Ann Marie’s Istanbul

Turkey is in the news again, this time for a monumental step forward. It recently opened the doors to the first Turkish mosque designed by a woman, the Şakirin (shah-KEER-een) Mosque. And it’s STUNNING!
After learning about it last week, a number of us made a weekend trek to the conservative community of Üsküdar to check it out. After a good deal of help from Turks on the bus, we found it. And believe me, we were not disappointed—not at all!

The Şakirin Mosque from its entry gate

Architect Zeynep Fadillioğlu has designed many upscale homes and hotels around the world, but according to a recent BBC article, she said she cried when she was offered this particular project. Although Turkey is a secular democracy, women often still find themselves bucking traditional expectations, and Fadillioğlu was asked to open a new frontier for Turkish women. The  typical prayer area for women in most mosques is segregated or screened off at the back of the mosque. Not so in the Şakirin Mosque. In fact, the area “designated for women” is the balcony, which seems to float above the lower level, surrounding the magical glass droplet chandelier that graces the center of the dome.

Looking up the stairs to the balcony

View from the balcony

You’d have to be there to understand why my eyes filled with tears as I entered that upper level. It was the best of the best; the pinnacle of the mosque experience. Designated for the women.
Commissioned by the Şakirs, a very wealthy Arab Turkish family, the mosque was built to honor their deceased mother. It combines both modern and classical elements, incorporating fountains, light, and inviting the surrounding greenery through it’s airy glass surround. The mosque sits majestically on a hill at the edge of an ancient cemetery.

An exterior view of the mosque

After marveling at the elegant exterior design of the mosque, one enters the courtyard to see a dome-like fountain that reflects the fluted roofs surrounding it.

The fluted roof surrounding the courtyard…

…and the domed fountain that reflects its image.

As you enter the mosque itself, the first thing that catches your eye is the mihrap, the niche that indicates the direction of mecca. The Şakirin mihrap is a golden niche surrounded by a bold, turquoise tulip-shaped frame.
I was particularly taken with the mahfili, what we would consider the pulpit. Often a centerpiece in classical mosques, this one seemed to flow smoothly from the floor to the glass windows above the back wall. It was molded in what looked like a beige marble, covered with what I thought were Arabic letters. As I drew closer, though, I realized that the pattern was actually an intricate design of dried flowers, again pulling the natural world into the mosque’s interior.

A woman prays beside the mahfili, the mosque’s stylized “pupit”

A close-up of the dried floral designs gracing the mahfili

And then there’s the chandelier. Oh, my goodness! Hundreds of blown glass droplets hang from a circular flowing arrangement of Arabic lettering and clear plastic calligraphy-like designs. I can’t wait to return in the evening to see the dome and interior of this stunning mosque lit by that myriad of glass droplets.

A magical chandelier reflects both light and color inside the airy mosque.

Glass droplets hang from the swirling chandelier

Of course, there has been controversy over this new mosque. Fadillioğlu admits that she expected problems during the construction of the mosque, and she was pleased when nothing came up. Since its opening, however, a number of Islamic traditionalists have spoken out against a woman “overstepping” her position in Islamic society. Many refuse to set foot in a mosque designed by a woman, but while we were there a number of traditionally dressed worshippers prayed in the sanctuary. Many Turks applaud this progressive step and look forward to women becoming more involved in Islamic worship.

I sure do.

Designer Zeynep Fadillioğlu in her stunning Şakirin Mosque.

For more information on the mosque (and the issues that surround it), check out these web sites.

BBC Article on the Şakirin Mosque

German Web article on the mosque

Turkish web article with photos

Just what the world needs: yet another tour guide. Oh, well—my humble addition to the ranks is finally on the bookshelves—in Turkey, at least.

The BOOK!

Here’s how it happened:
During my first year teaching in Istanbul, Tania Chandler and Jamilah Lajam introduced me to Edda Renker Weissenbacher’s fascinating tours through the back streets of Istanbul. I’d never heard of a han (an ancient inn) and never would have guessed that Constantinople once teemed with them. I was captivated by my first Edda Tour, which finished on the rooftop of the Buyuk Valide Han overlooking a stunning vista of Istanbul, the Marmara, and the Golden Horn. To top it off, as we gazed across the water at the Galata tower, the air swelled with a cacophony of muezzins chanting the Koran verses of the call to prayer. I was entranced.

Edda and friends on the roof of the Büyük Valide Han

After my second Edda tour I was struck with a thought. Why not make these tours available to anyone who visits Istanbul? At 70, Edda was unlikely to lead too many thousands along her back street tours, which meant they’d all miss out on this amazing experience. BUT—we could compile them into a book of self-guided tours. “Would you be interested in collaborating on a book of your tours, Edda?” I asked, a little worried that she might find my suggestion presumptuous.
“What a wonderful idea!” she answered brightly. “I’d love to!”

