Istanbul

[Originally posted Oct 15, 2014]

I would apologize for the length of this post, but to me that is the equivalent of this all too familiar scene: someone gets up to give a talk during sacrament meeting at church and before starting their talk preludes with the following - well, I forgot I was supposed to speak until last night, so I hurried and put this talk together, it’s not that good - and then the best part - so bear with me.  When I hear that I’m already asleep, if this guy isn’t excited about their talk, I’m gonna get a head start on my afternoon nap.  (The Mormons know this situation well, it’s one Jeff Edwards and I would love to gripe about as it was a frequent occurrence in good old AA).

Istanbul.  What a city.

It’s Tuesday evening, 6pm.  We’ve just had a cross-city jaunt to sign a FedEx form and pay 198 turkish lira (about $87 I think) to have FedEx deal with Turkish customs to allow the delivery of our rear hub.  I think we traveled 10 miles in 5 hours.  No biggie.  Rush hour traffic is alive and well, the beating heart of a city of 14 million people - walking, motorcycles, cars, buses, subways, trains, taxis, ferries.  It is quite an operation to move this many people.  Anyways, FedEx said the hub will be delivered Thursday, allowing for a visit to a bike shop Friday morning and, at best, a Sunday departure.  Which means we’d better get cracking on our list of things to do - we have yet to see Ayasofya and the Sultan Ahmed Mosque (the blue one).

So, what have we been up to?  Well, that’s a good question.  It seems that when we don’t have any cycling to do our days fall into a mess of disarray with only one tangible goal - eat (often accompanied by lots of walking).

Things I like about Istanbul:

The Call to Prayer.  Some may think it is a bit creepy, or maybe like Big Brother is watching, but I love it. The best part is that despite the blaring prayer heard throughout the city, it seems as though no one even flinches, they just continue on their way, never missing a stride.  If you stand on the Galata Bridge, just north of Istanbul over the Golden Horn, then you can hear the Call to Prayer from 6 or 7 mosques - a nice fusion of sounds from all directions.  Also a cool, somewhat unknown fact, the Call to Prayer is always the same prayer, except for in the morning when one line is added: Worship is better than Sleep.  Not a bad way to wake up.

Minarets, the Call to Prayer

History.  So much has happened here.  First Byzantium, then Constantinople and now Istanbul.  Within a couple minutes you can visit The Serpent Column, a sculpture of three intertwined serpents (heads now broken off) that Constantine brought here in the year 324AD to place at the center of the Hippodrome (but it was originally built by the Greeks to commemorate victorious battles from 479BC).  Just next to that is Sultan Ahmed Mosque, commissioned by the 19 year old Sultan Ahmed I in the year 1609.  And then you can jump on the Marmaray subway line, completed in 2013 that takes you under the Bosphorous Strait to Üsküdar - where we are staying.  When they were digging for the subway line they uncovered so many archeological findings that construction was delayed by 4 years.  So much has happened here.

Food.  Man oh man.  This topic requires more attention than can be given here, I think an entire post would not be sufficient, maybe an entire blog.  So I will just shoot off the highlights.  #1 - a visit to the Topkapi palace revealed the original marble slabs where phyllo dough was first rolled out allowing for Baklava, Borek and Samosa (Indian food here I come).

Where it (baklava) all began.

#2 - crossing the Galata Bridge reveals a couple hundred fisherman, all casting their lines into the Golden Horn, pulling out fresh fish for the nearby eateries.

Galata Bridge, fishing.

  #3 - Turkish Delight.  It’s a strange dessert, but if you put the right flavors together (pomegranate and dried cherries, lemon and marshmallow, chocolate and pistachio) you get a nice treat.

