I first learned that Istanbul was divided in parts. The Bosphorus Strait splits the city in two and marks the border between Europe to the West and Asia to the East. European Istanbul is further divided north-south by a strait stemming from the Bosphorus, known as the Golden Horn. Where I was to stay, the Sultan Hostel, is located in Sultanahmet, in Southern, also known as Old, Istanbul. After gathering my bags, I discovered that Istanbul was playing host to the International Monetary Fund and World Bank, and that they were staying in a classy hotel right near my less-classy hostel. Stepping out of the airport, per my teacher's advice I caught a Kavaş bus, and took it to the bustling Taxim Square in New/Northern Istanbul. English wasn't so common, but after asking for a few directions to Sultanahmet, I found that these people were different than Greeks. They were nice. In fact, they were perhaps the nicest, warmest, most helpful people I'd ever met. I descended the lively and illuminated Istiklal Cadessi (Taxim sits atop the long, wide street of Istiklal, almost like a lower-case i) and saw for the first time, what was to be reinforced later on, the refreshingly energetic nightlife in Istanbul. It was a Monday night, but as I walked down Istiklal I saw people everywhere, crowding the main street and leaking out into the side streets which bloom off the Cadessi (street). I could smell and see the common site of roasted chestnuts and corn-on-the-cob for sale from street vendors alongside the elegant and rich restaurants lining the street. This was clearly a westernized area, with Nike and Adidas shops, and even an NBA store, making appearances. Anyone and everyone I asked for help, even those who spoke little-to-no English, did their best to help me find my destination. My original intention was to walk the whole way, but I discerned that it was quite a ways away to my hostel, and since it was dark, I succumbed to the public transportation. After the long, but utterly enjoyable walk down Istiklal I eventually made it to the Tram, like a street-trolley, which would take me to Sultanahmet. This was my first exposure to the welcomed convenience of Istanbul public transportation, and I familiarized myself with some of the other stops on the Tram which I'd recalled from the guidebook. I got off at Sultanahmet, and sure enough there were more than enough people eager to give me directions to my hostel. After getting the general idea, I started the apparently-about-5-minutes walk, and took in my surroundings. Cutting through a large park flanked on one side by the beautiful Blue Mosque and on the other side by the breathtaking Aya Sofia (which was conquered by Mehmet the Conquerer in 1453 to overtake Constantinople for the Ottoman Empire), I could feel myself falling in love with the city. These structures, too grandiose to be called merely buildings, were unbelievable. I took a few snapshots and made a note to return soon. This would turn out to be a non-issue, as my Hostel was literally two minutes from the park. There was even a view of the buildings from the roof of my hostel, which I sauntered to after arriving. Upon check-in (of course the clerk was friendly), I made it to my 6-bed dorm-style room, and went to the free computers to check up on life elsewhere for a few minutes. While sat there, two girls from my program in Jerusalem, Jen and Rebecca, who I'd told about my plans to stay in this hostel, passed by, and explained that they'd been in other parts of Turkey and had two more days in Istanbul, and were in fact in the same room as I. It was a welcomed surprise. We sat outside our hostel and checked out the street, which offered a commendable scene of its own. After climbing to my bunk-bed, I was displeased to hear the old man across the room on the bottom bunk letting loose his gases and snoring loudly, but I was excited to explore the city the next day.