Me and Edda outside the Süleymaniye Mosque, writing partners!

Once we’d discussed some of the details of the project, I pounded out a book proposal. Then I visited Greenhouse Books to browse through Turkey guides and hopefully identify prospective publishers. My first choice was Çitlembik, an Istanbul publisher that produces a variety of books on Turkish culture and tourism in both English and Turkish. I was astonished to receive an immediate reply from director Nancy Öztürk. She was excited about the project and wanted to sign us on. HOORAY!!!

Edda at the Taş Han, where the first tour begins

Little did I realize that though Edda has a good decade on me, her energy for this project would far outweigh mine. She led me up and down the cobbled streets of Istanbul as I snapped photo after photo. Over 2,000 of them, in fact (photos, not streets). Early on, I often lost my way between the Grand Bazaar and the Egyptian Spice Bazaar, but it wasn’t long before I was very much at home on those narrow, cobbled streets.

I’m standing on the roof of the Sair Han, another spot that overlooks the city.

I drew careful maps of the tours we’d include in our book, re-routed them so they’d follow one after the other, and expanded on the descriptions that Edda provided of each of the nearly ninety sites. Four walks, hundreds of photos, and the combined efforts of two enthusiastic women. Ah, collaboration!

The Cebeci Han’s people-sized ewers

The Çuhacı Han, where goldsmiths work, with Nuru-osmaniye Mosque behind.

A gold shop window in the Çuhacı Han

The Süleymaniye Mosque

The Süleymaniye Medreses

The Istanbul University Gate

The courtyard of the Zincirli Han, within the Grand Bazaar

In June of 2007, Edda and I parted. She left Istanbul to spend the summer with her husband in Austria, and I returned to Minnesota. It took me a while to settle into a routine, but I wrote four hours a day through September, October, and even more in November. We’d promised to turn everything in by the end of November, and I flew back to Istanbul to retrace my steps, correcting the maps, shooting final photos, and finishing up interviews for mini-features of merchants and craftsmen along our routes. What an undertaking it was!

An article on Bedros Muradyan, one of 18 features in the book.

Edda was back in Istanbul that November, and we trekked, chatted, and laughed together as we finalized everything. Edda had just bought a new Mac laptop, and she was like a sponge, eager for everything I could teach her about Macs. She never ceases to amaze me—and she’s a meticulous editor, to boot.

Well, two years later, our book is finally out: Istanbul’s Bazaar Quarter: Backstreet Walking Tours. Its 182 pages are 30 more than expected, but it offers what we’d hoped: a clear, well-researched guide to the hans, mosques, and bazaars of Istanbul’s Bazaar Quarter. The book’s four self-guided tours draw its readers back through over a thousand years of this amazing city’s history.

The cascading domes of the Rüstem Paşa Mosque

Rüstem Paşa Mosque, one of the city’s most charming, is hidden near the Spice Bazaar

Whew! At last! And next week we’re celebrating with a book-signing event at the Koç School, complete with food and live music. Never a dull moment over here!
Now, back to my memoir about teaching in Istanbul…

I’ve always been intrigued by the Maiden’s Tower, an enchanting little “island edifice” perched near the south end of the Bosphorus.  Charming in its own right, its legends add to its mystique.

The Maiden’s Tower (Wikipedia photo)

First built in 408 B.C., the tower helped the Byzantines control the movement of Persian ships up the Bosphorus Strait. At that time Istanbul was two cities, Byzantion (on the European side) and Chrysopolis (on the Asian side). 1500 years later, the tower was converted into a fortress by a Byzantine emperor and continued to be restored and modified numerous times, with its most recent facelift in 1999.
So—the legends? Well, my favorite is the story of a sultan’s daughter born to a prophesy that she would be killed by a venomous snake on her 18th birthday. Her father had the tower built in the middle of the Bosphorus to protect his beloved child from snakes. (Thinking, no doubt, that the snakes of Asia Minor didn’t swim.) He guarded her jealously, treating her a bit like Rapunzel. On her 18th birthday the sultan redoubled his vigilance, allowing her no gifts. Choosing to celebrate this momentous birthday with her privately, though, he brought her a basket of scrumptious exotic fruits that he had specially ordered for this event. As they tasted the sumptuous fruits, one by one, a snake emerged from the basket and bit the young princess, who died instantly. The moral to the story must be “Don’t tempt fate”—or something like that. For obvious reasons (no Prince Charming in the picture), the fortress was thereafter known as the Maiden’s Tower.

