Is there anything better than a rooftop bar?
It was one of the
first things I noticed about Istanbul; an abundance of roof top bars. Little
oases perched high above everyday life. Intimate, yet outdoors. Thea and I
found ourselves on quite a nice one, complete with candles, cushions and
pashminas, within hours of arriving in Sultanahmet (Old Istanbul).As we watched
the late afternoon sun dance across the Bosphorus, a meze plate was placed
before us. And mint tea was served.
It was a good
start to a great couple of days.
* * *
I had a few weeks
of pure escapism in between moving out of Dublin and moving back to Sydney:
sometime on the West Coast of Ireland, a quick jaunt to London for a dear
friend’s thirtieth, a week in Berlin (part of it with G and part of it solo)
and then my last stop - Istanbul. G had insisted I had to go there before I
went back home – ‘It’s amazing’. While I love travelling alone, Istanbul was a
place I really wanted to go with a friend. In particular, I wanted to go with
my Kiwi-born-London-based friend Thea. I hinted once, twice, fourteen times via email
that she really needed to take some time off work and come with me, and yes, she agreed she
really should - but what about the website launch? What about the show? What about
the…?. For a while, I didn’t think it was going to happen. And then it did.
* * *
We stayed, pretty
much like every other visitor to Istanbul, in Sultanahmet, and despite being
just a wee bit touristy, why on earth wouldn’t you? The Blue Mosque, Aya Sofya,
The Hippodrome, the Basilica Cistern, and the Archaeology Museum are all within
an easy walking distance (and I mean super easy – you stand in the middle of
Sultanahmet Park and you are literally flanked by Aya Sofya and The Blue
Mosque. Super-easy. Not to mention super-spectacular).
There are also
lots of little places to sit down and eat pistachio-studded baklava and drink
tea. Which, after a round of sightseeing, is exactly what we were doing when a
man in his early forties and a young woman, probably in her mid to late
twenties asked if they could join us. We said yes (What else can you say?) and they started, well, he started to tell us about their lives.
He said he was Turkish but he lived in America with his wife and children and
that the young woman was his cousin. They wanted to talk to us because, he
explained, his cousin wanted to practise her English, which wasn’t very good. (Great, I thought to myself, I am on a break
from work - as an English Language teacher - and I get to give an impromptu
English lesson).
He asked us some
questions about ourselves - how long had we been in Istanbul? Not long at all,
he had already guessed. What did we do? Where were we from? He had once had an
English teacher years ago who had been Australian and he loved New Zealanders,
he said. Were we married? He didn’t think so. The conversation proceeded and
suddenly we were talking about carpets. Well, he was talking about carpets. He
warned us to be careful if we were thinking about buying a carpet. Thea
expressed a smidgen of interest in buying a carpet. And then – what a
surprising coincidence – it turned out he was a wholesale carpet salesmen, who
didn’t usually deal with tourists but would make an exception for us. The
cousin piped us to tell us that he really did have fantastic carpets and that his
warehouse was just around the corner and they could take us there right now.
It was at this
point that I flashed a look to Thea which said ‘not-a-chance-am-I
leaving-this-well-lit-café-to-walk–around-the-back-streets-to-this-
alleged-carpet-factory-with this-guy-and-his-English-impaired cousin (who, by
the way, was not showing any sign of struggling to understand the conversation,
I, the semantic sleuth, had realised in the last 18 seconds) . Luckily, Thea
was flashing me the exact same look back.
The man and his
cousin soon realised a.) There was no chance we were budging from our tea and
pistachio-studded baklava b.) We were not going to see his warehouse anytime
soon or c.) We had no money and he left us his card and took off from the café.
* * *
The Grand Bazarr.
It’s huge. You need a plan. We had a plan. The market stores are grouped
depending on the products they sell and we would first focus on the pashminas
and ceramics and glassware. Then spices. We would jot down the stores we liked,
find ourselves some juicy lamb shish and then go back and make our purchases.
We would miss the leather and gold sections entirely. And maybe have a quick
look at the carpets (Thea actually did still have a smidgen of interest).
We stuck to it.
Mostly.
About twenty
minutes into the Bazaar, I got distracted by a very pretty jewellery box (‘jewellery boxes’ - not
a designated stop). Thea was also distracted by something pretty, except her
pretty thing had dreamy brown eyes and wanted to take her to lunch.
‘His name is Tom’,
Thea sighed, showing me his card
‘A traditional
Turkish name’ I commented.
But on to more
important pretty things: scarves, ceramics, and cushions covers. I may not have
mentioned this before but Thea is a wee little thing. Short, petite, brunette,
tiny feet and cute as a button. Judging from her appearance, you would probably
not guess her bargaining prowess.
‘Can I see this
one, and this one and this one? What? That’s the best you can do. What about if
my friend gets one? Really? No? How
about that one other there? You can do a bit a better price, if we take three? Yes?
Thanks, that’s great.’
Impressive.
