Ann Marie’s Istanbul

There’s an enchanting city in the southeastern corner of Turkey near the Syrian border—Mardin. I’ve heard it’s one of Turkey’s loveliest cities, so when Dee suggested a weekend trip, I said, “Mardin? Oh, yes!”

Rather than bore you with the history of its picturesque churches, museums, monasteries, medreses (Islamic religious schools) and homes—oh, and the most stunning post office on the planet, I want to write about the people we met.

Mardin’s Mar Behnam Kilesi (40 Martyrs Church)

Mardin’s Mar Behnam Kilesi (40 Martyrs Church)

Deyrulzafran Monastery cathedral dome

Şehidiye Medresi Minaret at night

Ann Marie at the Post Office (PTT)

First off, Dee sat next to a Turkish woman (a physicist) on the plane who offered to help us organize a taxi into the city of Dıyarbakır. Once she had negotiated a fair price, she waited as we climbed in, then offered to ride along and help us find the bus to Mardin.

“Oh, heavens! You don’t need to do that,” Dee said.

“We’ll be fine, but thanks anyway,” I added.

She hopped into the cab, assuring us that she had nothing better to do. (Right.) We soon arrived at the “bus station”—a round, low building surrounded by an empty concrete courtyard. Two young boys scurried up to our taxi with a battered wheelbarrow and immediately piled our luggage into it. The taxi driver seemed fine with it, and our friend shrugged. The boys wouldn’t let me take their photo (bummer), but got right down to business leading us to our bus. It turned out that the inside of the semi-circle otogar (bus station) was lined with white mini-busses, like the service busses used in Istanbul. Our friend waited until our bus arrived, then made sure the driver understood where we were going and charged us the right amount. After a flurry of thank-you’s, cheek-kisses, and goodbye’s, we climbed aboard and she headed off. Talk about Turkish hospitality!

We sat with a rural woman and her 10-year-old daughter. They tried to chat with us, but we unfortunately understood little of what they said. (Our conversational Turkish is more than limited.) She proffered a piece of chewing gum, something like a tiny white eraser. We gnawed away at it, smiling  and nodding amiably, unsure how long our jaws could take it. Amazingly, the gum developed a hint of mint flavor after about a half hour. It never softened, though, and I finally saw Dee surreptitiously spit hers into a Kleenex. I swallowed mine.

A decorated window on a back street–probably to a churchyard?

The bus driver stopped near old Mardin (where our hotel was), then waited with us until the city bus arrived. He told the bus attendant the name of our hotel, and we were on our way. A smiling man seated in front of us gave me his card, Sevgi Taksi, offering to take us on a tour of the city the next day. Yesür was a paunchy fellow dressed in denim (both obesity and denim are rare in Turkey). When he picked us up the next day, he presented us each with a map, a guidebook, and a CD on Mardin. All in Turkish, but still helpful. How kind!

our hotel entrance—the Erdoba

Dee in the Erdoba Hotel terrace entrance.

We also met a lovely restauranteur who fawned over us in his pristine little locanta. We enjoyed a lovely meal of fresh hot pita bread, salad (which he replenished twice), chicken shish, ayran (a yogurt drink) in copper cups, and tea. He brought us our bill on a mountain of handmade toothicks—a total of 13 lira. That’s about $4.00 each. Wow.

Our 13 lira bill a la toothpicks

That first evening Dee discovered a striking stone necklace, and as she purchased it, the jeweler asked if we’d like something to drink. “Tea, water, Turkish coffee?” he asked. “We’d actually prefer some wine,” I quipped. We’d watched for a liquor store, but to no avail. Mardin is dry. Amazingly, he reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of Mardin’s own red wine. Go figure! He happily sold it to us, and we even-more-happily brought it back to our hotel and indulged in our evening vice (with pistachios).

Buying wine from the Jovial Jeweler!

