BootsnAll Travel Network



Istanbul (or, as I kept thinking of it, Constantinople)

I arrived in Istanbul tired on a dreary grey morning. And while this made my first day there a bit blah, the remainder of my stay was anything but.

The bus from Gallipoli arrived at 05:30 and despite the fact that I was the only passenger headed to the tourist centre of Sultanamhet, the free “servis” shuttle still made its appointed trip. On my arrival at 06:00 Sultanamhet was astonishingly quiet, especially in comparison with its previous appearance the day after the Champion’s League final.

My second arrival in Istanbul was a bit simpler, as I’d already found a hostel. This allowed me to head straight there and, almost immediately upon arriving, fall asleep.

By the time I woke, it was past noon, and though much of the day was gone I was keen to get something interesting, or at least useful, done that day.

My destination that afternoon was the covered bazaar. I’d been there briefly on my first stint in Constantinople (from now on, just for fun, I’m going to use the names Istanbul and Constantinople interchangeably, since that’s more or less how it works in my head anyway [I’m not 100% sure WHY this is so, but I suppose it has something to do with my fondness for medieval history.])

My first trip to the bazaar had been fairly brief, but this time I got to explore its nooks and crannies in a bit more depth. While there were loads of tourist shops amongst the 3000 or so within the bazaar, there were also places that cater primarily to Turks, making it a lively, interesting place to window shop for gifts for friends and family back home.

I wandered through the maze of hallways that made up the covered bazaar and was eventually spit out on its western edge near one of the smaller of the Ottoman era mosques whose domes and minarets dot the Istanbul skyline. I headed into one (guests were more than welcome in the mosques, so long as they observed proper etiquette [which consisted mostly of staying in the designated areas, dressing appropriately and removing one’s shoes]) then another of these and marvelled at their beauty and serenity.

Leaving the mosques behind I continued my walk west and into an entirely different tourist district. The area I entered catered primarily to Russians from across the Black Sea.

I carried on walking past Istanbul University and arrived at yet another one of the historical legacies of Constantinople: The ancient Byzantine aqueduct. It rose perhaps 20m above the modern arterial road that passed through its arches. I walked through myself and into yet another fascinating Istanbul neighbourhood.

The street just past the aqueduct was lined with small shops (in fact they verged on being stalls) where meat, fruits, vegetables and most importantly, cups of Turkish tea and coffee were on offer. I wandered around for a bit and was on the verge of leaving when I spotted a cafe with several backgammon games underway. I followed my usual procedure of standing around looking interested, and as in the past, was soon invited to sit down for a cup of tea and a match. As it turned out, it wasn’t much of a match (I won 7-1) but the guys who’d invited remained very friendly and seemed delighted to have my company.

The afternoon was wearing on, so I decided to head back towards Sultanahmet. I did this in a rather roundabout route, and was pleased to have done so. My path took me past the main Istanbul firehall where I (unsuccessfully) attempted to procure a hat or something as a souvenir for my firefighter uncle back in Toronto. It also took me through several shopping areas that showed some of Istanbul’s Asian character. All through Asia I’d been intrigued by the practice of all of a given type of merchant congregating in one small area of a market or of town. On my way home I passed by the cloth district, the glassware district and oddest of the lot, the bicycle district. Calling it a district is a bit misleading, as in fact it was a collection of a few large shops, but the way they were all crammed into a single underpass beneath a main road was very odd.

Next my walk took me down towards the coast of the Sea of Marmara (the small sea in between the Black and the Mediterranean.) The coastline featured a ferry terminal, loads of seafood restaurants and finally a pretty park that was full of Turkish families spending their afternoon sunbathing, swimming and most of all, fishing along the shore. Several young boys did their best to entice me into the water with them, but given the reputation of the waters around Istanbul (as well as the fact that I would’ve been swimming in my clothes) I decided to just continue my walk back to Sultanahmet.

Finally I returned to Sultanahmet near sundown. Just before arriving at my hostel I was accosted by a carpet salesman (not an unusual event in Istanbul) and spent an hour or so in his shop having the basics of Turkish carpets explained to me (as well as drinking delicious fresh orange juice.) He was very keen on getting me to buy something that evening, offering free gifts and compliments, and even suggesting that if I agreed to buy something that night that he’d give me his “best price.” Which, of course, raised the question of what price I’d be given if I returned the next day.

