The Munich airport is on a straight concourse that looks every bit like the Southcenter Mall in Seattle. White, stark,and full of shops. I check the readerboard again and find that my flight has been delayed by another hour and now departs at 7:30. I finally find an internet point and flick a coin in to email the Hotel Han in case my phone message was too jumbled. It's the first European keyboard I've used and I run out of time trying to figure out how to type the @. I pop in another coin and call over a couple of teenagers who can't figure it out either. But they mention it's some sequence of three keys, and having watched them, and then trying on my own for another couple of minutes, I stumble across the right sequence and am able to sign in to my hotmail account.

My Italian is non-existent, my German is failing and my English at this point isn't far behind. I'm dressed for Istanbul where it's in the mid 60's, but sitting in an airport where it's at least 72. I'm hot and headachy, exhausted and frustrated, with at least 6 more hours ahead of me before I reach my next destination. Had I realized how long the wait was going to be I might have paid for one of those napcabs, a place to sleep, and according to the airport brochure, internet access so I could have gotten hold of my hotel much earlier. Hindsight being the clear vision that it is... I console myself with the optimistic thought that tomorrow will no doubt be better.

 

It was curious to note that I did not have to go through a security check leaving Munich to go to Istanbul, which felt like a form of racial profiling. My flight departed at 7:30, arrived at Ataturk at 10 PM, with the hour time zone change bringing it to 11 PM. I got through visa processing fairly quickly, and my luggage even showed up although I honestly did not expect it to. The luggage carousel was conveniently close to Lost and Found desk, where I turned in a Diners Club credit card that I found laying on the floor outside of visa processing. I took minor comfort in the fact that someone's day was worse than mine...

The Hotel Han is even more vibrant than the website indicated, right down to the hot pink neon sign and facade. This restored Ottoman home stands on top of the Basilica Cistern in the heart of the Sultanahmet, within walking distance of many of the sites I wanted to see. I check in with the hotelier, an older gentleman who explains that breakfast is served between 8 - 11AM. It's going to take awhile for my ears to tune into the broken English with thick Turkish accent that this hotelier speaks in. There might be WIFI in my room, I will get a password tomorrow.

Hotel Han
Yerebatan Caddesi No. 19
Sultanahmet, Istanbul Turkey
Tel: 90 212 511 03 61
info@hotelhan.net
www.hotelhan.net

My room is two floors up a tight spiral staircase, and although I try to carry my own bag, the gentleman at the front desk won't hear of it. I apologize all the way up the stairs because my suitcase is full of books I bought in Italy. He unlocks the door and lets me in.

There's a cozy bed tucked into an alcove, an ultra efficient private bath, and a mini fridge. The ceiling is lacquered tongue-and -groove, the walls stenciled with floral patterns that remind me of henna tatoos. Beautiful lace curtains with sequins in the lace edging that would shimmer the next morning when the sun hit them. I can see a minaret from the lower corner of my window. There is no safe, but there's room under the bed for whatever I don't want to carry with me. I am glad there is no TV as it would destroy the ambiance. There are more electrical outlets in this room than there were on the entire floor of the San Frediano Mansion in Firenze. Full toiletries in the bathroom are a pleasant surprise. It s Perfect...a phrase I would unknowingly hear over and over again this week... (Here are som a dditional photos of the Hotel Han.)

I want to take a shower but it's after 1 AM and I don't want to wake the other guests. To sleep now, with expectations of being awakened in the morning by calls to prayer...

Thursday – The Carpet Salesman and the Grand Bazaar

Istanbul. In more ancient times, it was known as Constantinople, the center of the medieval world dating back to 330 AD and crossroads for East-West trade for centuries. For 1500 years it was the capitol city, first of Byzantium and later, the Ottoman Empire when Sultan Mehmet conquered the city in 1453. For the next 450 years Istanbul would reign as the jewel of the East and would see a golden era ushered in under Suleyman the Magnificent and his chief architect Mimar Sinan. As was the case under the great Mongolian Khans, religious tolerance reigned in this city and mosques, churches and synagogues stood side by side.1

In the modern world, Istanbul is the largest and most developed city in Turkey, hosting a population of somewhere around twenty million. It is, I believe, the only city in the world that straddles two continents – Europe and Asia. Although I am very tired, I look forward to experiencing this city.

I am in Istanbul for all of 2 hours when I am sucked into the carpet shop across the street from the hotel. I have educated myself on the process and am in the market for a small kilim. The rep on the street says this is a good place to start looking, they can show me how carpets are woven and how to buy a good carpet. So we enter the shop. The rep talks to me about some relative or friend who works at Microsoft. I am handed tea at the door and am immediately escorted upstairs to the showroom. I look around and brace myself for the process that is about to begin.

Little did I realize how ill equipped I actually was...

I stop by the cash machine and head to the Grand Bazaar3...

Touted as the first covered market in the world, it is as large and noisy as you would expect a 5,000 store shopping mall to be. It was also much more colorful and brightly lit than I was ready for, and I experienced close to complete sensory overload in the first 10-15 minutes. Rick Steves says to spend about 2 hours here, which is about as much time as a human has before their retinas start to melt...

The bazaar was completed during the reign of Sultan Mehmet the Conquerer in 1461 and was enlarged during the reign of Suleyman the Magnificent in the 16th century. A sign hanging overhead states: “The simple architectural style of the bazaar helps promote the vibrancy and diversity of the goods on sale. The ornate decorations were added during the restoration [following an earthquake} in 1894.” In addition to the shops that line some 60 walkways, this complex also houses two mosques, four fountains and a couple of bathhouses as well as several restaurants.

The marvels hit you at the door and the first thing I see is a window filled with tiaras. Later on, a stall of embroidered boots. Shops filled with the beautiful glass lanterns are tempting, but are bulky and I am trying to be mindful of weight and space so I pass them by. A coat from the Topkapi, replicated in blue and white porcelain tile. Coats represented in paintings, tiles, vases, brick-a-brack, reminiscent of the dog-tag coat at the Seattle Art Museum

I spend my first TL10 to have an artist write my name Arabic style. I later learn it is a style called hüsnü hat – writing in Türkish with Arabic alphabet and most often used for religious texts. My second purchase is an unadorned set of 6 cups and saucers for cay. I try to barter with the vendor but am met with resistance so I don't pursue it beyond the TL5 discount he has offered. He tells me how bad his business has been the entire time he is wrapping my purchase and finishing this cash transaction. OK. So far this is not going as I had expected.

The next shop is attended by a bouncy teenager with good English skills, I do not believe he is Turkish. I sort through a pile of wooden fabric stamps, select three that I think might work well for hatmaking, and I don't even try to haggle the price. He drops it by a few dollars between bagging the pieces and collecting my money.

After circling around and passing the very same teenager three times, which elicits flirts from him and smiles from me, I turn the corner and find myself in the Old Market.

Here the domes are exposed brick, and most of the shops are faced with glass cases. An astrolabe in the bottom of the shop window that is otherwise filled with antique swords. (Andre Bardakci Antique Shop, Kapalicarsi ic Bedesten Sertaga Sokak No: 5-6, Istanbul, bardakcia@superonline.com) Here, three pair of chased silver chopines that I understand are worn in traditional Turkish baths. Another tiny shop is filled with stacks of what appear to be antique Persian miniatures, just sitting there in the open as the shopkeeper allows me to handle them. I cannot tell if they are true antiques or reproductions. I turn them over one by one to find the backs covered with Arabic script, but the shopkeeper cannot read Arabic and has no idea what any of them say. I don't even ask the price and turn down the offer of tea. The shopkeeper directs me to their framing service but I decide to move on before I become any more engrossed.

 

Ali Güzeldemirel's old copper and brass is the most pleasant find of the day. He offers tea and a seat in his very small shop which I accept willingly. He spends most of the next hour showing me various wares, telling me what the regular price is, and what 'my' price is, thus eliminating the need to haggle. His prices are very fair and I end up buying gifts for friends and a brass kohl bottle for myself. (Ali Güzeldemirel Old Copper and Brass, Kapalicarsi Old Bazaar ic Bedesten, Serifaga Sokak No: 23-24, Istanbul, Turkey)

It's interesting to watch the bustle of the tea merchants, who don't seem to be servicing customers, but are instead running from one shop to the next, delivering small gourd shaped cups of cay on saucers, which they carry on suspended silver trays. It must be a cost of doing business here.

I continue to wander around, and find a nice little cafe to sit down at for lunch. I order their Ottoman sandwich, basically a caprese with feta instead of mozzarella. Italians do it much better. Orange juice seems to be the beverage of choice, although my choice was singular in that regard. A lovely still life presents itself on the table, a pair of silver salt&pepper shakers and the silver tea set but it is whisked away by the waiter just as I am pulling my camera out of my pocket. Oh well...

I exit the main bazaar through one of its 27 gates, and stumble into the Spice Bazaar which dates back to the mid 17th century. Olive oil soap, piles of saffron, Turkish Viagra, most things I don't recognize, wishing my sense of smell was better. I try to buy a few pieces of Turkish Delight but end up with a box which is discounted by 30% without my even asking. A shop called Arifoglu that sells flower oils that I want to come back and visit later (but never do.) www.alibaba.com/member/arifoglu.html

The Spice Bazaar is about the size of a single arm of the Great Bazaar, so I backtrack the way I came in, passing a finch in a shrink-wrapped cage, hanging in a doorway of a shop. What a clever idea. The bird stays out of drafts but can still see out, and passersby can see him and hear his remarkable animated voice. On past a baklava shop that has been here since 1871, and out into the street. ( Here are more photos of the Grand Bazaar and surrounds.)