After filling up (to a modest extent) at the hostel's included breakfast, Jen, Rebecca, and I set out to further explore the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofia. The structures were even more impressive by daylight, and I was particularly infatuated with the Blue Mosque. As we observed with awe, a bus side-swiped a car, and I was quick enough to snap an action-shot. Apparently on my toes, I was ready to move closer to the Mosque. Like all mosques, shoes were not allowed to be worn inside, and I must say that despite the buttery, footy smell, I was digging the vibe. Knees and shoulders were also to be covered, but my shorts were long enough so I was not subject to wearing the dress-like garment which both Jen and Rebecca had to don. I snapped a multitude of pictures of the impressive interior, and overheard someone explaining the floral pattern on the ground meant to guide worshippers as to where to place their knees, hands, and head. "Overhearing" tour-guides would become a common theme of my time in Istanbul. We then ventured across the street toward the colossally over-the-top Aya Sofia. In accordance with my entire trip, the weather was terrific, and I was feeling likewise. We entered, and, despite some reconstruction going on, again looked about us in wonderment, noting the huge black shield-like structures donned with beautiful golden Arabic calligraphy, the Sultan's quarters, and various other majestically adorned monuments in the once-functioning mosque (converted to a museum by Ataturk [translates to 'Father of the Turks.' Real name Mustafa Kemal, he helped steer Turkey out of the potentially disastrous post-WWI rebuilding period with Kemalism, focusing largely on secular and nationalist movements. He's like the George Washington except more recent, and therefore more palpable in a way, totally romanticized and adored by all. Plus the airport's named after him.]). I particularly liked the shield-like structures which served as artwork, and would have loved one of my own despite the inconvenience of stealing and the no-less-difficult task of carrying it back. Alas, I resisted. Unfortunately, my camera died midway through. I had to go back to the hostel to recharge it, but first the three of us sat together in one of the guidebook's recommended restaurants, and I enjoyed the rich Kebab-like meat with spicy peppers and particularly liked the red Chilly which was served on all tables as salt and pepper is served in the States and can be tastily served plain with bread.
I went back to the hostel and charged my camera for a while before heading back out with plans to go to Topkapi Palace, former stomping grounds of the Ottoman Sultans and officials. But it was closed on Tuesday, so I altered my plan and headed instead for the renown Grand Bazaar, a street market. On the way I stopped for some guidebook-recommended baklava, marking my first exposure to the exuberant decadence of Turkish desserts. Energized, I made the modest walk through town, heading northwest, but still remaining in Old Istanbul. I'd heard recounts of enormous proportion describing the Grand Bazaar, and I was eager to compare it to the balagan (Hebrew slang for 'mess') that is the Shuk of Jerusalem. Upon arrival, I noticed two glaring differences. First, the Bazaar is primarily indoor, with a labyrinth of tunnels housing all sorts of shops selling food, jewelry, clothes, houseware, and more. Second, it was way, way bigger, and way easier to get lost. I'd seen it before to a degree, but here I was thrust into the world of Turkish street-sales: tremendously aggressive, but comical in its own way. Every single time you walk by a restaurant, for example, the proprietor standing outside overtly assumes that you want to go there, and begins to shepherd you in, often disregarding all notions of personal space or free will. In the Bazaar, shop after shop seemed to think that merely looking at one of their products indicated I ardently wanted to buy it. This did serve me well in some aspects, though, as I was able to "sample" many times the gummy-like staple known as Turkish Delight which lined a large portion of the Bazaar. It was fun analyzing their thought processes: at one point I stopped over a display of lighters, and the proprietor gestured suggestively toward one styled with a howling wolf and another with an eagle. 'What's going through this guy's mind?' I wondered. 'What possibly could have led him to believe that I would be attracted to these particular logos?' Otherwise, I gained a certain appreciation for the Istanbulians' intelligence. For whatever reason, perhaps to attempt to establish some customer-rapport, the vendors all take stabs guessing where you're from. I was receiving Spain a lot, and eventually I took it and ran with it. Practically everyone with something to sell had sufficient Spanish skills, and I was able to practice. At some points I didn't follow, and I wasn't sure whether to chalk that up to my lack of understanding or their lack of proficiency. In either case, I really got a kick out of it. There were multiple stores selling sports jerseys, and I thought I'd see if I could get one for cheap. I was inquisitive and seeking a good deal. The vendor, too, had his methods, and basically handed me the bag with the Tracy McGrady Rockets jersey and matching shorts before I agreed to buy it, but I figured since it was very inexpensive, why not just rock the whole set. I regretted it slightly afterward, buying a basketball jersey in Istanbul, but at least now it's easier to take on an alter-ego on the court. Plus, I'd make up for it, later buying Turkish coffee and the Chilly I'd been seeing (and loving) on the restaurant tables, and sending it home. I left the Bazaar and explored a bit more around the area, sampling a grilled fish caught from the Golden Horn, which was right outside the Bazaar. Fishermen lined the bridge leading into Istiklal and New Istanbul. I decided I'd save this area for the next day (after, of course, getting a terrifically rich dessert recommended by my Ulpan teacher), for I had plans with Jen and Rebecca for dinner, and I'd learned that a bar near my hostel would be showing the Tigers-Twins playoff game.