I spent a quiet evening back at the hostel (I was the only one in my dorm room) and the next morning ate a huge Turkish breakfast (tomato and cucumber slices, olives, bread and jam) before heading into town to do some serious sightseeing.

There were loads of destinations I had planned in Istanbul, and after some careful consideration I decided to head to the Topkapi palace. I hoped I’d arrive before the morning crowds, though by the time I’d arrived there, the tour bus crew was starting to appear as well. Add to this the fact that admission to the palace was 10 million lira, followed by an additional 10 million for further admission fees WITHIN the palace and I was ready to reconsider my plans.

Instead of heading into the palace itself, I wandered around the outer palace grounds. Eventually I found myself the f in a courtyard just off the main square. It was entirely empty, and despite the fact that the gates had been open I got the distinct impression that this wasn’t really an area meant to be open to the public. Nevertheless, it was a very pleasant place, and I spent quite a while lounging around, occasionally picking small yellow fruits from the trees in the courtyard. (I’d seen these fruits on sale in markets but hadn’t purchased any yet. They were quite tart and looked vaguely like figs.)

Following my sojourn in Topkapi, I headed out into the park that surrounded the palace and headed, at a leisurely pace, towards The Bosporus. The park was shady and filled with towering trees that formed a natural nave over the main walkway that I followed.

Eventually I reached the water and followed the roadway and train tracks as they headed north alongside. Just before reaching my destination I reached a destination of another sort: Sirkeci Station, terminus of the legendary Orient Express. It was far removed from its former glory, and in fact the nearby commuter ferry terminal that I was headed for looked more luxurious (not that it WAS particularly luxurious. It just didn’t take much.)

Though Sultanahmet was a spectacular historical area of the city, I wanted to see a bit of the “real” Istanbul. To this end, I climbed on a commuter ferry, picking my destination almost at random.

The trip across the water was nice, and the breeze did much to deal with the smoke from dozens of cigarettes that were lit up almost as soon as the ferry departed. The journey across the Bosporus took about 15 minutes, and when it was over I was on a different continent. It was a very different city too. The seashore in the suburb of Kadekoy was busy with families and couples out strolling, picnicking and generally enjoying themselves… and not another (obvious) tourist in sight.

To my surprise many of the side streets I turned up reminded me of parts of Toronto, with their canopies of trees overhanging pleasant residential streets, and local corner stores spotted here and there.

I headed uphill, further inland and wandered around the neighbourhood and through tiny winding alleys, up steep hills and staircases between the residential streets where people were hanging their laundry out, slapping their carpets, bathing their dogs, and doing normal sunny afternoon things.

The interesting part of my Asiatic amble ended when I wandered through out onto a major road, which led down to the Ataturk bridge leading over the Bosporus and back to European Istanbul. Crossing was rather more difficult than I’d planned, as after about 10 minutes of trying different routes I finally realized that pedestrians weren’t allowed to cross the bridge at all. In the end I had to climb aboard a bus for the ride across. Adding insult to injury was the fact that the driver charged me double the normal fare :(. As grumpy as I was about this, it was still pretty cool to note that this trip marked the seventh time in a month I had changed continents.

I disembarked and started to walk back towards Sultanahmet, but on the way found myself in the middle of a crowd all headed in the same direction. I followed along and found myself outside the Galatasaray football stadium. Galatasaray is renowned for its rabid fans, and I would have loved to join them to watch the game, but sadly (if unsurprisingly) it was sold out. I sat around and soaked up the atmosphere for a while before heading back towards home.

My walk back took me through the trendy Taksim district, then down a steep hill lined with music shops until I reached the Golden Horn. The Golden Horn is an inlet off the Bosporus that once served to divide Constantinople’s Turkish and foreign populations. Prior to that, a monstrous chain stretched across the horn protected the city from invasion by sea. Though the threat of invading barbarians is more or less gone, it still serves as a dividing line between the ancient and new(er) Istanbul.

I crossed the bridge over the horn, making use of the small width of sidewalk not occupied by the hundreds of Turks who set out fishing lines from the bridge. I peered into the buckets to see what they were trying to catch with their monstrous poles, but could only seem to see bait fish, perhaps 10 or 15cm long at most. I was surprised to learn later that these scrawny specimens WERE the catch. It seemed a lot of trouble to go through for such meagre reward.

