Days 3, 4 & 5: The Sights & Sounds of Istanbul

You can find my photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/igiveuponhate/.

I’m somewhat divided about whether I love or hate Istanbul. There are 13 million people in the city, so that automatically makes it too big. It’s dirty and congested. People push and shove. If you’re anywhere near Sultanahmet (Old Istanbul) then you’re going to be pestered endlessly by carpet touts and every other jerk under the sun.

But then there are sides to the city that I love. You can have çay (tea) in any little café; there are historically significant and architecturally impressive buildings everywhere; the food is amazing; the city is alive and moving 24 hours a day, 7 days a week; and there are some quiet corners here and there where you can escape from the monstrous side of Istanbul.

When I returned from Edirne, I was wiped out. But I made arrangements to meet my university friend, Theresa, at 9:00 AM. It was so nice to see a friendly face! There were quite a few things in the city that she’d always liked to have done during her time in Turkey but was never able to, so I was more than happy to tag along to some lesser-known sites. The first thing we attempted was the Archaeological Museum but the admission was quite expensive, and we suspected once inside we’d run into something “typically Turkish”: Turkish museums love to charge you general admission and then charge you again for the best parts of the museum.

Afterward we decided to head to the Galata Bridge, which crosses the Golden Horn. The Golden Horn is like an estuary type body of water that breaks off from the Sea of Marmara and runs inland into the middle of European-side Istanbul. Along the way was a pretty impressive mosque but I declined to go inside. The Blue Mosque and Aya Sofya being exceptions, I always feel bad for going into mosques like a tourist. I know people don’t mind for the most part but it used to irritate me to no end when people would visit the Bahá'í House of Worship and go inside like tourists – talking loudly, taking photographs, using the flash, etc. – while I was trying to pray.

Next to Galata Bridge is an area called Eminönü where ferries depart for various points around Istanbul. It’s also home to these chintzy little boats where cooks fry up fresh fish and put them on sandwiches. There’s a little seating area on the pier because otherwise you wouldn’t be able to eat – the Golden Horn is a busy waterway, and the fish cooking boats rock like crazy! I’ll be honest and say I hate fish, so we moved on to take a peek at all the shops and restaurants that are under the bridge.

The bridge itself is hideous, but it’s a recent manifestation of a bridge crossing that’s been there…forever, I guess. The last one was preventing pollution from flowing out of the Golden Horn, I think, so they built the new one. For some reason, perhaps cost, the government didn’t see fit to make it attractive in any way whatsoever. I guess architectural appreciation died with the Ottoman Empire? Anyway, people fishing for these tiny fish line Galata Bridge the entire way across. We didn’t stick around to ask too many questions since…you know…it smelled like fish. Blech.

After that we headed to the Spice Market, which is also called the Egyptian Market. There was a disappointing lack of spice to be honest. There were some spice stalls, but the majority of it had been taken over by these ridiculous little tourist shops with all the chintzy crap being sold exclusively for tourists. That’s one thing I don’t care for in the city – there are too many shops selling the same kind of cheap junk for the same sorts of people. Frankly, I don’t know how they all manage to stay open! And the people running them can be kind of pushy. Too pushy, really.

Afterwards we headed over to the Taksim neighborhood, which is pretty upscale. There are a lot of shops and cafes, like a Heights/Hillcrest but urban style. We accidentally discovered a very beautiful Catholic church in the area, listened to a dulcimer player, stopped into a café for a bit of çay and fruit, shopped at a bookstore that actually had English language books, walked to the Galata Tower and stopped into another café for Turkish coffee. I learned how to “read” what’s left of the coffee, which is pretty fun. You take the saucer and place it over the top of the cup, then you flip it over and swirl it around in a circle, finally you set it down on the table with the saucer and wait for the top of the cup to cool. Then you remove it, leave the sediment on the saucer and give the cup to your companion. They look inside and tell you what they see – mine had a heart, geyser and volcano. I’m not entirely sure I want to know what that’s supposed to mean.

