Istanbul

Istanbul 2006[1] I had been to Istanbul in 1990, during the same trip on which I met Blanca. But she’d never been, and I was eager to go back. The combination of Easter Vacation and very cheap tickets did the trick.

Istanbul is like Rio, in the sense that its setting guarantees its success, whatever else might be going on.[2] It is framed by water: the Sea of Marmora to the south and east, the Golden Horn separating the northern and southern European sectors, and the Bosporus, which separates the European and Asian (Anatolian) sides. The Galata Bridge connects north and south over the Golden Horn, and there are two suspension bridges over the Bosphorus. Ferries ply numerous routes.

The city is huge: about 13 million inhabitants. And it keeps growing at a dizzying pace. The noise and the traffic are not ideal for those with delicate nervous systems. Yet with its wonderful setting and the remains of Rome, Byzantium, and the Ottoman Empire scattered all over, one tends easily to ignore the hubbub.

Monday, April 17.

We left Valencia late in the afternoon. The trip to Istanbul takes about 4 hours. The flight was marred by a large group of bratty teenagers who insisted on screaming and congregating in the aisles. We were relieved to get to our destination, which was an outlying airport (not the main, Ataturk) on the Asian side of the Bosporus, over an hour’s drive from central European Istanbul. The Avlonya Hotel (Kukuklanga Caddesi #59) is ideally located in the busy, commercial Aksaray district. Its biggest draw is the nearby tram line that makes Beyezit (Grand Bazaar), Sultanahmet (Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, Topkapi Palace), and the European side north of the Golden Horn easily accessible. Although our window looked out on the busy, noisy bus station/truck depot that serves Eastern Europe, we had superb views of the Sea of Marmora, which, during the afternoon and evening, was always filled with brightly colored freighters.

On the auditory side, we had a number of mosques nearby, so that we could not easily miss the muezzin’s 5 daily calls to prayer. This is a disconcerting, plaintive wail, somewhat like what might be emitted by a corpulent, poorly trained opera singer whose testicles are being squeezed in a vise. It is particular arresting at 5 o’clock in the morning, when one tends to be having nightmares.

Tuesday, April 18.

We dedicated the day to discerning the “macro-structure¨ of the city. Later, based on a little knowledge, we would explore in more detail what we liked. We walked around Sultanahmet, cruised the Market, and crossed over to the “Pera” (new) part of the European side.

Wednesday, April 19.

We visited Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, and the Grand Bazaar. In Justinian’s former church, Sultanahmet´s mosque, and one of the most famous emporium’s in the world, Blanca was in heaven. In the latter, she had her identity triumphantly reaffirmed: “compro, ergo sum.” (I must admit that I also had a great deal of fun bargaining and kibitzing with the storeowners of this amazing “Ali Baba´s cave.”)

Another milestone of the day: Blanca discovers “apple tea” (elma çai).

Thursday, April 20.

Topkapi Palace. The Ottomans conquered Constantinople in 1453. Soon after, Mehmet the Conqueror started constructing the royal residence, on the tip on the peninsula jutting out between the Golden Horn and the Sea of Marmora. The palace was the home of the sultans until they began to prefer things European and built the Dolmabaçe Palace on the northern side. Topkapi is constructed around a series of large courtyards, which include the areas reserved for public business as well as those for private residence (the Harem).

Friday, April 21.

We were looking forward to cruising the Bosporus (31 kms from the Golden Horn to the Black Sea). There’s a ferry that leaves the main terminal at Eminonu, and makes various stops on both the European and Asian shores. We went as far a Sariver, treated all the way to spectacular views of palaces, private mansions, mosques, forts, and bridges. Then we caught a bus back to Taksim Square, the heart of the “new” part of Istanbul. We walked from there down Istalki Caddesi, the main “luxury” street. We ate in Haci Baba Restaurant, whose almost unheard of “non-smoking” section was better than the food (30€).

After having so much enjoyed the “Turkish Baths” in Budapest, we were eager to try out the real McCoy.[3] It was thus with considerable emotion that we repaired to the Çemberlitas Hamman, an exquisite Ottoman building designed by the great architect Sinan, who had been the mind behind the Mosque of Suleiman the Magnificent (as well as numerous other gems).

You pay as you enter. Blanca wanted the complete “deluxe” treatment, which includes an oil massage. I settled for “normal.” For the both of us, the tab was 80TRY (about 60€). They give you a plastic chit, which specifies what you’ve paid for, and a loofa mitt. The men and women have totally separate facilities, unlike what is often found in Hungary.

I wished Blanca good luck and passed into the men’s area. Up the stairs, and I am shown to my cubicle, where I am issued a bath sheet and rubber slippers.

I then proceed to the hot area, where I sit and lie down on a huge marble slab. The object is to start sweating profusely. There are half dozen other clients doing the same thing, all with the same expression of apprehension. On the wall is a huge sign: “No Smoking.” (Muhammad’s beard!!! Imagine anyone wanting to smoke in a steam room!) Another sign prohibits nakedness and going without sandals.

