Day I- lunch

By the time we leave Santa Sofya (yes, that’s another name for it), our stomach’s are rumbling. LP recommends a place east of the area, towards the train line and Marmara Sea, frequented by locals (always the best kind); but we still haven’t changed money (!) so we are back to main street where the tram is. We are seeing it by day, and everything g looks different. This is Divan Yolu, the main street in Sultanahmet. On it run trams, buses, cars and lots of people either side. Divan Yolu is the old road to Rome, with the Milion- a marble milestone from which all distaces in Byzantium were measured at one end- it is soon to become a favourite stretch.

We decide to eat at a place right on it, next to the tram stop. You’d think that would be noisy and fumy and irritating, but you’d be wrong. Baran 2 is a lokantasi. These are small eating places, with tray-fulls of dishes that a chef stands over- ask him what's what, pick one (or two or three), ask for rice as well if you want (or there is guaranteed to be free bread at your table, and lots of it), and off you go.
The rice is tasty, though there is nothing in it- a little salt, what I suspect is olive oil and fattish grains of rice, but not sticky. With it I have spinach, which is mild but rather tasty; D has a meat thing and patlican dish with her rice. The former is ok, the latter she likes- even I taste it and its quite nice. With it we have a yogurt thing (basically, raita-curd and cucumber, watery and more sour than either of us would like). We exceed our meal budget (a max of 10Euros between us), but I am entering ‘doesn’t matter, D eat as much as you want’ mode; she is less reckless right now. Come to think of it now, it sounds like we would exceed our budget with that lineup, bang in the middle of tourist central- but its ok. D resolves to be more aware while ordering- the budget is her look-out, sort of. Hmm. Best of luck, D.

in: travel / turkey / turkey travel / istanbul / turkey food / dna day1

Day I- ancient & divine

Sultanahmet Camii or The Blue Mosque was built by the eponymous Sultan Ahmet I, an Ottoman emperor set to outdo the nearby Hagia Sophia. As you exit his creation, this is the view of Ayasofya that greets you. A few steps on and you are right the middle of two of the most famous sights of Istanbul. Looking back, the grandeur of the Blue Mosque seems more complete- almost like this is how you were meant to see it- standing at Hagia Sophia which it was built to overshadow. (or as –d perfectly put it a “main dikhata hoon” or “I’ll show you what we can do” sort of thing).
Its very history is head-shakingly different. Built as a church about 14 centuries ago, it was the grandest in Christendom till about a 1000 years later when Rome gave the world St Peter’s Basilica (when do we go to Rome, now? hmmm…). Almost a 1000 years after it was made, Sultan Mehmet converted it to a mosque. Not 500 years later, the great Ataturk finally declared a museum open to all. So what is it today- a church? A mosque? A (mere) museum?

From the outside, it might not matter much. The (squat) exteriors are impressive but worn out- and Mehmed Aga (architect of the Blue Mosque) certainly succeeded in ensuring his creation a stone’s throw away has more of the sheer wow-factor. But neither Aga nor his emperor could have even hoped to match the sheer grandeur housed in the Church of The Divine Wisdom. (Sancta Sophia in Latin, Ayasofya locally or Haghia Sophia in Greek).


We enter with our Lonely Planet in hand, making sure we follow its guide to the imposing second door. But step from it into the inner narthex, and you might as well shut your guidebooks awhile. High up above us, crowning the entrance to the main hall, is a glowing, beautiful and terribly old mosaic- this is Jesus as Pantocrator, or ruler of the world.




Standing by that third door, we have an inkling that we have can expect more of this- after all, Ayasofya is said to have 30million tiny tesserae or gold mosaic covering its walls! Stepping in through the door takes to us to a sprawling area, and a sharp intake of breath. I realise now our step slowed, almost but not quite, to a halt. Little stumbles and feet-drags support me as I take in a 360-degree view of the most magnificent of spaces.
Then we notice the scaffolding. It is expected, yet disappointing- renovation work means the scaffolding, extending from the floor to the dizzyingly high ceiling, will remain for a few years to come. It’s a pity, but believe me- the scale is still not lost on us. Its dark and grey outside, and dank and dark inside as well- but if anything that adds to the sense of deep history. We look around us imagining- scores of people, hundreds of candles and lamps, flowing robes and all powerful royalty. And we know that even then, all of these would only add to the splendour of this place, feed off it, not dominate it.

