Istanbul - Too Many Questions
Trip Start
Mar 03, 2005
1
53
235
Trip End
Ongoing
Istanbul,
Turkey
Saturday, July 23, 2005
The airport bus dropped me at a suburb near to where I was heading, but not quite where I wanted to be. Instead of fighting the crowds for the tram (which I couldn't see anyway) I jumped into a cab with an English speaking driver. He said he knew where I needed to be and proceeded to cross the bay called the Golden Horn. I knew that was the wrong direction, as we didn't need to cross any bodies of water to get to Cemberlitas, and also knew he was trying to scam me.
I find the best way to deal with taxi drivers who suddenly can't speak English, is to swear at them politely in English and watch them flinch in the rearview mirror, even though they are trying to pretend they can't understand you. He was flinching like he had a nervous tick.
Jumping out and refusing to pay what was on the meter, I found my hotel down a sidestreet. It is quite an effort maing it in from Istanbul Airport, so from there it was straight out for a dip into Turkish cuisine. How I survived 7 weeks with absolutely no red meat in India I do not know. I don't need it daily, but with Turkey Lamb Shish everywhere I go I can see it suddenly becoming a dietary staple.
Walking towards some of the main sites, a local approached me. "Do you speak German?" he asked. A little I said (which is almost true). He then said something in German which I didn't understand so I asked him to repeat it in English.
He said "Are you homosexual?"
Er, no.
Ahmet Camii (The Blue Mosque) and Aya Sofya (The Church of Divine Wisdom), only a few hundred metres apart, are nothing short of amazing in the dusk sky, with minirets ablaze with lights. They seem to compete as to which is the most spectacular. Although it is meant to close to visitors by 7pm, The Blue Mosque remains open from the late evening prayer, and I was allowed to sneak in for a pre-prayer look-see. Unlike many other temples around the world, it is perhaps more stunning inside than out. The lead lights, low lighting, mosaic tiling..... it is brilliant.
The hostel/hotel is only a few hundred metres from the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofya, so they were the first things on my agenda in the morning. You simply can't help it (or maybe it is just me) but you are in a country where bombs happen. One killed a half dozen people last week down in Kusadasi (where I shortly head) for instance. I am a little nervy, but what can you do. I figured that I was safe at both of these buildings, because sites significent to the Muslim relgion (although packed with Western tourists) seem an unlikely target.
Aya Sofya is now a museum, with amazing artworks for walls and towering dome ceilings. Internally it simply puts the Taj Mahal at a lower standing. They are probably at equals from the outside, but inside I am afraid the Ottoman Empire wins. You end up with a stiff neck from peering upwards and a sore jaw from dragging it on the floor.
As the Blue Mosque is closed for prayer, I walked via the Hippodrome towards my abode. Instead of being an 80s Melbourne nightclub, the Hippodrome here in old Constantinopole is an oval shaped road next to the Blue Mosque. Chariots used to race here. Now its souvenir sellers and taxi drivers who race around for your Lira.
I returned to the Blue Mosque at the close of the important prayer session for a view inside in daylight hours. Four local men pointed a camera to me, obviously asking in Arabic if I would take their photo. I obliged.
One then asked me "Are you Arab?"
Er, no.
The only thing I can think why he thought I was Arab was because it appeared as though I understood Arabic. The pointing of the camera was what I understood. They were from Algeria and wished me a friendly farewell.
I am either a Gay German or an Arab Cameraman. Some days I can't decide.
(I couldn't help but think that one of my Algerian friends was going to wander back, look sideways to see if anyone was closeby, and whisper to me "Given you were helpful to us, I will give you one word of warning. Do not have dinner in the cafes near the Blue Mosque this evening".
I would reply "Why? Is something bad going to happen?".
He would then respond "Yes. You will get food poisoning, the food there is shithouse....")
The Blue Mosque is a vibrant, active place of worship, and tourism. Locals continue to pray while tourists wander through. It seems a little rude to be wandering behind flocks of locals on the ground bowing and facing Mecca. Actually it is only the fellas in the main room praying. The local ladies must pray at the back of the room behind wooden screens. It is ridiculous that the males and females are separated by a wooden wall, and a wall of camera-clicking tourists, but that is how it is here. The floors are covered by beautiful Middle Eastern rugs. The walls are covered by amazing mosiacs and stained glass windows. The ceiling is covered in majestic domes. And the air is thick with foot odour, as its a fully shoes off affair. No wonder the buddhists go with incense for their shoe-free worshipping.