I was more or less mentally prepared to be lost for awhile this morning. I wander up and down several streets that are filled with wedding dress and lingerie shops, and display windows filled with curious wedding or pageant wear for children that I was to learn later, are for rites of circumcision. I find myself at a plaza, and a subway, and look up to get my bearings. I am trying to follow the Ayasofya home, but realize that one set of domes and minarets looks the same as another, and I am now presented with three such sets, only one of which will actually lead me back to the hotel. Nothing makes me feel more stupid than being unable to read a map. As much as I an tempted to cry, I simply stand still for a few minutes, regroup and try again.

I find the Hotel Han almost by accident. My orientation to the city is in its usual reversed state and I was trying to orient from the wrong body of water. I have been moved to a larger room, and I'm a little disappointed that the walls are white instead of Turkish red, but the bathroom is three times the size of the last one, and this room has a balcony. I don't even remember what I ate for dinner that night. My day has not gone as I expected it to, and I am so tired and discontent that I'm pretty much ready to hop a plane back home. I will give it another day before seeing what I can do about catching an earlier flight out of here. I continue to hope for a better day tomorrow...

I walk down the street to Sultan Ahmet Park, a lovely stretch of fountains and gardens that form a courtyard between the Ayasofya and the Blue Mosque. Apparently it is tour day as flocks of kids in matching hats take over the area. Great... I pass an internet hotspot and regret that I left my laptop in my room; more things to add to the already long list of fail for this morning. I make my way along to whatever building is in front of me, and an older gentleman catches up with me and strikes up a conversation. He starts talking about being a retired history teacher, and says he's happy to be seeing Americans here, and continues to walk with me until at one point I ask him what this is costing me. Nothing, he just wants to show my his family rug shop after he has shown me the cathedral, which I need to hurry to see since it closes today at noon for sabbath prayers. OK...

He pushes me to the front of the line, we bag our shoes in the plastic bags we are handed at the door, and he proceeds to give me a really informative personal guided tour of the Blue Mosque...

The Sultan Ahment Mosque (Blue Mosque)

The Blue Mosque was built by architect Mehmet Aga, a student of Mimar Sinan, over a span of eight years during the early 17th century. The building combines elements from both traditional Islamic and Byzantine architecture.5 It is unique, not only for its predominately blue tile and paint interior, but also for its six minarets. The popular story (relayed to me by my guide) states that when Sultan Ahmet asked the architect for a gold (altin) minaret, the Mehmet mistook the request for six (alti) minarets. The other explanation is that Sultan Ahmet wanted his mosque to rival the one at Mecca, which also had six minarets.

This is my first visit to a mosque and I am impressed with how light and airy it is. The dome stands 141 feet above the floor and is over 100 feet wide. There are 260 windows in this building, my guide tells me that the stained glass ones over the eastern wall (facing Mecca) are copies of the originals which have either deteriorated or been elsewise destroyed. The interior boasts over 21,000 blue tiles made in the factories at Iznik.6 Verses from the Kor'an embellish the walls here; many of them from the hands of Seyyid kasim Gubari, who was regarded as the greatest calligrapher of his time.7

My guide also points out the elephant's feet columns which I would later learn is a predominant feature in many mosques, a weight bearing detail that allows for large expanses of space uninterrupted by columns. He points out the gallery where the sultan used to sit with his guards during prayer, and the tiles in the lower half of the balconies, and that the ceiling is painted rather than tiled. He stands there while I have a minor melt down, a combination of being overwhelmed and fatigued. He says that the Blue Mosque affects everyone differently and is very patient as I recover my composure.

We exit and I agree to follow him to his family's rug shop. Having been through this process yesterday, I am better prepared for this visit. He wants to show me the looms and how the carpets are made, echoing what the young man yesterday had said but did not deliver. He points out the yellow building that is the police station, and the Million Mile marker from which the Roman Empire was measured. And then, unbelievably, he has led me back to the shop I was at yesterday! I stop dead in my tracks and won't even go in. “I bet you work for Mustafa, with whom I spoke only yesterday.” And when he says yes, I say, "Thank you for the tour. And goodbye!"

I cross the street to drop off the morning's acquisitions. I take a seat on my balcony and crack open my laptop, but the glare on my screen and the jackhammers render the balcony useless. Mustafa's salesman told me that they are tearing down the hotel right next door to mine because it is sinking into the Cistern. No wonder they are working on it night and day...

I remember that my laptop has a webcam. Oh yeah, a second camera...it's harder to use but at least its something if I cannot find a new battery charger for my camera, which I am now trying desperately to conserve. I am wearing my red Turkish coat and I take a couple of fun shots on the heavily embroidered bedspread, which I blend into. I line my head up with one of the motifs on the bedspread, which circles my head like a halo. Oh look, I'm a Turkish Bodhisattva : )

It's now 12:30, perhaps lunch will help correct this defeatist attitude. I select a book to read over lunch, and head downstairs. I am greeted by the concierge, who asks me how things are going. I tell him things are OK. Well, except for the construction below my room, and morning prayers started this morning at 4:30 so I'm running on about three hours of sleep. And I really liked the red room I had the night before. I ask about my lost battery charger again, and he checks to see if one has been turned in. His English is pretty good and he has a very calming voice. I ask, if he could direct me to the camera store I can buy another. He suggests that I sit down for coffee first.

He asks me what my program is for today and I say I haven't really decided. He starts suggesting sites I should see, including some mosque, and Chora Church for the mosaics, the Suleyman Mosque and some Turkish bathhous built by Suleyman's architects' teacher. A third building, the Chambaltich, which is accessible by train or car. I am so tired... I drink my coffee, and he pours me another cup. He changes my room. He asks for my netbook and fixes my WIFI connection. He continues to make suggestions of things I should see, and offers to make reservations for a turkish bath. He asks for my map, and asks if it is OK to throw it away. He pulls a new map, sits down at the table with me and starts circling sites on it. My program for the day, and my course corrected...

It's actually the hotel manager, whose name is Baha. He will take me to the camera store after I finish my coffee. Wow, that is unexpected... I run upstairs to find that housekeeping has already moved everything to my new red room, positioned exactly as it had been in the room I am vacating. The expression on my face makes the young maid smile. I grab the manual for my camera, drop off my book and run back downstairs.

Baha walks me several blocks to a camera store that I would have never found on my own. Once there, he tells the salesperson what I need. They have a charger, it will be just a few minutes. One of the salesmen pulls out a stool for me to sit on. And we wait...

I am starting to realize that men here are not aggressive; they are genuinely courteous, and for the most part, protective of women. They maintain about two feet of personal space and those that did reach out to me did so to pull me away from oncoming traffic or trains. They are constantly pulling out a chair or stool for me, offering tea, making sure I am well. Istanbul feels like an enormous spa...

The charger arrives and we leave the store. I want to find the Topkapi and Baha offers to take me there. We walk past what I think is the Topkapi, but which is actually the park surrounding the palace. Baha points to it and tells me I must see it. “It is huge, like city” . He drops me off and takes my charger back to my room. This level of service is well beyond what I expected to find here, or in fact, anywhere...

The Topkapi Palace

The Harem Apartments

The Harem was the private residence of the sultan and his family. Built in the 16th century and expanded over the next three centuries, it is notable as a showcase of architectural history. It contains more than 300 rooms, nine bathhouses, two mosques, a hospital, dormitory and laundry. The Harem also served as a recruitment center for young children who were trained for state service.

After passing through the Carriage Gate, I walk into the Domed Cabinets, where documents referencing Mecca and Medina were kept. Next is the Fountain Hall, rebuilt in 1665 after a fire, and dizzying in its wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling tile work. Then through the Courtyard of the Black Eunuchs, who were charged with guarding the wives and concubines. After half an hour, I stop taking photos. Baha was not kidding. The palace is immense, room after room after hallway, linking to courtyards to even more rooms...

I pass through the Main Gate, which leads to the sultan's private apartments, the Gallery of the Concubines, and the Courtyard of the Sutana Mother. It is thought that the apartments for the wives and the Sultana Mother date to the reign of Sultan Murad III (1574-95). Each apartment was two stories, though public access appears to only be available to those rooms at the ground level.

The majority of girls brought to the Topkapi as concubines, were employed as servants. Those who were pretty and intelligent would be educated in reading, writing, music, religion, palace etiquette and the arts of the courtesan. From this pool, those who became favorites or whom bore the sultan a child, would become wives. Favorites who became wives received letters patent, new dresses and separate chambers, and would receive additional training in Imperial traditions. Wives founded charities, commissioned mosques, and devoted themselves to good works in keeping with their conversion to Islam. There was a complex ranking structure within the Harem, defining specific roles, duties and apartments for every girl from the lowest servant to the Favorites, Wives, and up to the Sultana Mother.

The Kor'an required that women slaves be well looked after, stating “Furnish them with anything you eat and wear, and never treat them badly.”11 They received a per diem commersuate with their position as well as gifts at weddings, birthdays and festivals. Women also had the right to leave the harem after having lived there for nine years, and would receive a trousseau and assistance in finding a husband. Even after their departure from the harem, they remained under palace protection until their death. I came back from the Topkapi with enough information about the Harem that I may have to write a separate article...

