Constantinople

The Wednesday weather was chilly in Istanbul but lack of a winter coat did not hold me back. A decent breakfast at the hotel, scanning the guides I had, was enough to get me going for the Grand Bazaar. Busy as expected with all that was marketable and much that wasn’t, my first interest was pages of old Arabic books in gold leaf and great script. Like most souvenirs, there is much fun in bargaining but the price will be of no significance by the time you get home. The bathing harem girls are the treasure and the other was just to help the bargain process. Sat back and enjoyed a tea while watching passers by. It was obvious the Muslim berka was not in vogue here. Babushkas were everywhere on the older ladies but the young ladies seemed quite western. None were enticing to my eyes.
The ceramic work was noteworthy and a good one should make it collectable. I was drawn in by a hustler after wandering into a shop where I was whisked off to his treasure trove. There were three rooms full and the decision / bidding process began. The large platter was essential and the bowls were just adders.
Next stop was the Spice Market. This commodity was more fitting for caravan trade and the variety was complete. Who needs anything more than pepper? I got a variety, along with some tea fresh off a camel’s back. The dried fruit was abundant. Also, many gelled or candied mixes of foodstuffs certainly stemmed from an ancient means of preservation.
On Thursday I got a late start to avoid the rain. I dedicated this day to museums. The Hague Sophia was a waste of time. It was just a barren old mosque whose significance escapes me. In the area was a government carpet sales outlet that seemed like a good idea but prices were beyond what I wanted to spend. I must have shown my aimless wandering face as a Turk from Dallas struck up a conversation on my way to the Blue Mosque. I knew he was leading me on to some sort of scam and beyond the Mosque was his family’s Kurdish carpet store. Of course, I did not get out without dropping $800.00 on an antique rug. Duped as I may have been, the excess expense is lost once it is a possession at home.
Carpet in hand, I snaked my way through the maze of Sultanahmet unsure of a way to my hotel. A downhill direction was enough when I came upon the trolley cars seen from my hotel restaurant. Such a coward I was when an English Style Pub lie before me. Warmth, Tetley’s Ale, and Fish ‘n Chips gave my wandering soul a bit of repose. Regenerated, the journey back to the hotel drew a wealth of sightings along the way. If it were not for the shop keepers trying to draw me in, the local people had little response to strangers like me. None the less, walking my way through was best. Weary legs on an early evening return gave me a chance to read up on where I was.
Topkapi Palace, a tourist highlight, was on my list and waiting for my Friday. I was not going sour on Constantinople and the Ottoman Empire but I fail to see the Devine Providence in a bunch of fat ugly turban headed Turks ruling half the known world. This Palace, built in the 1400’s, in all of its regalia, did more to deny them my reverence. Pavilions for harems, eunuchs, and slaves assembled around a library, kitchen, armory, and treasury gave my Western mind guilt for my new found prejudice. Slaughter, murder, and mayhem in the Western colonialism bore little difference to barbarism, slavery, and rape from Arabic people. Yes, I am unsettled over the later. Perhaps, my notions were slighted by recent readings in books of early African exploration To the Heart of the Nile by Pat Shipman and The White Nile by Alan Moorehead revealed major atrocities of the Arabs. So allow me a little contempt.
My discontent waned in a brisk walk back to the hotel. There, a mature lady in the lobby was offering various tourist venues. Her sophisticated approach gave credence to the new Istanbul I had yet to explore. I held a modern gravurier piece of modern art picked up along the way. She was quick to inform me of their Istanbul Museum of Modern Art on the Asian side that my art vendor had so informed. From there her enthusiasm about Taksim and a scenic walk through Beyoğlu would pay reverence for my stay. The fare for such advice was to purchase tickets for dinner and a show at the Galata Tower on Saturday night which seemed fair for her courtesy and means of commission.
The Saturday setup worked well for my first stop at the Museum. The primary features were what it should be, the Turkish talent. My kudos was to see the originality of work that was virtually void of Western influence. It was very pleasing to see my prior purchase by Tekcam had a presence.
From there a taxi seemed a better mode to get to Taksim and once there, the shops had little appeal to me. From this vantage point, it was two miles downhill and the bridge to the European side of Istanbul. By the time I got there it may have been twice that. Fishing off the sides of the bridge was a popular pastime but over such major shipping traffic, I could only imagine the lost lines. Once crossed, the familiar Bazaar Quarter had much needed restaurants and a place to ease my aching feet. At mid afternoon, I notice good activity in a third floor dining place. A bit posh, but my concern was rest and good food. The entertaining clientele of affluent tourists and local socials made for good diversion.
I would have been content to retire early but my early flight back home meant I had to leave for the airport by three am. Our prior plan was to party all night at the Galata Tower. Ugh, this had all the makings of a tourist extravaganza much unlike my normal modus operandi. Yeah, a tour bus picked me up on the rounds of all local hotels. About twenty of us arrived at the Tower to be elevated to the sixth floor for the eight o’clock show, joining another group of twenty. Being the solitary figure from the Armada Hotel, I had a prime table near the bar and the door. The food fare was Turkish traditional with chicken or lamb kebab. The following entertainment was a variety show of belly-dancers, singers, traditional dancers, a Tony Bennett kind of emcee, and more belly-dancers. I was content with the diversion that kept me occupied well into the evening. This role as a tourist worked for me. I returned to the hotel after midnight with time for a shower, last minute Internet check, stuffed my suitcase with Turkish memorabilia, and caught a taxi to the airport.