The most interesting person we met was a man who “guided” us through the Deyrulzafaran Monastery (think saffron) just outside of town. There were no English guides available, but this man showed us the ancient Sun Temple, the larger Sun Church, and  an upstairs chapel. He said there’s only one monk in the monastery right now, a Swede; then he shared that he is living there as well. Actually, he’s an Iraqi Christian who’s fled his home because Christians are being persecuted in Iraq. Unfortunately, Christianity is associated with America, and Christians are being summarily executed. He’s found refuge in the monastery with his wife (a PhD in English), his young children, and his parents (retired teachers). He told us that although most Iraqis once loved America, “Now it’s different. 99 percent of Iraqis hate the American government for what it’s done to our country. I can go to America to continue my career as an engineer, but how could I live in the country that has destroyed mine?” He’s hoping to emigrate to Australia, otherwise he will take his family to Canada. Of course, he’d prefer to go back to his beautiful home in Iraq, which he will probably never see again. It broke my heart to hear him say that he doesn’t think Obama will change anything. I like to think he’s wrong.

Ann Marie with the Iranian engineer at the Monastery

Entrance to the Deyrulzafran Monastery

Our favorites, though, were the little boys, our unofficial guides. On our first night exploring the city, a 6-year-old boy led us up to the beautiful Zinciriye (shackle) Medresi which was unfortunately closed. Sigh… Of course, we’d already seen a museum, an ancient church, and many lovely homes with their ornately carved fronts, so we weren’t too upset. All the buildings in old Mardin are made of limestone, and many have ornate Moorish-like designs carved around cornices, doors, and windows. It’s gorgeous.

The little fellow in the middle was our first “boy guide”.

At any rate, another little boy named Yusuf (about 10) befriended us at the medrese. He offered to take us to more mosques, but we were just too darned tired. We ran into him at least four or five more times over the weekend, and he’d always tag along with us, chatting us up as best he could. I think he had tourist radar, but we grew very fond of our little buddy. On Saturday he hauled around a  bathroom scale all day to earn money for his family (like I’d PAY for that bad news—in public, no less).

Yusuf–Saturday morning, second meeting

Saturday afternoon we decided to walk a loop of back streets and were once again befriended by little boys. What is it about older women, I wonder, that we attract these kids? They were excited to show us the sights, though, and they were far more useful than our maps. They led us into mosques, medreses, and hotels—chatting away in Turkish, some of which we could understand. They were very polite, and equally pleased to show off their neighborhood. The quieter, thinner one was named Onur, and the stockier boy had a fascinating name: Savaş Barış (War Peace). I think of him as the Oxymoron Kid.

Tour guides Onur and Savaş Bariş in a Medrese entrance

On our way to dinner that night, we ran into our little friend Yusuf once again, still carrying his scale. He offered to guide us, but we only wanted dinner. Though we refused to get on the scale, we gave him some lira for just being a good kid.

Our favorite soap vendors

And how we loved the “eşek”–donkeys, always working hard!

So—Mardin is, indeed, a magical place. The buildings are incredible, but even more importantly, the people are delightful. Turkey continues to impress me; the generous warmth of its people puts “Minnesota Nice” to shame. Oh—by the way, Yakub found us just as we were waiting for our cab to the airport. What a sweet kid.

A fond farewell to Yusuf, his buddies, and the charms of Mardin, Turkey

If your friend was driving to a neighboring country, what would you do? Hitchhike, of course! Dee and I cheerfully hopped into David’s aging Fiat to accompany him on his long trek to a Bulgarian wedding. We weren’t invited to the wedding, but we know how to make the most of exploring.

Once we emerged from the mire of Istanbul traffic, it was smooth sailing—to the border, at least (300 K). The Bulgarian border crossing isn’t exactly renowned for swiftness. In fact, David says he’s often spent hours there, held up by lines and paperwork. Unlike our Canadian border crossing at home, we stopped at no less than six (was it 7?) checkpoints along the road on both sides of the border. David’s car papers were scrutinized as though he were a fugitive from justice, and believe me, his water-damaged passport didn’t help either (a fly fishing mishap). Somehow we made it through all those stops in just over an hour, record time according to David.

The LAST of many checkpoints to Bulgaria

In spite of horrific roads, we arrived in Sofia around 11:00, passing “ladies of the night” as we drove the ring road to a friend’s house. Apparently these entrepreneurs service their clients on the spot—back seat bargains, I guess. Scary. Bulgaria is DEFINITELY not Turkey.