The Courtyard of the Favorites is where the wives lived in the upstairs apartments, in close proximity to the Sultana Mother. Each Favorite had a private room with a fireplace and enameled closets. Those rooms overlooking the Golden Horn also had separate toilets and hamamis. The lower level dormitories housed the concubine servants.

The Sultana Mother's apartments were also heavily tiled, and included a fireplace and a fountain in every room. In addition to living quarters, it also included a prayer room, bathhouse (which I somehow managed to miss) and toilet, making it an independently functioning structure from the rest of the harem apartments. The Sultana Mother worked with the Treasurer to manage the affairs of the entire harem. Upon the death or removal of her sultan son, the Sultana Mother and her retinue would be relocated to the Old Palace in the Beyazit distrct.12

The Privy Room of Sultan Murad III was designed and built by Mimar Sinan in 1579 and was the sultan's official and private apartment. It is covered with Iznik tile and the room is encircled with a white on blue calligraphed band reciting the Verse of the Throne from the Kor'an. It is quite spectacular even in this dim light.

I duck into what would be the first of several gift shops here, and find a book of Suleyman's poetry, item number two that I can now scratch off my shopping list. I look at the fabulous hard cover museum catalog but decide it is too expensive and oversize for my luggage, so I leave it behind. Time is growing short and I'm literally running through rooms of jewelry; coppers, brasses and silverworks; weapons and helms, catching the briefest glimpse of the Topkapi Daggar with three enormous emeralds set into its handle; frantically looking for the textiles. At the third gift shop I purchase another book, and ask where the textiles are. I make the firm decision to trade my rug for an Islamic arts library.

The textile collection is much smaller than I expected, but most of the pieces are laid out flat which gives the absolute best view of construction. Oh. My. God. A 17th century Italian velvet, burgundy on white background that I watched being produced on one of the videos at the Lanterna in Genoa, is right here in this case in the form of a Sultan's coat... Italian silks and velvets were highly prized by the Ottoman sultans and princes, as is obvious by the number of pieces I am seeing here. There are several inner caftans here as well – collarless, and tight fitting, with gussets running from waist to hem. Caftans were worn over a loose robe called an entari, which in turn were worn oer shalwar trousers, with a wide waist which was gathered in with a sash which passed through drawstrings on the waistband.

In addition to Italian velvets and silks, a metalic brocade called serâser (a cloth of silver/gold alloys produced in Istanbul during the 16th century) and kemha, (a compound weave blending polychrome silks with metalic threads13) were also worn. Towards the 18th century, the heavy silks and velvets gave way to satins, taffeta, gezi (a thick silk), sandal (a cotton/silk blend) and selimiye, a silk produced in Istanbul.14

I was quite taken with the talismanic shirts, which reminded me a lot of the Taoist caftans from some of the Mongolian exhibits I had seen. Verses from the Kor'an and other prayers were thought to protect the wearer from illnesses and enemies, and are thought to have been prepared through a combined effort between the court astrologers and theologians. I spend the remaining daylight wandering around the grounds, weaving my way through pavilions and admiring the carved marble plaques that line the side of what I think is the Royal Kitchen, in what appears to be a staging area for these pieces, many of which are in various states of repair and restoration.

The last gift shop for the day has Turkish-style pepper mills, but a label on the bottom shows they are mass produced in Cine (China). I am ravenous, having not eaten since breakfast. It is time for me to head back to Hotel Han.

I exit the Topkapi grounds through the Imperial Gate, capped with beautiful gold Arabic script against a blue background. The roundel on the archway is the signature of Sultan Abdülaziz (1861-76). Above it, “Help from God and a speedy victory” which was also the battle cry of the Jannisaries. On the other side, the following script:

By the grace and assent of god and with the aim of establishing peace and tranquility. This auspicious citadel was built and erected in the blessed month of Ramadan in the year 883 (1478 CE) at the command of the son of Sultan Murad, son of Sultan Mehmed Khan, the sultan of the lands and the emperor of the seas, the shadow of God extending over men and djinn, the deputy of God in the East and in the West, the champion of the water and the land, the conqueror of Constantinople and father of that conquest Sultan Mehmed, may God make his reign eternal and exalt his abode above that of the highest stars in the firmament.

Upon returning home at the end of this trip, and researching for this journal, I would be appalled at how much of the Topkapi I didn't even see...(Here are additional photos of the Topkapi Palace.)

Back at the hotel, I am greeted by a very animated young waiter who is working the sidewalk in front of the hotel. The Hotel Han is right next door to the Barbeque House, an added convenience to staying here. I walk up to the large pictoral menu (a feature I would find to be commonplace here in this mufti-lingual city) and ask the waiter for a suggestion. He suggests the eggplant. I tell him eggplant is not something I eat willingly. He smiles, promptly picks up the hem of his jacket and mockingly erases it from the menu, and in its place suggests a combo plate. I never order combo plates but I am so tired and hungry that I accept his suggestion, and he seats me at a table on the sidewalk. A very short time later, a large plate arrives, covered with chicken, steak, lamb, and two other meats I could not identify; grilled peppers and tomatoes, a salad of shredded carrots, lettuce and spiced pickled cabbage; rice, fries, pizza and a boat shaped bread filled with cheese. A half a piece of foccaccia being used as a trencher below the meats. Wow. This is a lot of food for TL30...

A beer (the waiter's suggestion) and a dinner show, free of charge as he works to convince passers by to pull off the sidewalk and take a seat. I more fully recognize what a jewel I have found in this ruby-red boutique hotel.

Saturday - The Bosphorus Strait

I awaken from first decent sleep I've had since arriving here, to sun streaming through the embroidered and sequined curtain. What a glorious and unexpectedly sunny day! I decide to take the ferry to the Rumeli Fortress. After what is to become the standard breakfast that I look forward to every morning (cheeses, olives, sweet breads, french bread with today's pair of jams), and consulting my new map, I follow the train tracks to the waterfront and find a train station which turns out to be the Sirkeci, the arrival point of the legendary Orient Express.15 I stop to take photos of the cute little steam engine that sits in the yard along side the station.

The Orient Express

I had hoped to travel on this legendary run, which ran for nearly a century before shutting down in 1977. An Orient Express run by the Venice Simpleton company now runs twice a year, departing out of London. The original Orient Express began operation in 1883 in Paris, where it took a three day jaunt through Romania, Munich, Vienna, Varna, Budapest and Bucharest, before arriving at its final destination in Istanbul. Six years later, the first non-stop train departed Paris for Istanbul, where it stopped at the Sirkeci Station until 1977. Passengers could walk from Sirkeci to the ferry terminal for service across the Bosphorus, where they could pick up the Ottoman Railways on the Asian side of Istanbul to continue their journey on to Bagdad and other points in the Middle and Far East.

I find the Eminönü ferry dock but cannot negotiate the ticket machines. I ask for assistance from one of the clerks and am redirected to the Bosphorus cruise dock. I don't want that, I want the ferry. I hold up my map and point to Rumeli and am again redirected to the Bosphorus cruise dock the next platform up. I give up and grudgingly trudge north, passing a number of skippers selling private boat tours, and buy a ticket for TL25 instead of the TL7 that the ferry would have cost. It's another one of those “oh well” moments. I am at the end of the line for boarding and there is no open air roof deck. There isn't any seating available on the upper deck either but plenty of room below on old wooden seats that remind me of ships from the '40's. I decide this won't be so bad after all, since it won't take the 7 hours that the ferry route takes. I select a seat near a window on the left (European) side, and settle in.

The Bosphorus is a nineteen mile long strait that connects the Black Sea in the north, to the Sea of Marmara in the south, and separates European Istanbul from its Asian side. It was a critical factor in the establishment of Constantinople in the fourth century, and remained a strategic waterway for centuries after that.16

I cannot get over how sunny it is today. I'm really glad I saw the Cistern and Topkapi yesterday when the weather was not as nice. While waiting for the boat to get underway, I recall the warnings people gave me about this place. So far, none of them have proved out to have the remotest basis in fact. I stopped wearing my money belt during my last couple of days in Florence, and find I have even less need of it here. I walk in confidence with my hand casually laid across purse, with nothing of value in my pockets, just like I do at home. The only thing I keep my eye on is my camera, which remains on its leash, tied to my belt loop. Although intended as an anti-theft measure, were it not for that lanyard, I would have lost it several times by now.

We pull away from the dock, and I see the waterfront side of the Ayasofya and the Sirkeci train station, and a little later, the minarets of the Blue Mosque. The skyline is studded with mosques and minarets. The next stop is Beşiktaş, which, as with most stops on this run, is very brief. We pass the small Ortaköy Camii, and next to it, the Esma Sultan Yalisi, a 19th century mansion that was used to store tobacco during the 20th century.

After we pass under the Bosphorus Bridge, I queue up for the WC, and although some of the women are stepping in to use the Bay (men's room) rather than the Bayern (women's room) I decide to let patience reign. The expressions on the faces of the German women in front of me make me wish my German wasn't so rusty. Soon I find out the reason for their consternation...this is our introduction to a traditional Turkish toilet...

An oblong ceramic piece with a very shallow bowl, a hole, and two textured areas where your feet go. A squatter...I am very glad I remembered to grab some toilet paper from my room this morning and now realize why the German women are grimacing and shaking their hands. The toilet reaks as any pit privy does, and I wonder if the German women understood that the water tap and pitcher at your right foot is there to flush the toilet as well as take care of any other needs...

One more experience checked off the bucket list...(no pun intended).

