Day I- neyle meyle

Nevizade Socak is a tiny- and by tiny I mean very narrow- street off Istiklal that is chockfull of meyhanes or taverns. One literally falls into the other, chairs and tables are all but on the walking area, and the party-feel is wonderfully communal. Lonely Planet zindabad- we end up at a tiny place (aren't they all?) called Neyle Meyle. What follows is a boisterous and loud meal (by the people around us- we were quite quiet, in a smiley way). Of the gentleman and two ladies next to us, only one knew a smattering of English- it wouldn’t have mattered, the way they were going through their raki. Behind was a much louder and bigger group, headed by a large, ruddy cheeked and loud man- Bora Ozbuk is Turkish, settled in New York, has no kids and absolutely loves cats. Between them, they managed to give us some tips, a few toasts and lots of jolly laughs.

The meze tray (we’d read about these) is truly delightful. Mezes are Turkish appetisers (mostly cold, also hot) that are eaten with bread and invariably fill you up. We finally choose two- feta cheese and a spicy meze that is only vaguely reminiscent of salsa, but much finer in texture. It is outstanding- sharp, zingy and oh-so tasty. This is all washed down with one each of what seems like the national beer- Efes.
Mental note: resign yourself to a watering mouth while writing about meals.



The night has been quite cold. We make our way to Taksim square and return in the tourist-famous T4 bus, that connects Taksim (and so, Istiklal) to Sultanahmet. Between the substantial cold and satisfied exhaustion, there is no time for any journal writing or pondering. We fall into a deep and blissful sleep. We have seen some of spectacular Istanbul, and are quite taken by it- tomorrow the rest of it beckons.

all Day One photos

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Day I- Istiklal Cadessi

There is something atmospheric about the walk on the bridge- it is not the most picturesque, certainly not beautiful in a conventional sort of way, nor really soothing; but it leaves us with a smile on our face. A smile and enough of a mood to decide to walk to Beyoglu, the suburb that houses the bustling street of Istiklal Cadessi- the ‘place to be’ in the evening. (Cadessi is pronounced Jadessi)

We walk much more than we expect, some of it in the wrong direction, before a couple of university students boisterously and gregariously lead us back and onto the single street that will take us there. It’s a single street alright, but it stretches on, going uphill. We labour across, passing the Galata Tower that is meant offer spectacular panoramic sights- its Euro3.50 entry made sure it did not make it to our list. The street (we now know believe it was Galipdede Cadessi) is mostly deserted, we realise that’s because its nearly iftar time- when most people of this city will have their first morsel of food/ drop of water since before sunrise. It is a phenomenon that we will marvel at many times to come in the next week or so, particularly because of how widespread this Ramadan (Ramazan) fasting is. We pass a shop overflowing with exquisite glass lamps- that this photo does no justice to- and after a while, the street is lined with innumerable shops selling music instruments- some only guitars, others only percussion. Outside them, people are breaking their fast as we reach the very bottom end of Istiklal Cadessi.



The next two hours or so are spent walking up, down and off this bright, bustling and terribly charming 2km long cobble stoned stretch. Every little while, the mass of people- sans vehicles- is cutely disturbed by a rattling old tram that runs two stops from Tunel at the bottom, to Taksim Square at the top of Istiklal. It is red, tiny and I have the urge to hop on to- it moves slowly enough to do so- and hang for a stretch, but better sense (?) prevails.
There are lots of people- well dressed, good looking people, families, youngsters. The feel is terribly European ( I find it amazing how often I feel something is “so European”, but I have never been there), and of course, geographically, we are in Europe. Oh, and there are what seems like hordes of rockers. No, I really do mean rockers. Leather jackets, long hair, guitars slung over their backs, some punkish, some metal-ish, guys, girls…surely there is some club or something here.

We even pass Galatasaray Square (Galatasaray FC, anyone?), but therein lies a photograph I postponed and eventually never took. There are shops- all kinds of shops, restaurants, bars, confectionaries, bakeries and two Loos of The World- McDonald’s and Burger King. How many people do you know who use fast food joints like these as public rest rooms? None? Ok- either you’re founder member of the Supreme Bladder Control Club or you’re terribly scrupulous. Or you’re lying. We, on the other hand, are honest upstanding global citizens who acknowledge the worth of these establishments, and our own kidney shortcomings. So there.

At about 9.30, post the consumption of a little personal vodka, we decide to finally go to Nevizade Socak (a street we have already surveyed in our tiring walk), but before that we must change some money. Yes, we are short again- changed too little this morning. What do you know, the changers are shut. One, then the next and the next- and it is not even 9pm yet! Just as we have, for the third time, reached the end of the road (ah, I love this language), we despairingly ask a policeman who sets us off on a two minute walk that fattens the wallet and ensures dinner will not be just the one dish between the two of us.

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Day I- The Golden Horn

We take the tram to Eminonu, and walk through the subway. Come up the steps and you see water. Grey water under grey clouds with lots of people in the foreground. I am not sure what hits me first- the mass of people, bustling, chatting, hurried; the seagulls flapping out noisily over choppy grey water; the sight of fishing rods, so many of them; the vista of Asian Istanbul across the Bosphorus on one side, and the north half of European Istanbul across the Golden Horn; the boats and ferries cluttering the water like the transport hub that it is.