After about 20 minutes, my bath attendant (“tellak”) presents himself. His name is Mustafa, and he is about my age. But there is nothing at all “old mannish” about him. He looks like something off the cover of a 19th-century cigarette tin, and his diabolical smile reminded of the soldier who beats Peter O´Toole in Lawrence of Arabia. (“Yes, Efendi.”) Here is a fellow whose mother never taught him to play nice as a child.

He asks if I speak English. He doesn’t.

After smiling at me again, he has me lie down on the slab, while he works me over with a loofa and bar of soap. When he finishes, he pours basins of water over me. Then he proceeds to rub me with what seems like bubble-bath. I’m completely covered with spume, and he starts his “massage.” Let’s say that he was not gentle. He pulled me here, while he karate-chopped me there. He then seemed to take great delight in sliding me back and forth over the frictionless plane of the soap-covered slab. At this point I felt like I was being fed through a high-pressure car-wash.

Then he threw more basins of water over me and sat me down next to a cistern, where he proceeded to shampoo me. At one point I thought he was trying to gouge my eyes out.

Finally, he was done—Allah be praised. He asked me where I was from, and I told him I was Spanish. He shook my hand energetically and smiled again: “Propina.”

I was then led to the shower, where I washed off. I returned to the hot slab for a while, on my own, and sweated some more. I showered again. Another attendant wrapped me with towels, and I returned to my cubicle, where I rested on the cot and tried to stop sweating.

Blanca’s experience was entirely satisfactory. It seems that the women continue the age-old tradition of having lots of fun at their bath. Evidently the female attendants were in high spirits, belly dancing and cutting up in various ways. The women’s baths have always been centers of social life.[4] Unlike the men, women are allowed to go naked. The female attendants wore bikinis, and Blanca said that several of them were attractive. She emerged from her bath and message sparkling clean and completely relaxed. We finished the night at a restaurant that served traditional Ottoman cuisine. Fine day!

Saturday, April 22.

We made the rounds of a number of mosques: Lelele Cami, Beyerzit Cami, and, most importantly, the mosque of Suleiman the Magnificent. It´s breathtaking and the views over the Golden Horn and Bosporus are memorable.

We then wound our way down toward the Sea of Marmora, to the fisherman’s quarter of Kumkapi, where we had a fresh (although very expensive) fish lunch (100 TRY—61€). After another session at the Grand Bazaar, we headed back to the hotel.

Sunday, April 23.

Dolmabaçe Palace. This is the 19th-century palace of the Sultans after they left Topkai. “Opulence squared” doesn’t begin to do it justice. The place makes Versailles look like a monastery. It has hundreds of rooms, each one decorated with lavish magnificence. The chandelier in one of the main rooms is evidently the largest in the world.

We went back to Eminonu, where we had delicious fish sandwiches, for 2 TRY, followed by simit (sesame rolls) and cheese (5 TRY). We made a final pass at the market. The biggest coups were beautiful cashmere scarves, “pashminas,” and antique calligraphy.[5]

Monday, April 24.

This was not a great day. We had to check out of our hotel room at 12:00. The bus was supposed to pick us up at 1:45, to take us to the airport in Asia. At 2:15 it finally arrived, but we learned that we would have to pick up people at 5 more hotels. For the next three hours, we fought through the labyrinthine, narrow, traffic snarled streets, often going in circles. There was not enough room in the luggage compartment, so the baggage of the last passengers rode in the aisles. After four hours, we finally made it to the airport, where the charter plane had been delayed waiting for us.

The flight was, as they used to say in the 60´s, a hassle. The same group of teenagers that had tormented me on the inbound trip was still very much a presence. Four hours of screaming, jostling adolescents made for a miserable time. And they served no liquor at all on the flight!

But when we finally reached Alcantera, we were back in good form. After a bottle of “Marques de Riscal” (2000), even better.

We both enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. I felt that we’d merely touched the surface of what there was to see and experience. And Blanca undoubtedly felt frustration at the fact that there still remained unpurchased merchandise in the Grand Bazaar. I hope we’ll return. What a magnificent city!

[1] As is usually the case, Lonely Planet was the first stop in planning: Turquía (2005) and Estambul y lo Mejor de Turquía (2005). Also helpful were: Estambul (Guías Visuales, El País, 2005); Estambul (Guías Océano, 2005); Estambul: Cuna de Civilizaciones (Mert, 2006).

[2] There is a fine description of Istanbul in John Freely´s Istanbul: The Imperial City (Penguin, 1996), one of the books I bought at a wonderful bookstore (“Bookshop”) in Sultanahmet that specializes in English language material on Turkey.

[3] An indispensable resource for all serious hydrophilics is Orhan Yilmazakaya´s Turkish Baths: A Guide to the Historic Turkish Baths of Istanbul, Çitlembik, 2003. It tells you everything you might want to know about the history and culture of the baths, as well as giving practical advice about how to act when there.

[4] There’s a wonderful chapter—“An Autocrat at the Hammam”--in Irfan Orga´s Portrait of a Turkish Family (Eland, 1988), which describes the comportment of an upper-class Ottoman matriarch at the baths. It surprised me to learn that the baths served prospective mothers-in-law with opportunities to check out the bodies of marriageable young ladies.

[5] When Ataturk established the Republic in 1923, he instituted the use of the Roman alphabet. The calligraphy in Arabic is thus becoming a beautiful rarity.