started calling me Madonna. Much better!
- The cult of personality surrounding Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey who enacted dramatic changes to point Turkey firmly toward Europe and the west in the 1920's - introduced last names, eradicated arabic from the language, adopted an entirely new alphabet ... his image is EVERYWHERE. He's like the Lenin of Turkey, but much beloved.
- The smell of feet that, I must confess, detracted a bit from the otherwise immense and peaceful interiors of the mosques where one could settle on the carpets and contemplate indefinitely.
- The haunting mosaics at the Hagia Sofia - where so much Christian iconry remains despite the church's conversion to a mosque in the 16th century. To think that I would ever create something that would be viewed with awe for literally thousands of years...
- Strolling through the Topkapi Palace (and its famous Harem, which housed up to 1,000 concubines!), among the tulip gardens, sea views, and swaying palms and realizing how difficult it is to lead a normal life in between these frequent bouts of amazing wonder.
- Sitting in the bars along hostel row in Sultanhamet on our last night in town, surrounded by rowdy Aussies (Anzac Day is a national holiday celebrating the Aussies and Kiwi landing in Turkey during WWI) - and realizing that crowds of drunk Aussies are the one group that can make American tourists look less bad by comparison.
- Sharing beer there with our carpet guy, named Typhun, and his friend's girlfriend, Camille, who is living proof that my dream could happen. She is my age, and one year ago, had a great job at a movie studio in San Francisco. She came to Turkey for a month with a friend, on vacation. She fell in love. Within 8 days after returning back to SF, she was on a flight back to Istanbul. Within 3 months, she had quit her job, sold off her earthly possessions on Craigslist, and took 3 suitcases to Istanbul and moved in with her very relaxed, happy looking Turkish boyfriend. Three months on, she now teaches English, he sells jewelry and waits tables, and they had just that day launched www.istanbulwalkingtours.com.
- She introduced me to the term 'crack pipe dream' and now I feel that it is reasonable to believe that they just might come true. For it really is my life's dream to go on vacation and never leave. I'm just searching for the right place. Istanbul is just European and western enough to give a base level of comfort, while still exotic and different to feel otherworldly. It is a true blend of Europe, Russia, Asia, and the Middle East, sitting at the heart of the world. Istanbul is getting darn close, but after a bit of evaluation, I don't think I would really enjoy living there full time - but I shall return as a place to truly escape life as I know it.
And so very much more that I have forgotten to write down now... but look out for addendums to come...