We ate at another guidebook-recommended place, with modest prices and a terrific view of the Blue Mosque. The food was a fusion of various cuisine, and, of course, very good. At one point I recall contemplating the sources of the food, and amidst hearing Jen and Rebecca discuss Indian food, I for a second completely forgot where I was. It was an interesting experience, having my brain in limbo.
After dinner, Jen wasn't feeling well so she went to sleep, and Rebecca joined me for a caffeine-jolting Turkish coffee in preparation for the 12 AM start of the baseball game. I continued to be dazzled by the Istanbulian (Istanbulite? -buligan?) disposition, as the waiter was tremendously friendly and warm. Soon enough we found the bar that would show the game, and as the minutes ticked down I reached the pinnacle of excitement. A 1-game playoff. We play 162 games and it all comes down to this. I was able to watch the first 6 or so innings before the bar closed at 2, and I headed back to the hostel, hoping to connect with someone on skype to watch the rest. I succeeded, and proceeded to spend the next 3 hours watching perhaps the best baseball game I've ever seen. Alas, we came out on the wrong end, and the season was ruthlessly torn from my grasp. It was a sad, powerful, moment, but, being 5 AM, there wasn't much time for reflection, and I went to bed.
The following day I woke up in the early afternoon, somewhat depressed but determined not to let the game break my spirits, and decided to venture toward the spice bazaar (which I had thought was different but later found to be essentially an offshoot of the Grand version. But more Turkish delight!) and check out the Dolmabache Palace. Unfortunately the palace was closed for the day, so I sat at a coffee shop on Istiklal and read for a time. While sat, I heard loud, coordinated shouts, and left my seat to find an apparent protest march, with banners aplenty. I asked a man what was going on, and he explained it was the Turkish Communist Party protesting the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. Apparently Turkey owes them a lot of money. Later that day, as I made my way back, I saw a group of armored police, who I presumed were there to quell the protests. I'd had a long day of walking, and decided now was the time to be an uber-tourist/sultan-imitator, and check out one of the historical Turkish bathhouses.
Naturally, I referenced the guidebook, which offered a relatively cheap but famous and worthwhile recommendation. I entered the bathhouse, paid, and made my way to the changing room, where I was told to undress and put on a towel. There was a towel covering the cot in the room, and a type of rag on the table, so I put on the thing that looked more like a towel. Wrong. Bad start. Eventually I got it right, and was led to the main mens chamber, which was a cavernous, sauna-like dome with a large, white marble plateau in the middle, on top of which men were lying down in their towels. Surrounding the main chamber were several smaller chambers, which I later found to contain sinks of both cold and hot water which one is meant to throw on themselves before and/or after the washing takes place. I couldn't tell if there was a line or some kind of ticket queue or something, and it was kind of hard to breathe, quite reminiscent of Bikram yoga, in fact, so I felt a bit over my head. Adding to that the ostensibly painful yelps I was hearing from the man who was getting massaged/washed by one of the myriad burly, hairy Turkish men working there, also scantily clad, this was an experience indeed. Truly a bro-out. It was hot in this room which was apparently designed for the use of the Ottoman Sultans, so I poured cold water over myself as I sat waiting/hoping to be called upon. Eventually I was, and my guy, Ahmed, instructed me to lay on my back. He filled some kind of towel with very soapy water, and the vigorous scrubbing/massage sesh commenced. At one point I was sat up and he went at it on my head, and the soap got all up in my eyes, but the kindly Turk took notice and cleansed my face with nice cold water. After a quick turn lying on my stomach and receiving a nice back massage, the excursion was over, and Ahmed made sure to alert me where to leave a tip. Yes, sir. I made it back to the changing room, and this time I knew what to put on; after doing so, I bought a few bars of soap for gifts and departed, feeling minty fresh and looking forward to my final night in this city with which I was becoming more and more infatuated.