Saint Sofia, the Patron Saint of Sofia, Bulgaria

We were finally delivered to our lovely boutique hotel around 2AM, where we caught some serious Z’s. Bird songs and sunshine woke us early, though, and we were antsy to get out to explore the city. We had breakfast outside, a grilled sandwich of sausage, cheese, and cucumbers. And they even have good coffee in Bulgaria—imagine that. David and his friend would meet us later, so we were on our own. Dee suggested we walk the mile or so to the historical area of the city, and I was glad. Not only did we need the exercise, but every few blocks brought a new discovery.
First we encountered the street market, where one booth sold local wine straight from huge wooden barrels. Either bring your own jug or drink from the spigot, I guess.

This is TRULY B.Y.O.B. wine sales.

Just around the corner we discovered Sofia’s huge synagogue with its intricately sculpted façade.

Sofia Synagogue, the largest in Eastern Europe

A block further we found the Banya Bashi Mosque, a relic from the Ottoman era. Because the Turks controlled Bulgaria for over 400 years, we noticed many similarities in food, architecture, and language, but only one mosque. Behind it was a fountain, and beyond that an entrancing building under renovation, once the city’s central baths. It had intricate ceramic borders along its cornices and windows which were more than charming.

After snapping eight million photos, we headed off again towards the city center, only to be stopped by scores of people heading into a low-walled area carrying water jugs of all shapes and sizes. Hmmm… In the middle of Sofia there’s a myriad of little individual fountains, which we assumed were mineral water. I waited my turn at one of them and took a sip—HOT mineral water! Apparently Sofia, which is located at the foot of a mountain, was initially settled because of these hot springs, a clear explanation for the nearby public bath and mosque.

Sofia’s mineral fountains, open to the public…

More photos, then off again to explore the city’s wonders: the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, which dominates the city from its central plaza; the Church of St. Sofia (6th century) which gave the city its name; and the picturesque Russian Church of St. Nicholas the Miracle-Maker, built in the early 1900’s.

The Nevsky Cathedral

St. Sofia Church icon

The miraculous Russian Church of St. Nicholas the Miracle-Maker

We explored a number of vendors’ booths in a nearby park, where merchandise included religious icons and antiques. Both were interesting, and the recent communist rule was evident in the selection. Heavy sculptures nearby depicted the angst of the country’s many wars and communist domination. (The city was bombed by the Allies in 1943 and 1944—that would be us.)

Trying to choose an icon (actually, there’s one in my bag, bought at St. Sofia’s)

Antiques seldom found in America

We met David and his friend Nia for lunch and a bit more sightseeing, and introduced us to the traditions of Bulgarian proms. High school seniors celebrate graduation with a gala prom, but before and after the dance they terrorize the city (somewhat) by driving around, yelling, blowing whistles, and just making spectacles of themselves. Everyone seems to accept this behavior, which goes on and on and on and…

a tame but notable parading prom car

We visited the National Gallery (in a palace screaming for renovation), revived ourselves with a cup of coffee, then Dee and I headed back to our hotel. We settled happily on our little balcony aerie with our feet up, sipping cool wine and enjoying the surrounding greenery. We all met again in town for dinner, then tried a taste of night life. We propped our eyelids up until the band arrived at 12:30, but when they hadn’t started playing at 1:00, we gave up. Sigh…
Sunday we explored a new area of the city, catching a holiday parade. Instead of Memorial Day, the Bulgarians celebrate Cyrillic Alphabet Day on May 24th.  It’s actually devoted to two saints, St. Cyril and St. Methodius, the alphabet’s creators.

Cyrillic Alphabet Day Parade Beauties

After watching the parade for a while, we visited the 14th century Church of St. Petka, where we sat in on (actually, stood in on) a service in its tiny sanctuary. The incense-laden nave held us, 7 local attendees, and a gilt-garbed priest who officiated the service holding a gleaming golden cross.

Church of St. Petka–VERY old indeed

After that we explored St. Nedelya Church, which was completely reconstructed after a 1925 bombing. There we happened on a baptism, complete with the strains of a choir from a distant loft.

