Considering I woke up at 5:28 a.m. for 17 different days in January and February, I should probably not have a problem with a 5 a.m. wakeup call. But anyone who has ever had a sleepover with me knows I am the anti-morning person. And this morning, the alarm wasn't Apple's Marimba - it was a muezzin. Whoever composed the Adhan morning call to prayer did a great job. I should've put the clues together - a next door neighbor mosque, five calls a day, 24 hours in a day... The first had to come early.
I rolled over and sort of whined back at the call, but it just went on and on for about 20 minutes. I think I heard the whole morning service, and the muezzin just forgot to turn the public PA off.
When I finally rolled out of bed at 11 a.m., I ate dinner leftovers as my mom tried to put food away midbite. As a treat, my aunt bought a tahini sesame glazed pastry, that I have since been snacking on and still can't call sweet or salty.
We walked in a light mist over to meet Linda and Sally at the Galata Tower. Our first major landmark! Woo! Tourism!
Just kidding. My aunt deemed the 1348 fortress visit unworthy for such a foggy day, so we sat and had tea in tulip shaped glasses, as every Turk does non-stop, easily averaging 20 a day. My aunt's friend Mukhtar came with a guy named Ed. Mukhtar is a Lebanese Parisian who stores his stuff in Maryland and has been spending some time in Istanbul. He's a non-profit consultant in grant-making and I liked everything about him, especially his bearded smile.
We left Edtahr behind and went to see my aunt's documentary exhibition at SALT, an old bank turned art gallery/museum/cafe/library. They don't really do libraries (or toilets that flush paper) in Turkey, so the building is unique. Marble and carved wood exterior, stainless steel and glass interior.
Her documentary, a study of all sixteen border sides (8 countries + Turkey) is shot beautifully and the injustices and tensions she and her partner expose through the lens are really fantastic. Quite the undertaking.
Next to her exhibit is a small museum about the building's history as a bank. I LOVE old stuff, so I had fun examining the yellowed bank notes and red wax seals, parchment record books with impeccable inked penmanship.
From here, we walked down a million meters, vertical cobblestones and slick marble steps, to the tram station. Our party of five trammed across the Bosphorus River, past the Hagia Sophia to the Grand Bazaar.
A wicked maze of rugs, silver, lamps, soaps, towels and useless junk, the Grand Bazaar is housed in incredible ruins of arched frescos and stalwart columns letting you know important people once inhabited it. Now, it's just a lot of foreigners buying things they really don't need. Tchockes on tchockes plus a ton of those pashmina fake scarves you get on 7th and 32nd for 3 for $12. Our Kansasian company was marveled.
We had a pretty mediocre lunch at a too-fancy restaurant over the neighboring Spice Market. You have to pay to sit and everything was made with gobs of butter. I'm much more of a streetfood girl - more filling and more yummy for your buck (lira). The restaurant came at the recommendation of a foodie cousin but I'm pretty sure he had lamb, and my creamed spinach surely paled in comparison.
After, we mosied through a plaza to check out a top-notch mosque. I walked in and was like, "Now, we're talking." The chaos of ditching your shoes, covering your head, clutching your bag and fighting off pigeons is truly an art form. The beauty of a simplistic space with ornate architecture brings you a calm sense of wonder. I'm only sad that all pictures of me with my head covered look awful, but the ones of the endless tiled domes and crystal circled lamps are far prettier anyway.
Next came a wander through the less touristy avenues of the Spice Market, where my aunt bought some tea plates and my mom and I started getting cranky from the rain. My fingers and toes were soaked and cramping fast. We powerwalked to another smaller mosque through a mess of quiet alleys (a much happier me outside tourist crowd central). There, I bought a small tile magnet (likely made in China) to remind myself I liked it there.
(This is beginning to feel very play-by-play. Sorry. Let me know if there's something you want to hear about.)
After a 30 minute trudge through the pouring rain, we relented and found a godsent taxi willing to take us close to home. Few drivers will because they think my aunt's neighborhood is the hood of Istanbul, plus the streets are teeny tinny.
Just as I lay down to nap, we get our third call to prayer. I think the muezzin can read my mind and is out to get me. Or maybe he's just trying to coax me out of jetlag.
No comments:
Post a Comment