I headed back north on the Tram toward Istiklal Cadessi. Once I arrived, I went to a guidebook-recommended restaurant and had a delectable dish of lamb and eggplant. I then ventured to a dessert place, where, feeling adventurous, I experimented with a dessert which was apparently made from chicken breast. I wouldn't say it 'tasted like chicken,' for it was quite sweet and overall very tasty (not, of course, to say that chicken is not tasty). Now I was ready to do some in-depth exploring of the downtown nightlife. It was quite a different feel around Istiklal than what I'd experienced earlier in the day. Each side street was packed with lively people of all ages. There were nice, quaint bars all over the place, practically each one featuring live music. I sat for a bit and enjoyed an Efes, the staple Turkish beer, but for the most part walked around for hours and just dug the scene. This was when I came to the conclusion that Istanbul is a place I could live in, at least for a period of time. It was a westernized nightlife, no doubt, but it seemed more genuine, with people really enjoying themselves, and a sense of life being lived to its fullest permeated the air. I would have preferred to have been traveling with someone to share this experience, as it was one I will not soon forget. After making it back to my hotel in the early hours of the night, I made sure to prepare for my checkout the next morning and made plans for a full day before heading to the airport in the early evening.
Waking up on my final day, I headed northwest toward the Golden Horn. From there, I walked onto a boat which was to cruise up the Horn and into the Bosphorous, offering its passengers the unique opportunity to travel between two continents. As the last one on, entering from the bow, I was able to secure a spot in the very front and feel the wind beating at my face. It was a very cool experience; on my left sat Europe and on my right, Asia. I felt almost as if I was between two worlds. There were many sites to be seen, among them Dolmabache Palace, which I'd unsuccessfully tried visiting the day before, and a bumpin' castle which I presumed was built around the time of Constantine. The houses on the Asian side were intriguing, too, and I later heard that this is where the higher-classes of Istanbul reside. I also dug the kickin' view of the mosques, now, for the moment, not of such mammoth proportions. This experience overall was really beyond words; just the feeling of being there and thinking about my position on a global scale, while at the same time on a micro-level, indulging in the weather so beautiful and the wind so refreshing, was quite a sensation.
After disembarking, I got myself another fish sandwich, purchased a belt for around $3 (I've been wanting a backup), and headed for Topkapi Palace. I'd heard that this former Sultan stomping ground was grandiose and remarkably vast, which would certainly be in accordance with the rest of the city; this turned out to be the ultimate representative of the former might of the once-powerful Empire. Topkapi, too, was turned into a museum by Ataturk, but still retained its figure from times of old. I saw rooms where the heads would meet and discuss rules and governance over their vast empire. I saw the Sultan's private courtyard. And there were a plethora artifacts from Ottoman times: from the clothes of former Sultans, to battle equipment, to royal jewelry, dispersed throughout the various buildings and chambers which made up the palace along with four enormous courtyards. Unfortunately, taking pictures inside almost every room was forbidden, and there were security guards who seemingly worked for only this purpose. And they did a darn good job, especially considering the large number of people perusing the museum's offerings. At first, I was super smooth and held the camera right in front of my stomach, with the flash off, and stealthily snapped some cool shots of some of the Sultans' former threads (quite feminine robes) and weapons (quite kickass). One time, though, since I'd turned my camera off, the flash had turned back on automatically when I was ready to take another picture. I didn't realize, and soon enough I saw the bright light reflect off the glass casing, illuminating the entire room. A security guard scrambled over to me, hastily gesturing toward my camera, sharply instructing, delete! This particular guard was either a rookie who cared too much or a veteran with pride, and he diligently observed the display screen on my camera to make sure I deleted it. After doing so, the previous picture I took came on the screen, and the watchful guard again commanded, delete! I tried going forward or turning my camera off, but it just wasn't in the cards, and this sequence repeated itself about four more times, until all my illegal photos were placed back into oblivion. In line with my bad-ass persona, I had to take one more shot, and did so of a pretty sweet helmet which I wouldn't mind wearing on a daily basis.
Alas, the time had come that I needed to collect my bags and wave goodbye to the Blue Mosque and its splendid surroundings. I took a shuttle from the hostel to the airport, but of course not before bidding adieu to the select storekeepers and managers near the area who exemplified the friendly and hospitable nature of the Turks. Looking back, Istanbul was one of my best experiences to date. Looking forward, I'm eager to experience more.
