Day III- cheers!

We stumbled along, groping with the LP map around what was unequivocally Backpacker Central.

From the Spice Bazaar we had walked to Eminonu to catch the tram, entered it on the wrong side of the tracks and had an official tell us to jump them to the other side, and finally were back in Sultanahmet. This is ‘our’ area, but we’re staying a little away from this hub of pensions, hels, hotels, travel agencies, even The Four Seasons. Yet none of this seems at all like a market or like the complete and noisy chaos it should be. Maybe that’s cause it is only about 6.30pm- most people will still be out taking in the sights, not trudging back to their rooms or bars. Yet. We eventually locate Cheers!, right next to The Backpacker Bar, and go into the former solely because it is called a big favourite with backpackers in the LP. In the event, it doesn’t really matter- it is too early for either to have any people. Cheers! has one guy who probably runs the place, and another who looks like he is 16 and straight from a German punk-heavy-metal club. Shockingly, there is death metal blaring.
Of course that changes soon enough, as we sigh into our chairs on the tiny first floor which we have all to ourselves. It must be quite a place when it is full (which it might be in a couple of hours), but we quite like this as well. At 5Euros a beer, it doesn’t seem cheap though, but the beer is big and the place is quiet. We can look out and see the boards for names we had read so many times- Sultan Hostel, Orient Hostel…
The beer is refreshing and soothing and tasty, but soon we leave to pick up our bags from the Hotel and make our way to the Otogar or Bus Terminal. We’ve decided to not take the Metro company shuttle that leaves way too early at (report 7.15) for a 9.30 bus, and taking TTP’s trusty step by step guide, we are off.

Day III- bazaars

The Grand Bazaar is typical yet no bore. Coming from the West, I can see how this would be more eye-popping than it would be for an Asian, particularly and Indian. Think Palika Bazar In Delhi or Heera Panna in Mumbai, but more organised in some ways, much more colourful, and mostly very friendly. We wander around, relaxed and interested. Fortunately we are not looking to shop beyond the odd souvenir for ourselves and lubbed ones. We did not, somehow, take more than the odd photo- though the colours offer great subjects…


Unfortunately we can’t find a place to eat. The one- not so cheap lokantasi (where we decide we will share a dish) has little left- it is 3pm and way past lunch time. We walk out, and after buying some shot glasses (yay!) onward to Spice Bazaar. But our eyes and stomachs are aware, and at 4pm, we see this place:
and have these
They’re pretty good, filling and we are satisfied. As usual, on our walk toward the Spice Bazaar we are running a bit tight for time- so no photos are taken of the bustling street, the very small-town India feel of the roads (streets?) we walk on- with cleanliness thrown in- the number of interestingly-faced locals and kids(this is not probably the usual route to the Spice Bazaar- that’s from the Eminonu side). Eventually we reach the Egyptian Market or Spice Bazaar.
It is gorgeous. There’s nothing to it, really- but it seems to be in a cavernous few corridors with high ceilings and the subtlest of smells wafting past your nose- not assaulting it, just gently teasing it. Then we notice shop after shop of spices. There’s some other stuff, sure- the inevitable and gorgeous nazars- but mostly, there are heaps of spice- cardamom, cumin, saffron, Turkish saffron, pepper, chilli, paprika, oregano…..(check out these pics)

We see, we smell, we think that we should surely pick up something from here. We meet Dr Avijit Dutt, a Bengali in London who buys spices here all the time (?)- either orders them through people or buys them when he comes, like this time on a conference. And he is not joking- looks like he's buying enough to last a year! We, instead, look for soap- D buys a bar of olive soap. Olives? They are way more expensive than you’d think- and then eventually two kinds of chilli powder. ( we have yet to use them- but can’t wait!)

understanding

I met someone from Turkey some time ago.
Someone from Istanbul, someone who belonged to the place where I had had such a wonderful time in my life. There was this moment where all my learning of different cultures, different peoples and different places came together in a freeze of observation. I saw, in that little time, the beauty of meeting someone from a a different place in a wholly new light. One that gave the conversation the glow of satisfaction, the warmth of joy, the happiness of strangeness and familiarity.
I had to stop myself from sounding foolish, when I tried to make him understand what my visit to his country meant to me. How the country that he was trying, already, to justify and defend, had given to me such a special period of my life. How his country was such a deeply wonderful part of my recent past.
And when he told me he was going to visit India soon, I was overjoyed with the prospect; with the possibility of helping him have anywhere near as wonderful a time in my country as I did in his.

Day III

This day, Monday, is the brightest. It is also the lightest in terms of things planned.

We set out in the wonderfully warm sunshine towards the Arkeologi Muzesi or the Istanbul Archaeological Museum only to find that it is shut today. We’d somehow missed this from our agenda, but I assure D we will see it later. On the way back. Instead we sit down in Sultanahmet park, that atmospheric patch between Ayasofya and Blue Mosque. Here we write our postcards.