After Taksim we caught a ferry to the Asian side of Istanbul so that we could eat at a famous restaurant that was featured in The New Yorker, among other publications (including my guidebook). On the way, you pass this giant train station constructed by the Germans as a gift to the Ottoman Empire. For some reason they felt a train station built in German-style was an appropriate gift. I’m sure the Ottomans could have used money at the time. It’s like your grandma giving you socks and underwear instead of cash. Anyway, at the ferry landing the Asian side looks pretty…unimpressive. But once you wander inland a bit, it turns much nicer.

Theresa and I probably shouldn’t hang out –too- much because we seem to reinforce one another’s bad habits. At the restaurant, we went crazy ordering food! We spent too much money and ate too much food, but it was sooo worth it. We had a salad-type dish of marinated tomatoes; sausage stuffed into lamb’s intestines; stuffed grape leaves; bulgur wheat salad; a dish like Ghormeh Sabzi; sour cherries & meatballs; chickpeas & rice; hummus; kofte (a type of meat dish); spinach & yogurt salad; and an olive salad. Dessert was tea, a pistachio pastry, some kind of strange marinated whole walnut and what the wait staff described as “sauce” – a kind of marshmallow, gooey-like substance.

We wandered around the neighborhood for a bit taking pictures and then we went back to the waterfront to catch the sun setting over European Istanbul from a rooftop café. When our ferry landed back in Europe, we met one of Theresa’s Turkish friends, Hilal, and her friend, Burak. Hilal is a textile design student, and Burak is a graphic design student. They took us to an area of town called Ortaköy, which is apparently where the locals hang out late at night. We walked there from the ferry, and so we passed a number of palaces, the Four Seasons and a beautiful university along the way. The street was confined on both sides by tall walls but I still liked it – Istanbul is so lively at all hours of the day!

When we arrived in Ortaköy we walked around, observed some potato bars (you get a baked potato and select from a dozen different things to add to it) and finally settled down to have some çay together.

Burak told me he wants to be an illustrator and then he showed us a little comic book he drew in his sketchbook that’s him fighting zombies; it was very good! After experiencing Africa, where brilliant talent so often goes to waste, I was glad to see it was being cultivated in him. He said when he finishes with art school here, he wants to continue to study in England or Finland.

Hilal is studying the Ottoman language (it’s similar to modern Turkish except it uses Arabic script, which makes it a billion times more difficult) so she can understand their fashion techniques. She wants to combine Ottoman fashion with modern fashion, which I thought was amazing and ambitious. She seems pretty brilliant, so I have no doubt that she’s going to be successful. She seems like a very talented artist, and I have such an admiration for that since science has consumed by mind and kicked all the creativity out.

Both of them were somewhat shy with their English and self-conscious about it, but there weren’t any problems in communicating. I had a lot of fun hanging out with them, and I’m so glad I got to do something in Istanbul other than sight-seeing. I think I went to sleep around 2:00 AM that night. When I woke up in the morning, I realized I’m not 20 anymore. Something happens around 25. It’s like you hit a brick wall. If you try to live like you’re in your early twenties again, then you wake up feeling like you’ve been run over by something!

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In the morning Hilal and Burak met Theresa and I for breakfast nearby in Sultanahmet, then we took the tram to the ferry. Theresa and I were going to Princes’ Island, and Hilal and Burak were going to hang out with a friend who was moving to the States the next day. We agreed to meet with them after we returned from the islands, which was supposed to be for dinner. But this is Turkey, so that went out the window.