We ate at another guidebook-recommended place, with modest prices and a terrific view of the Blue Mosque. The food was a fusion of various cuisine, and, of course, very good. At one point I recall contemplating the sources of the food, and amidst hearing Jen and Rebecca discuss Indian food, I for a second completely forgot where I was. It was an interesting experience, having my brain in limbo.
After dinner, Jen wasn't feeling well so she went to sleep, and Rebecca joined me for a caffeine-jolting Turkish coffee in preparation for the 12 AM start of the baseball game. I continued to be dazzled by the Istanbulian (Istanbulite? -buligan?) disposition, as the waiter was tremendously friendly and warm. Soon enough we found the bar that would show the game, and as the minutes ticked down I reached the pinnacle of excitement. A 1-game playoff. We play 162 games and it all comes down to this. I was able to watch the first 6 or so innings before the bar closed at 2, and I headed back to the hostel, hoping to connect with someone on skype to watch the rest. I succeeded, and proceeded to spend the next 3 hours watching perhaps the best baseball game I've ever seen. Alas, we came out on the wrong end, and the season was ruthlessly torn from my grasp. It was a sad, powerful, moment, but, being 5 AM, there wasn't much time for reflection, and I went to bed.
The following day I woke up in the early afternoon, somewhat depressed but determined not to let the game break my spirits, and decided to venture toward the spice bazaar (which I had thought was different but later found to be essentially an offshoot of the Grand version. But more Turkish delight!) and check out the Dolmabache Palace. Unfortunately the palace was closed for the day, so I sat at a coffee shop on Istiklal and read for a time. While sat, I heard loud, coordinated shouts, and left my seat to find an apparent protest march, with banners aplenty. I asked a man what was going on, and he explained it was the Turkish Communist Party protesting the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. Apparently Turkey owes them a lot of money. Later that day, as I made my way back, I saw a group of armored police, who I presumed were there to quell the protests. I'd had a long day of walking, and decided now was the time to be an uber-tourist/sultan-imitator, and check out one of the historical Turkish bathhouses.
Naturally, I referenced the guidebook, which offered a relatively cheap but famous and worthwhile recommendation. I entered the bathhouse, paid, and made my way to the changing room, where I was told to undress and put on a towel. There was a towel covering the cot in the room, and a type of rag on the table, so I put on the thing that looked more like a towel. Wrong. Bad start. Eventually I got it right, and was led to the main mens chamber, which was a cavernous, sauna-like dome with a large, white marble plateau in the middle, on top of which men were lying down in their towels. Surrounding the main chamber were several smaller chambers, which I later found to contain sinks of both cold and hot water which one is meant to throw on themselves before and/or after the washing takes place. I couldn't tell if there was a line or some kind of ticket queue or something, and it was kind of hard to breathe, quite reminiscent of Bikram yoga, in fact, so I felt a bit over my head. Adding to that the ostensibly painful yelps I was hearing from the man who was getting massaged/washed by one of the myriad burly, hairy Turkish men working there, also scantily clad, this was an experience indeed. Truly a bro-out. It was hot in this room which was apparently designed for the use of the Ottoman Sultans, so I poured cold water over myself as I sat waiting/hoping to be called upon. Eventually I was, and my guy, Ahmed, instructed me to lay on my back. He filled some kind of towel with very soapy water, and the vigorous scrubbing/massage sesh commenced. At one point I was sat up and he went at it on my head, and the soap got all up in my eyes, but the kindly Turk took notice and cleansed my face with nice cold water. After a quick turn lying on my stomach and receiving a nice back massage, the excursion was over, and Ahmed made sure to alert me where to leave a tip. Yes, sir. I made it back to the changing room, and this time I knew what to put on; after doing so, I bought a few bars of soap for gifts and departed, feeling minty fresh and looking forward to my final night in this city with which I was becoming more and more infatuated.