St. Nedelya dome

St. Nedelya interior (baptismal service)

One more stop at the 4th century Church of St. George finished our morning explorations. After that we met Nia at the Nevsky Cathedral, and she drove us up the mountain to see the charming Boyana Church, originally constructed in the 11th century. The church’s interior is painted with incredible frescoes dating back to 1259, including hundreds of human (and heavenly) images in a total of 89 scenes, all executed by one painter and his apprentice. After being selected as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1979, the church was closed for over 20 years for renovation, then reopened to the public in 2000. Only 10 people are allowed into the church at a time.

Boyuna Church “steeple”

Boyuna Church upper window

After touring the Boyuna Church, we relaxed over lunch, then visited a grocery store for bacon, ham, cheese, and good wine. Treasures for Turkey. On the way home, we stopped to photograph a small-town steeple appropriated by a stork family. Too cute.

Stork steeple

We didn’t get home until nearly 1 A.M. Sunday night, again collapsing into the sack, exhausted. It was a good exhausted, though, after a great weekend. So now I’ve been to Bulgaria.

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…

When I first came to Turkey, I was alerted to the possible dangers for a Western woman traveling to Eastern Turkey. Well, last weekend was my third foray into the East, and I’ve never felt more like a celebrity in my life.

Friends Stella Risi (South African), Lorna Richardson (English) and I (American) took advantage of our three-day weekend to visit the famed Mount Nemrut—the one with huge carved heads sitting atop its peak.

Me, Lorna, and Stella in Malatya (though how woud you know?)

We arrived mid-day on Friday and checked into our Malatya hotel, a VERY weak 4-stars. Like two. Oh, well. We dropped our gear and headed off to find lunch, which was thankfully a mere block from the hotel. We had Mercimek çorba (lentil soup), çoban salata (chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions), bread, and an entrée (I had köfte, grilled spiced meatballs) for about $5 each. Go figure. Food is MUCH cheaper outside Istanbul, and delicious to boot.

A favorite lunch–mercimek çorba (lentil soup), çoban salata, pide (flat bread)

Next we headed off to explore Malatya, our intent to visit the street bazaar. Within minutes we were adopted by a group of three young men eager to guide us. It took us two kilometers and a few cups of coffee to shake them off, friendly though they were. That was just the beginning. Everywhere we turned, people were chirping, “Hello!”, “Hi!”, and if more fluent, “What is your name?” or “Where are you from?” It was fun, actually. I’d say we chatted with at least six groups of people of all ages, both male and female. Tourists are rare in Malatya, especially in early May. (Stella said it was Lorna’s and my blonde hair—bless her heart. We’re both pretty white-topped, if you ask me.)

Friendly girls welcome us to their town with their limited English (…and Stella)

The highlight of our explorations was the market, where we found scrumptious dried kayısı (apricots—the area’s specialty) and a few blocks where metal workers toiled right in the street. Welders with no eye protection, copper workers pounding on pots almost bigger than themselves, and knife crafters plying their trade. Pounding and banging, drilling and sawing sounds filled the air as we walked the streets, mesmerized with the scene.

Metal workers labor on the streets of Malatya

A copper worker pounds the bottom of a copper pot

Later we discovered a vegetable market, another place filled with a cacophony of sound, and everywhere there were kayısıcı, apricot vendors with every type of apricot you could imagine, including the pits, which are much like small almonds, and nearly as good.

A peek inside the Kayisici apricot seller’s shop. ALL apricots!

Then more tea, more wandering, more chatting, and finally dinner at the Kent Lokantasi (Restaurant), where we’d been treated to tea earlier that afternoon. Delicious, cheap, and FAR too much food. Sigh…
Saturday Lorna slept in while Stella and I headed off to explore near the hotel. We discovered a railway station where learned that the train from Istanbul costs a tenth of what we’d paid for airline tickets—but it takes ten times longer (30 hours). No way!
As we wended our way back through a small residential area near the station, we encountered a woman scrubbing her carpet in the street. I snapped her photo, asking for advice on rug-cleaning. She hoses down the rug, sprinkles laundry detergent on it, and scrubs it with a long-handled brush. Then she rinses it off and hangs it out to dry overnight. Easy, she said. Right. I can just see myself scrubbing my rugs on the Devil Track Road!