The Maiden’s Tower—today

The tower has another, more historical name as well. It was long known as Leander’s Tower, named after a Greek myth about Hero and Leander. The lovely Hero was one of Aphrodite’s priestesses, and she lived in a tower at a point called Hellespont at the end of the Dardanelles (where the Sea of Marmara feeds into the Aegean). Leander lived on the other side of the strait, and every night he secretly swam across it to be with Hero, who lit a lamp in her tower each night to guide his way.

Evelyn De Morgan, Hero Awaiting the Return of Leander, 1885

It wasn’t long before Hero succumbed to Leander’s charms and allowed him to make love to her, a tryst they repeated often through the warm summer. Leander continued his nightly swim even into the long, cold nights of autumn, until one night when a violent storm blew out Hero’s lamp and lashed Leander with huge waves until he drowned. When Hero realized that Leander had died, she threw herself from the tower to rendezvous with her lover at the bottom of the sea.

William Etty, Hero and Leander, 1828 – 1829

Leander’s Tower, yes. But Maiden’s Tower?
Hmmm… Lucky Hero, who was at least able to enjoy love for a while. But then, could it have been Aphrodite who created the storm? Tough call. I still prefer the story of the sultan’s daughter—fits the moral codes of Turkey a bit better than the Greek myth.
This spring I hope to ferry out and enjoy tea in the tower’s restaurant. It’s just one of those tantalizing Istanbul experiences I’ve yet to savor.

April 23, 2009

Meandering through an Istanbul weekend

My semester sojourn in Istanbul is half over—hard to believe. It’s gone quickly (in spite of the rain), and it’s been wonderful. Last weekend was uncommitted, so I took advantage of the usual weekend service buses into the city. Friday night we went to the Palladium Mall, where my friend Dee and I watched The Reader. I seldom get to movies at home, as the nearest theater is 90 miles away in Thunder Bay, so I appreciate the opportunity here every weekend. I hosted Dana, a teaching compatriot from the Canterbury School in Florida (our school has a cultural exchange with them). She was a delight.

Saturday I took the service bus into the city with plans to get a haircut. I cut my own hair a few weeks ago, and it was growing out rather poorly, pooching out in several directions at once. Time for a fix—which I got! The kuafor remembered me and squeezed me into his “coloring” schedule. Of course he served me tea, and the ladies who were sojourning over the lunch hour were treated to lunch on his terrace, delivered by a local restaurant. What service!

Flower vendors in Kadiköy

After my haircut I just wandered. The sun was shining, and I was aimlessly listening to a book on my ipod (Duane’s Depressed by Larry McMurtry—interesting). I trekked along the Marmara, which features a scenic park and walkway on reclaimed soil along the seaside. I stopped at an seaside restaurant at the end of a long breakwater pier in Moda, where I enjoyed a mid-day omelette and watched sailboats skim across the harbor. Nice.

The Moda restaurant sits out on the end of a pier.

My lunch-table view, sailboats and the Princes Islands in the distance.

The next thing I spotted on my meanderings was a young dude in cowboy hat and cowboy boots toting two huge bags of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Not too Turkish, I thought to myself as I pulled out my camera.

Cowboy delivery dude…

Lo and behold, he was delivering lunch to his photo crew, who were busy shooting a pretty redhead as she cavorted around a pink ‘57 Chevy convertible, swinging her hair madly as she twirled. Amazing. I don’t think it was a fashion shoot, though, because the model wasn’t wearing much. Hmmm…

…and the photo shoot. NAME THAT PRODUCT!!!

Later I found a big flat rock on the breakwater and stretched out to bask in the mid-day sun. Sigh… What joy! It made me just a little sad to think of my friends in Grand Marais struggling through yet another snowstorm. Not too sad, though. I actually felt a bit smug sitting in the sun. For lack of a better thing to do, I watched a man blow up balloons for his seaside target-practice concession. (BB guns, I hope.)

I had decided to waste a few hours working on my computer at Starbuck’s when I walked by a ferry with a sign for a 7 lira Bosphorus cruise. Let’s see…a smoky Starbuck’s or a two-hour ferry ride? Tough decision. It was lovely, of course, and I enjoyed chatting with some university students eager to practice their English. The Turks love to engage in conversation, and it’s great fun to chat with them in whatever limited language we can manage. Ah, the ever-friendly Turks.

One of the scores of ferries touring the Bosphorous

I hopped on another ferry to Karaköy, where I met an artist friend for dinner—we didn’t have much time, but it was nice to catch up over jumbo shrimp and a salad at the Odessa Restaurant. We sat in a second-story open window overlooking the Golden Horn and the Marmara, out of the chill wind but still in the sun. They served us a complimentary dessert of sicak helva, a sweet made from sesame seeds, which is served grilled or roasted over grated carrots—tastes a bit like melted homemade caramel. YUM! It was hard to tear myself away, but I had to ferry across the water to catch the service bus home. Sigh…

Sunday there was another service bus to the tulip festival at Emirgan Park. It took nearly two hours to get there (Sunday traffic), but the displays and people watching were well worth the trip. The city spends a small fortune planting millions of tulips each spring, and their efforts are well appreciated.