The Rumeli Hisari comes into view. It is expansive and I am disappointed that the boat does not stop here, and that my view is obscured by others, which prevents me from getting any decent photos. Built by Sultan Mehmet II in 1452, it was completed in 80 days and was one of two fortresses hat led to Mehmet's successful siege of Constantinople the following year.17 Baha told me later that there is Arabic writing high up on the walls.

A pair of yogurt vendors come on board at the port of Kanlica. One sells you a yogurt, the other hands you a packet of powdered sugar and a spoon. The yogurt is crusty on top and really good. I get about halfway through it before it occurs to me that I might 'pay for this later' but I decide to tempt fate...(luckily, fate did not toy with me that day, or in fact any day while I was in Istanbul : )

Beyond Kanlica we reach Rumeli Kavagi, where the strait narrows and is thought to be the site of the 'Clashing Rocks' from Homer's epic 'Jason and the Argonauts.' During the Byzantine period a large column was erected as a warning to ships. It remains a treacherous part of the strait, even with modern day navigational equipment. We reach our final destination, the small fishing village of Anadolu Cavagi where there is time to do either lunch or the Yoros Kalesi at the top of the hill. I opt for the castle. I debark the ferry and plant my feet for the first time, in Asia. Following directions and maps seem to be beyond me lately, and I am approached by a waiter from the nearby restaurant, whom I try to ignore until I realize that he's trying to point me towards the castle.

I am applying the lessons I learned in Italy here. I have bandaged the pressure points on my feet before they become blistered, and I wear flip-flops instead of closed shoes. I carry as little as I possible. I wear a cotton shirt and bring my down vest for the windy boat ride home. The road up the hill is pretty steep, taking me past a cemetery, through a maze of opportunistic eateries, and up to the ruins of the fortress.

A ruin which is closed for renovation...

No big deal. It's not like I've never seen the inside of a fortress. I content myself to wander around the back side where I ask a stranger to take my photo with the Black Sea in the background. This is the closest I will get to the Black Sea this trip, as the rest of the land on this side is restricted military access. The guide books show that it is accessible by bus from the European side but I'm not brave enough today to tackle combinations of ferries and buses. I see people coming from around the corner of the fortress, so I find the path through the brambles and go until a man comes towards me, shaking his head and doing the universal 'stop, no good' sign with his hands. Either it is completely closed or there is simply nothing to see there. I turn around and head back to the head of the path, in time to see a group of men old enough to know better, scrambling over the locked iron gate at the entrance to the fortress. It strikes me as a good way to get arrested...

The stairs leading up to the castle were much more doable in flip flops but a little treacherous on the way back down, and I was very mindful of the patches of broken glass. Down the path, past the 'serf' with the chickens and shanty house, past a restaurant, further down the stairs past a play yard with a wooden swing set, a wooden teeter totter taller than most adult men, and a handful of hammocks. It looks very inviting but I opt to continue down the hill. I check the ferry schedule, determine I still have time for lunch, and head back to the waiter who pointed me to the castle.

My eye contact is returned with a big smile as he sees me and seats me for lunch. I order cay, which arrives very hot, and which I am now drinking with a single lump of sugar. I ask the server for suggestions for fish, predictably he points to the most expensive one on the menu. I choose swordfish instead, which is cooked on a small grill just feet from my table and which costs TL19 for a small but satisfying plate. I look around at a terrain built on the side of a hill, with outdoor cafes under tarp roofs, foliage and intense sunlight that make me think more of Greece than Turkey. I am waiting for Meryl Streep and the Greek Chorus to come bouncing around the corner with a rendition of Mama Mia...

As seems to be the practice here, you hold up your hand to get the waiter's attention in order to get your check. No one is ever in a hurry here. Choices are made via sign language or gesture, checks are tallied by pen and paper or calculator and if you ask for a receipt you are likely to get the scrap of paper they did the tally on. My receipt for this cafe was such a scrap, folded in half, with nothing written on it except for TL19.

I wander down towards the ferry dock, stopping for a gelato and looking for the elusive silver ring that I ultimately will never find. I stop to buy a glass evil eye key ring from a young gypsy woman and her daughter who are selling their wares from under an umbrella in the square. The token will be a pleasant reminder of the Hotel Han, which attaches their room keys to similar blue glass evil eyes. It's the little things that serve as the sweetest reminders...

I take a place near the door of the ferry terminal, understanding now that the first ones in line get the best seats, but it means you have to be in line 30-45 minutes before the ferry arrives. A sign at the terminal building states that Andalolu Kavagi was the turn around or customs point during the Roman era. The village industries included fishing, gardening and serving the ships while waiting for favorable winds to the Black Sea. When the ferry arrives, most people head for outdoor seats, but I opt for one on the inside next to a window, in hopes of getting some better shots of the Rumeli Hisari and perhaps a nap. I doze off and on, one eye closed, the other on the coastline, thinking after awhile that I must have fallen asleep and missed Rumeli altogether. Nope, here it is. I am rewarded...

Here are m ore photos of my day on the Bosphorus Strait.

I disembark the ferry with time on my hands, so I decide to head towards Islamic Science Museum and the Topkapi gift shop. I join the crowd that crosses the street en masse, having learned that doing so increases your survival rate against traffic that seems to pay very little attention to signal lights or anything that is trying to share the road. The size of your vehicle doesn't matter and there is no apparent right-of-way. I turned right instead of left, cross the street and find myself caged in on a set of multiple train tracks. This is Not a good place to be... leave now before you get yourself killed...

By the time I have backtracked to the pedestrian overpass, it is time to head back for dinner. The young waiter, whose name is Cihan, stands and smiles as he waits for our nightly game of 'What's For Dinner.' Later in the evening Baha again invites me to what I now refer to as the Captain's Table for a cup of coffee. We chat about football (soccer) and ice hockey, and the hats I make. He shows me a picture of a cintemani and we talk about design options for a hat he might like to order.

 

 

After dinner, I decide to take another walk through what I was calling Topkapi Park, which is actually called Gulhane (Tulip) Park. The birds I couldn't recognize by voice, turn out to be grey herons. The tops of the trees are filled with their nests, and I break out my binoculars for a better look. What a spectacular thing to watch! More pairs of birds than I can count, building nests and mating, expanding their chest feathers and making an incredible racket with their calls. I lay down on the grass to watch, which attracts a little too much attention from a pair of men passing by, who stop, and continue to watch me as they talk. Taking that as a cue, I stand up and walk back towards the gate, noting on my way the location of the Science Museum which I will visit tomorrow.

I go to my room to download the photos from the day, and go to bed. Construction continues and the building starts to shake. Shake! Heavy equipment feels like it is slamming into the side of our foundation. Like an earthquake that lasted for hours. But at least it wasn't jack hammers. I doze off and on, recounting the events of the day, until finally, at about 2 AM, quiet reigns. There are two construction jobs going on on this street, the one next door I think is the government job. Apparently the heavy work must be done at night as trucks are not allowed on these streets during the day (for tourist season). There appear to be no sound ordinances here at all...

Sunday –The Golden Horn, the Science Museum, and a Most Holy Place

I am up and ready to go by 7:30, having three days remaining with a long list of sites left to see. I step out onto my balcony to see that the sidewalk across the intersection has sprouted a rainbow of tables, and there is a grey haired man with a black cap and one of those cool brass shoe shine kits right across from the Hotel Han dining room. I head downstairs to catch an early breakfast and am greeted by Baha and Erhan, one of his brothers, who apologize for the noise last night. "No worries," I say, "not your fault..."

Breakfast this morning at my favorite seat next to the window includes a triangle of halvah in place of the filo roll, and a toasted savory roll which is quite good. Jams this morning appear to be cherry, and rose, which I later find out is homemade.

My journal has now become a collection of haphazard notes as I write entries from both front and back, and add notations wherever there is space on previous pages. This has not been the restful, relaxing week that I probably needed, but there is so much to see and experience here that I am unwilling to take any down time. As a compromise, I decide to visit a hamami (Turkish bath) tomorrow as many sites are closed on Mondays. Baha makes a reservation for me at the Gedikpasa Hamami which is only a 15 minute walk from here. I will allow an hour.

He asks me what my plan today is. The Science Museum, I say, and the Galata Tower. “Where is your map” he asks, this being the cue for our daily routine. “You must go here”, he says, circling a fashion district near the Galata Tower. “And here,” he adds, circling a mosque at the north end of the Golden Horn which I must take a ferry and then a funicular to reach. “It is very important mosque” he says with intense earnesty. Hmmm. That looks like an adventure, and not something I had planned to see. But by now I also know to not question his advice.

I hurry on to the Islamic Science Museum, and head up the stairs. There are globes in the entryway, but unlike the ones at the Galileo Museum in Florence, these are not under glass. I turn into the first room to find nothing but astrolabes. Dozens of astrolabes! Case after case, about a third of them are originals, the rest are copies of originals that reside in other museums. I start snapping pictures of the originals and their accompanying signage, but take few notes as I expect that information will probably be in the museum catalog. Perhaps I'll even be fortunate enough to find a replica of something here for Payne in the gift shop. The next room is filled with sundials and clocks. The next one, siege weapons. No cases! No ropes! I am furiously fighting the urge to sit on the floor and play with things...

I stroll t hrough rooms of medical instruments, weather instruments, early steam engines, distilleries, kilns, a few books, a few maps. I reach the end. Where's the museum store? What do you mean, there's no gift shop? There's no catalog? Argh, and NO!!! Had I known that I would have taken better notes...and had I been thinking even more clearly I would have asked for a contact point so I could voice my opinion about the serious diservice they are doing to lay scholars who visit here, and the revenue opportunities they are missing... (These are more of my photos from the Islamic Museum.)

