A Call to Prayer
SL Feature: by Deborah Brand Probst
When I turned 40 I declared to all my friends, “Well I guess I better start liking cruises.” So I planned this elaborate 3 week vacation to island hop the Greek Islands with a long stint in a fabulous villa that I rented in Santorini. But! Before that, being consumate adventurers, we started with a long weekend in Istanbul. And while I adored every minute of that sunkissed olive and wine filled Greek and Turkish island hop, I fell in love with Istanbul. “I could live here,” I said to myself unfairly after only 4 days while we waited to depart on our cruise. I don’t know why I took so long to come back after this revelation, but now here we are.; Mark to excitedly see for the first time and me anxious to see if she still lived up to the incredibly huge hype she had in my memory. And she did.
“In Istanbul, you can turn a corner and find something extraordinary”
– Anthony Bourdain
We flew in from Albania on a crazy redeye that left Tirana at 2:30 AM in the morning and arrived at 5:30 AM. We took the subway in from the Asia side of the city and crossed the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn before finally getting to my favorite neighbourhood from my memory 15 years ago – Beyoglu. I was worried that Beyoglu would have become kitschy and full of McDonalds and Starbucks and American tourists OR have deteriorated into urban crime and grime that has plagued so many urban areas since the pandemic. What we found was still that vibrant pedestrian area that I loved so much way back when. Yes there were more tourists and yes certain areas had gentrified but it was still that place that was like no where else in the world – a sea of people everyday – international yet uniquely Turkish – a village in a big city, on a hill and in a valley, inland but by the sea. Somehow Istanbul to me has everything I love about cities and Beyoglu had everything I loved about neighbourhoods in big cities.
Not Asia Not Europe
We’ve all heard the cliches. Turkey is both Asian and European and has a little bit of both. Geographically it straddles both continents and has been part of the Roman Empire, the Byzantine, and the Ottoman Empire. It’s language, culture, cuisine is equal parts European, Middle Eastern, and Asian. You can say all these things and understand it intellectually but experiencing it in person is another thing altogether.
The country itself is blessed with an embarrassment of geographical riches. There are ski resorts courtesy of snow covered mountaintops part of the Himalayan range. The beaches are courtesy of 500 islands and 8000 kms of coastline hugging the Mediterranean, the Aegean, the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara. And in between, plateaus and plains, lush and green, dry and arid, another combination of all things.
This secular country is now largely Shia muslim but Istanbul is Muslim, Christian, Jew. In Beyoglu in the same block you walk by mosques, churches and synagogues. And yet it’s Istanbul not Constantinople.
“If the Earth were a single state, Istanbul would be it’s capital.”
– Napolean Bonaparte
Rooftops and River Banks
The first time I was in Istanbul it was the end of October and it was just beginning to get a tiny bit chilly in the evenings. Now it early September and it is HOT. The rooftops are buzzing with cool cocktail instagram worthy spots and beautiful international hipsters happy to oblige. The beaches are full of bikinis and picnickers. The Bosphorus full of yachts and cruise ships. The bridges full of fishermen and tourists. This city knows how to exploit her physical charms to the fullest, shamelessly flaunting it for all to see and glistening sea.
Magic Kingdoms and Arabian Nights
I read Arabian nights as a little girl, falling asleep to tales of genies, tramps and thieves, whiling away rainy days in the company of Scheherazade and scorcerers. These stories are supposed to take place in today’s Baghdad, Cairo, Damascus, Isfahan but in my mind they take place in Sultanahmet, the old part of Istanbul which boasts the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, the Grand Bazaar, the Cisterns and a myriad of riches all surrounded by minarets, the warren of tiny alley ways and rooftop gardens that seem to weave together into a tapestry of stories that float on the blue waters like a magic carpet in the sky. It is otherworldly and very much of this world at the same time. It is the place I imagined as a little girl. I can just see Aladdin running through the streets trying to escape after stealing some fruit from a vendor.
The Hagia Sophia is magical. Sunlight twinkles through her dome casting soft fingers through the space and lighting up the twirls of arabic text and texture that entwine the walls. It is blurry to me – a feeling more than a solid building. It is to simple to describe it as a mosque or a church converted. It is a living breathing monument on a hill.
When you descend into the cool of the Basilica Cisterns it is as if you are going to a Dionysian underground cathedral, hence the name. You almost expect to hear ancient spiritual hymns. Wandering through the majestic columns mirrored in the waters, it is the most beautiful example of a building born out of a plumbing necessity of old Constantinople.
Then when you exit the tourist sites you are back in the cacophony of Istanbul – kittens follow you everywhere cutely begging for a scrap or sleeping on the bench next to you – everywhere you turn a glimpse of the sea down a narrow alley.
The Bazaar does not stay contained within the walls of the official “Grand Bazaar.” It spills uncontrollably in every direction, not just selling spices and turkish delight. Now it irreverently sells cellphone cases, scarves and hats all artfully arranged into picturesque treasures just as it would have been in the days of the spice trades.
Days of wine and song
During the early mornings I hear the muezzins call to prayer intermingled with the church bells. Where we are staying is right next to a Catholic church and it is a mystery when the bells go. But like clockwork the call to prayer sings its mournful song 5 times a day. Growing up in Malaysia this sounds is comforting to me. Even though I grew up catholic, this familiar chant makes me think of my childhood home. Like Malaysia Turkey is officially a Muslim country with a heavy dose of non muslim citizens that coexist side by side with their Muslim neighbors and family members. It is just part of the color.
When you wander the streets of Beyoglu at night, it is easy to imagine being in Athens, London, Dublin, New York even. There are hustlers and pick pockets, people selling roses, buskers, street vendors, drag queens, punk rockers, bachelorette parties. Live music is everywhere. It is in Turkish. It is Elvis, John Mayer, Cold Play. We wander into a venue with a Turkish band playing a heavy dose of 70s rock and roll Led Zeppelin, Creedence. We pop by another spot with the DJ play Despacito, Shakira, and a little bit of Abba thrown in for good measure. People are smoking hookahs, there is a smell of marijuana (highly illegal), cigars and cigarettes. There is a smell of roasting chestnuts, kebabs, grilled fish, and the occassional waft of a seedy corner turned impromptu restroom from a night of too much beer, wine, whisky. The Persian poet Rumi also chose to write some of his poetry in Turkish to reach a wider audience.
Come, whoever you are … our threshold is not a threshold of despair – Rumi
You get the feeling all who wander are welcome here and we most certainly wander. And we feel welcome here.
