March 26th: Topkapi Palace, Bazaar, Istanbul hamam: This report is very clean

The muezzin is calling the faithful to prayer, and we are taking a break at tea time.  We saw Topkapi Palace today, including the harem, which seems to be the most popular – or at least the most crowded – tourist site in Istanbul.  We arrived shortly after opening at 9:15, and didn’t leave until 2:00, though to be fair, we did have lunch there.  We were disappointed to find the Hagia Eiriene permanently closed, although we had a great chance to wander around the archaeological dig that surrounds the church.  It is home to a huge colony of feral cats.  We headed off to the Grand Bazaar, which was actually very pleasant, as the salespeople were much less pressing than those in either Egypt or (especially!) China.  In fact, Ian hoped to buy a belt, and we found one that he liked, but there was no one nearby to inquire about the price!  We have "accidentally", due to limited Turkish, bought an entire kilo of baklava – no need for dinner now – and I am eyeing it as I type.  It is daunting.  We also bought chestnuts from a street vendor, (fabulous) and now we are off to the hamam (traditional Turkish baths) and to search for a decent cup of coffee.  The hotel serves Instant only, and tea is strong, dark, and served without milk or sugar.  Who knows, Ian might try to convince me to eat something more diabetic friendly than baklava!

You will be relieved to know that we are both extremely clean, thanks to our visit to the hamam.  More on that later, if you dare to read it!

At the start of a cool and rainy day, we walked along the Hippodrome to get to Seraglio point.  There are three columns remaining in what use to be the centre of the Hippodrome, where the Romans used to have horse races.  There are still three columns left here (well, two columns and an obelisk).  The granite obelisk was brought to Constantinople by Constantine, and sits on top of a Roman marble base, proving that the Egyptians made the better choice of carving materials.

Ian was attracted to the construction on the other side of the path by Hagia Sophia, and it turned out to be an archaeological dig.  He walked happily along the path, on the outside of the barrier, the scofflaw, having a lovely nonverbal communication with the workers.  Happy, that is, until he found himself on the wrong side of the security fences inside the construction zone.

You wouldn't believe the tiny gap between pallets of granite that he managed to squeeze through!  I kept to the path through the thousand vendors like a good tourist.

Since we’d been frightened off by the crowds outside Topkapi Palace on Saturday, we decided to head there right after breakfast.  Sure enough, we arrived in time to avoid the line-up and get our ticket.  Our first problem:  audioguide, personal guide, or guide book?  Having spent a lot of money on buying two audioguides everywhere we went on our last trip up Seraglio Hill, we decided to be economical and buy a guide book.  I reasoned that at least we could read it later, and at least we can.  Read it later I mean, because it is hard to read and walk at the same time.  We went back to get an audioguide to share, and discovered that we had to stand close together and block traffic, or else listen one after the other.  So back we went for a second audioguide.  After all, we may not get back here for a .

The guide book will be useful, I guess.  For example, I recently read what the inscription is above the gate to the first courtyard -- I'm not sure I realized it was a textual inscription, and not just the Turkish equivalent of Celtic knotwork!

Topkapi Palace is really a number of buildings, rooms, courtyards, and open spaces which were used by the Ottoman Sultans.  The original palace was built by Mehmet II after he captured Constantinople in 1459, and every sultan from there on (until they moved to the other side of the Bosporus in the 1800’s) had a go at making it better, or at least different.  Attaturk (the first president) made it into a museum in 1924, only 2 years after the republic was declared, and it now houses many of the treasures of the Ottoman Empire.  The buildings are in the real Ottoman style, and covered with tile on every possible surface.  The opulence is amazing:  deep window frames with fountains built in so that the breeze is cooled as it enters; terraces, called sofa, that command views of the Sea of Marmara and of the Golden horn; and cupboard doors inlaid with tortoise shell and mother of pearl.  Here are a few scenes to show you what they are like:

Between the two domes in the first reception hall.

Notice the blue tile, the silk lounges, and the tortoise shell and mother of pearl doors.  They aren't behind glass: they're just shiny.

There are both weapons and treasures on display in the museum, but you can’t take pictures.  I can’t resist showing you one or two “stolen” pictures.

