March 27th: Hosca kalin Istanbul!

Once again the muezzin is letting us know that the sun is setting.  The call to prayer is five times a day, based around the rising and setting of the sun.  This muezzin has a particularly pleasant voice. 

Our busy last day began with breakfast in the hotel, followed by a walk to the Mosaic Museum, which Ian was particularly looking forward to.  They made the museum by putting a roof over the excavation of the Imperial Palace and its amazing golden mosaics.  When we got there, however, the museum was closed for roof repair.  Figures that the only modern part of the building is the thing that doesn’t work. 

We went to the museum of Turkish and Islamic Arts, where I learned more about carpet than I knew there was to know, and saw examples of traditional Turkish homes.  We went back to the Archaeological Museum, and had time to see the parts we had missed, then sauntered through the now familiar streets to our hotel to take the minibus to the Asian Airport, about an hour out of town.   It was a wild ride! 

I tried very hard to check into the wrong hotel, and Ian got to use his best German to get us to our new hotel, which doesn’t really quite exist.  No one here speaks English, and I can’t get the Internet password.  Therefore, I hope two blogs will be posted tomorrow.  Ian haas just handed me a wine glass of water, and I have just eaten the best ekmek (bread) of all time.  I THINK I’ve called a cab for tomorrow at 5:30.  Now for an evening of flat out relaxing.

We began our last day with breakfast in the sunny breakfast room of our hotel.  Milk isn’t served with coffee, tea, or breakfast cereal here, but I am learning to enjoy the fragrant, fruity, and slightly bitter Turkish tea on its own.  There are boiled eggs, olives, tomatoes and cheese served with bread for breakfast, as well as a muesli made from uncooked oats, which we top with thick Turkish yogurt, then drizzle with just a hint of honey.  I had pomegranate honey this morning, and enjoyed it as I watched cats and birds on the roof, with the obelisk from the Hippodrome visible over Ian’s shoulder.  Ian watched the ferries cross the Golden Horn from his direction, and although we are looking forward to the rest of our trip, it was sad to think that we wouldn’t have any more time after today to explore this amazing city.

We got a bit lost looking for the Mosaic Museum, which was not really our fault because the signage was down since the museum was closed.  I guess we should have asked one of the seven hundred carpet salesmen who have become close personal friends since we arrived three days ago.  I felt so sorry for Ian, who had really wanted to see this museum and saved it for last, as we looked upon the museum and cursed our fate.  However, Ian was philosophical and pointed out that there were a lot of things in Istanbul that we would like to see but for which we lacked time, and now we had room in the schedule for something else.  Sometimes he likes to make me feel small and petty like that.

I knew exactly what would fit into the schedule:  The Museum for Turkish and Islamic Arts, also know as the ethnographic museum.  I looked it up in the guidebook and towed Ian away. only looking up when he pointed out we were passing the entrance, which, according to the guidebook, is supposed to be around the corner!

I particularly enjoyed the dioramas of traditional Turkish homes, including a yurt, or felt tent, a cotton “black tent” (both of which are still used by nomadic people in Turkey), the stone cottage, and the wooden house.   Because traditional Islamic art does not portray living animals, especially people, in their art, the figures in the displays are made of plain white cotton, then dressed in traditional costume. There were examples of all of the plants, and even creatures, used in dying, and the colours they brought to the wool.  

 I also really enjoyed a group of Turkish girls on a school trip, wearing identical long black coats and brilliantly coloured and individualized head scarves.   Instead of working on their assignments, they were flirting with the boys in the Nineteenth Century Istanbul house.  Recognizing their malingering, I thought I should step in, but Ian felt that I was off duty.  I still think that if I could have used one of my few Turkish expressions in the right tone of voice, perhaps “The woman is drinking tea,” they would have gotten right down to work.

The next floor had an amazing carpet display.  There were carpets that were woven and underfoot before Shakespeare was born.  I learned that the “British India” rug in Nana and Uncle Jim’s living room is actually a Damascus medallion type wool carpet with Chinese cloud borders, is probably dyed with vegetable dyes, has senna assymetrical knots, and is probably worth a lot of money. 

The carpet on the far left is from the late 15th century.  It was under someone's feet before Shakespeare was a glimmer in his father's eye!

  We also saw a lot of books, and I was intrigued to see that they also have a “front” spine, with a triangular fold attached, so that both sides of the book are protected.  The calligraphy in some of the Koran texts was so tiny and intricate.  I wonder if the scribes knew when they worked, only one or two hundred years after the Prophet died, that their texts would last for nearly a thousand years.  

This is the cover of a beautiful leather book with gold leaf and hand tooled roses, overlaid with mother of pearl.  The part at the side is to protect the cut pages.  Can you imagine how important someone considers the words in this book?

  Before we left the museum, we had a traditional “certified” cup of Turkish coffee.  Ian wondered what “certified” meant, and was suitably impressed when I listed the five criteria for official Turkish coffee.  I read it off the poster right behind him.  It was brought on one of the traditional silver trays, and the tiny china cups fit into silver holders.  Each person got a tray, which had a little hole punched to hold a silk tassle, with a tiny cup of coffee, a glass of ice water, and a small covered dish holding one piece of Turkish Delight.  The coffee was strong but very good.  The bottom third of the cup was a fine sludge.  The water was probably very necessary!