The ferry took much longer than expected because it stopped at four other islands before going to the “Big Island,” Büyükada. The ferry terminal on the island was pretty impressive – it was built in the Ottoman style in 1899. We stopped in at a waterfront restaurant for lunch and paid a ridiculous price for calamari, the tomato salad thing and a shepherd’s salad. They tried to charge us for bread and water that they poured for us, as well as a “tax.” The man was getting quite belligerent about it and brought other receipts to show that they always charge for those things, as if ripping off other people made it okay to rip us off, too. There’s no such thing as a restaurant tax in Istanbul, you never pay for the bread and you pay for water only if you open it – not if they open and pour it for you when you sit down.

After we’d finished our meal and we were enjoying some çay and watermelon, we were joined by another American named Patricia. The poor thing. She comes scurrying over and in this longing voice says, “Are you Americans!?”. She asked if she could join us and we didn’t mind; on the one hand, I felt like she was cheapening her experiences by clustering up with other foreigners but then again no one likes to eat alone. We had some nice conversation with her before she went off to catch a ferry and we began to wander around the island.

There are no cars allowed on Büyükada, even though there are paved roads. The area near the waterfront is much like Istanbul, but when you move inland it instantly becomes a different place. The houses are historic, atmospheric and beautifully restored; the streets are quiet and tree-lined and the air is clean. It’s no wonder that many residents of Istanbul move to the island in the summer months in order to escape the city; I’d do it if I could afford it!

When Theresa and I stopped into a small art gallery, a little old Turkish lady comes up to us and starts talking to Theresa in a mixture of Turkish & German (Turman, if you will). It turns out she’s an artist and an author named Nur-Çin that lives on the island in the summer and in Istanbul in winter; she insisted that we come along with her to have çay. I won’t say this is a common occurrence, but the Turks are seriously friendly and hospitable. She took us to a beautiful little seaside café where we had çay and some biscuits she brought along. Theresa served admirably as translator and then she suddenly warned me, quietly, to slow down eating and drinking. If I finished, then I was going to get more. Sure enough, the next thing I know I’m having another cup of tea and more biscuits. She insisted that we take the biscuits with us and that she pay for our çay whenever we parted company. So sweet!

We wandered through the backstreets of the island for awhile and then headed back to the main waterfront area where we discovered a group of four musicians playing in a little town square. They were quite good, so we bought their CD and then headed to a nearby café for more çay (you drink like 50 cups of tea/coffee per day, no kidding). Two ferries left while we were there, but we didn’t take too much note of it until we tried to leave and we found out there was this bizarre gap in the ferries. The next one didn’t leave until 9:00 PM, which meant some shopping on the waterfront, watching the sunset and having MORE ÇAY at a seaside café.

Hilal was waiting for us at the ferry landing back in Istanbul; Theresa and I had discussed going to a Turkish hamam (bathhouse) while we were riding the ferry back to the city, so we broached the idea and Hilal agreed to come along. There are several of them in the city but it was approaching 11:00 PM by the time we set out, so we chose a particularly touristy one near the neighborhood I’m staying in, Çemberlitaş. The hamam was built in 1584 and it’s been preserved exceptionally well since then. We each ordered the mid-priced option, which included the standard bath, a scrubbing down by an attendant and a pseudo-massage. The ladies quickly vanished into their own area and left me standing in the lobby looking clueless.

I was finally led one floor up to a little room, told to undress and wrap myself in a towel called a peştimal. I’m a prude. I’ll admit it. I prefer to say I’m extremely modest, but I’m just not down with taking my clothes off in front of people. I don’t even like to swim without a shirt on (as much for fear of the sun as anything else)! The little room I was in had clear windows. As in if someone in the lobby looked up they would see me undressing so I had a hell of a time trying to maintain my modesty. I kept my boxers on underneath the peştimal only to learn that the attendant must have been watching me because he comes and bangs on the window and yells “TAKE IT ALL OFF!”. I started to tell him this wasn’t a peep show and if he shouted that again he’d better fork over some money, but I did as he said.