To the south of the golden horn, leading up and away from the water was the Spice Bazaar (the spice trade had mostly moved elsewhere, but more or less anything else one might want could be found in its jam packed streets.) Tucked away inside the bustling market, its entrance scarcely noticeable was the Rustem Pasha mosque. It was constructed by one of the richest citizens of the Ottoman Empire, Rustem Pasha, the grand Vizer of Suleyman the Magnificent. The mosque is renowned for its decoration of Iznik tiles. These blue ceramic adornments are spectacular enough simply to look at, but when one considers that each one of them was hand painted the splendour of the place seems even more miraculous.

In the evening I headed out into Sultanahmet to see the mosques lit up at night. Far and away the most impressive was the Sultanahmet Camii, the “blue mosque.” Which was still abuzz with activity well after dark. I wasn’t able to go inside that evening, but looked forward to another visit later.

My next day in Istanbul was exciting and disappointing both. First thing in the morning I headed back to the Blue Mosque in hopes of arriving before the tourist throngs did. I managed this, but unfortunately it wasn’t open to visitors until 08:00, almost two hours after my arrival. I headed back to the hostel, pausing for a chat with a group of Turkish men who were friendly, but whose purpose for sitting in a small park at 06:30 wasn’t clearly discernable.

Following breakfast I returned to the Blue Mosque and was pleased to discover that I was still one of the first few visitors.

The inside of the mosque was spectacular, almost equalling its beauty from the exterior. The blue Iznik tiles that gave the place its nickname were lit by the morning sun streaming through the stained glass. Dozens (hundreds?) of lamps hung just above head height from the ceiling high above almost seemed like stars hanging in the vast firmament of the dome above.

It was wonderful to see the place at its peaceful, early morning best, but before long the inevitable crowds started to appear. This had its positives as well, since, as in other Turkish tourist attractions I had my choice of English speaking tour guides to listen to.

Upon leaving I made a small donation at the exit (though there were no admission fees, most of the popular mosques in Istanbul had well managed donation programs) hoping that by doing so I was helping to keep that glorious place from turning into a “real” tourist attraction, purely motivated by profit.

After my visit to the mosque I went out for a wander around town. I didn’t have any particular plans, and so was happy to sit down at a cafe with a Turkish man I met for a couple glasses of tea. At first I was a bit wary of him, but with time, I warmed to the fellow and started to enjoy his company. We spent the rest of the morning talking and drinking tea, and in the early afternoon he offered to take me to a restaurant/bar in a “real Turkish” part of town. We hopped in a taxi and before long were far, far away (figuratively, if not entirely literally) from the tourist hubbub of Sultanahmet.

We sat down at a table near the front of the restaurant, and my new friend ordered two beers for us. We continued talking, with him providing translation for the staff and the few customers who had questions for me.

Throughout the day, my companion had been on the phone with his girlfriend in Spain. At one point during our sojourn in the restaurant he asked if he could borrow 40million lira (about $40) to buy a new phone card for, since his previous one had run out and he needed to talk to her again. We’d been splitting our expenditures to this point, and I figured that if he hadn’t been anxious to take money from me previously I could trust him to not do so now. I dug the notes out of my wallet and an a few minutes he’d gone and returned, promising to pay me back later when we were nearer his hotel.

Leaving the restaurant we wandered back towards the centre of the city and came to Taksim where we turned down an alley and sat at a cafe for a few games of backgammon. We played for a long time, with me winning all three of the seven point matches. By the time we were done it was mid-afternoon, and I was ready to get back to meet some of my fellow hostellers for dinner.

Before heading back I asked if we could return to my new friend’s hotel and pick up the money he owed me. It was, of course, at this point, that the day went from exciting to disappointing. At first he seemed okay with this, but as we wandered off away from Taksim he started to seem nervous and eventually asked that I just wait for him at a cafe. I replied that I was quite happy to walk with him and after a bit of this he agreed. We carried on, but after a bit more walking he asked me to wait at another cafe that was (presumably) nearer to the hotel. By now I was, of course, growing wary, and asked him why this was all necessary. He explained that he was worried about what the people at his hotel would think of him if he went up to his room with another man. I offered to simply wait outside. This wouldn’t fly either. By now I was certain that the guy simply wanted to run off without paying me back, but after ten minutes or more of him badgering me to let him go get the money alone, even offering to leave his watch with me, I finally relented. This was odd, given that I was more convinced than ever that he was going to disappear, but it was almost as though I let him go simply so I wouldn’t have to listen to him ask any more.

