Complete set of Istanbul photos
The denizens of Istanbul call it the capital of the world and for once the hyperbole doesn’t seem out of place. Famously straddling Europe and Asia, divided by the Bosphorus strait which links the Mediterranean to the Black Sea, the city previously known as Byzantinium and Constantinople has captured the imagination of travellers and conquerors for centuries, so what chance did we mere mortals have against its charms?
Even the view from the airport bus to Taksim Square in the crisp early evening, as we crawled through the terrible traffic, was spectacular. We passed the ruins of city walls and crossed over what we later learned was the Golden Horn, a smaller offshoot of the Bosphorus, from which the many mosque minarets lit the darkness and boats plied their trade under the bridge. We wound our way uphill and were ejected into the bright lights of Istanbul from where it was a short walk to the most modern accommodation we had stayed in for months. A small, perfectly formed apartment on a quiet street in the heart of the action. A delicious Korean meal later (for a change of cuisine – another benefit of large, multicultural cities) and we were blissfully ensconced in a sleep that not even the faint morning call to prayer in this secular Islamic country disturbed.
Istanbul has a cornucopia of activities. We could not hope to see everything but even just experiencing the place as you wander around has a pleasure to it. We walked up and down Istiklal Caddesi (Independence Avenue), the pedestrian heart of Istanbul, too many times to count, seeing new things each time as we walked downhill from Taksim Square to the Golden Horn and Galata bridge. Even without planning it we were drawn in by the Galata tower, an impressively old looking structure which gives panoramic views of this mighty city. Being up there at sunset, peak viewing time, we battled the crowds on the thin balcony, many of whom frustratingly rotated around the tower in the opposite direction to everyone else, causing people to be pinned against the stone as everyone squeezed past each other with shuffling steps. It was worth the hassle.
Down at ground level we popped into a fish restaurant and had freshly grilled local fish, served in a simple way with a hunk of lemon, a few sprigs of rocket and a generous slice of radish. A street cat had an ongoing battle with the wait staff. It would sidle up to our table and ingratiate itself against our legs until spotted, at which time it was chased off with accompanying water splashed in its direction from a bottle wielded by a long suffering waiter. The skirmishes continued throughout the meal We ate one of the rare hot Turkish desserts in this restaurant, hot fruit halva. Once we ordered it we had to wait an age for it to arrive, no doubt in large part because the cook had to go off to a nearby market to buy some apples. In the end it was worth the wait, grated apples and the ubiquitous, delicious halva, freshly baked in foil, which we ate while facing the street in the gathering chill of the night.
Accompanying the street cats of Istanbul are the lethargic street dogs who can be seen sleeping in all sorts of odd places. Evidently not much has changed since Mark Twain’s day, as on his visit to Constantinople in the 1860s he describes almost exactly the same behaviour, writing that he witnessed three dogs lying end to end across a street barely raise an eyebrow as a herd of sheep were driven over them. The only difference seems to be that animals are treated much more kindly in modern day Istanbul with lots of snacks being left out for them to nibble on as they pass their day.
One of the many pleasures in Istanbul is being on the water. As a city divided by waterways there are an abundance of ferry options to choose from. First we took the shorter Golden Horn ferry trip to get a taste of Istanbul from water level. The Golden Horn heads up into and splits the European side of Istanbul. The public ferry meanders its way along a series of stops. It would be faster to cycle but that would be missing the point. On board the ferry a steward bustles around delivering people their much needed small glass cups filled with black tea. Despite the strong reputation of Turkish coffee it is tea (or cay in the local language, pronounced chai) which is the universal drink here, being offered to all guests at all hours and consumed in great quantities. It was a sparkling spring day and we disembarked at the last stop for a quick look at the Eyup Sultan Mosque, crowded with weekend worshippers, before walking uphill through the cemetery and the gorgeous early spring blossoms to a famous lookout where we had a drink at the local cafe, served by a wonderfully inattentive and brusque waiter. The Turkish mentality swings more to the melancholy end of the spectrum which suits me just fine.