Turkish Delight

#4 - Hummus - we finally found it, along with some delicious hot bread and covered in olive oil, hummus.  My feelings for hummus rival my feelings for baklava and pain au chocolate. It’s a little gift from God. #5 - A fusion of east meets west at the Shake Shack - a Vanilla concrete with banana, baklava and caramel.  #6 Yogurt - pronounced “youh-urt”.  I take my yogurt in two forms - the first form is typical yogurt consistency, it comes in a large cylindrical container at the grocery store, you can get a kilo for a couple bucks.  I smother it on my fruit and muesli in the morning, and then I usually have a couple dollops of it alone.  So tangy, nothing like what Yoplait is making these days.  The other way I like my yogurt is in beverage form - if you go to any local kebab shop you’ll notice one thing, the giant meatstick out front (meat plywood, more on that later) and after that you’ll see everyone drinking the same thing - on a menu it translated to “dilute salty yogurt drink”.  It comes in a plastic container with a tear-away lid (although all the locals just jab the straw right through the top).  At first drink I was a bit skeptical, and rightfully so, it was awful.  Mildly dilute salty yogurt water, plugh.  I couldn’t even finish my cup.  But then the next day getting my kebab, there it is again.  And since EVERYONE is drinking it I decide it must be an acquired taste, and since I’ve only got 3 more weeks in Turkey (first to acquire the taste and then to actually enjoy it) I better get started.  I start drinking it at every meal.  And day by day it becomes more and more bearable and then, voila, yesterday it didn’t actually taste bad.  I assume tomorrow I will have be out of the woods and able to thoroughly enjoy it.

Yogurt through a straw.

#7 Kebabs - you know you’re getting close when you feel the heat from the cooker wafting down the road (Katy knows we are close cause she can smell it, I’m not so fortunate.  In fact, Katy often says, Clayton, you would eat a lot more if you could smell.)  I like watching the meat spin, it’s like staring into a fire as it slowly turns to glowing embers or watching the mesmerizing repetition of waves crashing on the shore.  I’m not exactly sure what animal grows in that shape, so I prefer to refer to it as “meat plywood”.  It tastes great, whether in a pita, a kebab, or a tortilla, it’s finger licking delicious stuff.

Kebabs.

#8 Other various treats, sütlaç (Turkish rice pudding) and Tavuk göğsü (a desssert with stringy pieces of chicken - not sure how I felt about this one).

Sütlaç

Tavuk göğsü

Open Markets.  The Grand Bazaar and the Egyptian Spike Market are just teeming with energy.  A constant buzz of ordered commotion.  Such a nice contrast to the hum-drum bore of Walmart and Costco.

Spice

The Grand Bazaar.

People. Chance encounters with great locals surely must be the backbone of any great trip.  Flavors leave the tongue and photos just end up a in dusty photo album but memories of conversations with strangers last forever.  Şerif (the little symbol under the S means you make the sh sound, and the dotted i means the ee sound) - a 37 year old native of a small village in southwest Turkey who has lived in Denver since he was six years old.  We met him on the ferry from Bandirma to Istanbul (it was his perfect English accent that quickly caught our attention).  We chatted for a couple hours on the ferry, finally able to ask all the questions we had been compiling in our mind.  One comment of his stands out particularly, he said that Turkey has a mandatory military assignment for all males when they turn 20 (deferrals available for university students) which significantly changes the way Turks view sending into soldiers to war (we had a long chat about Turkey and the Islamic State).  Başar - our WarmShowers host.  Our first host we’ve stayed with since Budapest.  He is the best, a true life saver.  He met us at the Üsküdar ferry station (Asian side of town) Friday night and walked with us the 500 meters or so to his apartment.  It’s rather small - a single bed and night stand are the only furniture, two rooms: one for the kitchen/bedroom/everything else and another for the bathroom/shower (but it’s one of those showers that lacks any sort of separation from the bathroom, the shower head is right in the middle of the room).  After we dropped our bike and belongings he took us off to his local restaurant.  Fish soup, grilled fish, salad, sandwiches.  Only once he was certain we were situated did he tell us that he had to leave.  Başar has two apartments - one about 10km east of town where he stays on the weekend and one right in the city where he stays for work.  We were told we could stay in his work apartment Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights cause he wouldn’t be there.  He came by Sunday afternoon to show us around some more.  We took the metro to Kadıköy where we walked through the market (it’s so great following someone through their own city - they know where to go, where to eat, the names of all the strange things in the market, a little bit about the history, some of the current events and politics - so much that you could never get on your own).  He pointed to some mushrooms (the variety that appeared familiar) and said, those ones are synthetic.  I never eat those.  And then as we passed Starbucks commented, the stuff in there is awful, I would never drink it.  We stopped at what he called the “best restaurant in Istanbul” where we had a delicious meal, although a bit pricey.  The restaurant hung a newspaper clipping from the New York Times that it had been featured in, some decades ago.  Once it was realized our bike part would be delayed Başar offered to let us stay in his apartment until we got everything sorted out.  So nice of him.  Nothing quite like showing up to Istanbul and being shown to your private (and free) apartment for the week. 