The Entrance sign and map pf the park—a la tulips!

A kangaroo welcome to Emirgan Park—???

The Turks are understandably proud of being the first to cultivate tulips over 1000 years ago, and this annual festival celebrates it elaborately, with plantings, music, and art all over the city. The tulips in Emirgan Park are probably the most impressive anywhere. To me, at least.

Tulips, tulips everywhere!

Emirgan is a fairly traditional community, so most of the women in the park were scarved, and we spotted a group of men at prayer among the tulips, kneeling on their rugs beside a mescit, a small mosque.

The devout answer their call to prayer among the flowers of Emirgan Park.

It’s quite rare to see women completely covered in Istanbul, we saw quite a few robed in black. My favorites were two young women batting a volleyball between them, robes flying.

It reminds me that we’re all very much the same—the differences may appear overwhelming, but at heart we’re more alike than different. We love to play, we enjoy the sun, and we all revel in springtime.

And we shared those joys at Emirgan.

It never ceases to amaze me. Istanbul. This city that straddles two centuries—sometimes three—as well as spanning two continents. Talk about diversity!

Last weekend my friend Dee and I trekked from Sultanahmet up to Eyup, through the most traditional sections of the city. We started our mini-pilgrimage at Eminönü, the ferrystop along the Golden Horn just below Sultanahmet. Once we crossed the Galata bridge, our world shifted. It was like stepping back in time. All of a sudden the tourists were gone and we were among Turks, and more traditional Turks at that. The first things we spotted were three boats moored by the quay, one with triple copper onion-shaped domes. Hmmm…

Fish restaurant boats along the Golden Horn at Eminönü

As we drew closer, we realized they were fish restaurants, with fish-flipping chefs resplendent in traditional Turkish embroidered vests. They filled crusty poor-boy sized loaves with piping hot fish fillets, which they handed off to waiters waiting on the pier.

The fish hand-off

Low tables and stools filled the quay, some under tent roofs, but all with happy Turks enjoying their fresh fish sandwiches. YUM!!!!

The fish restaurant with the boat in the background

Beside these open-air restaurants, vendors worked from quaint food stands selling—what? Something red and lumpy in a clear red juice. Whatever could it be? It looked like a pink parfait of some kind, but on closer scrutiny we realized it was TURŞU—PICKLES!!!! I’m still not sure about the red juice (cherry?), but people were buying and thoroughly enjoying pickled cucumbers, carrots, peppers, and cabbage in something red. Hmmm…

Yup, PICKLES!!!

Sorry that we’d already eaten, Dee and I trekked on to find the bus for Edirnekapı, our first stop. A friendly driver left his bus and walked us to where he thought ours might be, checking with that driver to be sure. Typical Turkish helpfulness. (I love it.) Though we had to stand, we were happy to be on our way. We rode about 15 minutes to Edirnekapı, where we hopped off and waited for a mini-bus to Eyup. Within moments we’d paid our fare (collected in a tray beside the driver) and were on our way. Once again I was standing, but a sweet man took his 11-year-old grandson onto his lap to make room for me. The boy, I think, was bigger than his grandfather. I knew better than to refuse, and took the kindly proffered place. I shared that I’m an English teacher, then asked the very shy boy a few questions, like “Are you happy there is no school Monday?” That brought a smile! (We were given the day off because of Sunday’s elections, which were to be held in the schools. Apparently they needed Monday to count ballots and put things back in order.)

Election banners for the Sunday election hang all over the city.

Before long we were in Eyup. We’d stepped from modern Istanbul into a world of capped and bearded men with women in scarves and veils. So different for us…

Traditionally-garbed Turks enjoy a Saturday promenade by the Eyup fountain.

We snapped photos of the mosque and fountain, then found our way to Eyup’s famous tomb, from which it takes its name. Eyyub al Ensari was a close friend of the prophet Mohammed, and he supposedly lost his life there during the Muslim siege of Istanbul in the 7th century. Wow. His tomb, now known as “Eyup Sultan Türbesi,” is located in the main mosque complex near the Golden Horn.

Traditional Iznik ceramic tiles with the very rare green shades as well as red and blue

Dee and I donned our scarves (you never tour Turkey without one, as it’s required garb in mosques), took off our shoes, and followed the devout into the tomb. Instead of standing with hands together as Christians do, the Muslims pray with cupped hands, palms up, at about chest level. Everyone paid their respects to Eyup, many reading from the Koran along the perimeter of the ornately decorated room, then they backed out of the room, always facing the tomb. All very silent and respectful. And there we were—tourists. Ah,well. Tourists among the pilgrims.