THIS is how you clean a Turkish carpet.

She invited us for coffee (I expected Nescafe), produced small stools from her house, and treated us to the most delicious Turkish coffee I’ve ever tasted. As we sat, more and more neighbors joined us, all tickled to chat with the yabanci (foreign) women. Sheer delight. One of the ladies beckoned us over to a shed across the street to show us a litter of newborn kittens.

Stella and I posed with the first neighbors who joined us. The boys spoke a little English.

At noon we departed for our 22-hour tour of Nemrut. Our $60 fee included mini-bus transport (with 5 other delightful tourists, a Turkish family and two young women from Malaysia), a lunch stop, a sunset visit to the top of the mountain, lodging at the Güneş (sunshine) Hotel on the mountain, a second visit to the summit (sunrise this time), and breakfast.

The very basic but charming Güneş Otel. Romantic? Umm…

The concrete “mock rock” decor of the hotel stairway.

We had great fun getting to know each other and sharing the adventure of a frigid hotel experience (no heat), the fascination of the mountain ruins, and the camaraderie of shared wine (brought it up there), soup and bread, chicken shish, and evening games (poker and checkers).
But the amazing thing, of course, was Mount Nemrut. At the top of this 2100-meter mountain sits a collection of statues and fragments dating back to the Kommagene dynasty of 80 B.C. to 72 A.D. Overlooking the Euphrates River (Turkish name: Firat), the ruins on the mountaintop were never a community, but a shrine to the gods and to the ancestors of the dynasty.

Zeus watches over the mountains from the Western Terrace of Mount Nemrut

According to a website about Mount Nemrut, “The well-preserved colossal statues overlooking the court on the east are made of blocks of limestone and measure eight to ten meters in height. The figures are shown in a sitting position. Inscriptions identify the statues on the eastern terrace from left to right in the following order: Antiochos, the goddess Kommagene, Zeus-Oromasdes (the Graeco-Persian sky-god and supreme deity, and also the largest-sized statue), Apollo-Mithras, and Herakles-Artagnes. On either side of the divinities stood a guardian eagle and lion.

A lion guards a platform on the East Terrace

The heads of all the deities have toppled over onto ground in the intervening centuries. Their finely worked facial features are striking examples of the idealized late Hellenistic style. The gods wear Persian headgear.” (Ozduzen, Nezihi. “Mt. Nemrut National Park.” All About Turkey. 6 May 2009 <http://www.adiyamanli.org/mt_nemrut.htm>.)

The headless, seated bodies of Nemrut’s  collosal statues

Unfortunately, the heads have fallen from their seated bodies, but they’ve been set up so that they can be admired. Perhaps these multi-ton heads will once again sit atop their bodies. It was all truly amazing, particularly as we viewed the statues in the slanting rays of the late-day sun.

Heads on the East face of the mountain—Antiocyus Theos and Zeus

Our bonus, too, was a traditional dance performance by a group of children from a nearby village, probably in honor of the May 1st holiday. Lucky us, huh? Of course, I haven’t mentioned that it was incredibly cold up there, well below zero, especially the next morning before the sun came up .WINDY!!!!

Young dancers on the terrace as the lion stands guard

They danced over a half hour in the bitter cold

They were tickled to pose with a yabanci (foreigner).

Although we didn’t get to see it, Mount Nemrut is the site of history’s first known astrological symbol, part of a lion statue which is presently being renovated (in a locked building).

Sunset over Nemrut

After breakfast we returned to Malatya and spent the afternoon exploring Eski Malatya (ancient Malatya) a small city about 11 kilometers away. There we explored the renovation of an old caravansaray and the newly-renovated Ulu Cami (mosque). Both lovely.

The newly-renoated interior of the Ulu Camii, in Eski (Old) Malatya

Peering up into the dome of the mosque

Detail of ceramic decorations in the mosque–tiles nearly 800 years old

Before we knew it, we were thronged by a herd of little boys eager to show us their village. They helped us find a restaurant, then waited outside, watching us eat our lunch of mercimek soup and coban salata—always our favorite lunch.