After all my dignity had been properly disposed of, I was lead downstairs and shown through a door into a little waiting room and then into the main chamber. It was huge and quite obviously well-restored and faithful to the original fixtures and such. It’s basically a sauna in there. The room is circular with an ENORMOUS heated marble slab in the middle of the room. You’re meant to lay on it and relax, or use the alcoves lining the room to wash yourself. Each alcove was somewhat enclosed and it had three basins for water. You’d fill the basin with water from an antique looking faucet and then use a bowl to sluice it over yourself. Thankfully you’re meant to keep the peştimal on, otherwise there was going to be a fistfight.

Suddenly my big, hairy, burly attendant, Yuri, stomps into the room, looking like the foreign villain in a bad action movie. He grunts, “English?” and when I reply in the affirmative he motions for me to lie down on the marble slab close to the edge. I guess his English didn’t exist, but Yuri stuck to one word commands: “Turn,” “sit,” “here,” “there” and “no” mostly. He put the scrubbing loofa thing on my stomach and then left me on the slab for what seemed like an eternity. When I was just about to fall asleep, Yuri comes out of nowhere and throws a big bowl of cold water on me. I’m not even kidding. I went “AH!” and he laughed. Then he soaps up the loofa and starts to scrub me.

I don’t know if he could tell that my legs were killing me from all the sudden walking (as opposed to driving everywhere in the US) or if he does it to everyone but when he began to wash my legs he also massaged them. Yuri has the hand strength of fifteen men combined. I thought he was going to rip the muscles out of my legs. I was actually very concerned about getting a cramp but I guess he knew what he was doing because not only did I not get a cramp but my legs felt amazing afterward. My shoulders and neck received similarly painful but gratifying treatment. When he washed me off, we moved to a nearby basin and he started shampooing my hair. At one point I thought his gentle giant hands were going to bore holes in my skull and I was convinced I would have a massive headache afterward but I guess he was working pressure points. He washed my hair, slapped my cheeks (gently…well…gently for Yuri) and then motioned to the marble slab where I was supposed to relax.

I can’t stand humidity. I felt like I was going to die in there, so I didn’t stay long. My idea of relaxation doesn’t involve being half naked with six other men laying on a piece of marble with 10,000% humidity after being roughed up by man-handling Yuri. If there hadn’t been so much steam, I would have actually been able to relax but it was making it hard for me to breathe, so I washed off, dried off, changed clothes upstairs under the watchful gaze of the creeper peeper attendant and then waited for the ladies.

We hadn’t had dinner yet, so we stopped in for Turkish fast food at like 12:30 AM. I don’t remember the name of the food, but it’s like a dry burrito with meat, lettuce, tomatoes and sometimes-random French fries. When we finished they accompanied me back to the area near my hostel and then caught a cab back to Hilal’s apartment where Theresa was staying. She had a 4:00 AM flight to meet her husband in Germany for holiday in Spain & Morocco, so she wasn’t going to sleep. I hope she’s having a great time!

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After days 3 & 4, day 5 was bliss. I slept in; enjoyed my breakfast; uploaded my photos on Flickr; talked to Celia; wrote part of this blog; took a nap; went to dinner at a nearby restaurant; bought a decent razor because I forgot mine at home; and then spent the rest of the night bumming around on Facebook, going through my pictures and talking to Celia.

You might say to yourself, “Day 5 sounds like a bust.” But it wasn’t. I consider this a holiday and even though I’m in the amazing city of Istanbul, you don’t have to constantly be doing something to enjoy yourself. Sometimes you can sit around the hostel all day long and feel like you’ve had a perfectly wonderful and productive day.

But I did stay up too late. It was like 4:00 AM before I went to sleep. All of this çay and coffee keeps me awake too long! At around 2:00 AM last night, no one else in the hostel was awake except me down here in the lounge. The guy working the front desk during the night is really nice, so he suddenly appears with some coffee for me. And not Turkish coffee, just plain ol’ Western coffee, which I think was especially nice. It helped give me that extra oomph to stay up!