Holding area at the south end of the Bosphorus
Off to find an internet cafe. Again, the 'stop the first young person and say 'Internet' tactic worked like a dream, although doing it in the courtyard of the Blue Mosque seemed a little surreal. Great little cafe on the second--first, for those of you following along in Europe--floor; above, as it turned out, a carpet wholesaler. We were given laptops and chai and seats beside open floor-to-ceiling windows. Luckily, I was mesmerized by the physical and verbal antics of a small group of men on the sidewalk below us, and this kept me from dwelling on the fact that I was inches from plunging to a certain death. They were carpet dealers, one buyer and a cluster of sellers.
Sidewalk carpet trade in Istanbul
The routine was for the sellers to take a carpet from a large pile on the edge of the street. They would then spread it out on the sidewalk and the haggling would begin. There were several amazing things about this tableau: one was that the carpets were not new. Each had it's own patchwork of tears and frays, some quite large. Another was that, all through the negotiations, the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk continued with a parade of people walking across the piece being considered. And a third was the detailed examination of minute sections of the carpet by the buyer despite the glaring flaws mentioned above. In the end, when the last purchase has been made, they all had chai and the buyer, in jeans and carrying a backpack, put on his jacket and made to leave. I decided to take a chance that one of the men spoke English, and called down asking how much the last carpet--a 5 by 8 foot piece with two large tears and missing a section of fringe--had sold for. Ended up in a conversation with the buyer who turned out to be a carpet dealer from California . Friendly guy who answered all my questions including the first; he had paid 7500 Turkish lira (about $3500) for it. He volunteered that it would, after repairs, sell in his Los Angeles shop for around $20,000. His advice for those of you planning on buying a carpet in Turkey--always buy one that's been used.
It was time to see the interior of the Blue Mosque. I had worn long pants, for the first time in two weeks, in preparation. V. had her legs covered and had brought along a scarf, but for those women who hadn't done this, scarves and wrap skirts were provided. We were handed bags for our shoes, and waded through a small trough of what V's socks later revealed to be bleach and water.
V and I in our mosque attire
Interestingly, this mosque and Westminster Abbey were the only major public buildings on our trip without security screening. The mosque is magnificent and to try and describe it here would be as futile as trying to describe a sunset. Suffice to say that the domes are stunning and, not surprisingly the carpet, which covers an area larger than a football field, is cloud-like to walk on. We spent a long time here. Well worth the sore necks and bleached socks.
Some of the domes in the Blue Mosque
Despite our appetites for extraordinary beauty being more than sated, we crossed the street and plunged into another magnificent display at the Hagia Sophia, a building which was constructed as a church in the 4th century, became a mosque a thousand years later, and finally turned into a museum by Ataturk in 1935. As with the Blue Mosque and Ephesus, the Hagia Sophia must be experienced to be appreciated, especially the bit where you get to stick your thumb in a well-worn hole in the stone, and twist your arm while making a wish.
Hagia Sophia, if you look closely you still can't see the thumb hole.
Having bloated ourselves on beauty, it was now time to take on the beast. The Grand Bazaar can no more be given its due here than could the other historic sites--at this point I understand if you, dear reader, are prompted to ask, "What the hell am I reading this for?" Nonetheless, I'll forge ahead and do the best I can. If your impressions of the Grand Bazaar have been gleaned from travel guides and spy novels, then you might think that it is a flood of humanity where you are swept along by throngs of pickpockets and overwhelmed by an olfactory assault of the septic sort. Nothing could be further from the reality. The place is an inviting warren of small streets and lanes suffused with seductive scents which make it impossible to feel lost even when you obviously are. And the crowds, while substantial, are not overwhelming, and . It is a place to immerse yourself for several hours or several days and simply enjoy.
My V, dazzling even amidst the Bazaar throngs
There is something to surprise and delight around every corner--a police officer on a Segway, a crowd of men on cell phones clogging a particularly small alley which turns out to be the Istanbul currency exchange, an intimate, treed plaza full of locals drinking--you guessed it--chai, which a plaque tells us is the courtyard of a 1500 year old inn. Then there is the delightful scene of a group of children laden with books and backpacks, and one has to wonder what life perspective they gain after having the passageways of the Grand Bazaar be their school commute.
The Istanbul currency exchange
We emerged from the Bazaar to find ourselves in a small square wedged between a mosque and the impressive gates of Istanbul University where we had--all together now, "Chai"--before lurching back to the hotel where we collapsed panting from sensory overload.
What a day!!
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