Rather than fend them off all afternoon, we caught a bus back to Malatya, where we meandered lazily back to our hotel, soaking in the sights and the sunshine, sampling coffee, tea, and sweets along the way.
Each time you eat a dried apricot, it probably comes from Turkey—from the area around Mount Nemrut. Imagine!

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.

After our three days at the Villa Aşina, Jenny, Janet and I headed west out the peninsula to the Chateau Triopia in the tiny village of Yakiköy. On our way we made two stops. First we visited the Olive Garden, an olive factory with an impressive new guesthouse. In addition to learning about the process of pressing olives, we were impressed that they use the discarded olive pulp to fuel their entire system.

Olive pressing machinery at the Olive Farm, Datça

Next we stopped near Kızlan to see picturesque stone windmills that have been grinding grain for hundreds of years. Our guide explained that that area has only 8 hours a year without wind, so it’s little surprise that 36 spanking new wind turbines line the mountain ridge above the old windmills. These will soon supply the southeastern corner of Turkey with power. The initial costs were funded by the government, but a private business is picking up the maintenance and electricity delivery.

Datça’s still-operating-after-all-these-years windmill

The windmill’s inner workings…refurbished, yet much the same as in years past

After basking in the sun with a delicious snack of cheese and spinach gözleme (a little like a mega-quesadilla), we were off to the end of the Datça Peninsula.

The sun was still bright when we arrived at the Chateau Triopia, but the day was waning. We settled into our antique-furnished mountaintop apartments, then headed off to check out Knidos, a ruin at the tip of the peninsula. We just had time to scope it out for the next day, but we stepped into the restaurant (“open years along”) for a warming cup of tea beside the wood stove.

It’s one of those translation things—Open all year, I’m sure.

The view from our balcony at the Chateau Triopia

We returned to our hotel just in time to clean up for dinner, a gourmet four-course meal prepared by our host, Suavi Hasarı. Soup, bread, salad, fresh grilled fish with garlic sauce, and chocolate pudding cost us a mere 19 lira (about $12). The wine was extra. It would have been a bargain at five times the price, let me tell you! We enjoyed two fabulous meals at the hotel, and it was a good thing, too, because there were no other restaurants in Yakiköy. Just a mosque.

kahvaltı—breakfast at the Chateau Triopia

Wednesday after breakfast (Janet poured) we headed off once again for Knidos, eager to explore its treasures. Sunny, windy, and fascinating. We rambled the ruins for over three hours, marveling at every temple, column, and cow we encountered. Those cows kind of scare me, I have to admit. Once when I was walking alone, a bull gave me a glare and started toward me. I was up behind a tree before he knew it. He just ambled off, disinterested, as my heart pounded into my throat. SHEEESH!!!

Knidos columns against the Mediterranean Coastline

The same Knidos columns with the Aegean Sea behind them

Yup, I was there, too!

Knidos was established before the 6th century BC, and by the 4th century it had become a thriving metropolis of over 70,000. The whole peninsula doesn’t have anything NEAR that many people now—maybe 15,000? They apparently sent their wealth to Delphi, Greece, where they built a treasury. I’ve seen Delphi, and I noted many similarities between the two ancient cities. Knidos once extended 7 kilometers into the peninsula, and we saw evidence of ancient structures for quite some distance along the VERY narrow, twisty one-lane road.

Big action on the dock in Knidos’ South Harbor

On our way home we decided to  explore a side-road to the beach. It was a bit like the back-country hunting roads near Grand Marais—SLOW going. Our destination was a pebble beach, where we contentedly collapsed.

My beach-stack record: 16 stones and a shell

Suavi Bey created yet another delicious dinner for us, a satuteed chicken dish this time. YUM!!!! Baklava for dessert. Yup. Pretty nice.

