2.
We
didn’t really get very far on Thursday. We walked really far. The bus dropped
us off at Taksim Square, and Nate assured us that the hotel was only 500 meters
away, and ‘probably in that direction.’ So we started walking. I bought a simit, a circular-shaped bread covered
in sesame seeds, which I soon discovered was ubiquitous all over the city. We
had not checked any baggage, so Nate and I carried our stuff over our shoulders
and Ryan wheeled his suitcase behind him down the sidewalk.
 |
| Entrance to the Grand Bazaar |
--
The
Blue Mosque, one of the most famous in the world, and definitely the most
famous in the city, is active, and it is free to enter to anyone if it’s not a
prayer time (which, remember, happens five times per day, so it’s a big ‘if’).
I bought some roasted chestnuts from another street vendor when we got off the
tram in the big square out front. A dog out for a walk had jumped into the
fountain for a quick swim, his owner fighting to get him out. A man followed us
around trying to sell us a rug. He was persistent enough to follow us into the
mosque’s courtyard, and after spending fifteen minutes with us talking about
Istanbul’s Islamic history (and trying to sell us rugs) I told him we’d
appreciate his company of course but that we weren’t going to buy any rugs or
even visit his rug shop. He left us alone then.
The
mosque was in fact closed for prayer when we arrived, but a couple of young
girls were outside handing out leaflets for a free talk on Islam that was going
to take place in an adjacent building by one of their professors, so we went to
that. They gave us coffee and snacks and we listened to more things I didn’t
know about, in an ancient building that used to be used as a sort of elementary
school.
For
example: I didn’t know that the Koran (or Qu’ran, as our lecturer spelled it)
has only one version, and every Arabic edition is precisely the same as every
other one. Translations, though used, are considered flawed. I didn’t know that
Muslims of means are required to give 2 ½ % of their wealth each year to the
poor (and are encouraged to do so not through charities but directly, and usually around the Ramadan
holidays). I didn’t know that Islam does not have any official pastors or
clerics, and that an imam is merely a
prayer leader. I didn’t know that the call to prayer is exactly the same Arabic
recitation made five times daily the world over (with one added line during the
5am call, which basically says ‘prayer is better then sleep, so get up’). I
didn't know that Muslims wash their hands and arms to the elbows, their feet
and their faces before entering a mosque, and that they did so at
ancient-looking spigots outside, seated on marble benches. I didn’t know a lot
of things.
The
Blue Mosque – really the Sultanahmet
Mosque, for Sultan Ahmet who had it built a rather long time ago (something
else I didn’t know) – is freaking enormous. Six minarets surround the ground,
to kind of indicate that this was an imperial mosque (most have only one, some of
the bigger ons two – none besides the Blue Mosque have six). The ‘sultan’
entrance on the one side had chains hanging from the archway. Why? So that
anybody arriving on horseback would be forced to bow as a sign of respect
before entering, whether they really wanted to or not.
Inside,
it’s carpeted, and we were expected to remove our shoes before entering, also a
sign of respect. There is no furniture, just red carpet adorned with blue
floral patterns similar to that which adorns the walls and ceilings, in
intricate detail, throughout (hence the nickname). There are no pews, no altar.
There is a narrow staircase leading to a small landing where announcements are
made. There is also a narrow cutout in the wall facing Mecca, from which the
imam leads the people in prayer. He also faces Mecca, not the folks praying (in
fact, on this very plane right now, every few minutes the direction and
distance to Mecca flashes on the overhead screen).
--
The
Grand Bazaar just kind of appeared out of the sidewalk. We picked an arbitrary
direction to walk after leaving the mosque and wandered through several
alleyways and streets, passing cafes and coffee vendors and people selling corn
on the cob out of little carts on the sidewalk (like the bread, available everywhere in the city, at least where
we went). People are selling stuff everywhere.
And mostly the same kind of stuff, at mostly the same kind of prices. Initially
I couldn’t imagine how so many people could make a living selling so much stuff.
But there is a lot of people in this
city.
It’s
impossible to describe actually. In a place like New York, you notice the
crowds. People get annoyed with one another. There are lines for things, lots
of waiting. Not in Istanbul. There are a lot
of people in this city. And everywhere.
Not just one block or one area. All over, everywhere we went was thronged with
crowds. Yet it flowed. We never once waited in line for anything, even the bars
on Saturday night, there was no pushing or yelling and it just worked. The
subways were standing-room only, but we never missed a train and never waited
more than five minutes for one. We always got seats in the cafes and
restaurants, even during a big soccer game on Sunday, and the service, though
pushy and very salesman-like, was generally excellent. In America, I think, people
seem to require an arms-length of personal space, and get funny when anyone
invades it. In Turkey, that space is reduced to a few centimeters, out of
necessity really. But it works.
But everyone is trying to sell you
something, from the corn on the cob guys on the street to little girls sitting
on the subway trying to sell tissues. And some of them are very persuasive.
Friendly, but really persuasive. We
wound up in a fish restaurant underneath the Galata Bridge and overlooking the
water thanks to a guy standing outside and persuading us to go in. This was
only one of half a dozen seemingly identical places on the small stretch of
waterfront, but he got us in the door. And everything
can be bargained for, and is bargained for. Even that fish dinner. Don’t like
the price? Just offer something lower or ask for a couple free beers (it
works). And they expect it. Don’t have two hundred euros to spend on a rug?
Well, how much you got then?
Anyway,
the bazaar. Once we entered – the shops and stalls sell everything from cheap
jewelry to Persian rugs (“Do they fly?” I asked some of the more persistent
salesman. “How much money do you have?” he replied, playing right along. I
decline anyway, and he made fun of my shoes. “Yeah, well yours are stupid too,”
I joked) – it quickly became apparent that there was no way we’d ever find our
way out the same way we came in. The place is a maze, setup beneath an ancient
painted roof and marble floor. I later read that there are over 2,000 vendors
in the bazaar, and in two days exploring it I think we only saw a handful.
We
found the Spice Bazaar by accident trying to find our way out of the
neighborhood where the Grand Bazaar was. The area was mostly outside on the
streets this time, hidden down back alleyways, but the vendors sold all sorts
of exotic foods. Coffee and spices of course, but also fish, soap, incredible
displays of walnuts, dates, figs, pistachios and figs with walnuts inside them.
Plus baklava and Turkish delight and freaking anything else you could think of.
And everyone is yelling about buying their stuff, which is exactly the same
as the guy next door yelling about buying his
stuff at the same prices. I have no idea how anyone makes a living (this
concept was not limited to the more touristy areas around the Bazaars in Old
Istanbul. On the Asian side it’s almost worse – or better, depending on your
perspective. The markets around Kadikoy, where we got off the boat, were
somehow more authentic, livlier. Looking for the hamam – Turkish bath – we accidentally walked through a narrow
alley lined with clothing and shoes on both sides and people absolutely
everywhere. One guy pushed a blue pair of Adidas in my face).
No comments:
Post a Comment