Too bad you can't see the little silk tassel that I tucked up underneath.  You could literally stand a sppon in this, I think, if they gave you a spoon.  (You never stir Turkish coffee)

 We marched confidently off to the Archaeological Museum, having been there before, but right at the last moment I decided we should probably go the way we had been the last time, through the first Topkapi courtyard, but since Topkapi is closed on Tuesdays, the soldiers wouldn’t let me through.  They were very nice about it, but quite adamant that I should go around.  Ian looked a little embarrassed.  We passed by little coffee shops on the side of the steep hill, where at least one cat had taken up residence.

Ian actually tickled the toes of another feral cat on a simlar divan a bit further down the street.  I just about fainted, but the cat rolled its eyes (figuratively) and ignored him.

 At the Archaeological Museum I decided to buy a four pound guide/catalogue to go with the four pound guide book already in my purse.  As we were getting it, I mentioned how sorry I was to have missed the Hellenistic sculpture.  It turned out that we had bypassed the temporary exhibition hall last time through, and got to see some jaw-droppingly beauty.  I was practically in tears by the end of the first floor, and Ian was equally moved.  I was very struck by a funerary statue of a mother saying good-bye to her young son.  No, kids, I didn’t actually cry in public.

This is about life sized,, and comes from a funerary stele.  A mother is sadly saying goodbye to her son.  Although you can't tell what she is handing him -- a ball?  an apple? -- it is the last thing she will do for him in this world.  Their faces are so sorrowful!  Maybe I cried a little.

 We also got to see many of the artefacts mentioned in the course I was taking on Turkish history prior to Constantinople, especially respresentations of Cybele, the mother goddess, and I am so excited to visit a few of the places where these grave goods were found.  Besides the cedar lined tomb of King Midas’s grandfather, a jumble of images stand out in my mind:  the chain that was used to block the Bosporus, each link more than a foot long; the head of the snake from the serpent column in the hippodrome;  the bronze of Hadrian, and the marble busts of Agrippina and Augustus. (Ian wanted to name our daughter Agrippina.  Lucky for her she was a boy.)   I was moved by the statue of an ethope, a twelve-year-old boy athlete, who is resting under his felt cloak after an event.  I also was moved by a much more than life sized statue of the poet Sappho, who looks wise and sensitive.  Ian also loved the sculpture, but says he would not have ranked my two at the top.  Lucky for you that I’m the one writing the blog!  And what’s the deal with Hermaphroditus? I don't wnat to bore you, but here are a few examples:

I had hair just like this a few weeks ago!

Devotional figure of Cybele.  She is a big deal as the Mother Goddess, and changed the way that the Greeks and Romans saw Artemis.  Some people even claim that she is the reason between the popularity of the Virgin Mary in the Christian church.

Oceanus, god of rivers.  This fountain is more than five feet tall.

A beautiful example of mirror Arabic script in tile.  Once hung over the entry doors of a mosque.

Ian and a hunk of the chain that once spanned the Bosporus.

We took a minibus out to SG airport, and managed to find the Turkish airlines counter and get our new itineraries – they changed a few days before we left, then headed next door to the ISA Airport Hotel.  They sent a shuttle to meet us.  I handed them our passports, but they couldn’t find our reservations.  The porter had stacked our bags, but I dug through them until I found the one that was for their hotel – except it wasn’t.  By mistake, I had booked a hotel about 15 minutes away from the airport.  They called us a cab, and Ian kept saying it didn’t matter (but it kind of did!)  Our taxi driver didn’t speak any English, but did know German, so Ian dragged up his German of 30 years ago and tried to tell him where we wanted to go.  Eventually the driver understood, thanks to his great German and the fact that I showed him the address.  I even got to use German I didn’t know I had when he rolled down the window and asked, (I think) if I minded, and I replied (I think) nein sehr gut.  (Thanks Ian for the spelling.)  The driver stopped at the taxi stand to get further instructions, and then stopped us out in front of a building under construction.   The taxi driver couldn’t make us understand what to do, so he got out and carried my bags to the elevator.

On the third floor there is a lobby.  No one in the lobby speaks English.  By giving them our passports, which they photocopied, we obtained a key. 

The apartment is lovely, which it should be since it costs as much as the hotel I thought I was staying in.  It has two bedrooms, a kitchen, a sitting room, and a bathroom with a shower, if I can remember how to wash myself after the hamam. 

The menu for room service is a bit eclectic.  We are accustomed to faulty translations on the menu:  so far we have seen “pudding of carmelized breast of chicken with raspberry sauce” as a dessert, and “chicken cooked with tomatoes and hasish” on last night’s menu.  However “sausages served on a tile”, and “hamburgers on scalloped potatoes” didn’t interest us, so we went downstairs to a grocery store and got cream cheese, sausage (Ian doesn’t eat pork, but this is a Muslim country, so it doesn’t matter that we can’t read the labels, and the best little loaf of bread of all time.

I’ve been down to order a taksi, but had no idea where to begin for “Internet Password” or “Wake Up Call”.  Through open floors of the construction site next door I can see the airport and our “other” hotel.  I hope we make it there in the morning!

The view from our suite.  The round roofs through the pillars is the airport.