It was hard to wave goobye to our new friends at the Triopia, but the memories still warm my heart (and stomach).Off to new adventures of the twisty-road variety. It was a 4-hour drive to Dalyan, our final destination before our flight home. Sigh…

Dalyan is a little tourist city on a river, not far from the Dalaman airport. It’s most famous for its protected sea-turtle beach, its Lycian tombs, and the Kaunos ruins. Lots to see. Scores of blue-canopied boats lined the shore, each eager to take us out for a day. We talked to a few boat owners and selected a full-day boat trip complete with lunch for 35 lira each (about $22). The price was right, and it took care of our concern about getting lunch. Food always seems to be a priority for us. Getting bigger every day…

Our boat stopped first at Kaunos, and it was well worth the kilometer hike from the river. We shared the ruin with a few other tourists, goats, sheep, and cows. (Apparently the animals keep the grass cropped during the early wet season.) A cool breeze follwed us as we strolled through the remains of a huge roman bath, a domed church, a massive arena, temples, and a seaside fountain. This city, like Knidos, dates back to the 6th century BC. It’s clear that there was commerce between all the communities along the south coast of Asia Minor (now Turkey).

Lycian Tombs above the river at Dalyan

The domed church at Kaunos-see the sheep through the door?

Jenny climbs the seats in the Kaunos arena

After a few hours at Kaunos, we boated to a waterside restaurant, the Caretta Caretta (turtle turtle). The mezes (hors d’oeuvres) were delicious, the main course OK, and the dessert—fresh local oranges—was scrumptious. Well sated, we took our huge barge-like-boat-for-three down the river to the beach, a two-mile stretch of sand which is the main nesting ground for Turkey’s loggerhead turtles. They’ve been nesting there for about 95 million years. Unbelievable.

Janet and Jenny strolling back up the beach where loggerheads nest

What a LOVELY vacation—good food, good company, and new vistas explored. A few times during the week I caught myself saying, “It doesn’t get better than this.”

I was right.

Windmills, mountains, and the confluence of two seas. That’s Datça. The Aegean Sea skirts Turkey to the west, and the Mediterranean to the south—the Datça Peninsula extends 70 kilometers between them. Remote but spectacularly beautiful, it’s a wiggly finger of mountains pointing toward Greece. In fact, four Greek islands sit just miles offshore. The peninsula’s narrowest point is called Balıkaşira, which means “the place where fish can jump across” or something like that. Just 800 yards separate the Aegean from the Mediterranean. Amazing.

Our first view of the Mediterranean near Marmaris

I’m touring with two of my colleagues from Koç, Jenny Barnard and Janet Karantay; both have lived in Turkey for years. Janet is married to a Turk, and her fluent Turkish has been a great asset on this trip. We flew to Dalaman Saturday morning, rented a car and drove the 180 K to Datça, stopping occasionally to revel at the mountainous terrain jutting from the sea.

The Çağlayan Cafe

We stopped for lunch at the Çağlayan (CHA-la-yan), a delightful garden restaurant with palms, pools, and waterfalls, famous for its kavahltı (breakfast). So—we had breakfast for lunch. Our mantra has been, “We’re on vacation; we can do whatever we like!” And we do. It was a traditional Turkish breakfast, but the bread was crustier, the tomatoes tastier, the cheese creamier, etc. etc… This is a MUST for our return trek.

Oh, my—I hear the morning call to prayer. It always touches me.

Our first hotel, just outside Datça, was the Villa Aşina. Merely a year old, it was featured on the Small Hotels in Turkey web site, which sponsors small, charming hotels across Turkey. I’ve used it often with great success, and this hotel was no exception. “Bright,” “artistic,” and “welcoming” all come to mind.

The Aşina Mosaic Serpent along its outside wall

We were first met by a braying burrow that grazed beside the hotel, then by our young hostess, Arzu Gerçekaslan, who met us at the front steps. We were the season’s first guests—the only ones in the hotel—and we were treated like royalty. Arzu advised us on our explorations of the area. The early spring sun blazed as we settled into our rooms, marveling at our spacious balconies overlooking the Mediterranean, the Greek island of Simi in the distance.

My balcony view of the Mediterranean and the Greek island of Simi

Janet rested while Jenny and I walked down to the rugged beachside near the hotel. Stunning. I was glad we’d chosen a hotel outside this bustling city of 16,000. We met some four-legged neighbors along the way.

