Istanbul

We originally planned to stay in Turkey for two or three weeks.  After we received US State Department travel warnings, we considered dropping this trip.  But after monitoring new developments on TV news, we decided to stay a while.  I am so glad we did. 

Turkey is a fascinating Muslim country and Istanbul, the country’s largest city, is the country’s best source for history and culture. It has over 20 million people. We were told that it is 183 miles to drive across the city. Istanbul sits at the crossroads of Europe and Asia with Europe on one side of the Bosphorus Strait (which looks like a river) and Asia on the other.  Yes, Istanbul, Turkey occupies two continents.

Turkey has been home to many civilizations throughout its long history. From influences from its history under the Roman and Byzantine Empires to the Ottoman Empire, Turkey is saturated in religion, traditions, and wonderful food. 

This brings to mind the song my mother used to sing. “Take me back to Constantinople. No, you can’t go back to Constantinople, Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople . . . It’s nobody’s business but the Turks.”

Eighty percent of Istanbul’s population is Muslim. There are over 3,000 mosques in the city, but it also has Greek Orthodox churches and Catholic churches as well.  Istanbul also has five grand beyond-belief sultan’s palaces and world-class museums.  Not to be excluded, it has a lively and vibrant nightlife and crazy shopping scenes.  

On our first couple of days in Istanbul we took several guided walking tours to visit the old city area, where we walked into the towering and spacious Blue Mosque (the Sultan Amen Mosque) which is thought to be the grandest, Hagia Sophia, the most beautiful church, and Topkapi Palace Museum, the opulent, grand sultan’s palace.

Oh, the secrets those palace walls must have. Just let your imagination run free . . . powerful and lustful sultans, courtiers, ravingly beautiful concubines, and conniving servants lived in the sprawling sumptuous palace complex during the Ottoman empire. The Topkapi Place served as the residence of the Ottoman sultans until the 17^th century. It has exhibition halls, a treasury, and Harem. There are four main courtyards, each with a specific purpose, i.e. administrative, reception. etc.  The Harem “a forbidden place” to any unrelated male, was home to the sultan’s women: his wives and young children, their female relatives and their servants and eunuchs, and in separate quarters the sultan’s concubines. They were all schooled inside the complex in Islamic religion and culture. As I understand it, life in a harem was secluded from the world and yet highly competitive within. 

In other tours, we found one of the newer mosques, the Taksim Mosque, and walked the main brand-name shopping street . . . it was their day like Black Friday. The line to get into Zara at opening hour was a quarter mile long. We learned a lot about Turkey’s history and culture . . . even got a peek into the cultural change that is going on at this time as the younger generation prepares to take over.  As it seems, just as it is with many faiths around the world, there are plenty of younger ones who call themselves Muslim but no longer actively practice the faith, question some of its principles, and do not let religious faith separate them from others. 

Educated thirty-year-olds with young families have a new more Western-world way of thinking but they have parents who still practice strict traditional Muslim ways. A change may be going on. Another sign things are becoming less structured: alcohol use is not allowed in the Muslim faith but plenty of people here do drink. Some instead of alcohol; some prefer the relaxation that smoking a hookah provides. Whereas pubs may be loud and boisterous, hookah loungers are quiet and meditative. But 80% of Istanbul’s residents smoke cigarettes. Even ladies in their scarf and hijabs openly smoke cigarettes

Arranged marriages no longer take place but parents and extended family play an important part in the approval, engagement, and marriage practices. 

One tour guide told us that two events are necessary for a boy to become a man.  

First, at about the age of nine, boys are circumcised. It is compulsory. The event is witnessed and later celebrated by the extended family and friends with gifts of gold, calling to the awkward young boy, “You are a man!” 

The second is military service. Every man after high school or university must serve one- or two-year service unless they are unfit or can afford to buy a deferment – usually 6,000 US$. There is no glory in a purchased deferment. 

There is a politically and emotionally charged society here. The first demonstration we encountered but left immediately was a celebration of teachers at Taksim Square, the next was a gathering protesting USA support of Israel. They chanted slogans that said, “Do not spend money at Starbucks; do not spend money at Burger King . . . they spill the blood of Palestinian babies.” Yet the protesters wear Levis and carry iPhones. Some stone walls along sidewalks are covered with pasted-on blood-stained baby bottles. pacifiers, and ribbon. saying Israel is a baby killer.

The third demonstration that we did not see but knew something was going on because we saw a heavy police presence was a demonstration for women’s rights and the support of the LGBTQ community. 

Aside from today’s sad politics, the city is completely mesmerizing. I dread to think about getting around without Google Maps. The city is huge with people going this way and that. Istanbul straddles two continents, three bodies of water, and has hills that make the buns burn.

I seldom see a woman minding a shop or working in a restaurant. I am told that everyone works because living expenses are so high and typical earnings are low, but I rarely see an employed woman. I must assume they work behind the scenes.  They are probably the doctors while their husbands run the restaurants.

Turkish food is amazing. I could live on it. The main ingredients are beef, lamb, onion, cucumber, peppers, eggplant, tomatoes, bulgar, and yogurt. The secret to its delectable taste is the special blend of spice and the open-fire grilling used. The good news . . . it’s good for health. 

But not all Turkish food is healthy. Turks love their sweets! They call it Turkish Delight. They have cakes and baklava but what they really love is logs of chewy nougat candy rolled in pistachios, coconut, chopped walnuts, or even pomegranate and sliced into ¼” rounds. Not overly sweet, but these treats are heavenly. They are sold by a minimum half-kilo purchase. It is so good that it is deadly! It’s hard to take just one slice.

One final note about Istanbul. Stan and I took Turkish baths in a bathhouse that has been serving Istanbul since 1481. It has had a few renovations over the years but entering it is like a walk back in time. Made of nearly all marble, with soaring domed ceilings, and brass water fixtures, the baths are ancient but beautiful to behold.  

The full story about experience is probably one for another day but I will just say this. Stan and I are pretty modest when it comes to marching around in our birthday suits. In a Turkish bath, except for some paper bubble panties, all is for the world to behold. I cringe.  

It was hot, steamy, exfoliating, and relaxing. A bit more . . . ordinarily, men receive their baths in one place and women in another. Not today. My attendant walked me into the initial hot and steamy treatment room with a thin towel wrapped snuggly around me. Whoa! The steamy marble room was already filled with 5 or 6 Turkish men wrapped in towels at the waist lounging about on the heated marble platform. They were talking and laughing as if at a party. As the only woman in the room, I slinked in. I felt miniscule and exposed. On a corner of the platform, Stan waved me over. During the 30-40 minutes we steamed, I tried not to look at the men. I just couldn’t. They behaved as if I was not even there, thankfully. If one had said hello, I’m sure I would have nearly died. The facility for ladies was being renovated, they said. I cringe. 

We baked or maybe better said, we poached.  Thank goodness for Stan. He didn’t interact with the men either.

Attendants steamed us, soaped us, scrubbed us, and massaged us into oblivion. When we left after the three-hour ordeal, our skin looked like a baby’s. Our muscles felt loose and limber.  

Will I do it again? Yes. At the first opportunity, I’m brave now!