I take a short respite in Gulhane Park to watch the herons, and after seeing smaller birds flit by, bring out my binoculars to discover that the flits are small green parrots, which I watch nesting in the tree hollows. This place must be insane with birds at the height of summer. After wandering around the fountains and ponds, I am off to find the ferry...

Today's lesson is that one cannot always rely on maps. There is construction at the Galata Bridge and I cannot follow the waterfront through to the ferry dock for the Golden Horn. I cross the overpass and find myself on the wrong side of the caged in railroad tracks I was trapped on a few days ago. Unwilling to repeat that mistake, I continue up the wrong side of the street until once again I find myself completely lost. The sun is intense today, I have no water and I'm getting overheated. I am not feeling very safe in my current surroundings and I feel a melt down coming on. I find a piece of curb in the shade and sit down, pulling my shawl over my head for shade. I look at a map that now means nothing to me and I feel very white and out of place as the number of people staring at me increases the longer I sit here. I am really dehydrated and wonder if I have heat exhaustion to look forward to tonight. I'm just about to give up on this excursion, but instead, I close my eyes to regroup. I open them a few minutes later, and my attention is drawn by a parade of people, not locals, on the other side of the street. Directly across from me is a blue and white sign. Could it possibly be...why yes, indeed it is...the sign for the ferry dock for the Golden Horn...

I weave my way through traffic and watch where a crowd of mostly East Indians are scrambling over piles of broken concrete, finding their way through what appears to be an impassable path towards the water. When in doubt, follow the crowd. Chances are, they're going to the same destination as you are...

I arrive at the ferry ticket office and ask for a round trip fare, following along with the pantomime that the ticket officer is outlining on his desk to make sure we are both talking about the same thing. Two brass tokens, one for each way. Cool. I pop one into the turnstyle and wait inside the building. Finally the boat comes, an actual ferry! I feel a sense of minor achievement...

The Golden Horn Strait

The Golden Horn is a four mile long natural harbor which served as the main commercial port for Constantinople during the Byzantine era. The Byzantines protected the port by blocking it with a huge chain, which was only breached twice...once by 10th century Vikings, and once again during the Fourth Crusade. In 1453 Sultan Mehmet bypassed this chain by dragging his ships from the Bosphorus, overland on greased logs through what is now the New District, and launched them back into the Golden Horn, in the space of a single night.18

A short ferry ride criss-crosses this waterway to the large bay at the end, where one gets off the ferry and walks to the funicular. I stand in a long line, not seeing any sort of ticket station until 45 minutes later when a white glassed in lobby comes into view. . I watch people step out of line to the Jetonmatik, and come away with red and blue tokens. After watching several people do this, l also step out of line and step up to the same system that prevented me from taking the Bosphorus ferry. Two lire deposited, a menu I don't understand, but then I realize there are no choices, the only thing here is the funicular. So I push the buttons until something happens... Clink, clink. My change and a blue token but I don't know if that's the right color. I step back in line and continue to watch. Red is for kids, blue is for adults. OK. After more waiting, I reach the turnstyle. Watching the people in front of me deposit their token, I follow suite and join five other people on one of the two tram cars. It's a very short ride to the top. Two girls are sitting across from me and a young man is sitting to my left, paying more attention to framing them in his camera than where he is in relation to where I am. We nearly bonk heads before he realizes where he is spatially. I smile and motion for him to go ahead and lean in front of me to get his shot, which he does.

The tram car drops us off at the base of a graveyard. I have no idea where this mosque is but I thought Baha said it was up the hill, so that is the direction I set out. I pass a restaurant, and more graves marked by blooming iris. And houses. This does not feel right. I take the paper out of my purse that Baha had written the name of the mosque on, and stop an elderly gentleman who had been keeping pace with me up the hill. He stops another couple coming in the opposite direction, who explain to me that this is a residential area and that the mosque is in the opposite direction. It is nearing sunset and I may not reach it in time to enter it, but at least I will be able to say that I came and I saw. I head in the direction I have been pointed.

There is an entire city up here! There's a bus. And shops. And more restaurants, all perched on top of this vertical graveyard. I see a red sign that looks very out of place, and turn right onto the path. There's a group of people waiting at the top, near a gate. They must be waiting for services to begin, which means I have arrived too late. I have already pulled my shawl over my hair, and find a place to stand near the gate. I get an odd look from someone in a military or security uniform. I then notice I am the only woman standing here. I see where the women are, I try to move closer to them, but they all seem to know each other and the air is thick with something beyond piety and so I keep my distance.

Then I observe a cluster of men gathered off in the trees near a grave. Women start to stand up and kiss each other. I start to back away as I realize these kisses are not in greeting, but in comfort. I am at a funeral...

I exit as discreetly as I can,very thankful that I did not intrude on them to ask directions, and proceed down the hill. After what seems like about 30 minutes, still surrounded by graves with an increasing number of family members visiting them, I sight the characteristic minarets of a mosque. I pass a young boy wearing the circumcision clothing I saw in the shop windows the day I visited the Grand Bazaar. I turn the corner and find myself in a courtyard, surrounded by shops and filled with people. A few steps more brings me face to face with two bridal couples who have just exited the Eyup Sultan Camii. I see a very long line and people bustling around me, all carrying bottles of water and identical meals in take-out containers. I get far enough into the courtyard to realize that I am waiting in a line for food. I step out of line and around another corner. Two men are handing out programs at the gate so either there's a wedding here, or prayer is soon to begin.

I find a piece of wall where I can observe without being in the way. I watch as women enter a stairwell and take off their shoes. The staircase appears to lead up to an enclosed walkway with stained glass panels, stretching over the courtyard. I follow the women in, take off my flip flops and walk up the stairs. There are women praying in the walkway, facing the stained glass. Through the windows on the other side, I look down into the courtyard where the mealtime pandemonium is starting to subside. I sit down next to the wall and continue to observe. A few women are standing and then kowtowing. One over there is on her cell phone. There are children running everywhere. Two other women with a prayer book in their lap, may or may not be talking about prayers. To my left, an alcove where women are sitting with heads covered, but not in prayer, or in fact in any form of obvious activity. The imam’s calls to prayer has begun...

I do not know how long I have been sitting here. Finally, my curiosity takes over and I stand up and quietly move into the alcove. And then I look up, and find myself in disbelief. I am standing inside the mosque...

The Euyp Sultan Camii is the first mosque ever built in Istanbul and is considered the city's holiest religious site. It was built on the place where Ayyub El Assari, standard bearer of the Prophet Mohammed, called Eyup Sultan by the Turks, died during the siege of Constantinople in 674-78. The story relates that he was buried where he fell and this mosque marks that spot. It is an important destination point for Muslim pilgrims, and many bridal couples come here for blessings before their nuptials.

 

The wall in front of me is the iron screen, separating the women's balcony from the men in prayer below. I sit down next to the screen, and peer thorough. An imam is preaching, breaking his pace frequently with sips from his water bottle. Men are sitting on the floor in no apparent pattern or order. There are water bottles, and cell phones, and papers and books near some of them. Some of the men are trying to control small boys. Unlike the women who are actively engaged in prayer, the men are not following the same patterns of standing and kowtowing. I discreetly snap shots of the windows, the dome, and the top of the screen, taking great care to not photograph any human. There are doors in the screen about the size of a child's face, one is open and hung with a string of green prayer beads. It's a perfect shot that I do not take because it would have also captured the men on the other side.

I put my camera away and sit and listen to the imam. After a while,the men join in as a chorus. I stay a few minutes longer before departing, greatly humbled and moved by the experience of having witnessed a prayer service from behind the screen, at sunset, at this most holy place in the city.

Additional photos of the Eyup Sultan Camii and surrounds.

I find my way back to the brick road and am surprised to find that within a few minutes I arrive at street level. I cross the street and walk back to the ferry dock. I slip my token into the turnstile and take a seat in a nearly empty ferry station. It is a 45 minute wait for the next ferry. I do not have the time or caloric bank to stop at the Chorba Church on my way back..

The sun is starting to set. And suddenly, I start to cry. And I cannot stop. I am completely overcome with what I have just witnessed. I pull my shawl further over my head and face. I gain composure before the next wave hits, again and again. More people enter the station.

We are now standing, queuing up for the ferry like so many cattle herding themselves towards a penned gate. My shawl is still over my head and I stare at the floor until I am again composed. I know how green my eyes get when I have been crying and I don't want to look up. But I do. And I catch someone's concerned glance every single time, which makes me return my gaze to the floor. I cannot help but think that if I wasn't so hungry, so thirsty, so fatigued, that these waves of emotion would be so much better controlled. I start praying to stop this incessant crying. I really dislike bringing distress to those around me...

Finally, the ferry docks and offloads, we push and prod each other through the double doors, across the rough wooden planks and find seats for the sail home. I ask for a bottle of water at the snack bar but am handed a lemonade instead. I don't care and the sugar is probably helpful anyway. The sun is setting, turning the waters of the Golden Horn into their namesake. I am physically and emotionally drained but at least I have finally regained my composure.