This splendour comes alive, almost literally, when we walk around- it sometimes feels like the walls are living things; their many colours and golden glows made by incredibly skilled hands hundreds of years ago. Then there is the wonder that comes from looking around and feeling you’re in a church one moment, a mosque the next- but always a place with a deep force. At one end we come to the most incredible of parts- a little niche in the wall, ablaze in light- the mihrab, signifying the direction of Mecca. Above it, high on the wall a shining mosaic of Madonna and child. The walls, or what they say- take your pick as to what to marvel at.

The corridors on the side have little tombs, a wooden high-chair, prayer rooms, intricate metal work and walls. There is also a little hole in the wall- stick a finger in, if it comes out moist you’ll be cured of ailments- or so they say. Except at the hole, people were sticking their thumbs in and doing the ‘try to make a full circle with it’ thing. Either way, D manages to do it- so expect a new and renewed D!
The best part of the second level is probably the walk to it. A narrow passageway with light and shadow- the kind from a period film set- where D sees impressive people and robes and horses, I see dark intrigue and hooded conspiracy. I almost believe the light is torchlight, that any moment we would hear the clip-clop of horses on stone, carrying someone important up. At the end of the walk up we reach the second level- here there is more grey light from windows, and less mystery. But there is much to see that is closer, intricacies that are more wondrously evident.
The high windows are like the kind in a video game (Prince of Persia, anyone?)- I must lift D for her to peek out. But the view is almost transporting- Ayasofya’s own domes fill up the frame, while in the distance is the Blue Mosque- it is a proximity that might have been born of envy or one-upmanship, but our world, our time, is much the better for it.

our ayasofya pics

in: travel / turkey / turkey travel / istanbul / ayasofya / hagia sophia / dna day1

Day I- minarets ahoy

It is cold. The small-ish bed has been cosy. The really small loo has hot water, which is even better. Its not raining, we happily note. The tiny windows from our room look out to a shimmer of water in the distance obscured by lots of trees and a fire escape. In fact, ours is the Fire Escape room (or our room is the fire escape, as D puts it). We try to bound up the steep-ish stairs from the second floor (third floor) to the terrace. It is tiny, I start to notice, but my eyes are searching for the terrace views that all hotels and hostels in this area promise. I see the greyness first, begin to notice the cold just before I turn to see something that will follow me through this trip.
Minarets. 6 minarets hold the famous Blue Mosque as if in their womb, against a dank grey sky. It’s a hushed moment before D looks up, and we both gaze awhile, before starting to feel the cold.
Breakfast is by our side on one of three tables- the others are empty- not strange given we are the only guests right now! The sheepishly smiling Mahmut (not hotel boy nor manager nor waiter yet a bit of all maybe) puts down our plates, and despite expecting this, we both squeal as un-foolishly as we can. There’s a basket of bread, and each plate has slices of tomato and cucumber (unpeeled), a couple of ready-cups of cheese, butter, jam and honey, a boiled egg and there, in all their joyous blackness, lie olives- a heap of them telling us that we are in Turkey (which, along with Syria, produces over 50% of all world olives).
The cold is a little disconcerting- we have not come prepared for this, but it’s too late to ponder that. The bustle of the night has disappeared, giving way to desolate streets that flank the Hippodrome-the little garden like strip just outside the Blue Mosque that formed the body of last night’s carnival atmosphere- but between the streets are groups of tourists. Atmeydani or the Hippodrome might have been the “centre of Byzantium’s life for 1000 years and of Ottoman life for another 400” (LP) but little remains to suggest that sort of splendour ( it was looted by soldiers of the Fourth Crusade as they sacked all of Constantinople, a Christian ‘ally’ city).

Yet, rising above the shuttered-down shops and milling tourists are two impressive obelisks. The Rough-Stone obelisk hardly warrants acloser inspection, but the Obelisk of Theodosius demands curiosity. It was carved in Egypt in 1450BC, and brought by Emperor Theodosius to Constantinople in AD 390. You’d know it was Egyptian anyway, but thinking how old it is makes us stand there a little longer, then getting a photo of ourselves, if not a very good one.



Two mornings later we would be standing here again, marvelling at how different giant blocks of stone can look in bright sunshine.



Evading our first, and extremely polite carpet seller (dressed in a dapper suit, no less), we enter the Blue Mosque. I have already craned my neck enough times for it to be apparent to D that the minarets fascinate me. This trend shall continue. Hordes of tourists are ushered in to the mosque, their shoes in plastic bags- surprisingly we are told not to bother with headscarves.