Worshippers at the Eyup Sultan Tomb

A koran vendor on the streets and one of the many lanterns outside the tomb.

Our next stop was the top of the hill above the famed Eyup Cemetery. Thousands of ancient tombs climb the hill to a high point at the end of the Golden Horn.

The men’s tombs often have a fez or turban atop to show their status.

Ancient, tired, leaning tombstones on Eyup’s hillside cemetery.

The famous Pierre Loti café sits atop it all. Tables and tables of tea drinkers relax to enjoy the incredible view of the city from one of its highest points. On a clear day you can see all the way to the Blue Mosque and the Haghia Sophia. It wasn’t that clear on Saturday, but it was gorgeous nonetheless. In case you didn’t know, Pierre Loti was a French writer who fell in love with Istanbul and often wrote sitting at an outdoor café on this very spot.

The Pierre Loti cafe kitchen

The Golden Horn view from our table

Oh, dear—I’m writing too much again. Sigh… It’s hard to stop, you know. Well, welcome to the traditional side of Istanbul, high above the Golden Horn at Eyup’s Pierre Loti Café.

Lovely. Incredible Istanbul.

The Bulgarian Iron Church—a Christian steeple along the Golden Horn

Navigating the streets of Istanbul offers either adventure or challenge, whichever you make it. I enjoy it, especially now that I know my way around (after four years). Good maps are an absolute necessity, at least early on, and my favorites were the back pages of the DK Istanbul guidebook. One thing they don’t have on those maps, though, is the location of public rest rooms. Crucial information. I often just make a point of stopping for a cup of coffee or tea and use the restaurant’s facilities, but I’ve also located some very lovely tuvalets near tourist spots. My favorite is the one at the Arasta Bazaar, just around the corner from the Blue Mosque. The rest rooms cost a lira (about 60 cents), but they’re sparking clean, and definitely eye candy with their brilliant blue, white, and red ceramic tile décor.

The Arasta Bazaar Tuvalet

The bonus of a visit to the Arasta bazaar is always a cup of tea with Hüseyin Palioğlu at Harem 49—his treasure trove of a rug shop. In fact, during my visit with him last weekend, I succumbed to the allure of a lush green Uşak (Oushak) rug. It’s a design I’ve admired since first arriving in Turkey, and now I’m the proud owner of an enviable specimen.

My beautiful new Uşak carpet

A body gets thirsty trekking Istanbul’s cobbled streets, but there’s always a juice seller nearby. Often they’re just little carts or storefronts, but in Sultanahmet there’s a bona-fide Orange stand. Something out of Sesame Street, complete with ornate-vested juice stewards. May I recommend the pomegranate juice? It’s merely 3 lira (about $2). Well worth the wait as they press the fruit right before your eyes.

Pomegranate juice abounds in Istanbul.

If you don’t stick around, though, you’ll have a bit of a shock when you can’t find a trash receptacle for your empty cup. There just aren’t any. You can walk blocks and blocks without finding a trash can of any kind, so I often step into a shop to ask if I can use their wastebasket (Çop var mi?). I’ve been told that the absence of trash cans is due to past bomb threats. Whatever the reason, it’s mighty inconvenient. I’ve carried an empty coffee cup or an apple core for hours. Unfortunately, many people just give up and throw their refuse on the street.

I’ve often seen men pulling huge bags of trash up and down the streets of the city, and thanks to my friend Cristi, I now know that they’re not trash but recycling bags. The city pays men to walk the streets picking up recyclables (and sorting through trash bins for them as well). It’s a humble beginning for a recycling program, but it’s alleviated much of the trash that was once strewn all over the city.

A man at the start of his recycling route.

Last weekend I came across two such collectors relaxing on a half-full recycling bag enjoying a smoke break. They kindly agreed to a photo. (“Foto çekabilir miyim?” is a question I ask many times a day when trekking the city.) Istanbul employs thousands of street cleaners and rubbage collectors, and the improvement they’ve made over the past four years is commendable.

Recyclers take a break.

They also hire men to cruise the streets with large, flat 2-wheeled carts collecting scrap metal. Though I didn’t spot any this weekend, I did snap a photo of the overnight trash accumulated on a street in Kadiköy. Slowly, slowly, the city’s garbage problems are being addressed. Try to imagine how much trash is generated by a city of 15 million…

A night’s trash waits for pick-up in Kadiköy.

There were a few other street surprises, the first one a curbside Turkcell bug holding a Hoş Geldiniz (welcome) sign. Pretty cute, especially in the sunshine.