It is close to dark by the time I reach the overpass and I don't see the Jetonmatik for the tram. This place is not well lit and not a place I would choose to be after dark. I walk as quickly and defiantly as I can muster. There's the New Mosque which I step into for a brief time. Continuing on, past the Eminönü Station, to the tram tracks, past all the shops I now recognize for passing them so often. To the wall, to the plaza between the Ayasofya and the Blue Mosque. Past the police station and the carpet man who shouts out a TL80 price for the 'not a carpet' that he tried to sell me earlier. I reach the Hotel Han and find Cihan at his usual post. Choose please. I have little energy and no more words. I am ushered inside when the weather turns too cold and I am seated at the Captain's table, where dinner is lamb on a bed of pistachios and cooked greens, rice, fries and yogurt. A glass of Yakut wine. Water by Nestle. No heat stroke. I am so amazed...

Upstairs, I pack my bags. Two days remain and I need to make time to buy another suitcase if I need to. I have an appointment at the hamami tomorrow at 9:30, and then I plan to see the palace of Suleyman the Magnificent, and Barbarossa's tomb. I will go to the Galata Tower in the afternoon if I have time. I am leaving on Wednesday but I do not want to. I get online to see what changing my ticket would cost me, which is in the neighborhood of TL6,087 (USD3,800). Sadly, iit is not an option. A sandwich board sign in front of the hotel lists the times for the Ataturk shuttle. I need to catch the 3:20 AM, which means I need to be ready to load at 3 AM. There is no point in trying to sleep on Wednesday. I will use that time to upload and back up photos and catch up on my journal.

Monday – the Hamami and the Taxi

I am not hungry this morning and do not want to eat before visiting the hamami. I try to sleep in a little but with not much success. I study my map. I am lost much less frequently now that I know to use the train tracks and the Topkapi wall as my guide. I head out.

In The Wrong Direction. Again!

I quickly course correct and find the street, and try to follow the directional sign, but find myself walking up and down the street countless times, unable to find the hamami. Several old men reach out and try to help me when it is obvious that I am lost. Several others looked at me with a mix of sympathy and credulity that a person could be so lost, so close to their destination. I know I'm only a couple of blocks away and am chagrined and a little frustrated to find that I have walked right by the place a few times, but did not see the sign because I was on the wrong side of the street.

Tarihi Gedikpasa Hamami was built in 1475 by Hayrettin for Gedik Ahmet Pasa, a statesman and naval commander during the reign of Sultan Mehmet. Hayrettin was considered one of the most important architects of the period and is regarded by many historians to be the teacher of Mimar Sinan. Tarihi Gedikpasa has the largest dome of any hamami in Istanbul and is one of the most important Ottoman historical buildings in this city.19 It serves both men and women but in segrated parts of the bath. I checked in at the front desk and was led to a room with a bed and a chest, where I could disrobe. I had read that you leave your underwear on, so I did, and wrapped myself in the thin stripped cotton towel that they handed me on the way to the room. I slip on the rubber flip flops, lock the door behind me and take the key. I am led into the bath.

The heat nearly takes my breath away. A series of domes peppered with round glass windows at the top, allow beams of sunlight to illuminate the marble lined room. I was led to one of three marble fountains along the wall, where I was doused with water from a plastic bowl, which was then handed to me so l could continue to douse myself and wash. I was then motioned to lay down on the expansive marble platform under the center dome. It feels like it is heated. I am wrapped in the now-soaked striped towel but was motioned to take it off and to lay on top of it instead. My attendant is a middle-aged Turkish woman in a black bikini. She begins...

Unlike an American spa, with it's white coated attendants in comfortable but clinical settings and discreetly draped sheets, a Turkish bath is just about as intimate an activity as you can engage in with another human short of having sex. Rick Steves suggests that you bring your own kese (the scrub mitten), but I rather suspect that they do not use the same one on the next customer. And with the amount of soap that is used during this process, I was not concerned if this was not the case.

My underwear was actually in the way and the attendant kept rolling it out of her way in back (think wedgie), and down in front to gain access to pretty much everything except my crotch. If I were to do this again I would invest in a thong. I was scrubbed head to toe with a heavy luffah mit, first my back, and then my front, and then I was asked to sit up so she could scrub my arms and rib cage. Lay back down on my belly as a cotton sheet filled with soap suds was laid across me, giving the sensation of being smothered in a blanket of heavy cream. More washing. More turning. Rinsing. Back again for massage and hair. Rinse again. Sit and steam...

The final step was being led to a pool of cool water that did not smell of salt but which made me feel more buoyant than I know I am. The pool was blue tiled, and under another dome with shafts of light coming down through the small squarish windows and into the water. There were once frescoes throughout this hamami, but no paint could survive so many centuries of steam. I wondered what deals had been struck, what intrigues planned, what gossip shared or weddings arranged within these walls. Thinking back to the other domes I had seen, I was reminded of bird cages. Did women feel trapped in these places, as they bathed as much in shafts of light through heavy windows, as they did the waters in the fountains?

I walk out into a common area, where I am dried off with a heavy Turkish towel and shown back to my room. I change back into my clothing, realizing that I had forgotten to bring a second pair of underwear. Well. I guess it's “Pant's Optional Day” in Istanbul: ) (Gedikpasa Hamami, Hamam Cadessi No :61, Gedikpasa Istanbul, www.gedikpasahamami.com)

Traveler's tip: Book your visit to Istanbul for two weeks, and have at least a bath a week. If you can only arrange for one, do it on a Monday when most sites are closed, and use it as the halfway point of your visit. A standard bath is TL35, splurge for the full treatment for TL50 which includes a massage. Remember to bring water, this experience, like any spa treatment, will dehydrate you. The women who came after me, did not wear underwear at all. Practices may be different from one hamami to the next so ask when you make your reservation. Also, remember to bring a plastic bag for your wet underwear and remember to bring a dry pair : )

My brain finally starts to unwind. I am happy with the timing of this, being the day after the most intense experience of this trip thus far. Completely refreshed, I make my way to the Grand Bazaar for water and lunch. My waiter, friendly but no match for Cihan, is half Turkish, half Gernman, raised in Boston. My meal is a chicken dish cooked in a thin pastry, perhaps filo, served in tomato sauce, accompanied by yogurt and garnished with french fries, a culinary detail which baffled me. The salad was the traditional tomato, onion and cilantro mix. The onions here are sweet and very mild, nothing like the acidic ones in the US.

I am amazed with the sheer diversity of people here. East Indians are referred to by the Turks as black. I do not know what they call Africans, or if they make a distinction. People who work in any of the service trades need to have a working business skill set of at least 5 languages and the successful ones have working knowledge of closer to ten. In spite of this diversity, I rarely felt unsafe and never felt threatened. The hospitality and general attitudes towards others here borders on the unreal. People offer to help you almost before you ask, from trying to give you directions, to helping mothers with strollers as they traversed stairs and trams. I felt safer and more responded to here than anywhere in Italy or at home.

I finish lunch and head out to find the University of Istanbul, and behind it, Suyleman's Camii. I stumble onto a street of craftsmen that I nicknamed Metalsmith Row...

Traveller's tip: Mimar Sinan Cadessi, the street that runs along the backside of the University campus, is where you want to buy things after you have experienced the bazaar. I stopped to watch this artist (whose name I believe is Ercan Tekin) as he engraved Turksh coffee sets on the sidewalk outside of his shop. I ended up buying a few of his wares. There were a number of working metalshops here, as well several other artisan merchants and at least one antique store. (Erzincan Turistik, Bakir el Sanatlari Hediyekik Esya, Mimar Sinan Cad. No:53/C, Suleymaniye, Istanbul www.erzincanturistik.com)

I reached the mosque when it was closed for prayer so I tried unsuccessfully to locate Barbarossa's statue and tomb. There are several major restoration projects occurring in Istanbul right now, and much of the Suleyman complex was not accessible. I did find a vendor just outside the wall who was selling hats, and, remarkably, a few pair of traditional Turkish wool socks. I immediately zoomed in on a pair which took nearly all of my remaining cash. Noticing this, the vendor smiled and graciously slipped a bottle of water into my bag before sending me on my way.

 

Sultan Suleyman Camii

This mosque was built on one of the seven hills of the city by Mimar Sinan, and was the largest square based semi-domed mosque he ever designed. It was finished in 1557. A 90 foot wide dome is supported by four 'elephant's feet' pillars which are masked by an arcaded gallery to give the illusion of an immense open space. Mimar imbedded juniper beams among the stones in the foundation to absorb shocks from earthquakes. To improve the accoustics, 255 empty pots were incorporated into the dome. Soot from the oil lamps was directed by a venting system to a chamber, where it was collected for use in calligraphy ink.20

The colors are very sedate compared to other mosques and I found the Suleyman Camii to be among the most calming of any I spent time in in Istanbul. The sound of tens of pairs of shoes dropping to the marble step in unison as men and women left after prayers, is a sound that still reverberates in my ears, weeks after having heard it... (Here are additional photos of the Sultan Suleyman Camii and the Tomb of Mimar Sinan)

About Suleyman the Magnificent

Sultan Suleyman, called 'Lawgiver' by the Turks, reigned from 1520-1566 and was the longest ruling sultan in the history of the Ottoman Empire. He was very well educated and was both a poet and a goldsmith. He reformed the Kanunname-i Ali Osman (Ottoman Law) in keeping with Islamic principals.