Many hours later,
weary and full of Lamb shish, we had finalised our decision. No carpets. No
Jewellery Boxes. Two pillowcases each (they are delightful and are currently
sitting on my bed). Two glass candle holders for me. A white scarf for both of
us from the sweet Uzbekistan guy. And some spices for Thea ( none for me unfortunately,
I would never get them through customs in Australia)
A grand day
indeed.
* * *
There are always a
few standout ‘Wow’ moments when you go travelling. In Corsica, it was a view
from the top of Sant Antonino and the cheese that was in my salad in a nearby
restaurant. In Italy, the coastline along Cinque Terra. And in my own country,
Uluru at sunset.
As I was surveying a collection of old carpets
in the Archeology Museum, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
‘Come and have a
look at this’, Thea said.
I followed Thea
out into the courtyard and there it was – just the most spectacular view of the
Blue Mosque. Just stunning. Although there were many pretty mosques around
Istanbul, the beauty and grandeur of the
Blue Mosque is unparalleled. Its eight
white domes curve round and capture the imagination. The sheer size of the
place unapologetically demands your attention and admiration. And, even though
it may have been born out of vanity rather than virtue, its controversial sixth
minaret is the perfect proverbial cherry on top of this Turkish architectural
dish.
Thea had quickly
befriended a young man (doey skin, dreamy dark eyes…you see a pattern
too?) to take our picture. The moment
captured. Thea struck up a conversation with her new friend and I went back to
the carpets
Thea definitely
had her mojo on this city and it was great to see, it was wonderful to see. My
mojo, on the other hand, had most definitely not been packed. The last few
weeks had been a pretty tumultuous time for my heart and it had closely reigned
my mojo in (‘You’, said my heart ‘have got
us into enough trouble lately’). This particular trip I felt like more of a
chaperone than a wing man. The only Turkish delights I was interested in where
the ones covered in sugar.
* * *
And Istanbul is
certainly the city for culinary pleasures. One night was a particular
highlight.
If Sultanahmet is
the old Istanbul than Taksim Square is most definitely the new Istanbul. This
is where the malls, the international labels, and the cinemas are; this is the
part of this modern city which looks a bit like every other modern city (albeit,
with a Turkish twist). I was simultaneously overwhelmed by its size and
underwhelmed by its charm.
Until, after much
turning of maps and asking of directions, we got to Nevizade Tavernas, a
stretch of restaurants, bars and clubs in the side streets and laneways just
off Taksim Square.
So this is where
they keep the fun. Atmosphere plus. Busy, friendly restaurants whose tables
spill out onto crowded streets. Where down one street you’ll find a guitarist
singing Turkish songs to an audience who are far from shy when it comes to joining in, and down another street , the duff
duff music of Istanbul’s club scene hinting at yet another unexpected aspect of
this diverse and dynamic city.
Thea and I sat
down at one of the many tempting outdoor tables at one of the many tempting restaurants and ordered a few beers and on the waiters
recommendation, ordered pretty much a little of everything on the menu – the clear
winners being a saucy little fava bean dip and some unforgettable mackerel.
It was a fantastic
night. Whenever we talk about our eyes get a bit shiny. Nevizade Tavernas is a
real must if you ever go to Istanbul.
* * *
Speaking of
Istanbul must dos, I have to say another recommendation would be to jump on one
of the many boat cruises that leave from Eminonu Ferry Boat Docks and spend a
day on the water.
Sailing round
the Bosphorus, the harbour which divides
Istanbul and which many refer to as the border between Asia and Europe, is an ideal way to leisurely view the many the palaces and mosques which make up this
sprawling beautiful city. And the perfect place to gape at how many fishermen
are hoping to make a catch on the Gibralta Bridge.
About half an hour
into our cruise, we noticed that all the flags around the city were at half
mast. We later found out that it was done every year on that day ( the 10th
of November) in commemoration of the death of Ataturk, the much revered and
respected leader of Turkey from 1923-1938, whose legacy is still felt in this
city, even some 70 years after his death
* *
*
What better way to
finish off a day on the water, than a night in the water. Perhaps it is an
Australian thing but I never really feel like I have been on holiday unless I
have been in the water. Preferably naked (
Did I just cross some writer/ reader line? If so, you might want to skip the
next two paragraphs).
On our last night
in Istanbul we found a beautiful, reputable and not really all that expensive Haman
in Sultanahmet. And let the bathhouse ritual begin; we disrobed, we plunged
into a hot bath the size of a swimming pool, we laid ourselves on heated white
marble and let some gorgeous old Turkish mammas scrub our skins until they were
red. And then we had a long massage followed by a refreshing cool shower.
The bliss.
The utter utter
bliss.
It is just as well
we left the Hamam for the last night. If we had gone there on the first night,
I am not sure we would have gone anywhere else.
* * *
Istanbul is an
impressive city. Istanbul
is a city who carries her past with her, yet holds the knowledge that to
survive is to welcome change. Istanbul walks the fine line between east and
west, between negotiation and defiance, between strength and surrender. And
knows how to soften life with sweet delights.
And as I steadied
myself for the reality of moving back to my home town, to the challenge of
making my former life mine again, I took great inspiration from that.
* * *