The Turkcell bug welcomes us to a Kadiköy cell phone shop.

The bigger surprise, though, is an advertising campaign by the Garanti Bank of Turkey, using President Barack Obama to promote their great interest rates. I can’t help but wonder if they got his permission. These posters are plastered all over the city.

Obama unknowingly promotes the Turkish economy.

Yup, you never know what you’re going to encounter on the streets of Istanbul. Never.

The food in Turkey is incredible—beyond compare, I must admit. It was one of the things I was most excited to get back to. I get a Turkish meal every day at school, and tonight our bartender at the social center fixed us all a delectable meal of grilled fish, four delicious Turkish salads, flat bread, and a dessert. All that for only 12 Turkish Lira (about $7). Incredible! (Actually, I was disappointed to see that the fish was served whole, but once I took a bite, I could have cared less. It was çok lezzetliı (delicious).

One thing that always amazes me, though, is the convenience of the fast foods these people put out. You can always pick up a bite on the road, at least a simit—a large bagel-like bread coated with sesame seeds, sold all day long from glass-encased street vendor wagons.

a shy simitçi—simit seller
The other two things you can often pick up along the way are rice-stuffed mussels and roasted chestnuts. I don’t actually like either of them, but they’re certainly popular fare here.

Chestnut vendor on Istaklal near Taksim…

…and his wares.
The Turks are masters of fast food. The two things I’ve often succumbed to are börek and döner. Börek is a pastry made with thin layers of filo-like pastry (yufka), often layered with cheese, spinach, or other delectable treats. They slice it from huge pans in a flash, then cut it into bite-sized pieces, bim-bam thank-you-ma’am. Brushed liberally with olive oil, it carries the rich flavor of that delectable fat.

The börekçi—börek vendors.

Döner is a favorite of nearly everyone. It’s sliced from a huge conglomeration of meat  (usually lamb or chicken) that’s spiced and stacked on a vertical skewer. We’re talking a LARGE skewer, anywhere from 3 feet to 6 feet high. The meat turns around and around next to a vertical heat source, and the chef cuts thin slices from it as the meat cooks. It’s usually piled into a small French loaf or a piece of pita bread, complete with tomatoes, peppers, and onions. YUM! You can get a half-loaf döner for less than a few lira (about a dollar). Lots of people are familiar with Greek gyro sandwiches—well, döner is nearly the same thing, but without the yogurt sauce. In fact, sometimes they put French fries in the sandwich as well, which DOESN’T appeal to me in the least. Sort of like a mashed potato sandwich. Starch!

Döner, either lamb or chicken. Note the French fries in the tray…

Unfortunately, McDonald’s and Burger King have caught on here as well. McDonald’s has come up with a McTurko, which must be a lamb-wich, but I don’t know. I refuse to patronize them over here. It seems a bit sacrilegious somehow.

The famous McDonald’s McTurko—What? Never heard of it?

One interesting thing about the Istanbul McDonald’s, though, is that they deliver. Yup. Every fast-food restaurant, Western or Turkish, has motorcycles with little delivery boxes on the back. Last year at Robert College I had Turkish meals delivered to me numerous times—they’ll even deliver an inexpensive meal for one person. Turkish hospitality, I guess.

No one should starve in Turkey, let me tell you!

Teaching at Koç (pronounced “coach”) is similar to teaching just about anywhere. I have motivated kids and lazy kids, bright students and slower ones, and everything in between. For the most part, though, I have to say that Turkish kids are wonderful. They’re warm and respectful (for the most part), though a titch chattier than their U.S. counterparts. Usually it’s an endearing feature, though. Turkish charm. I teach both 10th and 11th graders, and right now I’m enjoying it.

Yağiz, me, and Pinar

My juniors just finished a whirlwind poetry survey, and now we’re diving into a lengthy media unit—the businesses behind it, the advertising that promotes it, and the social propaganda that pervades it. This is a weighty and interesting unit, to say the least. We started with a PBS video called “Merchants of Cool,” which investigates the researchers behind marketing to teens, the group with more discretionary income than anyone else on the planet. Not only do they spend over 150 billion dollars a year (in America), but each teen filters over 3000 discrete advertising messages a day. EVERY day! Unbelievable.

So—I made it my mission to document how that translates here in Istanbul, this ancient, beautiful city. Actually, the real truth is that I needed an excuse to go into the city last Sunday. The sun was finally out after three weeks of clouds and rain, and the weatherman had promised a full day of sun. How could I resist? After a leisurely Turkish breakfast with a friend at the Marmara Café (egg, tomato, cucumber, cheese, olives, and bread), I headed out, camera at the ready.

