Day 80 - Kitty City to Dogtown

The Aussies had errands to run in the morning, so Cz and I decided to visit the Blue Mosque on our own. From the outside it is a smooth confection of white stone, each segment swelling smoothly into the next. Inside the arches are all covered in tile, mosaic, and paint depicting swirling floral and graphic patterns. It sits across the courtyard from Haggia Sophia. Yesterday Cz got a great photo of The Blue Mosque from the window of Haggia Sophia. Today it was a view of the Haggia Sophia framed by the arch to the courtyard of the Blue Mosque.

Inside the mosque is considered a holy place. Female visitors are requested to wear a headscarf and long skirt; male visitors to wear long pants. Everyone must remove their shoes before entering the space. I borrowed a scarf from Aussie Girl, and we tried to respect the rules to the best of our ability. We were shocked though at the behaviour of other Americans. They traipsed around as if they owned the place, scarfs tossed over their shoulders, men in shorts, almost all talking loudly as their cameras flashed away. I am not Muslim, but a place of worship is a place of worship whether it is your particular brand or not.

We were in the mosque between calls to prayer. Two workers were calmly vacuuming the carpet. A few worshipers were still praying, kneeling towards Mecca. The workers just pushed the vacuum around them. Haggia Sophia felt almost like a museum. The combination of maintenance men and worshipers gave the Blue Mosque - an architectural marvel to be sure - the feeling of being a real, functioning place.

At noon, we (the Aussies, Cz and I) met at the hostel to head down to the docks to have another go at taking a ferry ride. We arrived at the waterfront around 12:30, with an hour to kill before the next seabus would be heading out. As always, thinking with our stomachs, we stopped for another mackerel sandwich, and then strolled across the bridge the fishstalls, where a man was frying sardines fresh from the water. A group of rickety tables, even more rickety umbrellas, and the requisite cats clustered above the stall. We settled in for our second lunch of sardines with rocket salad and fresh apple tea.

After thoroughly stuffing ourselves, we hopped on the ship. The seabus is like a commuter ferry. We had heard that rather than taking one of the expensive tours, we could take the ferry out to a particular suburb (I have forgotten the name) and cover the same route for a fraction of the cost. The water of the Bosporus is somewhere between cerulean and windsor blue. It is surprisingly clean and clear, and loaded with fish visible just below the surface. On our boat ride we even saw some porpoises leaping near the shore.

On land, the shapes and skylines of Istanbul unfolded behind us. The silhouette is so different from US cities. Coastal cities int he US tend to be vertical geometric affairs - rectangles and cubes cutting up into the sky, with very little reference to shape of the land beneath. In Istanbul the buildings are generally more low-slung, punctuated by the domes and minarets of the mosques, and the occasional palace or tomb, but even these grander structures seem somehow frothy compared to the solid shapes of the west.

The town itself (we thought it was a suburb, but really it´s more like a bedroom community) was on the Asian side of the Bosporus. Even though it was only and hour and a half by water from central Istanbul, it had entirely different feel. For one thing, where Istanbul is ruled by packs of stray cats, this town is marshaled by stray dogs. Most are quite large, but seem to be predominantly shy and friendly - we were never growled at or otherwise threatened by them. The town itself was a riot of colour, sound and smell. It´s a smaller town, but somehow it seemed more full of people all honking their horns, gossiping in doorways, and selling anything from fruit to fishing gear. We stopped in a bakery so Aussie Boy could pick up some sweet cakes. The light coming through the window and the smell of fresh bread combined to make a sense of timelessness, despite the steady stream of cars and buses just outside.

From our shop, we went on to find some apple tea. We drifted toward a cafe near an excited looking crowd, the women all holding silk roses. Turns out there was a wedding next door! The waiters in the cafe spoke no english. Luckily another patron heard us trying to order, and translated. We sipped our tea (best apple tea yet) and craned our necks to watch the crowd just over the tea-shop´s hedge. We never got more than a glimpse of the wedding couple, but thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of celebration.

Then back to the docks for the return ferry to Istanbul. At one point the view was of the landmasses of Asia and Europe practically touching noses across the channel. It´s an almost surreal feeling being at such a cultural crossroads, and one with such deep roots. In Istanbul, one is aware of the Ancient, rather than the merely old. At first, I felt that in Istanbul, the now rubbed shoulders with the then. That may be so, but more accurately, I feel that the then permeates the city. Even the modern shops and ferryboats seem to remember their roots as ancient trading sites and shipping routes. And we, as modern tourists are only mimicking the path of other Europeans, other Asians, other people seeking out adventure, riches, exoticism, etc had trod for centuries.

Day 79 - Istanbul or Constantinople

Travel issues under control-ish, today we devoted almost entirely to being tourists. As stated, Aussie Girl and we share many common interests, including what we would like to visit in in Istanbul. We met up in the morning, and were soon joined by her pal, Aussie Boy, whom she met on the plane and was staying at a different hostel.

Our first stop was unplanned. We were walking towards Haggia Sophia when a bride crossed out path. Then another. And another. And another. A busfull (literally) of brides descended and made a slow circuit of the courtyard, having their photos taken by tourists and wedding guests alike. They were also applauded and cheered by wedding guests and tourists alike, which is as it should be, under the circumstances.

