Istanbul (not constantinople) - another for ...
Trip Start
Jun 01, 2002
1
15
20
Trip End
Aug 22, 2002
Istanbul,
Turkey
Friday, July 12, 2002
The view from the Orient Hostel rooftop is incredible. The Marmara Sea stretched hazily ahead, dotted wtih cruise and container ships. Behind is the jumble of rooftops and terraces that is Sultanahmet, the historic and touristic suburb of Istanbul. The domes and spires of the Aya Sofia and Blue Mosque project above the urban skyline. Striking landmarks that make it incredibly easy not to become lost, yes, even for navigationally-challenged me.
Roaming Sultanahmet it is easy to understand why this bastion of the east (or west?) has been coveted and romanticised throughout history. The Blue Mosque is even more exquisite than I had imagined. Swirling patterns decorate the interior of the domes and walls in shades of blue
1. Istanbul
. Elegant Arabic script is inscribed in gold alongside these patterns and stained glass windows glow brightly in the afternoon sun. If the Taj Mahal is the grandest monument to love, then the Blue Mosque is surely the greatest monument to ego.Sultan Ahmet I was determined to be remebered by history, though his architect, the talented Sedeftar Mehmet Agha is surely to be praised more than his commissioner. The Mosque was constructed between 1609 - 1616. It was worth the wait. The Blue Mosque is truly wonderful.
What better way to explore a city than by seeking out the backstreets? I met four English lads and a Scot on the train from Sofia and together we searched the city for its secrets. We sought everything from tattoos (not me!) to spices, apple tea to hash (not me either!). The lads refused to accept that this is Turkey, a nation far from convivial when it comes to drugs and its users. It is not Morocco. The lads were very nearly set up by some kids in league with the police - the ususal 'Come Back later and ooops, there happens to be a cop around the corner' scenario. Why do these public-school Englishmen seem to want to relieve the Beatles Eastern Experience as soon as they arrive somewhere remotely eastern, exotic and with a hardline view of drugs? Another of life's little mysteries and another of my sweeping generalisations......
2. Street art
.Everyone is a merchant - leather, tea, gold, saffron and of course, carpet. There are enclaves of specific shops. We found one that sold guns and knives (scary stuff), another of tailors, another of shoemakers.
"Hello, my Friend!"
"Yes, Please. Carpet?"
"Yummy yummy! Kebabi!"
"You are very charming"
All the calls of the shop men. The cheekiest approach I received was
"Hello, hello. May I hassle you?"
Nothing like the garbled phrasebook charm to earn him a smile.... but without a break in stride.
Perhaps the most garrulous carpet merchant we met with the inimitable Mario, carpet merchant extraordinaire of the Grand Bazaar. Mario could be considered handsome in the "too much Turkish man" style. Too much muscle, too much tan, too much ego. At US$1800 his carpets were more than a little out of our budgets, so he settled on entertaining us with his personal collection of photgraphs - of himself
3. Chicha cafe
. Muscles flexed and in various stages of undress. Not very charming."You like?" he asked, sidling up to me and refusing to believe the excuse that I was married to the crazy Scot.
"Mario, you're not even vaguely tempting" I replied.
Harsh.......... but fair.
Istanbul in July is horribly hot and there is little respite from the heat. It was an excuse to indulge in that wonderful invention of the waterpipe and while away the afternoon in a cafe hidden behind an archway along a dirty, narrow alleyway. I would never be able to find that place again unless by sheer luck. In true Lewis Carroll style, we sank back into the voluptuous cushions of the couches and blew puffs of apple-perfumed smoke into the air. The showmen waiters made much more of an exhibition, blowing enormous clouds and smoke rings. It's about enjoyment, not the size of your smoke cloud.
I found out an interesting economic fact of Istanbul nightlife, thanks to the lads late night mission. It costs forty quid to hold the hand of a Ukranian call girl in any of the bars in Taksim (v.seedy suburb). Not a fact I really needed to know, but it made for interesting breakfast conversation as they debriefed each other about their misadventures. I think most of it was for paying to leave the place not for entry by their hazy memories of the bouncers
The reality of the solo traveller. So much fun and so many great companions, but occasionally I cross people that I need only travel with for a few days. The guys were great fun but I needed some more self time and vowed to part company in Olympus. There I was due to meet Mike and Kim and play restime in a tree house for a few days. It's just one of those things. Company is great, but every now and then I need my space.
It's like a friend of mine, Peter Donovan, advised about travel - it's wonderful to be able to share an incredible view with someone. But it is equally nice to have the view to yourself without the intrusion of others comments.....
...... or in this case, constant requests for a local hash merchant.
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