Istanbul, not Constantinople

Q: What do you call a Turkish school kid who takes your money?

A: An Istanbully

As I left for this trip, my wonderful big sister took my itinerary and gave recommendations from books and her friends for where to go and what to do at each of my destinations.  Most locations have 2 or 3 lines worth of text, but Istanbul, Turkey has 3 pages.  Considering that at one point, this place essentially was the center of the world, it’s completely understandable.  As opposed to giving a chronology of what we did, I’ll describe the places/moments that gripped me.

The Seaside

Along the Bosporus River at the Golden Horn peninsula in old town Istanbul lies a miles long shore of rocks bordering on boulders strewn as if God took his hand and tossed them as gravel lining the river.  The shore in and of itself is nothing extraordinary…there’s no inviting sandy beach and the water is choppy in behavior and dingy in appearance.  However, for local men, this is the place to hang out.  Stretching the entirety of my 30 minute walk along the seaside, grown men sat everywhere along the rocks.  Some fished, some read, some sat and stared at nothing in particular, some seemed to be working on their tan, some bathed, some played chess, some ate, and all seemed to be enjoying the company and comradarie of friends.  I often joke about how much fun it would be to make a fort like we all used to when we were kids.  You know, you and your buddies grab a few mattresses, pillows and anything else that can provide an impromptu barrier, make a sign for the outside, grab some Doritos and Cokes for the inside and camp out-protected from the world-until you have a truly good reason to leave.  At the shore I observed the same childlike attitude displayed in these men.  Presumably, many had finished work for the day and they were there to hang out and relax with their friends.  Better yet, some of the guys had taken some boulders and brought mortar or Quikrete to fill in the gaps and make their own fort where they can revel in their manhood.  I’ve found that as different as cultures may be, some traits remain ingrained in humanity…one of the most prominent of those is the need for friendship...we weren’t meant to be alone.  Some cultures go out and get drinks, some sit for hours in public baths, some play chess, some build forts by the sea, and some even play a little fantasy football.  Seeing this trait in other cultures makes me feel a bit more normal…and I look forward to observing this on the rest of my journey.

The Grand Bizarre

For some, Istanbul’s Grand Bizarre is an overwhelming and intimidating spectacle of commerce.  Vendors selling nearly everything you can imagine (and some things you can’t) stretch as far as the eye can see.  Many of the salesmen hurriedly approach and do their best to convince you that their item is exactly what you need.  I’ve been to my fair share of open air markets (I grew up in East Tennessee where you’re always within a 30 minute drive of a good flea market…ain’t my first rodeo) and love bartering, so I’m in my element in this sort of place.  Some of our group needed to buy a few items, but I didn’t have a thing to purchase, so I just enjoyed walking around and having friendly exchanges with salesmen.  Here are a few gems from the day (bear in mind, I always keep a smile on my face when talking with a vendor):

Vendor: My friend…you want cologne?

Matt: No thanks, I naturally smell good.

V: Look Turkish spinning top…50 cents!

M: I’d get dizzy

V: Socks…you need socks?

M: No thanks, my feet are really hot

V: My friend, we have shoes in your size

M:  I’m good thanks.

V: But we have jeans in your size too!

M: (scans the crowd and realizes I’m a relative giant) I doubt it man.

V: You come for carpet?!

M: No thanks, I don’t need a carpet

Awal: Yea, where are we going to put it?

V: By now, and I’ll ship it to you…where are you from?

M: Tennessee

V: Oh, like Texas…people in the south loooooooove carpets.

Awal: I do like carpet

M: It does feel nice on your feet

V: Come inside and look

M: No thanks, I don’t have a house…or really anywhere of my own to live

V: (puzzled) Oh…well…ok, bye

Awal: For real, how would we carry a carpet?

M: It’s probably the thing that is keeping us from total happiness.

The Grand Bizarre…gotta love it.