Sultan Suleyman commissioned the building of mosques, schools, hans (hotels), baths, bridges, hospitals, and a large library. Sciences, art and literature flourished during Suleyman's reign, in part due to his financial patronage. He was referred to as The Magnificent in recognition of these works which he did to serve his religion and his nation, rather than for personal gain. His reign marked the Golden Age of the Ottoman Empire.21

Sultan Suleyman's philosophy is best described in his own words, excerpted from a letter he sent to one of his governers who had requested from him, additional rank:

“...This world is transitory, so do not be enticed and deceived by it. Spend all your belongings and riches to the muslim people of the Empire. Be good to people... Help the poor and needy. Protect the scholars. Do not permit any person to starve...Help also the foreigners so that they will see the Justice of the muslims and get to love us.”

“May Allah the Almighty open your ways. And make your sword sharp. Make you always successful against the enemies of this religion. May Allah make your face bright and shiny in both worlds.”

During his reign he oversaw the command of thirteen wars, and more than doubled the size and strength of the Ottoman Empire, receiving taxes from the countries he subjugated including Hungary, Austria, Germany, France, Basra and Persia. During his reign, the oceanographer Piri Reis wrote the Kitab-i Bahriye (Book of the Navy) which was at the time the definitive work on naval sciences and navigation.22

About Mimar Sinan, Chief Architect

Mimar Sinan, called Sinan the Great by the Turks, was born into a Christian family sometime between 1494-99. He was recruited into the Jannisaries when he was 14-18 years old, and went on to become a military engineer. The campaigns and wars he was engaged in allowed him to see the architecture of several different cultures, which may have formed his own style and skills. He was a great designer who could be inspired by others, but who could also blend those inspirations with his own views.23 Over the fifty year span that he served as Chief Architect, first to Suleyman and then to two of his successors, Sinan was responsible for the design, construction and restoration of 477 buildings and public works, about 20 of them of which still stand in Istanbul. The Suleyman Camii is regarded as one of his greatest achievements.

On my way home I shopped along a street lined with button and stud shops, fabric shops, more kitchen shops than I have seen in one place with the possible exception of Chinatown. I finally found the tiny spoons which complete my glass teaset. I stumbled across Sinan's tomb, a very modest structure tucked away under a (wisteria?) arbor. I think I walked past a synagogue, mosque-shaped but with a Star of David window above its door. I also stumble across a book store and allow myself to buy pretty much whatever I wanted. A book of the travels of IBN Battutah, and another on Sinan. Book salesmen in Istanbul are nearly as rigorous in their suggestions as carpet salesmen...offering to charge my card in USD (no thanks, lires are fine) and 2 day shipping (OMG thanks but NO). I dropped almost TL200 there and came out a very happy girl...

I swing by the Topkapi for two more books, intending to buy the large hardbound museum catalog but once again leaving it behind. Back to the Hotel Han to drop things off, and with time and daylight left, I head straight back out to the Galata Bridge.

The top deck of the Galata Bridge was studded with the usual array of food vendors: roasted corn, roasted chestnuts, savory breads. The rail is lined with fishermen, pulling small silver smelt-like fish out of the sea on their multi-hook lines. I visit my third traditional Turkish WC, the newer ones have a one way valve that keeps the odors at bay, and the one at the Suyleman Camii was self flushing. They are not so bad once you get used to them. I find a piece of curb to sit on, prop my feet up on my purse, and watch the boats traffic in and out, pushing the surf up over the retaining wall.

 

I return home via the bottom deck of the bridge which is nothing but restaurants. I am tempted to eat dinner here but I'm not quite hungry enough, and I would miss the BBQ House floor show. I still want to figure out if I can stay an extra day but it will be OK if I can't. Plans for tomorrow include the Ayasofya, crowd or no, and perhaps the art museum. Look for the Hippodrome again, and buy a suitcase at the place outside of the bazaar if Baha doesn't have a box.

Back at the Hotel Han, dinner tonight is a shrimp/tomato/cheese casserole which is served sizzling on a brazier. It's a nice presentation. I order Raki. Cihan brings two glasses to the table, one filled with water, the other with a single shot of Raki, and pauses over the shot with a bottle of water. I wave him away and drink it neat. Mmmm. Tastes like absynthe. Baha asks if I want to buy a bottle but I tell him I'll try to find it state side (a decision I would later regret when I find that it is not imported into Washington State).

He then asks what my plan is for tomorrow. "The Ayasofya and the museum," I say. “You must go to Princes Islands. Very Important.” And he instructs me to take the second train station past the art museum to the end of the line which is the Kabatas ferry terminal. One island has a castle, another has a famous church, another has very nice houses. And he makes notations on my map.

He then asks if I would like to see the New District. “Do you have cash for a taxi back because you cannot take the tram back,” he asks. I confirm that I do, and we set out. It's about a 20 minute drive by freeway around the Sea of Marmara before getting back into the New District. I get to experience Turkish traffic from the car's point of view as he weaves through streets that don't even look passable to me. We go up to Lasos Fish Restaurant for tuna sashimi, which I learn to eat it with the onion pieces that accompany the fish on the plate. A little later, melon wedges and sheep cheese arrive. This late dinner finishes and we walk down to the cab stop, where Baha gives instructions to the driver, and sends me back to the hotel.

And a new adventure begins...

The cabbie get off the freeway, and stops at a cab stop to ask directions to the hotel. And again a few blocks later. And again. Between stops and turns he mutters “Hotel Han” and “Allah Allah” and throws his hands up in the air. A dry cleaner is shutting down for the night, the cabbie stops to ask him directions. Some random guy is standing on a street corner and cabbie stops for directions but I don't think Random Guy speaks Turkish.

We get to the walled city and I start pointing at signs as they point to Yerebatan and the Cistern.  I also point straight ahead to the Ayasofya because I can walk home from there. There's more muttering of "Hotel Han Hotel Han" and "Allah Allah," and the raising of hands to sky and he looks increasingly more confused. By now I'm the one praying to Allah... I really want out of this cab but I cannot get him to stop... I point once more to the sign for Ayasofya which he takes literally, and starts driving across the pedestrian plaza to the mosque. NO! I point to the left where the sign points to Yerebatan Caddesi. Finally, after eight stops for directions and a countless litanies of “Hotel Han Hotel Han Allah Allah,” we arrive in front of the Hotel Han. His meter says more than TL35 but he only charges me what he had quoted. I put my hand on his shoulder, tell him “Good Job” and we both laugh in relief, though who was the greater relieved between the two of us, would be a pretty hard call...

Tuesday – Ayasofya, the Sea of Marmara and a Bonus Day

Today is my last day here, the plan is for the Ayasofya and the Princes Islands. I have packed my bags and have a little room to spare, and I even found some USD that I had forgotten I had. It will convert to just enough lire to get me through today. What an amazing trip this has been...

My first stop this morning is Ayasofya, the lines have not yet formed so it is an easy course in. I cover my head and remove my shoes within a few feet of the entrance because it feels wrong not to even though it is not a working mosque. I am the only person who does so.

The Ayasofya (Hagia Sophia)

This church converted to mosque is among the oldest religious sites in the world, dating to 537 AD. It is also among the most important examples of Byzantine architecture still standing. It is the third church built on this site after the first two were destroyed by fire during riots in the 5th and 6th centuries.

Emperor Justinian I assigned two Anatolian architects (Söke/Balat and Aydin) to build a basilica that surpassed Solomon's Temple. Materials were recycled from various buildings in Anatolia, including the Temple of Artemesis in Ephesus24 and a pagan temple in Tarsus.25 Restoration work started almost immediately after the domes suffered damage from earthquakes in 553 and 557. There is a legend that relates that on the night that the prophet Mohammed was born, an earthquake caused the great dome to collapse and it was only repaired properly after spit from Mohammed, soil from the Kaaba and water from ZamZam were brought back from Mecca and added to the mortar.26

There are runes carved into one of the marble railings from the Viking raids of the 9th-10th centuries. The church was looted during the Fourth Crusade in 1204. During this famous sacking of Constantinople, many pieces from the Ayasofya were redistributed to churches in the West (I saw some of these pieces in the Doges Palace in Venice) Historians at the time recorded that "compared to the Crusaders, Arabians are more compassionate...”

When Sultan Mehmed conquered Constantinople in 1453, the Ayasofya was converted to a mosque. Great care was taken to preserve the integrity of the structure as well as the sacredness of the space. Four minarets were added between the 15th-16th centuries, two of them built by Mimar Sinan during the reigns of Selim II and Murad III. The stunning minbar (the imam's pulpit) dates to the late 16th century and is one of the most beautiful I saw in any mosque.

The most famous restoration occurred in 1847-49 during the reign of Sultan Abdulmecid, when the 8th century mosaics were uncovered and documented. They were plastered over again as Islamic law bans images which may lead to idolatry, but were restored again in 1932 when the Ayasofya was converted to a museum.

 

The Sadirvan (ablution fountain) in the courtyard was commissioned by Sultan Mahmut I in 1740, and includes Baroque details that were becoming popular in Europe at the time.

I buy more books, and buy stamps for postcards on my way back to the Hotel Han. The other hotel owner, Erhan, takes my postcards to mail, and points me in the direction of the train. Had I figured out the Jetonmatik earlier in the week I could have covered so much more ground. The schematic of the stops above the door would have made it impossible to get off at the wrong station. I jump on board and head across the Galata Bridge to the Kabatas ferry terminal and the Princes Islands.

Traveler's Tip: Istanbul is a pretty intense city, and I don't think I could manage in a city with a higher population. The crush of people here can be relentless especially at peak tourist season. When you need a break, go to a hamami or take a ferry. It doesn't matter where, just pick one. The Sea of Marmara was by far the most relaxing of the bodies of water that surround Istanbul (I cannot speak for the Black Sea which is still on my list). Although Istanbul is under constant haze, I had no respiratory issues here, ass opposed to Firenze where I had sinus headaches almost all of the time. For as old as this city is, it feels much cleaner than Firenze which is tremendously gritty by comparison.

