Istanbul: March 16 – March 21, 2011
While in Europe in 2005, I remember feeling slightly at odds with myself at times; most of me LOVING the experience of being abroad and part of me wishing that I had someone to share it with; a friend, partner, or companion. I recall thinking that I was young and that this was my time to enjoy. My good friend, Jen came to visit and travel with me twice while I was in Ireland. Six years later, I absolutely cherish the fact that we share those memories together. It’s easy to forget things when they only reside in one mind. I suppose that’s part of the reason that I’m feeling the need to share this experience with those of you who will eventually read this.
March 17, 2011
This city is bustling with a multicultural vibe that I don’t think I have seen elsewhere. Buckets and plates of fresh fish, baskets with every imaginable spice, and gleaming towers from the cities countless mosques, light up the streets and paths of the city. Right now, a band of young men are gathered in front of the café that I am at. They are playing instruments and singing together as the crowd gathers. Travelers are taking pictures of each other and I know that all of my pictures will be filled with only scenery, as I am not one to do the “camera at arm’s length” photography.
In Italy, the street vendors have thick slices of coconut, cascading down water laden towers. I remember thinking that it was so unique and, quite simply, completely wonderful. In Istanbul, the favored vendor snack (aside from the famous kabobs) is fresh squeezed juice. In old fashioned fruit-pressers, the merchants crush fresh oranges and pomegranates into a single cup, for a mere two Turkish Lyre (the national currency); about $1.40. Rarely does something so tasteful, equal its health factor. I have started each morning this way; reading my book, watching the casual people engage in conversation, and thinking about what to explore during the daylight hours. This morning, a man gave me a napkin, twisted into a rose. Having been in Saudi for the better part of a few months, the charm of his gesture has stuck with me.
This place definitely has character. Men shouting in the streets, vying for attention: “Excuse me blond-e, where are you from?”, “Hello Miss, with the beautiful eyes.”, “May I ask you an innocent question, my dear?” All of the travel books tell you to keep walking or you’ll find yourself being sucked into their store to spend money on things you don’t want. I have a hard time with this sort of thing. In 2010, I wrote an article for the Philadelphia Examiner, explaining my disillusionment with cat-calling. I think it’s an interesting technique, although I know that this city would not feel the same without this method of attention seeking.
Being here reminds of the “color” that I miss in the states. The shades of Istanbul are so obvious to this color-starved American; orange and yellow from the citrus, red and green from the spices, blue from the Bosphorus waters, grey from the cobblestone streets. The air is clean and the smell of roasting chestnuts and corn give a burnt sweetness to the breeze.
The men here walk with arms looped together. They share cheek-to-cheek kisses as a sign of friendship. I can’t help but think of the label that this type of behavior would quickly acquire in the states and it makes me wonder why we’re so quick to identify affection as romantic, rather than friendly.
March 18, 2011
Spanning a corner of Europe and a piece of Asia, this dual-continental city is home to lots of lovers. They walk hand-in-hand with an ease of carelessness. As we speak (metaphorically), they cuddle lip to lip on the bench next to me. Paris and Nice (France) have this same romantic effect on people. Although I have spent only a short time in both of those places, the people really do appear to see the world “through rose colored glasses;” I think that this part of Turkey creates the same emotions.
While caught up in this lovers nest, out of the corner of my eye, I notice two policemen with guns the same length as my leg; it is an obvious reminder of the turmoil that this part of the world is experiencing. However, the contrast of laughing children and the sound of a birds singing, makes those two men seem out of place; rather than the other way around.
Similar to Saudi Arabia, Turkey is a Muslim country. The mosque towers still announce prayer five times daily, but the city does not shut down as it does in Saudi, five times daily, and the women do not wear the abaya or burkha; they are instead adorned with multicolored silk head scarves that often seem to be coordinated with their outfits. Their faces are sunned and I find myself thinking that they look unencumbered. Women are also privileged to enter the mosques here, although they are kept separate from the men in the back of the wide open space. As a tourist, I was allowed to enter in certain areas, mind you, with the proper modesties taken. Entering mosques, as a woman, in Saudi is forbidden. This eases my imagination as to what lies behind those walls.
I took a cruise up the coast of Turkey today. I found a corner seat, in the back of the grand boat, and watched the coastline drift past me as the announcer gave some historical background of the sites. I feel so lucky and blessed to be seeing all of this. I have watched travel stories for years about places around the world that I had hoped of visiting some day. It’s a weird feeling (full of excitement) when you actually get to check one of those places off your bucket list. The sun, the water, the Turkish coffee, the pressed sandwiches, the wind, the buildings…there isn’t another place that I wish I had spent the day.