Istiklal Caddesi, early Sunday under hanging decorations and Turkcell bugs

İstiklal Caddesi (Liberty/Independence Street) is a mile-long pedestrian street that may well be the busiest street in the city. It’s about 30 feet wide and paved in marble blocks, with a quaint red tram clanking up and down its center. Early on Sunday morning Istaklal is relatively quiet, but by noon it’s mobbed.

Decorations are strung overhead year-round, with both seasonal symbols and ads hanging from them. In past years red coke bottle cut-outs graced the skies (embarrassing to Americans), but now it’s the Turkcell logo—some kind of a cutesie little bug. In case you’re wondering, Turkcell is the major cell phone company here.
Everywhere I looked, I found ads: neon ads on storefronts, ads painted on metal roll-down doors, banners, billboards, and entire buildings covered with humongous ads—even over the windows!

Istiklal’s neon signs

a roll-down door ad

The full-building “billboard” ad

Everywhere I looked, there were ads, ads, ads. I took a bus to Ortaköy, a magical spot on the Bosphorus, and even the handles on the bus (for standing passengers) sport ads. Imagine!

…and even the “handles” on the bus!

While wandering the weekend arts market in Ortaköy, I came across a group of young men promoting Nescafe (something they love over here) with yard-long  pillow-like Nescafe envelopes. When I explained that I was taking photos for a media and advertising unit, they were happy to pose for me. AND—I came away with a pocketful of Nescafe Cappucino envelopes (little ones). Go figure!

A Nescafe Marketing ploy—cute guys!

I’m particularly intrigued with the contrast between the old and the new here; it’s no surprise that glitzy ads compete with the city’s historical sites. Photos say it best, I guess.

Turkcell bugs invade Ortaköy.

Can you find the Russian Orthodox Church behind the ads?

Unfortunately, the advertising here is mostly clutter—just visual noise—while the lines of Istanbul’s centuries-old buildings are striking and awe-inspiring. Gosh, which do you think will endure?

First off, a language lesson. The closest city to our campus is Kurtköy, which means “Wolf village.” The o has a sideways colon over it (ö if your computer reads Turkish), so you should purse your lips and push your tongue forward when you say it. To pronounce Kurtköy correctly, then, first say Kurt, then pretend you’re kissing someone (maybe considering a French kiss), and say the last part as though it rhymes with BOY. Enough of that. Suffice it to say that Turkish isn’t all that easy.

THE KURTKÖY MARKET

Well, the sun FINALLY came out last Friday, nearly all day, as I recall, and my spirits were high. (We’ve had sunshine two days of the last 19, so it was a welcome respite from the rain.) At 2:15 I hopped on the Kurtköy street market bus with a plan to spend about 10 Turkish Lira (around $6) and not bring too much home. Everything here is sold by the kilogram, which is 2.2 pounds, and I often buy too much. I try to limit myself to a half-kilo, and even then I’m ashamed to admit that my delectable veggies are known to rot in the fridge. Sigh…

The VERY busy Kurtköy Market

As I stepped under the high-strung tarps of the market street, I was first drawn to a display of fresh strawberries. They were early berries, quite expensive, maybe about 6 or 7 lira/kilo. Not too bad, I guess. As I was considering, the vendor smiled and handed me a çilek. Sweet, firm, and red through the middle. DELICIOUS!  I was in his power. I bought a half kilo of berries and added two pomegranates; my total bill was a whopping 6 lira (about $4). Then off to the veggies. I bought a half-kilo each of carrots (6) and tomatoes (9) for another 4 lira ($2.50).

A careful shopper squeezes the cabbages.

A few spices, some Turkish string cheese (better than any you’ve tasted), and six sheets of yufka (a thin phyllo-like pastry) cost me another 4 ytl. I was over my limit. Ah, well. Amazingly, the Turkish words I thought I’d forgotten came back as I needed them. Whew!

The more expensive beefy tomatoes at 7.50 TL

For the next half hour I wandered, reveling in the sights, sounds, and smells of the Friday market. Tarps were strung high over the cobbled streets, protection from both rain and sun. Vendor after vendor called out in sing-song, “Bir Lira! Bir lira!” (one lira), some in deep booming voices, and others in clear, shrill tones as shoppers strolled by. The entire market is a cacophony of voices. It amazes me that the reserved, scarved women can make themselves heard over the din, but somehow they get their shopping done, often bargaining with the vendors. (At these prices, I don’t bargain.)

A Friday shopper pays a lira for her bananas.

Many of the shoppers pull little two-wheeled carts, much like a nylon wastebasket on wheels, and occasionally someone rolls by in a wheelchair. The street market is by far the cheapest way to buy produce, sundries, clothing, linens, and even shoes; many Turks can only afford to shop on market day. We teachers go because it offers the most delicious produce, and we just plain love being there. Maybe lots of people feel that way.