Then the other sights- hawkers sitting on the pavement selling completely random tings- from beads and nazars to underwear and socks; vendors with fresh fish being grilled and literally thrown into sliced loaves; the outpuring of people from the turnstiles at the ferry entry.

It is here that the Istanbul skyline that so fascinated me is truly visible. Take a 360-degree turn and take in seemingly endless city- a mass of low-lying buildings all clustered together; rising out of them, in every direction, are minarets. Entire tall minarets, the tips of others, solitary minarets and clusters, all searing into the sky, but gently, like beacons, like a signature, like grand, confident statements the the city is making.

And just behind, towering over Eminonu and its bustle is a smallish (by what we have seen anyway) mosque (only later are we to realise it is Yeni Camii). Despite its imperious closeness, it loses out in the sights stakes to a mosque further away, the distance adding to its charm- even from this far it seems huge and spectacular in the dying light, and we are unsure which one it is- maps and readings suggest it is Suleimaniye Camii.

Taking all this in has been a few minutes, but the first ting we have to do is buy an akbil. This is the key-like pass which works on buses, trams, the metro and even local ferries. Locating the akbil both, however, is quite a task- we never did lpick enough Turkish before coming, and despite roaming around with the LP open to its language page, it is a while, and many walks in and out of the underpass by the Galata Bridge, before we finally find it. The signs only say gunluk, haftalik, aylik...
So we are lucky to get a young boy (“Ingilizce?”, we ask, and “so-so” comes the reply) who helps us out understanding we don’t have to buy a daily, weekly or monthly pass, just a normal one (not specified in the signs) is available as well.

Then we are walking on the Galata Bridge. The sun is setting behind us now, behind the mosques. There are more people fishing here, many more. Cars, buses and small lorries (like tempos) whiz by but I still can’t remember them being as noisy as they surely must have been. Below you, and to the left and right, ferries ply the increasingly choppy waters of the Golden Horn (the finger of water that divides European Istanbul).
We stop a moment, taking this in and clicking photos. The sun is inching its way behind the Suleimaniye Camii (for that is what the grand mosque in the distance is), and you understand where those postcards have been shot from. It is as if the mosque was made so it would seemingly swallow the sun every evening, first basking in the glow then leaving an outline that couldn’t be better were it painted on.

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Day I- yerabatan spook

The Blue Mosque and the Ayasofya- both of them have drained words out of me. You’d think they would do the same to one’s travel senses, but post-lunch there is renewed vigour. Sultanahmet is full of tourist sights, which is great because you can walk from one to other even if you are unfit louts like us. The two imperious monuments call out to each other, and further north, behind the church/mosque/museum is Topkapi Palace which we shall visit tomorrow. Right now we make our way towards the top of Divan Yolu, where right round the corner is the entrance to the Yerabatan Saray Sernici.

Going down the steps we know what to expect in this underground place. Called also the Sunken Palace Cistern, it is literally that- a cistern that is seriously huge. Why would a water storage tank underground be of any sight-seeing worth is anyone’s guess. Well, for those who have not been there, at any rate. What will we see besides space enough to hold 80,000cubic metres of water? (80,000!)
There is a warm glow about the place as we reach the last flight of stairs; nothing in particular yet everything as a whole captures us. We see walkways disappearing into the relative darkness, brightened only by atmospheric lighting. People are milling around but the noise is minimal- being underground in this sort of a place seems to make hushed whispers obviously normal.

On either side of the walkways that take you deep into the 2.4 acre area (!), are 336 marble columns rising out of the pools of water they are meant to house. For something as mundane as water storage, it is strange that there is so much attention to detail, but who are we to complain? The columns themselves are imposing and beautifully carved, but the feel they create is what this place is all about. We keep telling each other what a great ‘location’ this would make- as in, a location for filming- and sure enough it has been used in From Russia With Love.

A few minutes into the walk and we hear spooky music. Well, in all fairness the music was probably not spooky by itself, but listening to it there was another thing altogether; also, we couldn’t quite figure out where it was coming from. At one end of the Cistern, past a few places with little fish and innumerable pennies for wishes (what is this thing of throwing money into water for you wishes coming true- I’ve seen it in so many bloody places but I haven’t the faintest what’s the thinking behind it)…we come to the two Medusa heads that are placed here for no apparent reason; and for definitely no reason that has occurred to anyone, one head is upside down, one is lying on its side (and both look moderately ugly in their greenish sliminess).

On our way back we realise the music is live music, and is being played at the café just by the exit. It is a lovely place to sit awhile (especially cause there aren’t benches around for you to sit elsewhere) with a cuppa, music and the seemingly endless glowing pillars; except at nearly 2Euros a cup of tea, it isn’t something we’re going to be doing. It must be about 5pm by now, and we are going to make our way to Eminonu, the port at the famous Golden Horn, by the Galata Bridge.

cistern photos
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