Turkish Delight Part I: Istanbul Was Constantinople…

I can’t write about Turkey all at once. There is too much to say. So I’ll start at the beginning: Istanbul. We arrived on March 17th, a Friday afternoon. Our lovely host Ozerk—friend of Serkan and Orkun, our Turkish friends here in Doha—met us at the airport and whisked us to his apartment in Bakirkoy (meaning “copper neighborhood”). It was a beautiful, unpretentious neighborhood that boasted a luscious Tuesday street market selling everything: fresh fish, bread, olives, cheese, fruits and veggies, household goods… It was just one of the moments that I lamented the lack of street culture in the US. We have farmers’ markets in designated locations, but you can’t buy a fresh grilled-fish sandwich with tomato and onion or roasted chestnuts on a whim from a street vendor in any American town I’ve ever been to, and that is one of our biggest cultural defecits, in my opinion.

Anyway, Ozerk’s hospitality was above and beyond the call for 3 rowdy Americans he didn’t know beyond a couple of email exchanges (another lamentable cultural contrast), and I am very pleased that we got to know this guy. He took us out for a traditional Turkish feast our first night (meat on a stick, handmade tiny raviolis in yogurt sauce, minced meat and potato pastries, tomato and cucumber salad…) and then back to his apartment for beer (Efes! My new favorite international brew! How I long for thee...) and good conversation.

The next 3 days were packed with touristy sightseeing, haggling, and happenstance. First on the list were the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and the Basilica Cistern, all right together in the old city known as Sultanhamet. The first is a breathtaking structure dating from the 4th century BC that was first a church and then a mosque. Earthquakes and sectarianism had lent it a ravaged beauty over the centuries, but what really struck me were the marble thresholds of the doorways worn into smooth saddle shapes by 2,500 years of shuffling feet. Imagining the sieges, weddings, deaths and tedium spanning that time made me shiver.

Before entering the Blue Mosque, Autumn and I wound scarves over our hair and we all removed our shoes and carried them with us in dirty black plastic bags. Now as most of you know, the built environment holds far less fascination for me than the natural one, but stepping inside the Blue Mosque took my breath away with the same sensation I used to get seeing Mt. Rainier loom over the Olympia skyline. I was actually speechless, and I honestly felt a sense of reverie that not even the most opulently embellished Catholic church has been able to conjure in me.

Of the three, however, the most fascinating was the Basilica Cistern. Probably about twice the size of the house I grew up in, the cistern was the water source for the ancient city. It was eerily murky with the sound of water dripping from the intricately carved stone columns. It was really shockingly vast, and seemed even more cavernous for the traditional string band playing at one end under a plastic canopy stretched between 4 of the columns. It was gorgeous, really, hearing such music in a giant underground water tank.

Most of the rest of our time in the city was divided between shopping at the Grand Bazzar, walking the streets of Besiktas and Ortakoy, and boat trips on the Boshphorous River, the body of water that connects the Back Sea with the Sea of Marmara and divides Europe from Asia.

We also got quite a taste of the Istanbul nightlife, which my Turkish friends in Doha tell me is “very fast”. The most legendary of our nights out on Taksim Square and Istiklal Street began in a tiny underground smoke-filled bar with stone walls and candles on the tables. A very young musician sat alone at one end of the narrow room, playing an acoustic guitar and singing what were apparently traditional Turkish songs. The small, intimate crowd would shout out requests and the singer (with an incredibly sweet and athletic voice) would oblidge with everyone in the bar singing along. Next we changed genres completely in search of dancing and ended up listening to Turkish hard rock a la Pearl Jam but, happily, very Turkish indeed. Again, the musicianship was so impressive that I found myself transfixed by the skill of the ensemble and oblivious to the ear-splitting volume that soon drove us back to the street.

Finally, we ended up at a bar called Mektup where another traditional band was playing. My comrade Eric decided that it would be cool if I got up on stage and played something, to which I protested vehemently. But when he walked over to the band during a set break and I saw the guitar player coming over to our table, I knew there was no avoiding it. They handed me the guitar with barely a word of English among them and so I shrugged and took the stage. Despite shouts from the audience with requests for Jewel, I played a couple of simple country and traditional numbers that the bassist and drummer could easily follow. Though I hated him for it at the time, I ultimately had to thank Eric for his initiative, because as you can see, I had a total blast.


After crawling blearily home at 4:30 AM, we headed out for Antalya and the mediterranian coast. But more on that in the next instalment. That’s all for now meus queridos!