A little "flask" about 14 inches high, made of gold, and encrusted with precious stones.  Of course, a servant carried it around for the sultan, because gold is HEAVY!.

The "spoonmaker" diamond, about the size of a pear.  There were lots of big diamonds and some of them were UGLY!  This one was sparkly and brilliant, but Ian said I couldn't have it.

You might recognize this as a bow.  But when you string it, you flex it around so that is bent in the completely opposite direction!  Lots of torque, or forward thrust, or whichever force makes arrows fly.

You need to pay extra to get into the harem, so we did.  We decided to share an audioguide, one earpiece each, but I don’t think our marriage can withstand another such attempt.

Actually “harem” means "forbidden", and it is where the sultan, his children, and his concubines lived.  The concubines had a horrible life.  They were young Christian girls, aged between 5 and 16, who were purchased from their families, forced to convert to Islam, and educated in the harem.  they were guarded by African eunuchs, and never permitted to leave the harem, until they passed down the 40 steps after death.  Most were simply servants, working in the kitchens, the laundries, and otherwise serving others.  The most beautiful and intelligent were trained as wives for high officials, or as “ladies” of the sultan.  Most slept in dormitories, but those lucky enough to bear the sultan a child were given rooms off a courtyard.  The harem was run by the sultan’s mother, who had a lot of power.  Princes and deposed sultans also live in the harem, and there was a lot of intrigue, rivalry and even murder amongst the high ranking ladies with sons in contention for sultan.  It isn’t quite the sexual fantasy one thinks about when one hears that the sultan had 800 concubines in the nineteenth century.

View of the sky and the Tower of Justice from the wives' courtyard.  This is about all they could see of the outside world.

We walked to Hagia Eireine, but all it said on the door was “Close for now.” [sic].  We thought that maybe it was closed on Mondays, or maybe unexpectedly closed just for the day, but no, they only open it for special occasions in the winter.  We were disappointed, as it is 1200 years old and has never been converted to a mosque, so we thought it have some interest.  However, we had fun looking at the archeological dig right beside it.  It is now a kingdom of cats. 

We were also surprised to see workers on cherry-pickers pruning trees right above the pathways in Topkapi park, without roping anything off!  Huge branches crashed right onto the sidewalk, without so much as a gardez-loo!

We headed off to the Grand Bazaar, an amazing labyrinth of streets and alleys, all under one roof.  I loved the Ottoman lanterns and the ceramics, but Ian didn’t think I would be able to get them home, and I don’t relish the idea of bundling them up into a backpack.  I also liked the pashminas and the leather goods, but Ian thought I would break them too.  The salesmen were not pushy at all, at least not after our Chinese experiences – well, the carpet salesmen and leather jacket salesmen were a bit aggressive, but everyone was really polite!  It was a bit difficult, because there isn’t a price posted anywhere, and once you ask the price, you’re halfway to a purchase, willy-nilly!

Only 20TL each!

 On the way back to our room, we saw Constantine's column, the grave of the last sultan, and stopped for a few pieces of baklava.  We thought we might buy four pieces -- twp each --  but ended up with a pound of the stuff.  I must practice my Turkish shopping vocabulary tonight!  We've had two pieces each, and I will have to sleep with one eye open if I want any more of the pistachio pieces.

We went back to our room where Ian read for an hour and rested, and I did an audioguide lesson in Turkish (I don't have a book right now, and we have only one Kindle!)  Then it was off to the hamam (Turkish bath).
 

We went to a famous 300 year old hamam called Cagaloglu (if you say Ka-ga-loo-loo they know what you mean) that has been visited by everyone from Florence Nightingale and Attaturk to Chevy Chase, Sharon Stone, and David Tennant.  It is supposed to be the most authentic experience, and is even featured in 1000 Places to Visit before you Die.  It certainly cost enough – 35 Euros for a basic wash, and cash only please!  After a trip to the autobank, we returned and Ian was ushered into the men’s side, and I went into the ladies.  We opted for the middle of the road option, at 60 euros.