The interior of the mosque is the oddest mix of crowded chatter and absorbing calm. I suppose that is a trait I often notice in religious monuments- theytake in all the people that visit them and render their numbers irrelevant with their grandeur, peace or beauty. The Blue Mosque manages to welcome you with a bit of all of these. The interior is fascinating- its intricate work, the blue tiles (from where the mosque gets its popular name), the beautiful calligraphy, the gapingly high hall with its columns. We both wish it were entirely empty, to have it all to ourselves.


Instead, we walk out to find the sun has peeped out a little, behind us. We walk around the main courtyard of the mosque before moving towards its exit, knowing we must take in the view of this place from afar.

There are tall autumny trees whose brown-gold leaves leave an imprint in every view. We turn our backs on them and their imposing host under a grey sky, knowing we will come back, knowing we will pass this mosque everyday. Knowing, in awe- and gladly. Walking out of the northern gate takes you very nearly to the doorstep of Ayasofya, our next sight.


our blue mosque pics

in: travel / turkey / turkey travel / istanbul / blue mosque / dna day1

Day Zero- EAT

By the time we check in, unpack, washup, change some Euros with Ismail Hakki at the hotel (money changers are going to be shut now, we still don’t have liras) and leave, we are starting to feel tired from the flight. I guess it was about 2am for us by then, and instead of hunting, we went to a place recommended for its cheap backpacker-friendly food- Doy! Doy!, or “Fill up! Fill up!” is stone’s throw from our hotel/ pension room, and though its much blurbed rooftop (“we have terrace”-of course this photo is from the daytime) is shut for the night because of the cold, we troop up three flights of stairs and past a considerable number of travellers eating to finally see our first menu. It is full of kebaps. Not kebabs, not kababs, but kebaps. But we don’t order any.

D calls for a mixed meze plate (mezes are Turkish appetisers, usually cold but sometimes hot, served with bread), I can't help but ask for a veg pide, or turkish pizza. There seem to be more than a just a couple of vegetarian items, so my prospects don’t look too bad- as always, this perks D up, who feels happier eating with that knowledge.

Our first meal is delicious. The pide is tasty, not least because of its differently familiar cheese- aromatic, a little salty and sour and very juicy. Now I know the food posts are going to be a tough ask- my mouth has been watering the past two minutes. D’s mixed platter possibly pleases her even more- there are about 6 mezes in it, and three of those- yes, three- are patlican (eggplant) based. We expected this, but to actually see it is, I can only presume from D’s squeals of excitement, a big delight for her. And there are fatly cut green olives- perfect first meal after all we've heard.
We follow it up with a glass of Turkish kahve (coffee), which, I must admit, only the bravest coffee lover must try- it is seriously strong. It would be our first, and somehow, unfortunately last, Turkish kahve.

We were satiated but also passing out by now. Abandoning plans of roaming the night market we had made our way through some time ago, we return to the hotel and crash out in no time.

in: travel / turkey / turkey travel / istanbul / turkey food

Day Zero- MERHABA!

Ataturk Havalimaani is the first time we have landed ‘abroad’ together- we even flew to Singapore separately. It is late evening, past 5pm local time, as we stride through the very regular looking walkways, the occasional smile to fellow passengers recognised from the frantic running at Doha. We’re in the pretty short lines for immigration; I step up first and say “Merhaba…?...yes?”.
That’s hello in Turkish, and the official smiles and gives me the correct pronunciation. That’s the first of many ‘merhabas’ we shall hear. He pulls D’s leg a bit about retaining her passport, and then sets us off with a cheery “gule gule” (gewleh gewleh).

The Lonely Planet says Istanbul airport charges about a Euro for the use of trolleys, so we more or less abandoned the idea of one. As I bought a bottle of Smirnoff for the trip, though (another cost saving measure), Devika retrieved a trolley from somewhere- and no one was paying anything. Ahead of me in the line were two 30-ish Turkish men, with their allotted quota of two litres of spirit. We’d bumped into them a few times since Doha, and by the time I told them we could take more booze for them on our quota, they had passed ahead.

One of the best resources for turkey travel, particularly the capital, is the TTP. So we’ve got some extracts to add on to the trusty LP. Very useful of these is the step by step guides of getting from the airport to the main tourist accommodation area- Sultanahmet- which we fish out and begin to follow. At the exit we are hit by the cold. Its chilly, but there will be time to feel that later! We notice the same young chaps, one of whose parents and family have come to receive him with hugs and kisses terribly reminiscent of IGI Airport. The other, smiley fellow smiles at us yet again asking where we’re headed, and if by taxi. When we reveal our great plan of guided Metro-tram travel, he says we could go together; as I hurriedly stuff the Smirnoff into one of the bags and lock it.

