Istanbul (not Constantinople)

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  Istanbul, Turkey
Tuesday, July 15, 2008

How many people have used that subject line for their blog from Istanbul, I wonder? You know, one of the earliest things I remember hearing about Turkey was that song (Istanbul Not Constantinople) because my grade 6 music teacher used to make us sing along to it...along with Eye of the Tiger and the War of 1812 (which was our favourite, as I recall). Interestingly, not much later, I recall seeing a travel show on Turkey and learning that the country spans two continents. I remember thinking the bridge from Europe to Asia was something I really had to see. Fast forward about 20 years, and I am teaching my own grade sixes about the fall of Constantinople. I really had no success in reaching them as to the significance of this event until this year, when I caved in and showed them a ridiculously graphic video. Yes, the one thing I have learned is that if you want 12 year olds to buy in to history, there's nothing like a violent film complete with heads and other body parts being blown apart by all manner of ancient and hideous weaponry to garner their attention/ This year's grade sixes will remember the fall of Constantinople, thanks not to my brilliant teaching, but rather to the wonderful world of film.

Well, I will remember Constantinople/Istanbul because it is simply an amazing city. We arrived on a beautiful evening (with a not so beautiful landing, but I wont go into that) and checked into our hotel in Sultan Ahmet, the oldest area of Istanbul and simply the place to be when you are in the city as a tourist. We spend the next day visiting all of those places I have long dreamed of seeing. Our first stop was the Aya Sophia (or Church of Divine Wisdom) built by Emperor Justinian in 537. For centuries, it was the largest church or cathedral in Christendom, and a symbol of the Roman empire. It is stunning beyond words; an incredible dome rises above majestic pillars and ornate ribbing  to reveal the most intricate biblical mosaics. When the Ottomans conquered Constantinople in 1453, Mehmet the Conquerer was so taken by Aya Sophia.s beauty that he refused to blow it up and instead turned it into a mosque. Because in Islam, iconography is forbidden, most of the beautiful  mosaic images were plastered over until 1935 when Ataturk proclaimed it a museum/ Since then, with plenty of UNESCO funding, the building has been slowly and painstakingly restored, as more and more mosaics are revealed from beneath centuries of plaster and paint.

Across from the Aya Sophia is the Blue Mosque. The Sultan, not to be outdone by the Roman Christians, wanted a place of worship that would rival the Aya Sophia in beauty, and the Blue Mosque with its six minarets and layers of curved walls and dome certainly does this. It gets it.s English name because of the numbers of blue tiles used in the mosque's mosaics. Over 200 windows direct gentle streams of light through out the prayer hall, giving the mosque an open and airy feel. Entering the mosque through the tourist entrance is kind of interesting - all of the women who thought it might be appropriate to enter a place of worship in spaghetti strap tanks tops and mini skirts are handed ratty blue blankets to wrap around their waists and over their shoulders. I, on the other hand, passed inspection and was deemed to be "modestly" dressed, thus I was allowed forego the ratty blankets.

Finally, we visited the Topkapi palace, home to a succession of Sultans until the 20th century. The tourist crowds were so terrible that I lost interest in everything. Cruise ships docked in Istanbul dumped thousands of extra tourists on the city, making the sites elbow to elbow. We did manage to see the world's largest diamond, though. I have never been a big diamond kind of girl - they are definitely not this girl's best friend - so gazing on it made me wonder how many people were killed and exploited in the process of obtaining this huge piece of rock. Many of the rooms were full of diamond studded things and other garish displays of wealth and power. But the palace itself was beautiful and the vast grounds covered in trees and flowers made for a peaceful walk, in spite of all the tourists.

Now, one of the things that put a damper on an otherwise magical day was our day guide that we hired, Orhan. We joined an American man and his Spanish friend on this tour, and from the start, Orhan was incredibly...unprofessional. Actually, I have used other words of  a more colourful nature to describe him, but in the efforts to keep this blog clean, I will stick to "unprofessional"/ To begin with, Orhan had terrible BO. It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that I was to spend an entire day with someone with offensive body odour. Secondly, Orhan's pants were constantly falling down and his underwear hanging out. That is neither here nor there, but it bugged me. Orhan thought the world of himself - a definite King of Kensington complex - and was more interested in smoking than making sure his paying clients were taken care of. More than a few times, he walked off with his cell phone and a cigarette and completely abandoned us wherever we were. But the real offense was at the Blue Mosque, where he saw a young Korean girl get scolded by her tour guide for taking a cell phone call and then convinced her to jump ship and join us. So that part was fine - I could use some balance to the testosterone-heavy group. But it soon became apparent that he was trying to pick up this 19 year old girl. At one point Michael and I were in hysterics; we were eating lunch and Lionel Ritchie came on the radio singing "Hello...is it me you're looking for?" Orhan asked her if she knew it and she did not, so he began to describe the video in earnest detail and sing along with the lyrics, and he told her it was "SO deep you can't imagine" This became a favourite saying of ours, and we are now repeating it on a daily basis. Anyway, by the end of the day, Orhan had managed to scam several lira out of us, several dozens of lira out of the American, and god knows how many lira out of the Korean girl. But she took the brunt of it, because he was also putting on the moves. All I could think was "dude, at least take a shower!"

We left Istanbul by night bus to Cappadocia = 11 hours. Turkish buses are purportedly fantastic, but really they were just like the Greyhound, only they have no bathrooms and there are guys who serve you twinkies and juice. We had a hellish trip. You know, I really think there is a market for flights and bus trips that are Adult Only - and I don't mean x-rated with porn on the tv screens; no, I mean baby-free. I would pay good money to be on ONE flight - just one flight - with no baby. And i would add bus to that. Apart from the all-night French action movies dubbed in Turkish that bellowed over the speakers, and the less than ergonimically correct seats, it was the babies that really killed the night. At one point I smelled a strangely familiar but uncommon stench - was it vomit? Was it body odour? Rotting food? Then I heard the swish of plastic and suddenly realized the woman behind us was changing a baby diaper. To make matters worse, that diaper sat there under my seat, festering, until our next stop which was not for another three hours. Michael asked at that point if it was possible to take double doses of birth control pills for extra insurance. Like I said, Adult Only bus trips. I endorse them.

Anyway, I will leave you there for now. I am days behind in travel blogs, in fact I am writing this from the Mediterranean resort city of Kusadasi, after having spent 2 days in Cappadocia, another 14 hour night on a baby-express bus, and a day in Pamukkale. But alas, my back is sore, I am still tipsy from the double shot of raki I drank at dinner, and I am craving an air conditioner like there's no tomorrow. Until next time...

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