March 19, 2011
Traditional Turkish dining takes place on the floor, amidst woven pillows and carpets…and it is eaten entirely with your hands. I have a special aversion to people licking their fingers in delight and dragging their hands across the plate to gather every last kernel of deliciousness. Given that I’m in a cultural setting that condones this form of eating, I (of course) decided to partake in this pet-peeve that I harbor. The man next to me scooped up rice and sauce with a small piece of fresh flat bread and then proceeded to forcefully flick the remaining grub that had taken up residence on his fingertips, back onto the plate…but I managed to keep it together. I ordered artichoke hearts seeped in olive oil. It arrived, and I lathered up my fingers with it, just in time for the artichoke piece to fly right out of my hands, onto the table, and then bounce onto the floor. My fingers slapped together with oily goodness…and I reached for my napkin and fork. KHALIS! (Enough, in Arabic).
I purchased a king-size, hand woven, silk quilt today. I wanted to leave with something that I could not resist buying. The bargaining process that is a part of every purchase here is exhausting and uncomfortable for me, but it does feel fun knowing that I got something for less money than I initially planned on buying it for. At a farm auction in Michigan, while I was in college, I bought an enormous handmade quilt for $5. I still think that it was the best purchase I have ever made. It has moved with me to the 9 or so different apartments that I have had since then, and it is the only “thing” from home that I brought with me to Saudi Arabia (aside from a few pictures). At this point, it is tattered and falling apart at the edges and in major need of a professional repair, but wrapping up in it at night always reminds me of home. Maybe this new quilt will forever remind me of this unique trip to Istanbul.
As if the topography of this city isn’t interesting and gorgeous in its own right, beneath the floor of Istanbul lays Basilica Cistern. The cathedral-sized cavity measuring 105,000 sq. ft. is the home of 336 marble columns, each 30ft high; built in-part between the 3rd and 4th centuries. The basin looks and feels like a candlelit world. Although not a religious person, this place definitely feels like a house of worship. In my travels, one place that I always try to go to is the churches. There aren’t many places in the world today where people stop to believe in one thing – whatever you call it – adoration, veneration, devotion – spirituality is something worth taking notice of, and this dwelling certainly invokes that feeling. I spent a few hours walking around this underground belief system. Wooden planks elevate the floor, to allow the natural collection of water to flow freely and people walk quietly around, as if everyone recognizes that this place is a treasure.
March 20, 2011
Although travelling alone has its pitfalls, it certainly has its perks; one of which is developing the ability to meet people anywhere. On this trip, I shared a wonderful conversation at the top of the Galata Tower with a retired nurse from Florida, her Turkish lover, and her native friend. I shared coffee with a very arrogant law student from Northwestern University. I had breakfast with another retired nurse from Australia. I also had a great afternoon with three young Istanbulians, who opened the hostel that I am staying at, roughly a year and a half ago. I have to wonder if I’d had a companion at my side, if I would have met any of these people. Just as the saying goes, “the world may never know.”
Everywhere here, blue, glass eyeballs adorn the walls of shops, hotels, and restaurants. The orbital symbol represents the “evil eye.” The Turks believe that if you have one of these near you or hanging from a wall in your home, that evil will be warded off and good luck will fall upon you. Of course, I bought a couple! Before I left for Saudi, my brother, Brian, gave me an Indian, porcelain elephant to carry in my pack. Legend has it that when it breaks (accidentally) luck will find you. My sister-in-law, Kate, also gave me something for luck. Kate gave me a black onyx necklace. Black onyx has long since been said to deliver a bit of charm to its owners. It seems as though I have started a bit of a collection.
On a final (and much less insightful) note, the men here are definitely worth mentioning; tall, dark, and handsome, with a splash of exoticism and social charm. Having gone for a few months without men looking me in the face, let alone making direct eye contact, I have been caught up in a moment on more than one occasion in this city. The broken language that we share probably only adds to the mystique.
I am sad that this is my last day in Istanbul. I will certainly miss the daylong walks, the energy of this city, and the food from this dynamic Middle Eastern metropolis.
I guess the reason that I am sharing all of these personal experiences, emotions, and stories from this visit are because I don’t want them to be lost in my mind. I write because I want others to see these things and hear about them from someone that does not have a hidden agenda or the desire to produce a media twist. Part of the reason that I accepted my job in Saudi Arabia was because I wanted to be able to form my own, honest opinion; to see things for what they are. No one knows what is real and accurate in the eyes of the media, and I don’t like the idea of being handed a story about a place or its people, especially if that story is fluffed and “marshmallowy”.
As I said previously, the thing about traveling alone is that the experience and the memories become entirely your own. Never will someone say to me (about this trip anyway), “Remember that day in Istanbul…” so many of the things that have happened on my stays abroad, are only my memories. Hopefully, at some level, they will part of yours now too.
--C. Sims