Not only were there burrows in the neighborhood,

but goats, sheep, and cows as well.

Later we sat on the hotel’s terrace to sip a beer as we contemplated the stunning scenery. We were served fuzzy green fruit-like pods—badem (raw almonds). We sampled them, three bites of something much like a crisp, tart plum, a local specialty. Not bad, but not great either. One was enough.

“An almond in the hand is worth two on the bush? Actually, tree…”

That evening we drove into town, wandered by too many not-yet-open-for-the-season restaurants, and found a little family-owned locanta where we enjoyed a bowl of mercimek soup, bread, and salad. Perfect.

Datça’s harbor, with boats awaiting summer crowds

The patter of rain on my balcony thwarted my plans for an early morning walk. Sigh… We’ve had SO much rain in Turkey! Oh, well. Whatever…

Breakfast was at 8:30, and I emerged with a bag of Starbuck’s and my French press. I can’t abide Nescafe, the Turkish proxy for coffee. What we learned, though, after a delicious breakfast, is that the Aşina makes a kick-butt cup of tea (with a hint of cloves). YUM!!!!

The Aşina pre-season breakfast nook

In spite of the rain, we headed off in our silver Fiat to explore the area, also known as the Reşadiye Peninsula. I’m glad I forgot my driver’s license, because the road was harrowing, at best. Of course, the vistas were mind-boggling. Gorgeous.

The Datça Peninsula’s mountains are dotted with olive and almond trees.

As we neared Knidos, our hoped-for destination, the rain became a deluge. We stopped at a little hotel that Janet had found on the Small Hotels site, the Chateau Triopia.

Chateau Triopia, Culinarium, Hotellerie, Vinotheque..~ Hmmm…

We dashed through their stone gate, up the stairs, and around to the hotel restaurant. “Cay, var mi?” I asked, hoping for a few dry moments in their charming restaurant. (Little did I know that they would refuse payment—Turkish hospitality.) We enjoyed a chat with manager Suavi Bey, as well as his Turkish staff. As the sun emerged (momentarily), we toured their mountain-top inn, and we were entranced. It features stone construction, replete with mosaic art as well as lovely, antique-furnished apartments. What a spot! (We went back to stay later in the week.)

My travel buddies, Janet and Jenny on a Triopia balcony

The Chateau Triopia—a lovely mountaintop inn.

After our visit, we drove down the mountain to the sea road (Sahilyolu) and enjoyed a delectable lunch at the Dostlar (friends) Restaurant on the seaside at Palamut Bükü. The rain had abated, so we walked the beach, drove the shore road, and took another walk in a tiny village called Hayit Bükü. Charming, all!

The Datça Peninsula’s rainy-day coastline

Harbor at Hayit Bükü

Our rainy day was a success, and we headed back to the Villa Aşina for a welcome glass of wine beside a crackling fire they’d prepared in their carved marble fireplace.

The Villa Aşina’s marble fireplace

On Monday (after French toast and Turkish breakfast), we explored Eski Datça, the old city up on the hill above Datça. Entrancing. Ancient stone buildings and cobbled streets are a standard; apparently building there requires a special permit from the government, archeological excavation, and construction that matches the rest of the city. Hence, a well-preserved city.

A typical Eski Datça street

A tempting Eski Datça Entryway

Inside view of a silversmith’s shop in Eski Datça

A curious Eski Datça rooster…

…and a less-than-curious rooftop kitten

That evening we chatted with some Turkish musicians who recommended a restaurant on Datça’s harbor, the Kirmizihan Şarap Evi (red inn wine house). When we arrived, we learned that one of them had stopped in to let the owners know they should treat us well and not overcharge us, as we were schoolteachers from Istanbul. Works for me! We had a scrumptious meal of mezes (appetizers) and balik çorba (fish soup). Yum. Double yum.

Well, we’ve left Datça and are settled into the Chateau Triopia, where we’re happy as clams. The sun is out, and memories of yesterday’s rain are behind us. Does it get better than this? I don’t think so.

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