I headed back north on the Tram toward Istiklal Cadessi. Once I arrived, I went to a guidebook-recommended restaurant and had a delectable dish of lamb and eggplant. I then ventured to a dessert place, where, feeling adventurous, I experimented with a dessert which was apparently made from chicken breast. I wouldn't say it 'tasted like chicken,' for it was quite sweet and overall very tasty (not, of course, to say that chicken is not tasty). Now I was ready to do some in-depth exploring of the downtown nightlife. It was quite a different feel around Istiklal than what I'd experienced earlier in the day. Each side street was packed with lively people of all ages. There were nice, quaint bars all over the place, practically each one featuring live music. I sat for a bit and enjoyed an Efes, the staple Turkish beer, but for the most part walked around for hours and just dug the scene. This was when I came to the conclusion that Istanbul is a place I could live in, at least for a period of time. It was a westernized nightlife, no doubt, but it seemed more genuine, with people really enjoying themselves, and a sense of life being lived to its fullest permeated the air. I would have preferred to have been traveling with someone to share this experience, as it was one I will not soon forget. After making it back to my hotel in the early hours of the night, I made sure to prepare for my checkout the next morning and made plans for a full day before heading to the airport in the early evening.
Waking up on my final day, I headed northwest toward the Golden Horn. From there, I walked onto a boat which was to cruise up the Horn and into the Bosphorous, offering its passengers the unique opportunity to travel between two continents. As the last one on, entering from the bow, I was able to secure a spot in the very front and feel the wind beating at my face. It was a very cool experience; on my left sat Europe and on my right, Asia. I felt almost as if I was between two worlds. There were many sites to be seen, among them Dolmabache Palace, which I'd unsuccessfully tried visiting the day before, and a bumpin' castle which I presumed was built around the time of Constantine. The houses on the Asian side were intriguing, too, and I later heard that this is where the higher-classes of Istanbul reside. I also dug the kickin' view of the mosques, now, for the moment, not of such mammoth proportions. This experience overall was really beyond words; just the feeling of being there and thinking about my position on a global scale, while at the same time on a micro-level, indulging in the weather so beautiful and the wind so refreshing, was quite a sensation.
After disembarking, I got myself another fish sandwich, purchased a belt for around $3 (I've been wanting a backup), and headed for Topkapi Palace. I'd heard that this former Sultan stomping ground was grandiose and remarkably vast, which would certainly be in accordance with the rest of the city; this turned out to be the ultimate representative of the former might of the once-powerful Empire. Topkapi, too, was turned into a museum by Ataturk, but still retained its figure from times of old. I saw rooms where the heads would meet and discuss rules and governance over their vast empire. I saw the Sultan's private courtyard. And there were a plethora artifacts from Ottoman times: from the clothes of former Sultans, to battle equipment, to royal jewelry, dispersed throughout the various buildings and chambers which made up the palace along with four enormous courtyards. Unfortunately, taking pictures inside almost every room was forbidden, and there were security guards who seemingly worked for only this purpose. And they did a darn good job, especially considering the large number of people perusing the museum's offerings. At first, I was super smooth and held the camera right in front of my stomach, with the flash off, and stealthily snapped some cool shots of some of the Sultans' former threads (quite feminine robes) and weapons (quite kickass). One time, though, since I'd turned my camera off, the flash had turned back on automatically when I was ready to take another picture. I didn't realize, and soon enough I saw the bright light reflect off the glass casing, illuminating the entire room. A security guard scrambled over to me, hastily gesturing toward my camera, sharply instructing, delete! This particular guard was either a rookie who cared too much or a veteran with pride, and he diligently observed the display screen on my camera to make sure I deleted it. After doing so, the previous picture I took came on the screen, and the watchful guard again commanded, delete! I tried going forward or turning my camera off, but it just wasn't in the cards, and this sequence repeated itself about four more times, until all my illegal photos were placed back into oblivion. In line with my bad-ass persona, I had to take one more shot, and did so of a pretty sweet helmet which I wouldn't mind wearing on a daily basis.
Alas, the time had come that I needed to collect my bags and wave goodbye to the Blue Mosque and its splendid surroundings. I took a shuttle from the hostel to the airport, but of course not before bidding adieu to the select storekeepers and managers near the area who exemplified the friendly and hospitable nature of the Turks. Looking back, Istanbul was one of my best experiences to date. Looking forward, I'm eager to experience more.
Great post
ReplyDeleteThanks for your info.