Many of the vendors stopped their barking to welcome me (an obvious yabanci—foreigner) to the market, and others invited me to snap their pictures. Could it be my permagrin? Who knows? It’s just all great fun.

And for goodness sake, the SUN was out!

Of COURSE I’ll take your photo, boys!

…and the egg vendors…

As well as one last cheerful vendor. Guruşuruz! (Goodbye!)

Let’s see. I’ve been in Istanbul for 12 days now, and I think it’s rained for 10 of them. Today was looking good for a while (sunny while we were in school), but it clouded over before we got out, and I had to drag out my umbrella for the walk to study hall tonight. Sigh… It frustrates me that the weather affects my mood, but it seems to be all about sunshine for me.

Last Saturday (damp) my friend Dee invited David, Andrea and me (all singles) to a VDS dinner (Valentine’s Day Sucks). Great food, delightful company, and a little too much wine. Oh, well…

In spite of a steady drizzle on Sunday morning, I decided to hop on the service bus to Taksim. It leaves bright and early, and believe me, I wasn’t all that bright so early. Since my only off-campus visits had been to malls (4 times) since my arrival, I needed a CF—a city fix.

A typical corner “convenience store” in Istanbul

There’s no traffic on Sunday mornings, so we got to Taksim in less than an hour. First I took the funicular down to Kabataş, then caught the tram to Sultanahmet (the old city). My goal was to visit my friends at the Harem 49 rug shop to share my amazing Mexico experience.

Here’s my tale:

When Susie and I visited Cozumel in January, we noticed a shop called Istanbul Carpets. Right. “What are the chances that anyone speaks Turkish in there?” I asked. Susie urged me to check it out, so I stepped inside and said, “Merhaba. Nasilsiniz?” (Hello. How are you?) Well, one of the two men sitting by the window jumped up and strode over to me, answering in Turkish, grinning warmly, and extending a hand for a handshake that became a hug, complete with cheek-kisses. Very Turish. We continued a short conversation in Turkish, which was about my limit (I’m not exactly fluent yet). To make a long story short, Engin, the shopowner, used to work for Hussein at Harem 49, my favorite Sultanahmet rug shop. Not only that, but his cousin Ümüt works there now. I mean, what are the chances of meeting a man in Mexico who knows the same people I know in Istanbul, a city of over 15 million? Amazing.

Engin and I pose in his Cozumel rug shop

After chatting with Ümüt over a cup of tea (admiring photos of his beautiful son), I headed off to do more exploring. I wandered my beloved cobblestone streets, snapped a few photos, then climbed to a rooftop restaurant to enjoy a cappuccino and warm my toes (not only was it wet, but damnably cold as well.)

After buying an evil-eye keychain for my new lojman (apartment) key, I hopped back on the tram toward Taksim. I still had three hours, but no point in pushing my luck. The drizzle had abated, so instead of taking the funicular back up the hill, I opted to hike up and pay my respects to the Galata Tower along the way. I ducked into a little restaurant for my first bowl of mercimek soup, my FAVORITE—a lentil soup beyond compare. They serve it with a mountain of white bread for a whopping 3 Turkish Lira ($2). I didn’t eat all the bread.

The famed Galata Tower

Ah, mercimek soup!

When I got back up to Istaklal, I still had plenty of time, so I decided to check out the new exhibit at the Pera Museum, a Koç family art museum. This museum is a class act, with rotating exhibits on the top two floors and permanent exhibits of Turkish art and ceramics on the lower floors. The featured exhibit was a collection of impressive storyboard paintings by Japanese filmmaker Akiro Kurosawa, but I was most taken with the Turkish artwork this time. Maybe because I’m so happy to be back.

Now that I know the city well from working on a guidebook of historical walking tours, I actually feel like I’m stepping back in time when I see these centuries-old paintings. I’m fascinated with what the seaside and city once looked lik

Stepping back in time through Ottoman art at the Pera Museum

My favorite painting is a mere century old: the “Tortoise Trainer,” probably the most famous (and valuable) painting in Turkey ($3.5 million).

It was painted by Osman Hamdi Bey, an amazing man who was not only an accomplished painter but also an archeologist. He established the Istanbul Archeological Museum, no small task. I’ve read that this painting depicts Osman Hamdi Bey’s frustration with getting the Ottoman rulers to change with the times. The implication is that it’s like training tortoises with a flute, and tortoises have very poor hearing. Interesting analogy, huh?

The Tortoise Trainer, by Osman Hamdi Bey

Even the elevators at the Pera are painted!

A quick hello to the ceramics display, then off…

Finally, a trek through the rain to the service bus, provided at no cost by the school. Lucky us.

So—there’s my rainy Sunday in Istanbul. Here’s to sunny days ahead!