I stood outside the cafe, and after about 40 seconds regretted having waited and headed down to the corner he’d disappeared around. Of course he was gone. And of course he didn’t reappear again, despite my waiting 10, 15, 20, 25 minutes for him. By that point it was no surprise, but still left me feeling irritable and depressed. This guy, along with a couple of dishonest bus drivers almost ruining the wonderfully warm and friendly impression I’d been given by dozens of other Turks throughout the country. They’d left me feeling that in this country you could trust almost everyone, bus still could trust no one.

Thankfully this feeling subsided. I joined Bob, Amber, Jesse and Mar back at the hostel where we all lounged around and recounted our days’ activities over a few Efes Pilsens before we headed out for dinner. We had very little idea of our destination, and so just started looking at the menus of every place we passed.

The whole evening was one of great mirth and merriment. First there was one of the oddest menu items I’d ever seen. Then as we were walking past an eatery in the tourist restaurant street, I heard the closing bars of “The Weather” by Built to Spill floating out onto the street (this would have been unusual at a restaurant in North America, but in Istanbul!?) and finally there was the dinner itself. We were finally persuaded to settle down at one of the tourist kebap houses by its proprietor. We took a look at the menu and thought it a bit expensive. Just as we were about to move along, the owner addressed us and asked us to name our own price and he’d prepare a menu for us! After a bit of haggling (yes, in a restaurant. This shows just how prevalent the practice is in Turkey) we settled down. As we ate we were kept company by a pair of cute and obviously well fed (doubtless by others like us) cats and kittens. In addition to the kittens, the dinner’s memorable moments included the pair of sales-kids who were almost as persistent as the ones at Angkor in Cambodia (though with much more limited geographical knowledge) and a long and very involved conversation about wild donkeys. Picture beautiful rolling, emerald green hills, spotted all over with the last of the wild donkeys. Then suddenly all of them pause in their cropping to raise their heads and stare straight at you… It’s a scary thought. I think the restaurant staff thought we were insane.

Back at the hostel we all sat out on the deck and watched the lights from the ships on the Sea of Marmara while Amber told us stories about her job as a teacher. They were spectacularly entertaining, but too long to repeat here (to give you some idea, one of them involved a third grader explaining during an oral presentation “Zeus raped Aphrodite and she got Hermes.”)

The next morning was the start of my last day in Constantinople. I’ve reverted to its ancient name because my first two stops came for the day came from that era.

The first had an unassuming entrance beside the door to the Eminonu (the suburb that Sultanahmet is located in) Town Hall. Unassuming though the entrance may have been, a few steps in and down brought me to a magical, yet eerie place. The earth under Constantinople’s mosques, palaces and rambling alleyways is far from solid. Beneath it lies dozens of grand vaulted chambers. In their day, most of them would have been invisible, as they were used as massive water reservoirs for the city. The one I was visiting was the Theodosius Cistern. Though it was far from the largest, its emptiness made it perhaps the most impressive of those open to the public. When I arrived there was not another soul inside, and only a few dim bulbs illuminated its corridors. I carefully made my way down the slimy steps, and skirted the puddles as I wandered under the archways high above. The only sounds were the echo of my footsteps, and the sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance.

After a bit more wandering around the cistern I heard voices above. I was no longer alone, and the new visitors had come with a tour guide who knew where the light switch was. To tell the truth I actually preferred the gloomier, more mysterious atmosphere. I weaved my way back past the puddles, carefully up the stone stairway and back out onto the streets of modern Istanbul.

But it wasn’t long before I returned to Constantinople. My next stop was one I’d been saving, as it was perhaps the most famous sight in the entire city: the Hagia Sophia (or Aya Sofia depending on which language you’re speaking.) Constructed in 537, Aya Sofia has served as a church, a mosque and finally, as a secularized museum. For over 1000 years, its dome was the largest in the world before it was finally eclipsed by St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.