Yesterday, I saw a man with a silver pot on his back in the courtyard. I had no change to buy a glass of whatever was in the pot, so I felt that I couldn't take a picture. He was there again today, and was well aware of his photographic appeal, calling out "Photo, Photo" rather than "Juice, Juice". Even so, he proved a jovial old man, laughing frequently and showing more gums than yellowed theeth. Our photo is well worht the price of a cup of slightly warm cherry juice.

We finally managed to take ourselves into Haggia Sophia. It was first destroyed in 537, and quickly rebuilt. The original building date wasn't given, but if it was first destroyed in the 6th century, one would assume it is circa really old. It is a stunning piece of architecture - domes and arches covered in mosaic, paint and carving looping up and up almost out of the eyes' reach. The carving on the capitals and screens is so delicate, the stone almost looks like lace. The tiles for the mosaics, gold, and silver, and coloured stone are tiny - thumbnail sized - and every single one, even for the solid background colour fields is carefully placed in arches and turms like the whorls of sunflower seeds.

More breathtaking that the shape of the place is its history. Haggia Sophia was originally built as a Catholic church. Over the centuries it has flipped back forth between Mosque and Cathedral. The presence of time and change fills the space between floor and dome, granting even the air molecules a weight of their own.

It is possible to climb the ramps up to the level of the first gallery. The gallery is quite high, but still the central dome soars well above it. The main treat on the gallery level are the views out over the city. Small windows - would they still be clerestory? - look out in every direction to visitas of rooftops, sea, and the Blue Mosque. The windows are set high in the wall, and Aussie Girl and I had to really stretch to see, but it was well worth it.

From Haggia Sophia, we crossed over to the Blue Mosque. Unfortunately we had all forgotten about the strict dress code, and therefore could not enter. We arrived near the call to prayer (so even if we had been appropriately dressed we could not have gone in). Every mosque, including the Blue is equipped with loud speakers to send the prayers out over the city. The time for each is slightly staggered from the other, so it almost sounds like an echo of song traveling from one end of Istanbul to the other. To my ears it is very foreign - this is one of the first moments on the trip that I have truely felt myself in a foreign land. The rest Europe was different than home, but different is different from foreign.

Thwarted in our attempt to visit the mosque, we (Aussie Girl Aussie Boy, Cz and I) hopped on a tram to see if we could catch the commuter ferry along the Bosphorus. No dice, but we were near the Galata Bridge and Galata Tower (both quite famous), so we decided to have a little stroll over the bridge and up to the tower. The bridge practically bristles with fishing poles and fishermen. On either end of it, a jumble of modern and ancient buildings, shanty roofs, and Mosques pile up the hillsides. Near the bridge, there were a host more stalls selling all manner of "street meat". In one stall a man was throwing mackerel fillets on a hot grill. The smell was enough to lure us over, and we each came away with a lovely sandwich of freshly grilled fish, sweet onions and lemon juice.

On the Galata side of the bridge, the hill rises so steeply to the tower that the ascent is made by a series of stairs through the town. We were mapless, and just sort of aimed in the general direction of the tower. It disappeared from view for a little while, and we were concerned that we might be going the wrong direction, but then suddenly the entire vista at the end of a narrow, crooked street was occupied by grey stone. Unfortunately it cost 10 lyra to go to the top of the tower, and none of us were feeling flush enough to pay so much for just a view - especially since we had just paid that same amount to see the whole of Haggia Sophia.

We decided to wander around the neighborhood and find the perfect Turkish Apple Tea. Eventually we found ourselves at an open-air cafe right on the water. Istanbul has a population of 12 million people and just about as many cats. Our table came with its own black and white version. As we sipped out tea, small boys in their undies hopped in and out of the river, work boats chugged by, and local dogs tussled in the grass. The smell in the air was somewhere between saltwater and fish, with undercurrents of diesel fuel and cooking. Not a particularly nice smell, but rich and alive. And a little reminiscent of home - the earthy smells of marsh and working that often permeate the backwaters of the Chesapeake Bay.

We continued our walk along the water to catch our tram home, and everywhere were the cats and fish stalls. The stalls consisted of both newspaper covered racks, and tubs filled with water pumped up from the sea, cycled through the tubs, and back again. The fish were all very fresh, often the ones in the tubs were still swimming. It seemed that they had been netted either from the bridge, or the same boats we had been watching from the cafe. Several of the stalls also contained gas burners or simple grills serving up the freshest seafood imaginable. In between the fish stalls were fruit and nut sellers, and even an old man with a tray of oranges and a juice press. All around people were gossiping over tea, haggling, eating and smoking. It was truly a feast for the senses.

We took a shower and a little rest in the afternoon - we were pretty sweaty and grubby from our ramblings - and then headed out for another dose of street food and night sights. This time we introduced the Aussies to the mussels, and ordered ten each for ourselves. After feasting on shellfish, we ordered apple tea from a strolling hawker, more roasted corn, and a round of kebabs. Happily sated, we went on a quest for a bottle of vodka to mix with some juice we had purchased earlier in the day. The Kebab stall owner took us to a cafe run by his friend. The cafe owner couldn't sell us a bottle, but took us to a liquor stall run by one of his friends. A few lyra and a short walk later, we were back on our very own rooftop terrace sipping coctails, watching the lights of boats, and listening to music from the surrounding cafes. There was even a fireworks display across the water, and heat lightning streaking the sky. Quite a lovely end to quite a lovely day.