It was the most satisfying and happy 30-40 minutes, and I can’t really explain why. I suppose it was nice to put down in a few lines what it had been like, to know you were writing back to proud family…and there just is something about sitting in a foreign land and writing a postcard that is incredibly romantic. The fact that our spot was surrounded by history, and so gorgeous, only made it more perfect. We absolutely loved it.


Not being able to find the office for Metro (one of the better known bus companies) to buy our ticket for the night, we postpone it and make our way toward The Grand Bazaar. On the way, we bump into Ismail and Mahmut from our hotel, off on some errands. Though they seem a bit busy, as soon as they learn we haven’t bought our tickets yet, they lead us all the way back to Divan Yolu themselves to the agency that sells the tickets. Inexplicably, and incredibly sweet of them- and heck, we’d already checked out actually. With two tickets in our pockets (the little knapsack, actually) and 72 lira (or 72 million lira) lighter, we move again toward the Grand Bazaar. It’s a pleasant walk, and soon enough, we reach tourist-trap central.

Day II- night

Istiklal in pictures

That is not coke. well, not only coke. :) But that is a coca-cola sign in the background.

This place (left) was playing Coldplay but it looked too pricey so we looked for LP-listed 'Madrid' except we never found it and happily discovered tiny Cafe Pi instead (right).
This guy at Cafe Pi was probably a student, knew no English but was very friendly, and looked a lot like our friend Deba- in fact, from the back, exactly like him. No, really.
smack opposite Cafe Pi we ate, very late, and a litle buzzed, at Musa Usta Adana Kebap Salonu where the beans were absolutely nothing at all, but the eggplant was pretty decent. They charged us for the water, the rogues.

Day II- evening

We walk out of Suleimaniye Camii to a great sight. It is the beautiful game, and it is being played on concrete by a clutch of youngsters aged anywhere between 8 and 20-something. It’s the kind of sight you’d see in India with a makeshift bat and stumps stuck in the mud, or drawn on a wall. One of them sets on our way (we are looking to go to Eminonu)- it would seem its just one long street. As we begin the walk, we notice yet again the deserted look this street, too, wears. It is nearing iftar time again. We chance upon an open shop and buy some water and coke for later, and continue on what seems to be a completely dead stretch- shutters are down and doors are shut. It is only after a while do we realise that it is also Sunday- so this market is shut for the day anyway. It is a great walk- all downhill, all cobblestoned, and hardly any no people. It feels like we are in a ghost town, or survivors from some alien attack or something. (Calm down, my friend)


At Eminonu, D finally has her first doner kebap. It is only Day 2, but she’s been thinking about these (very cheap) snacks since we began planning on Turkey. It sure is cheap- only YTL 1.5, less than one Euro! She likes it but less than she hoped- the bread is crusty (though soft from the inside), and it takes a toll of the roof of her mouth!

Walking on in front of the Yeni Camii, and the now beautifully lit mosque we have just visited in the distance, we come to the Eminonu bus stand to take the good ‘ol T4 bus to Taksim Square, and so back to Istiklal Cadessi.

day II- suleimaniye camii

Actually, this was not on our original list of things to do. We had thought we would visit another mosque besides the most famous one, but had left it open. Early signs had suggested the Rustum Pasa Mosque- which has been often described as small but exquisite.

But the Suleimaniye Camii demands to be seen up close. Imposing and unforgettable in the Istanbul skyline- particularly so during sunset- it is a quietly confident presence. An emperor calmly but irresistibly summoning a commoner from afar. It may sound corny, but really- seeing it from a distance you just can’t ignore it.
To be honest, seeing it up close doesn’t do justice to its distant majesty. The compound is relatively small, its gardens appearing meagre and less manicured compared to what we have seen earlier in the day. The Mosque towers above, many of its cluttered domes lost with the craning of heads. But we step in (which we did right away, as soon as we realised we could), and take in our breath. The walls are not intricately done up, nor are there grand arches and domes. What there is, is light. Golden, flowing light. Light from the high ceiling to touching height above us. Light from countless little bulbs, but you would think they’re all glowing candles. For once, you don’t really to have imagine how this must have been when there was only flame to light it up.
It is time to sit, quietly, and take it in. The people praying, awash in such dramatic lighting, the silence, the calm…except I don’t. D does, but I try to take photos, because I know we don’t have time for me to do both.