I arrived at the main gate and purchased my (bar coded, machine readable, hologramed, forgery proof) ticket and made my way through the church grounds to the entrance.

The crowds inside were impressive, but they could not come close to filling the massive central chamber of Aya Sofia. Even the presence of a massive scaffolding system (in place for over 12 years during the ongoing restoration of the mosaics on the main dome) served only to highlight the astonishing size of the place. So high was the main dome that the scaffolding system contained an elevator to ferry restorers up to working height.

I don’t recall ever having been somewhere that gives such a stunning sense of SPACE. It was hard to fathom that all of this was inside a building. Throughout my visit I found myself wandering around, head tilted back, mouth open, in awe of the place. When I occasionally managed to draw my eyes back down to earth, I invariably saw many others in similar poses.

When I’d finally had enough of staring heavenward (staring heavenward being, of course, the whole point of the dome) I made my way up the dimly lit cobbled ramps to the upper gallery. The mosaics located on that level were the artistic highlight of the church. It was, in fact, very fortunate that they had survived. When the city was finally captured by the Ottomans in 1452, it seemed certain that they were doomed, due to the Muslim ban on worship of icons. Fortunately, Mehmet II, the Ottoman conqueror couldn’t bear to destroy such beauty and ordered that they be plastered over, rather than destroyed outright. Now, over 500 years later, small portions of the mosaics have been restored to their former glories.

I sat in the upper gallery and gazed alternately out over the floor far below, then to the dome, still high above. The crowds of fellow tourists couldn’t come close to filling the massive space. As I walked back down to the main floor, then out to the majestic, ancient dome above, I reflected that this place would have been impressive had it been constructed two weeks before, using tower cranes, and prestressed, reinforced concrete. But to consider that is was, in fact almost 1500 years old boggled the mind. If our modern minds, already full as they were of domed stadiums, skyscrapers and monstrous suspension bridges could be so captivated by the place, the effect on the medieval minds could scarcely be imagined.

I’d started my day late, so by the time my visit to Aya Sofia concluded, it was almost closing. I still had time to hurry to my final sightseeing stop of the day: The Sulymaniye Camii. Outside the Sulymaniye mosque was a cemetery, with the tomb of Mimar Sinan as its focus. The cemetery was well preserved and provided perhaps the best examples of the unique Ottoman tombstones I’d yet seen.

The mosque itself would likely have been unforgettably spectacular at almost any other time. Unfortunately I’d just been to Aya Sofia. The dome of Sulymaniye was almost as large as that of the former church, but it didn’t convey quite the same astonishing sense of space. As wonderful as this, the largest of the Ottoman Imperial mosques was, it still couldn’t quite compare to Aya Sofia, despite the fact that the latter was almost 1000 years older.

I meandered slowly back to Sultanahmet, trying, along the way trying to find my final Turkish experience: A Turkish Bath. I wandered far and wide first visiting the fancy, tourist oriented baths, then, with a bit of advice solicited from passersby on the street, to the more “local” ones. At each I was horrified (okay, maybe horrified is a BIT strong… I was, let’s say disappointed) to discover that the entry fee was up around 15 million Lira, which was far more than I was willing, or even really able, to spend.

Finally I returned bathless to Sultanahmet, and began to pack up for my departure. I spent the remainder of the evening sitting waiting for the ridiculously priced shuttle to distant Sabhia Gokchen airport to arrive. (I’ll explain once more that this airport should be avoided at all costs… It’s about 60km away from central Istanbul, and there is virtually NO public transport, or at least no reasonably priced public transport, between the two. I was particularly irked at paying 15 Euros for a shuttle bus to catch my 19 Euro flight.)

I spent the evening saying farewell to my new friends before, finally, at 01:00, the shuttle arrived. It was a long drive to the airport, with the three drivers (particularly inexplicable, since there were only two passengers) taking turns at the wheel, and even inviting the two of us to have a turn (we both declined.)

At the airport I joined a few dozen others, doing their best to make themselves comfortable while waiting for the 05:00 departure of our flight. After a bit of a nap, and some postcard writing (despite the post office’s being closed, the friendly woman at the check-in desk offered to mail them for me) it was finally time to go. We all boarded the aircraft and after three hours spent (understandably, I think) mostly asleep I was back in the Netherlands, for the final stop on my journey.



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