The Haggia Sophia

So far on this trip, Awal and I haven’t made many bad decisions.  Granted, the Sleeping Beauty Motel was a disaster but average is pretty high. Unfortunately, we made a mistake by choosing to walk through the Haggia Sophia instead of Topkopi Palace.  I had two reference citing Topkapi as the best place to see in Istanbul, but I went with the mindset of thinking “How can you go to Istanbul without seeing one of the most significant religious and historical landmarks in the world?”  Inside, the Haggia Sophia is an extremely interesting place…a true intersection of Christianity and Islam.  Christian mosaics uncovered after years of a plaster coating are a site to behold, not so much because of their beauty but because of their significance.  However, I think one can behold its exterior beauty and sheer mass and get 70% of the appreciation.  All I heard about Topkapi were raving reviews…each place was about $15 to enter and we only wanted to pick one…oh well.  Even so, the 30% of extra appreciation that one receives from standing inside the Haggia Sophia is significant, if only to let your mind wander and imagine what all transpired within the building.  For a variety of reasons, standing inside made me feel the effects of religion dictated by government…the ills of theocracy if you will (I have more thoughts on this, but not for this venue).

The Barbershop:

pre shave

After a few weeks of traveling, Awal and I both had begun to look a bit scraggly and considered a beard trim.  Personally, I’ve been a proud beard wearer for about 5 years now- and in that time I’ve only been clean shaven 3 times (once cause the Florida heat was too hot, once as a joke to get a creepy mustache, and once in Kenya because I felt like eagles would soon nest in there).  However on this day, we saw a sign outside a small barbershop in old city Istanbul advertising a shave/massage for 10 Lira (roughly $7) and decided to go for it (hey, I’ve always been curious about getting straight blade shave).  

We walked in and were escorted by a man sitting outside (who mar or may not have had anything to do with the shop) to some metal chairs sitting just inside the shop.  The barber, a man perhaps in his late 50s had longer grayish-black hair with a receding hairline and a fierce mustache spoke no English.  He looked a bit like a 70s-80s hair band rocker who was holding on to the remnants of former glory…or perhaps a guy who drives a Harley…or maybe, just maybe he looks like the most skilled barber in Istanbul.  His previous patron left and I jumped into the chair not knowing what to expect.  I gave a sign language descrption of what I wanted done by rubbing my beard and then signaling that a base runner is safe, then rubbed my head and gave the ‘don’t do it’ finger wag.  He smiled and nodded, rubbed my beard, and then said a few exasperated Turkish words presumably griping about the amount of facial hair he had to contend with.  In an instant, most of my beard was gone thanks to a pair of hair clippers and a narrow guard.  Then my new friend got some water out of a teapot that had been sitting on a hotplate and mixed it with some shaving cream, of which a heaping amount was lathered all over my face.  Carefully, he pulled out his razor, attached a fresh blade and slowly scraped the hair off my face.  One thing I didn’t really thing about, was the fact that a strange guy’s hands would be all over my lips and face…gotta admit, that was weird.  The barber (I really wish I knew his name) continued with his precision until my face was as smooth as marble.  He took great detail in getting every hair off my face and even put some sort of lotion on the nicked places.  I thought we were done at this point, but I was wrong.  From out of nowhere, a lighter appeared. Awal remained in his metal chair and through the mirror we had the unspoken communication of “Holy crap…what is he about to do with that?”  Turns out the lighter wasn’t to light a cigarette, instead to singe the tiny hairs off the end of my ear.  Rapidly, he whisked the flame over and over my ear, leaving it as bald as an ear can be. Fire=awesome.  Suddenly, I remembered that the sandwich board that advertised the shave also said “massage.”  Perhaps thankfully, no massage came with the price of the shave…

I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the face staring back at me…short hair and a cleanly shaven face?  Me 5 years ago, but that’s surely not someone I know.  I nodded a nod of thanks to the barber and gave the seat over to Awal and rubbed my smooth face, impressed with the barber’s work. Hey, I don’t shave often, but when I do it oughta be an experience right?

Even though this is lengthy, it’s a mere snippet of my thoughts and experiences. When I return I hope to sit down and expound on it all…give a bit more commentary and a few less reports.

 I hope you’re enjoying this journey with me…