Istanbul in late October was capricious -weatherwise- and lovely. Freed of my maternal responsibilties by the generosity of my friend and hostess, who played surrogate, and armed with a map and a list of "must-sees", I explored with the avidity of a recently released convict.
A harmonious marriage between East and West, the city seemingly effortlessly straddles Asia and Europe. Architecturally, it recalls southern Europe, save for the plethora of mosques which raise their minarets in dignified assertiveness skyward. I was told there are over 11,000 mosques in the city, and having counted 11 in one small area alone, I readily believed it. The fascination was at encountering them in such variety of style: here, baroque, there, classicism and yet others in the Romanesque and Turkish-Islamic style - call it the legacy of Byzance and the Ottoman Empire.
As I stopped to consult a map outside Topkapi Palace, an unwise choice of location to do so, as I discovered, I was accosted by a loiterer who then attached himself to me as private guide. A self-confessed failure of state guide exams, while not too conversant with the history of the buildings he volunteered to show me, he was very dilatory on the topics of liberal Turkish Islam, the absence from the city of crime and the observance of Ramadan. I also learned how Ramadan came into being in the first place. Relating the story of how the Prophet Mohammed established the observance of the fast, he went on to explain how in his view, the poor led abstemious lifestyles year round, and were thus in a constant state of privation, whereas the excesses of gluttonly indulged in by the wealthy after breaking and prior to resuming the fast has rendered the practice preposterously absurd and alienated it from its original objective. He went on to say that it must therefore remain the individual's choice whether or not to observe it. After admiring a bird's eye view of the Topkapi area from a conveniently located restaurant terrace, where apple tea was offered and declined, we strolled past the Hagia Sophia, entered Sultanahmet (the Blue) Mosque, viewed the Hippodrome with its Roman relics and completed the circuit with a few stops at his friends' souvenir shops before returning to the Palace gates.
I explored Topkapi Palace, built between the 15th and 19th centuries, with its decorative domes and stone terraces, sumptuous gardens, pavilions, exquisite ceramics and porcelain, sacred relics and silver collections. I peered into the faces of long-dead caliphs and sultans in its picture galleries and was transported to a time when lithe-limbed beauties and ponderous eunuchs walked those halls. I savoured breathtaking views of the Sea of Marmara and the Bosphorus from its lofty heights.
Arriving just in time for the republic's 80th anniversary celebration, the city was flamboyantly adorned in the national red and white, from the tree trunks to the banners spanning the roads. I became acquainted and then enthralled with the man and myth of Mustafa Kemal, known as Ataturk, father of the Turks. An exceptionally handsome and photogenic man with a charisma and presence that smouldered through the photos on display everywhere to mark Republic Day, he, a Macedonian of humble beginnings, climbed the ranks of the military, to wrench Turkey from the grip of religious rulers and transform her into a modern, secular state. Later, during discussions in the Grand Bazaar over the inevitable glass of apple tea, it was revealed that he was not as dearly loved at the time of the founding of the republic as one would believe, but for me, it was pure fascination......
The bustling Bosphorus-side neighbourhoods at Ortakoy and Besiktas with their restaurants and markets, and imposing Dolmabahce Palace, respectively, provided the basis for some leisurely walks and explorations. The divide between two continents was easily bridged by a short boat ride across the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus to the Asian side.
The German General Consulate is housed in a splendid limestone 19th century palace in the classical style in the Taksim district of central Istanbul, with a commanding view of the Bosphorus and Marmara Sea from an immense terrace, and after a private tour, I must agree that it is probably one of the most beautiful German government properties abroad. The area is characterised by a kaleidoscope of modern restaurants, retail stores, hotels and entertainment facilities lining wide boulevards, which create a stark contrast to the Istanbul of the bazaars and souks.
Walking Istanbul's streets , I was flattered by admirers, most considerably younger, who took me for their peers, and I felt like I did in Italy at 22. The Grand Bazaar or Kapalicarsi, Istanbul's largest covered market, truly befits its description, with over 4000 shops, several portals, fountains and mosques. Navigation of its labyrinthine twists and turns brought gratification in the form of new treasures at each junction. I successfully resisted the entreaties of the carpet vendors and came away instead with some lovely ceramic tiles and plates and some gorgeous throws, books, and leather goods for Kyra. Smaller but equally interesting was the Spice ( also known as Misir Carsisi or Egyptian) Bazaar. The lanes above the Golden Horn were an explorer's dream, with one picturesque vista after the other, shop after tiny shop, mosque after impressive mosque and steep slope after steeper slope.
Though it was Ramadan or Ramazan, as it is known in Turkey, apple tea was proffered by merchants at every turn. As a mark of respect towards observers, I avoided consuming any food or beverage in the open before dark, though I remarked that there was a significant number of non-observers among the local population. Twice, I was cheated blind by ruthless restaurateurs, who presented bills twice what I would have paid in Berlin for the same dishes. It was extremely aggravating - that and the gaping chasm between the "first" price quote from one merchant to the other, often a 2- or 3-fold difference! Once alerted, I only bought after assessing a few prices and some skillful bargaining. My enthusiasm for purchsing was considerably dampened by the thought of being cheated so ruthlessly, but on one occasion, I was proud to walk away after paying less than a third of the starting price!
The only shadow, and a dark one at that, cast upon my trip was the unnecessary forgetting of my digital camera - and thus all of my own prized pictures, on the plane on my return to Moscow. And all because of my eagerness to share my experiences with my neighbour. Unfortunately, none of my good fellow passengers or the crew volunteered its return. Luckily, some moments were captured on film by my friend in Istanbul, and so all was not lost ....
GAMK
November, 2003
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