At the Serkici (the letter c makes a j sound) metro station I’m looking at a map of the Istanbul metro lines.  An old guy walks up to me, and putting the tips of his five fingers together lifts his right hand (fingers pointing up) and says ISTANBUL.  The hand gesture he has made is one I’ve become familiar with, Turks do it when they esteem something to be of great worth, precious or very expensive.  He said the word very slowly, carefully pronouncing each syllable (of note: Turks pronounce it eestanbul - accent on the ee - while Westerners pronounce it ihstanbul - accent on the tan.  The difference being that the Turkish alphabet distinguishes between a dotted and a dotless letter i.)  He said it again, pointing to the map of Istanbul, again very slowly.  Then he pointed to himself, again raised his right hand and repeated the name of his city (as if he had built it himself) ISTANBUL.  And to respond to his enthusiasm I pointed to myself and said, AMERICA.  And then a great look of delight swept over his face and he stepped towards me and gave me a big hug.  It wasn’t a hug that just came and went.  He really hugged, and then patted me on the back of the head. Then stepping back said, “America, Istanbul” and put his hands together, fingers interlocking with each other.  Now although this example is the extreme case, this is the general response we get when we tell people we are from America - some sort of expression of delight and charm, and then an interlocking of fingers or hands, to signal friendship between nations and people.

Sitting at a park bench looking at the Blue Mosque, a young guy approaches.  Hello, do you speak English, he asks softly.  Yep, I sure do, I respond.  I’m not trying to sell anything, but is it okay if I talk to you for a minute, I’m trying to work on my English.  Janesh grew up in Eastern Turkey, graduated from college with a degree in Mechanical Engineering and moved to Istanbul to try and find work.  He told us that he works in the mornings in the market (presumably making enough to just pay rent and get some food) but is “in between” jobs, he just arrived in Istanbul 2 months ago (surely hoping to find a job where he can utilize his education).  We chatted for quite some time.  He was a very soft spoken, humble individual, and it seemed that others depended on him - my guess would be that he’s a first generation college graduate sent to the city to make money and help support the family.  Maybe I’ve read too much into the situation, I don’t know, but it was obvious from our conversation that he spends his evenings walking around the city finding tourists to practice his English because there isn’t anything else he can do to either make money or improve his ability to get a good job.  This encounter has made us do more reflecting on life, wealth and the many different lives people live.  What do Westerners do with their free time?  Watch TV (cause we’re bored), spend time on social media (cause it’s easier than actually visiting friends), go to the gym (cause we drive around in our cars everywhere and don’t get the type of exercise people have gotten for the last couple thousands of years - walking) and when we have a lot of free time we travel (Katy and I being the perfect example - work for a couple years - travel for a year).  But what does this guy do with his free time?  Asks tourists if he can have 10 minutes of their time to practice his English so he can hopefully find a job.  It’s an interesting world we live in.

Things I don’t like about Istanbul.

Cats.  Nasty little creatures when they belong to someone, but stray ones? Don’t even get me started. 

Gross little things.

Begging.  My feelings on poverty and begging (typically for money) are ones that have changed throughout my life.  The Book of Mormon says (and I’ll paraphrase) aren’t we all beggars, don’t we all depend on God for everything that we have.  So when I see a beggar on the street a little piece of me always says, help them out, you have much more than them. But I can’t help but think that the laziness this reinforces is unacceptable.  What really drives me crazy though, is when parents force their children to sit on the side of the street all day long - either to beg themselves or to help make their parents situation look as tragic as possible.  If a kid is going to be poor and homeless, as unfortunate as that is, at least let them run around and play in the streets.  If parents resign themselves to sitting on a piece of cardboard, putting a frown on their face and holding out their hand for the rest of their life - well that’s one thing, but for a parent to teach their children to do the same, that I’m not okay with.

Istanbul