Istanbul Works

My initial plan for a couple days of business in Istanbul was to spend two weeks and make an effort to see the Black Sea coast and venture into Bulgaria. Travel plans require flexibility so when the cargo was delayed by customs, I lost a week handling paperwork at home. Now my trip was confined to one week because of other commitments. Okay, I can handle two days of work and five days to play.
The first day of business was going well. My host, Kerem offered to take me to dinner, a Turkish one at my request. It was a nice businessman’s restaurant on our Asian side of Maramar Sea. The maitre de set a US and Turkish flag on our table as a courtesy. Rakisi is their country’s ouzo – an anise taste with 45% alcohol so with water and ice, it was good for the palette. The appetizers were plentiful, much the same in Arabic food – eggplant, garlic, and beans with flat bread. The salad was tomato, parsley, walnut, and peppers. A Turkish pizza was thin and covered with olive tomato mix. By now I am very full when the waiter brings our main dish Adana, a minced meat kabob kind of thing. I worked at it but left some behind. Of course, we finished with Turkish coffee which Kerem noted that at the end you dump the cup in the saucer. When it cools, the grit pattern is something used to read your fortune. I recall hearing the same with Arabic coffee.
From our conversation that evening, I learned Kerem’s fortune had been established by his grandfather. The founder of the business had earned his doctorate in chemistry at the University of Michigan in 1942. My host was a recent Purdue graduate and the business was headed by his father, the imposing figure, I had met earlier in the day. I am sure the chain will not be broken. We talked of family values. His traditional marriage to a fine Turkish wife had brought him a daughter, now twenty-one days old. This legacy may or may not require a male heir should it come to that. Turkey seemed imbedded in tradition but with a pending European Union appointment, flexibility was also on the horizon.
The next day of training left me comfortable that the lab people were resourceful to handle my instrument. For lunch I went with them to the company mess hall. There was a hearty portion of soup, bread, rice, and a stew mixture. Erina pointed to a baklava style dessert, at which I exclaimed “Fat Tuesday”. Her shrug assured me that it did not translate. At our table, I pursued the Lenten subject by throwing out Mardi Gras – Carnival – holiday. She twisted her head and said they only have two holidays -- Ramadan and – the English word was not coming to her. She searched for words – lamb -- sacrifice – cut, cut – then motioned to be cutting her throat. I said with a smile, “Oh, like Americans in Iraq?” “Oh! No! No, not that!” I broadened my smile and winked. We put that subject to rest and enjoyed the meal.
My anxiety to see Istanbul and a sense of accomplishment for the task completed had left me jittery to seek out a hotel to focus on the historic city. Kerem shrugged at my tour book choices and suggested the Armada Hotel. A company Fiat in the hands of a speechless driver took me to the walls of the old city. My quaint position after dark left me content that morning would bring all expectations alive.