I'm into the Turkish version of Pizza for late lunch in a big way, chatting to a couple of Aussies that I met at the airport. Here we are, with the Blue Mosque over one shoulder, and the Aya Sofya over the other, and all we can discuss is how England are back to old habits in the Cricket. Bloody Australians.
After a lazy late afternoon stroll it is back into the Lamb Shish for dinner. God its good. Which ever God you are after.
I took a further wander past the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofya with its evening light show. Tonight the loudspeaker voiceover was in German. Luckily today I was an Arab Cameraman, otherwise I may have been Stefan the Gay German tourist and understood everything. Later I walked round a corner and straight into a bomb scare. Truly, this was no joke. Police were inspecting a minvan around one hundred metres away down a sidestreet.
I asked a local what was going on and he light-heartedly joked about their being a bomb under a minibus, like it was an everyday thing. "About 8.5kgs they say. You didn't plant it did you?" he smiled.
Er, no. And I'm not German. Nor homosexual. Nor Arab. Nor a terrorist. Nor hanging around.
The best kind of bombs are unexploded bombs. I toddled off from the scene as I figured being 100 metres away from an alleged 8.5kg bomb was a few hundred metres short of a good idea. Thankfully it must have been a hoax or false alarm as the Istanbul night sky remained only lit up by Mosques and Palaces, and not exploding ordanance.
Topkapi Palace is the largest intact Palace in Istanbul. It was built by the early Ottoman's in the 1400's, and they have managed to keep it spick 'n span for 600 years, which is a fair effort really given Istanbul's traffic and propensity to be involved in Wars and unrest over that time. Wandering into the lines of tourists, once again you can't help but think, 'hmmm this could be a good target...'.
Even though I am there just after opening, the queues are long and the staff treat you as if they have already had a long day at the coalface. Still it is an interesting place, with vast displays of all things Ottoman Empire. The clothing displays show that the Sultan's were of vast proportions, obviously shopping at the 'mighty Kaftan' part of 'High and Mighty Menswear'.
Most of the rooms and buildings are off limits for internal visiting, and unfortunately much of the glass they used in the windows is either covered by fingerprints or distorted. Hence the Ottoman couches (so that is where the term came from) are obscured or fatter than they are. The most interesting part, where you can actually visit the rooms, is the section known as 'The Harem'.
This the area where the Sultan did his Sch-winging with his many Wives and potentially hundreds of Concubines (I always want to say Porcupines. Or should that be Pork-upines...) Whoever the Sultan was over the many years of the empire, he must have been constantly tired given the choices a plenty in terms of the pleasures of the flesh. And lets face it, usually the Sultan had a lot of flesh to pleasure given the XXXXXXL kaftan display. But it is also the area where the Sultan and his family lived. For some reason I found the Royal bathrooms the most interesting. The taps and fittings are ornate gold, yet they had not discovered the joy of the seated-dunny in Ottoman times. Somehow the Sultan managed to do the squatting poop over a Royal hole in the ground. I started to imagine a fat guy in a kaftan, hoisting it up to his waist, thighs tensed in the seated-without-sitting position. Then it all became too much and I scurried away thinking more pleasant thoughts.
I have to be in Kusadasi further down the Turkish coast, by 8am in two days time, in order to catch two ferries in one day to the Greek Isle of Paros. As there are no day buses, it means I must catch the night bus, one night earlier than I anticipated. Thus I am leaving Istanbul a little earlier than I guessed, but I will be back at some stage to visit the rest of this exotic city.
Firstly I must make my way out to the bus station in the afternoon in order to get a ticket. That means a tram ride and a metro train ride to get there. Paranoia is setting in. I actually changed carriages on the train because of two locals carrying backpacks which gave me a strange feeling. They were probably just normal young guys on their way to play soccer, but you can't help but worry. I wonder if anyone will think the same of me when I make my way back out to the bus station at 10.30pm tonight, carrying my two backpacks.
Or will they just think I'm a gay German.