Along with the ubiquitous tea Turks are addicted to many forms of sweets. When they are not sucking on a cube of sugar as they drink their tea they will eat from an impressive range of desserts which Sarah and I happily succumbed to. On a rainy afternoon we stumbled into a cafe in Sultanahmet, lured in by their sumptuous window display of puddings – panna cotta-like creations, silky smooth with jellies on top. There was chocolate pudding with a raspberry covering, pistachio pudding with a vanilla jelly, lemon pudding, cherry pudding, the menu was deliriously exciting. You can add to this cornucopia baklava in all shapes, flavours and sizes; turkish delight (or ‘lokum’) in many flavours, often studded with walnuts, pistachio or other nuts; and sutlac, an oven-baked rice pudding which much to my disappointment was always served cold, even in the chilliest climates, but always made in exactly the same way across the country.
The Sultanahmet district, across the Galata bridge from where we were staying in Taksim Square, has a jaw-dropping array of tourist attractions, although to call them that diminishes their wonder. Within shouting distance of each other are the Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque. The Hagia Sofia was constructed during Emperor Justinian’s reign when the Byzantine empire was keeping the Roman spirit alive, albeit in Christian and Greek-speaking form. It is an incredible building which rivals St Peter’s Basilica in scale. It is made no less interesting by the massive Arabic calligraphy which hang from its walls, a remnant of efforts to turn this Christian space into a mosque after Mehmed the Conqueror took Constantinople in 1453. It takes little imagination to paint this place with its original decorations. Faded as they are enough of the original painting and mosaics remain to feed the senses.
Just a short stroll away is the Blue Mosque (which is not particularly blue on the outside but named after the blue tiles used inside), designed to compete with the Haga Sofia and reassure the faithful in their choice of religion, while restoring Islam to the pre-eminent position in the religious magnificence stakes. From the exterior it succeeds wonderfully at this, its high minarets framed against the blue sky and the waters of the Bosphorus in the background. Inside the mosque is, like many others, elegant and restrained geometric decoration, but unfortunately its grand space is cluttered by the numerous wires hanging from the ceiling which support lighting rigs for the chandeliers – making it feel a little as though people are attending a concert rather than quiet contemplation with their god.
To keep the religious theme going we attended a high-brow whirling dervish performance in a domed building called the Galata Mevlevihanesi which is no doubt vintage construction. The musicians were seated upstairs almost hidden from view and are obviously not the focus of attention. The performance begins with a lone male singer, much like the call to prayer. He is slowly joined by a lute-like instrument as the dervishes, gowned in white and capped with a tall fez, line up to be blessed by their master before beginning their slow twirling, arms extended and face calmly contemplative. How they can spin for so long with their eyes closed and face tilted upwards is a mystery to me. One of the dervishes looked a bit like I would feel doing that much spinning but his green, sweaty face was the exception. The dervishes belong to the Sufi branch of Islam and try to reach religious ecstasy. They believe they are joining the essential state of the universe through their rotation. Mark Twain also talks of seeing the ritual performed and sick children being taken up to the master for a blessing. The dervish sects were stripped of power by Ataturk (more on this impressive figure later) when Turkey was being formed into an independent nation from the ashes of the Ottoman empire in the 1920s and ’30s. The fez was also banned from daily life then and the dervishes only allowed to exist in a ceremonial role with no real power, and this is how they remain today, a novelty from a previous age. However, this was by no means purely touristic – the Mevlevi house is one of the few places in Istanbul which allow tourists to observe their spiritual ritual being practised as it was centuries ago.
For some people coming on a trip through Western Europe, Istanbul is probably where everything starts to feel a little more exotic and foreign. For us, after three months in Africa, Istanbul felt like coming home. Even the mosques and the call to prayer were familiar after our time in Jordan and the United Arab Emirates. Everything felt ultra modern and efficient but with a strong European feel. It boded well for the rest of our time in Turkey which everyone who has ever visited seems to universally praise.
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