First you go into a little cubicle and take off EVERYTHING!  The cubicle door has a clear glass top half, and I was closest to the entrance way, where ladies pause to get their bearings at the end of the hall, so there wasn’t a lot of privacy for changing.  My feet were too big for the wooden sandals they gave me, but they gave me another (men's) pair, and, wrapped only in a little flannelette towel, I locked my cubicle door and slipped out in to the first area.  No one there spoke English, but a lady finally came along and gripped me by the elbow, taking me into the bathing chamber.  There were about 15 women in there, all totally nude, and most seeming to know what to do.  My glasses had steamed up, and I was clutching them, and my key, and my towel firmly in both hands, feeling totally blind and very vulnerable.  Eventually my glasses warmed up, and I could dry them off and look around.  I was sitting on a huge hexagonal marble table – very warm and smooth – but most women who came in were sitting near sinks on the side and pouring water over themselves from small silver bowls.  I did likewise, still making an attempt to preserve my modesty.  Some women had come prepared with sponge bags, but not me! 

Fifteen minutes later, a woman in a black bathing suit came over and took my arm.  I got to use my Turkish lesson of the afternoon by saying “hello”, and then rapidly explaining that my Turkish is bad.  In my lesson, the speaker responds with “oh no, it's very good.”  Instead, my attendant agreed with me.

She motioned me to lie down, and when I attempted to lie face down, she heaved me over with a grunt of effort onto my back and took away the towel.  I was on one section of the hexagonal table, and although the lady took my glasses, I believe there were five other naked women of various ages, sizes, and physical condition, served up on the same hexagonal table, attended by other people.  Using a mitt, Susej, my attendant, scrubbed my front, rolled me on my side, scrubbed the side, rolled me onto my tummy, scrubbed my back, rolled me, and did the other side.  She was very very very extremely thorough.  Then she sat me up and did my arms, and I watched in horror as rolls of skin were peeled away by the silk washing mitt.   "Skin!" she said in English, and I agreed in Turkish.

Next it was over to the sink, where she first splashed cold water, then quite hot water on me.  Two teenaged girls had been splashing each other from the two sinks in this alcove, to Susej's obvious annoyance, and she sat me down on the floor between them, and proceeded to shampoo my hair.  And my face, underarms, and breasts.  I had to breathe through my mouth as I was encased in foam.  It was very weird tasting shampoo.  Then she splashed me again, and pummeled my shoulders in a percussive type of karate chop massage.  I had this urge to ululate like my sister and I used to do when we were kids, but I restrained myself.  Certain moments really stuck in my mind:  Susej squeezing my nose from top to bottom to drive out the shampoo foam; smiling to myself as I realized that my very private husband was getting much the same treatment on the other side of the hamam; reaching for my flannelette square every few minutes only to have it firmly taken away. 

I opted out of the sauna experience, and was eventually given a dry terry towel.  Ian went into the men’s sauna, and noticed that the marble benches were worn in little crescent shapes from the back of men’s knees over the last three hundred years.  (Then, being Ian,  he began to wonder what skin conditions these men had had.)

Back in my display case, I dressed, and realized that I needed to tip Susej.  Unfortunately, Ian was in possession of the day’s finances, and I had an American dollar and a Toonie on me.  I pressed them into Susej’s hands and fled before she could realize I am a lousy tipper.  Then I had to wait for Ian in what I now understood was the men’s changing room.  I turned to face one wall, but it was mirrored, and reflected the men's changing room.  I turned to face the other, and there were pictures of sultans, which bought me a few minutes.  I finished my wait by reading the names of famous people who had been in the baths before me:  Wolinski, Steve Irvin, Brain May, Rudolf Nureyew.  This is not my spelling, but a faithful copy.

At our delicious dinner, Ottoman style, Ian and I agreed that it had been an experience.  I no longer have any modesty, whatsoever, but what the heck?  I will never see any of those women again, and they were too busy being pummeled and cleansed themselves to be judging me.  I have the smoothest skin of all time.  My elbows have been erased, My feet are like pearls, and I am lucky to have eyebrows.  Any female mustache I might have had has been scrubbed off.

My audio course teaches me to say "I am an American", but of course, I'm not.  I asked the owner of our restaurant if I had the right grammar for announcing that I was Canadian, and he stopped to give me a very good little grammar lesson on the word "yim" which means "I am."  I am keeping the napkin he wrote on for future reference.

Tomorrow ends our stay in Istanbul, and I will be sad to leave this beautiful city and its friendly people.  Sad, but very clean.