This morning we head out to Sulemaniye Mosque, built 1550-1557 for Suleymaniye I and designed by the Ottoman Empire’s greatest architect: Sinan. Sinan was not a formally-trained architect, but designed over 144 mosques and over 221 other buildings throughout the mid 1530’s. It is a triumph, to be sure:
I find a quiet corner and sit myself down for some quiet meditation.
It’s an ideal spot and the energy inside works wonders on my monkey brain. After some time, we head back outside and check out the row of benches constructed to provide access for water for daily ablutions (washing of the face, neck, hands, arms and feet before entering the mosque for prayer):
which actually turns into the newest iteration of photography’s well-known “flower in the rock” series (only one person will get this joke). We leave the grounds, passing by the gardens which hold the tombs of Sulemaniye I and Siman, and come upon a tall wall, which seems to make an excellent viewpoint. But how to access? We continue around the block, and discover it is on the grounds of the University. We pass through security and walk across campus until we arrive at said wall, and indeed, the view is spectacular. Here is a panorama shot of the back of the mosque as it stands overlooking the Bosphorus:
Mission accomplished, we exit university grounds and wind our way through the streets until we approach one of the gates into the Grand Bazaar, comprised of a network of 61 covered streets and enclosing an area of 3,305,000 square feet. Every day in the marketplace, as many as 30,000 traders in 4,500 shops haggle with up to 400,000 shoppers – both locals and visitors from around the world. In business since its foundation in 1461, the bazaar is the world’s oldest covered market. Here I am at one of the gates to glory:
The advice I received seems true enough: keep walking! No matter what one may find at a jeweler’s, a crafts shop, antique store, leather or accessories store, if you walk on, you will likely find the same thing for a better price. Of course, to speak of price is kind of a joke, because each and every storekeeper is beckoning to you with “the best prices! the best quality! good discount for you because you are my first customer of the day! may I ask you something? where are you from?” The bait is varied, but the goal always the same. But, it’s all delivered with a smile and a good nature. The walk through the market is better than any maze, because there are always about 8 directions to move in, so the senses are always on high alert and in scouting mode. The walk is a cacaphony of sounds (described earlier), smells and visuals, combined with top-flight dodging skills due to other shoppers, carts of goods being delivered and the ever-present tea deliveries to shops for genteel interaction with willing customers (it’s actually considered rude to refuse an offer of tea in this country). Some of the sights:
Bert scurries to several shops, looking for just the right ceramic lamp for his bedroom, I bargain for (another) purse, he makes a loop looking for just the right antique dagger and I chat up a local jeweler while selecting earrings.
Famished and shopped out, we head back out into the streets (I gotta have something just for the walk!)
and the fresh air and down to the landing at the foot of Galata bridge. Here, hundreds of locals are enjoying fresh fried fish sandwiches, prepared daily by one of 3 boats tied to the landing:
I spy that a multitude of people are also purchasing these:
which are being assembled at each of the several carts scattered amongst the crowds. First, the empty cup is filled with what looks like (and indeed, are) chunks of raw cabbage, a few pickles, then the whole thing is covered with a reddish juice (pickle juice of some kind??). Of course, I must sample one, so I purchase and stab a few pickles and pieces of cabbage. Good, for what it is, but I do not summon the courage to slurp down much of the juice. We have decided to sit and enjoy a full lunch at one of the many fresh fish restaurants that live under the bridge (in perfect opposition to the fisherman lined up all along the top of the bridge 24/7):
Walking along the eateries we experience the most aggressive hawking yet, but we withstand the pressure and select a nice spot, and proceed to enjoy fresh seabass grilled to perfection:
Appetites sated, we stroll over to the Torylu for our 1 1/2 hour cruise along the shores of the Bosphorus. We head right to the top deck and plant ourselves on one side, under the canopy in the open air.
Our boat cruises out of the harbor promptly at 4, and we enjoy puttering by the two large cruise ships, Dolmabahce Palace (the sultan’s summer residence, which you can see on the far right),
the Bosphorus bridge
Rumeli Hisan (the Fortress of Europe),
built by Mehmet the Conqueror in 1452 prior to his attack on Contantinople and the much smaller Anadolu Hisan (the Fortress of Asia), built in the late 14th century by Beyazit I. The gentle rocking of our boat certainly does the trick, as I find it impossible to keep my eyes open. We arrive back at the docks, and disembark with all of our bags. We head back through Misir Carsisi (the Egyptian Spice Bazaar) and meander down the single aisle of this much smaller market (about a block long).
After several tastings, I finally succumb and purchase some Turkish delight to take home (beware, BSW!). For anyone who doesn’t know, this is a confectionary creation that is somewhat akin to a light, rosewater-flavored gelatin candy that is dusted with powdered sugar. Variations on the them include chopped nuts of all types, as well as the addition of dried fruits ranging from apricots to figs to oranges. Mmmm, I think.
I walk along the waterfront and back to the hotel to an all-too-brief respite. Time to do some packing before showering and heading back by taxi to the Asian side of town and to find Babylon, the club that eluded us on Monday. We have the front desk give directions to the cab driver and sure enough, we are left in a hip area filled with restaurants and clubs/bars (many no wider than the overhead garage door opening, but nonetheless furnished with hip, modern furnishings, a slick granite bar counter and thumping music) that we traverse until we arrive sucessfully at big red doors marked “Babylon”. However, these impressive doors are locked and we are duly informed that the club is closed for two weeks! Ack!
We laugh, and decide to tour the streets and luckily stumble upon Refik, an authentic mezze restaurant that I had read about in my Eyewitness guide. I am delighted, and we step inside and are seated at a small table for two. Almost immediately, our waiter brings a tray with twenty small plates, identifies each, and we choose from among the freshly made mezze (small appetizers – known in other lands as tapas). We add to that an order or raki, locally made liquer similar in taste to Greek ouzo (anise – licorice flavored). The alcohol is served in a small glass, and the waiter adds water and ice to it before we may drink. We each sip tentatively (and good thing), and man, is it strong in flavor (not in alcohol content, unfortunately). Throughout our meal, we work it done until almost gone, but agree, there will be no second glass ordered.
Our mezze are wonderful, and we enjoy our seafood-rice stuffed peppers, tomato, onion and pepper spread, fried fresh calamari, pepper and yoghurt spread (too spicy for me!) and fresh feta. Hesap lutfen! Check, please, and we are out the door. We continue to check out the neighborhood, and stop a couple times to inquire about live music, but Nardi’s jazz club from Monday night seems to be the only option and it’s only about 45 minute until the end of the show, so no dice. We get a couple of gelatos (no, doesn’t compare to Italy) and head down the cobblestone streets in the direction of home, glancing in the direction of the crowds sitting around the terrace around Galata tower (still haven’t made it up there) as we head down, down…wait! What’s that? Oh, let’s duck into the cook t-shirt store!
I try on a couple of the really cook t-shirts that the owners have designed and inquire about the tunes they’re playing. Evidently a mix created by a friend of theirs who is DJ’ing at a club nearby. Tempting, but it’s getting late and the dude is working in the wrong direction, so we pay for our t-shirts, smile, step back onto the street and continue our walk down the hill, across the Galata bridge and back to our room. Another busy day and night at its successful conclusion!