Our new found companion has never used the Metro either (isn’t that a little odd?) As we approach the ticket counter it dawns on us just how spaced / unused to this we are- we have not changed our money! Asking him to carry on, we turn to head back to the main airport- but wait, he will have none of it. With the first of many “its not important”s from him, he buys our tokens before we can say Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. Shaking our heads, we follow him- bewildered and embarrassed, if smiley.

Istanbul seems to function on a combination many modes of transport- the metro, tramway, buses, ferries, suburban train and taksis. The partly underground metro- entirely so for the 6 stops we travel on it- takes us to Zeytinburnu, the starting point for the surface tramway which will take us to where we need to go. There are no money exchangers around, and our tram tickets too are bought by Ufuk, a ship captain. We feel even more foolish, very grateful and quite taken aback by it all.

It is evening now- the sun is setting so everything we see is in quickly- fading light. Like the little glimpses from the airplane suggested, the city seems to be quite low lying. We see nothing more than a few storeys high, but whether that is normal or only in the areas we are passing through remains to be seen. Neither the tram nor the Metro is air-conditioned (which is a big change from Singapore)- though of course the weather means we don’t need it either. The roads are like you’d expect any big city’s to be- fairly crowded, well lit buses, possibly fewer cars than I’d have thought. Ufuk must go to meet his girlfriend- whom he charmingly refers to as ‘my darling’, a couple of stops after ours, but gives us his number in case we need help in Istanbul, particularly with transalations. We bid him adieu after thanking him profusely and happily. Email ids are exchanged and the PA system informs us that we have reached Sultanahmet.

The cold comes in a chilly breeze and we dump our bags on the side and look up, but the first sight that greets us is brightness in the night.
We don’t quite know it, but are suitably impressed- the hotel is priority, though. We eventually did not do what we said book through the net, though without any payment. Hotel Antique offered us a room for 30Euros a night with a free one-way airport transfer thrown in- and we figured what the heck- saves us the bother. We found this through the Rough Guide on the net, and few mentions in the Thorn Tree forums- but it doesn’t feature in the Lonely Planet. We have the address though, and the map of Sultanahmet in the LP orients me with where the street is, or at least the general direction of it. Or so I thought. Five minutes walk west of the tram station and we are accosted by a street café manager.
“My friend, can I help you…”

He proceeds to give us detailed directions to Hotel Antique which seem a little at odds with my understanding of the map. Given his complete lack of any ulterior motive (he did not try to sell us carpets or get us to eat at his place), we followed his instructions till we reached the previous tram stop. Make that “the previous tram stop”! Surely this could not be right. A couple of more people were asked for directions- a little difficult, the communication given they had not even a smattering of English at their disposal. The fourth person was a shop owner standing disinterestedly. He took the book from D’s hands (where the address was scribbled), promptly turned back into his shop, picked up the phone and called the hotel to figure out where they were. Lo and behold we have the correct direction! Back exactly to where we had begun, (encountering the café chap again who was baffled that his directions were wrong and very reluctantly let us on our way), we pass what we now know are the turrets of the Blue Mosque lit up for the festive season; and find ourselves, all of a sudden, in the midst of a bright, bustling and noisy street market. More like a carnival, actually. We manoeuvred our way past innumerable food stalls, almost as many kebab skewers and countless people eating something or the other and eventually, about 40-45 minutes after getting off the tram and lugging around not-real backpacks like backpacks, we arrive at Kucuk Ayasofya Cadessi, and the tiny, tiny 3-storey thing professing, against the odds, to be a Hotel.

We did not come expecting a mansion and do not get one. But the room looks adequate, the loo is clean and though they both are as tiny as the facade suggests they’d be, it doesn’t really matter right now; for finally, at about 8.30pm on October 14, our stay in Istanbul can officially begin.

in: travel / turkey / turkey travel / istanbul

Disclaimer

THIS BLOG IS DEDICATED TO D&A'S TRIP TO TURKEY. THE WRITINGS AND STORY-TELLINGS ARE MEANT FOR HEARTY, COURAGEOUS INDIVIDUALS LOOKING FOR DETAILED, MEMORY-FILLED, SELF INDULGENT ACCOUNTS OF OUR TRAVELS. FOR THOSE EXPECTING ONE POST, OR THREE, COVERING THE ENTIRE TRIP, ANY INCONVENIENCE CAUSED IS REGRETTED.