It's about an hour before the ferry arrives. While I am waiting, I discover my favorite street vendors food, a bread crunchy like a biscotti and shaped like a European zero. It is very tasty. I find a piece of pavement in the shadow of a signpost, where I sit for about 15 minutes before deciding to pass through the turnstile and intothe terminal in order to get a window side seat onboard. I am among the first to embark, and find the perfect seat on the starboard bow with an unobstructed view, a secure place to hang my purse, and a rail to prop my feet up on. Sweet!

This trip would work well as a group, spending time together on ferries and over dinner, and breaking up for independent excursions during the day. But my preference is to travel solo. It has opened me up to engaging with the locals, and many of the opportunities afforded to me on this trip may not have been offered to a pair or a group. Today my brain is completely free to wind down and go all sorts of pleasant places that conversation with a travel partner would prevent...

I replay some of the conversations from last night. The son of one of the men who joined us for dinner last night, is fluent in five languages. Cihan speaks a smattering of business words in what seems like twice that many languages. The signs here are in Turkish and English. I don't know how Asians manage unless they also speak English. This world does not cater to those from the far east. Linguistically, I feel completely inadequate as an American.

I look down into the jade colored sea, full of jellyfish, and there are three dolphins breaking the surface of the Marmara Sea. I reach a sense of complete calm and blissful peace and again I convince myself that I am OK with leaving tomorrow.

The Golden Horn and Bosphorus treks are nice, but this is the ferry trip that truly gives you a true feel for the immensity of this place. Twenty million people live here. The skyline along both sides of the coast is unbroken. The sea is inky black-green on our way to the fourth island, and the breeze has become much cooler.

Our final stop is Buyukada, where we debark into a town filled with Victorian era houses covered with varying degrees of gingerbread, some with Indonesian peaks, slopes and other design influences that do not strike me as Turkish. The architecture and flora here are dramatically different from the mainland and it feels downright tropic. I can see why this is such a popular mini-vacation place for the city-dwellers. I take a short walk before I am talked into taking a tour of the island by horse drawn surrey, TL50 for the short tour and TL60 for the full island. I opt for the shorter of the two tours, which winds its way to the top of the hill, through residences and parks and twisty windy roads. We stop at the top to water the horse, and then make our way back down to city center. past vendors selling silk flower hair wreaths, and the most expensive gelato I have had so far this trip. It's a very short wait for the ferry back to the mainland.

What an incredibly pleasant last day! I return home after very well timed transit schedules so I can get euros for the shuttle and finish packing. I now have two days of photos to upload. I have given up trying to transcribe my journal, far too many other distractions seek my attention. Back at the Barbeque House, I grab dinner, settle my tab and check me out of my room. Erhan points to a blank space on his room chart but I assure him I am leaving on the 18th. Baha arrives later and tries to print my boarding pass. There's a problem. He has confirmed the flight but the boarding pass will not come up. He calls Lufthansa.

And then, a remarkable thing happens... “Your flight does not leave until the 19th...”

Are You Kidding Me? I have an extra day? I am beyond ecstatic, jumping up and down in my chair so much I fear breaking it. Celebration is in order!

I end up at Cagaloglu Hamami, among the oldest and finest in the city, where I receive a lesson in Turkish etiquette -- to stand and shake hands with people as they enter and leave the room, and how to properly clink glasses with other hoteliers there, who are very polite with my gross mispronunciation of the toasts they are trying to teach me. Afterwards, I walk through the Kybele Hotel which adjoins the Han Hotel; it is similar in structure to the Han but larger, and filled floor to ceiling with glass lanterns, yurta bands and other antiques. I take the lift to the roof that the Kybele shares with the Han. The view is spectacular, too bad there are no stars...

Here are additional photos of the Ayasofya and my day on the Sea of Marmara and Buyukada.

Wednesday – Actual Final Day and the Islamic Art and Ethnology Museum

Baha offers to take a couple of us to the bazaar to buy suzani (the embroidered bedspreads) and ceramics. I don't think I can cram anything more into my suitcases. And I think I have sprained my foot and would be happy to spend the day in Gulhane Park. But the offer is more than the Australian guest and I can resist. She finishes breakfast and heads upstairs to pack and will join us here at 11 AM.

We wait, and Baha shows me YouTube clips of traditional Turkish tulum, and a traditional Turkish men's line dance called Horon. He then asks me if I know what this is called, as he pulls up another line dance. "Riverdance" I respond, based on traditional Irish clogging. This cultural exchange would continue on Facebook for a few weeks after I get back home, tulums for bagpipes, Turkish dance for Irish...it was a really nice extension of my trip here.

The Australian returns and the three of us head out to the Bazaar. Baha takes us to the vendor who sells the suzani for his hotel. We are offered tea and seats. We make our selections and are also allowed to choose a suzani pillow case. The embroidery on mine is incomplete, which makes me smile. Baha also notices and motions with needle and thread, indicating that I could finish the embroidery on it myself.

I photograph a goldworked section of an Ottoman robe that is in a frame, leaning next to a wall behind a pile of other things. The Australian takes her leave to go and visit other friends in the bazaar, and Baha takes me to Iznk Ceramic, managed by Tolga Neidim. I spend some time here sorting through stacks of handmade tiles, selecting one that I think might be Suleyman's tughra (calligraphed signature) and several others in predominately blue and white, one with a ship, and couple with traditional tulip and carnation motifs. A blue and white Turkish cup rounds out my purchase. (Iznik Ceramic, Divriki Sk. No: 2/8 Kapalicarsi-Beyazit, Istanbul, tolga_neidim@hotmail.com)

Having no more items to shop for, we find the nearest gate and make our exit. Outside, a man in a wheelchair struggles with the cobblestones, and accepts my offer of assistance for the next two blocks. A little further down, my hands and nose leave smudges on a store window displaying a Persian helmet.

We stop for lunch at a sidewalk cafe: a kebab roll, with a huge mound of pickled cucumbers, grilled peppers, and cilantro onto a plastic placemat at a table that reminded me of a lunch counter at Woolworths. A beverage called ayran which reminded me of kiefer or khumiss. My foot is really giving me trouble and I munch on the salad but can barely make my way through the sandwich. There are no circles on my map today, and I decide to keep my sightseeing to within a few blocks of the hotel.

I am unable to locate the mosaic museum but I find the Ibrahim Pasa Palace, a building that dates back to the Ottoman period. It houses the Islamic Art and Ethnology Musuem

Yurts! Implements! A treasure trove that would make my friends Sunjan and Khalja want to move here. A nomads tent, called a kara cadir in Turkish, woven from black goat hair with center pole supports, much like a Bedouin tent. Goat, like sheep fiber, has a high fat content and sheds water. Home interiors and women's clothing from the end of the Ottoman period. A lantern built around a Chinese dragon pattern blue and white porcelain drum. Wood and copper doors and 13th century stone reliefs. Sarcophogai in carved wood and stone. Kor'ans that I could not bring myself to photograph. Anatolian kilims that were woven in one piece, a rare find as they are traditionally woven in two or three sections and then stitched together. A temporary exhibit on the ground floor of mostly books and what appeared to be propaganda, included a 15th century book with notations in the margins.

Hereare additional photos for the Islamic Art Museum.

It has grown chilly and overcast, just like my first day in Istanbul. I try to play the “What's for dinner” game with Cihan, who after consulting with Baha, presents his choice for tonight: potatoes, carrots, and lamb ribs in broth, with a side dish of rice. A nice, simple comfort food. My foot seems to have recovered, so plans for this evening include Galata Tower and another neighborhood in the New District.

After dinner, I chat with Cihan, an incredible conversation which I step away from every so often so he can attend to customers. He is a very articulate, intelligent, and charming young man. Near 9 PM, he ducks into the Barbeque House, and immerges with a single plate, two pieces of baklava and two forks. These guys! There is no end to the hospitality here...

Baha arrives and we catch the tram across the Galata Bridge, and climb up a very steep winding alley of stairs, which leads us to the base of the Galata Tower. I comment that the buildings in the Beyoglu district look very Genoan. He shows me his favorite church, Sant'Antonio di Padova Church which is locked behind an iron gate. It is the largest Roman Catholic Church in Istanbul, built by the Italian community in 1905 on the site of the original church which had been built in 1725, but later demolished..27

We spend the evening walking around and looking at architecture. We thread through crowded streets to an alley and up to the Asmali Mescid, and later the Cicek Pasaji (Flower Passage)28 where we listen to the musicians as they roam from one table to the next, one of which is playing something that looks like a hammer dulcimer. This building dates back to 1876 and was originally the site of the Naum Theater, a favorite of a couple of Turkish sultans during the 19th century. After the Russian Revolution, impoverished women sold flowers here, giving the building its current name. The tables are set up in a very pleasant covered courtyard formed by two three-story buildings that is actually the alley between Istiklal Avenue and Sahne Street.

We hail a cab back to the Sultanahmet. The shuttle arrives, and Baha loads my luggage into the shuttle van. We exchange a European handshake and promise to keep in touch. It has been a most remarkable trip, and I will never, ever forget this place...

This journal is dedicated to those who helped make this trip a most exceptional experience for me. You all know who you are, and for your efforts, you have my eternal gratitude...