Outside it is grey and sombre; and not just the sky. Of the tombs in the east side some are ornate and important, many nameless, and all tragic. We don’t know exactly what it is, but both of us feel this terrible sadness all around- as if this is not just ancient history, but an all too recent and heartbreaking past. We don’t venture everywhere here, for it feels like we are intruding, rudely prying on strangers’ intimate moments. It is arresting, but we must not linger…

day II- afternoon

We listen to the LP-again- for lunch, and find ourselves on a tiny street just off Divan Yolu. Karadeniz Aile Pide & Kebap Salonu is a small place, and at this time of day not a very crowded one. Ravenous, we quickly order what turns out to be scrumptious lentil soup. Soon after, D’s Iskender Kebap (ok, now this is famous) and my payneer pide arrive. We launch into them with unabashed gusto, and I officially decide I love Turkish pide and the cheese they use on it. D is a little disappointed by her dish- especially following the hype around it. We are served by a completely spaced out but smiling chap- and we keep recalling that these people- cooking, serving, smelling food are hungry all bloody day. It’s a tough call, and we admire their relative cheer.
The only sore point is this American trio sitting behind us- a mother with her daughter and daughter’s boyfriend. The girl, in particular, was the kind that conformed to the stereotype we are always told is not genuine- loud, fake-sounding and generally irritating. Her poor mum.

After a quick trip to the hotel room to stock up on, ahem, essentials (we will now return only at night), we are back at the tram station heading two stops away to towards Beyazit, and then to that mosque we have only seen from afar- the Suleimaniye Camii. It is late afternoon now, so we must hurry, under grey clouds and fading light.

We have been told, alternatively, that it better to alight at Beyazit, and also at the next stop- University- and then walk to the mosque. Getting off at the former, we get a bit lost- roaming around, there's Beyazit Camii right there, which is small but inviting in a non-touristy, full-of-character way (we don’t have the time though). Then (futilely) saying “Englisje?” many times in the pigeon-filled expanse outside Istanbul University. Then through a crowded local market, and we are- apparently- very close.

On this last stretch we are guided by a young couple- surely college students and so into each other- who are walking toward us; but seeing they can not really explain the directions to us (they know pretty much no English at all), they promptly turn around and lead us to the final turn in a smiley but mostly quiet walk. And suddenly, past shops selling rubber, stockings, nargilehs, apricots and god knows what else, we are on a quiet cobblestoned street and at the back entrance of our destination.

Day II- a topkapi affair

7.15am
It is drizzling outside. Our second breakfast is had, still on the terrace, under a small canopy. The rain is very slight, or kin-min as D has always called this sort of drizzle. By the time we set off, it has stopped, but grey clouds hang overhead far more suggestively than the day before. We are headed for Topkapi Palace (just behind the Ayasofya), and like good LP and TTP readers, we mean to get there early to grab a spot in the first set of people allowed into the Harem. Pre-Topkapi info in short:

It is a Palace, a huge palace.
Ottoman.
Functional till early 20th century.
It contains palace grounds, different buildings of the palace, the famous Harem and a treasury Museum.

These last two are tickets over and above the YTL10 to enter the Topkapi Palace grounds. All told, if we are to buy tickets for the three of them, we’d spend about 45Euros between the two of us (!). So the treasury has been, already, struck out. Shrugged our shoulders, we did, back home deciding this. On a budget one has to live with these things.

At the ticket counter, I start to waiver. Weakness creeps in- “Should we just go the whole hog, D?”. Dither. Counter reached. Main entry obtained. Step back. Dither. Stand. Look at other person. “Ah, f*** it”. We buy the Treasury ticket, and we shall not regret it. In a flash we are at the Harem entrance, buying the ticket there. People have audio guides, outsized cellphone-like things that you can punch numbers into and listen to relevant info. But this is a guided tour (as part of the ticket), and we are first in line at the Harem Door. It is not 10am yet.

The Harem is exactly that- a large area that used to house all of the Sultan’s women. Including his mother. In fact, she was the one who would choose women for him. With hundreds (literally) to choose from, I doubt he could complain- in fact there were so many that many of them entered as virgins and stayed as virgins. There were no males allowed (except the princes who were in secluded quarters for fear that all the women would try and kill of others’ sons!). All the guards were eunuchs. Black eunuchs from Africa. The only male in the place was the Sultan. It sounds all funny and bizarre now but walking through the rooms, bathrooms and corridors, with the guide (who is excellent) telling you beguiling stories, the extent of strangeness and disconnect from that time, that world, that way of living, truly boggles the mind. D listens to all the stories closely, I less so- I am busy trying to take pics. The tour is over in less than 3/4ths of an hour, but it seems longer- in a good, immersed way.

Outside, the palace grounds stretch out all around us- manicured gardens and beautiful trees- old, old trees. There are tour groups everywhere but the palace is huge enough to let you ignore it- it is divided into sprawling ‘courts’. We stroll through the edge of the Second Court, almost alone, waiting for a loud guide-voice and its owner to pass us by before continuing on to the Palace kitchens, ming vases, gifted model ships in gold and silver and a cold, sleeping dog. I am feeling tired today, I don’t know why- like body-ache sort. But I brave on!

There is the very ornate Divan Salonu or Imperial Council Chamber where the Council would discuss matters of sultanate-shattering importance, and the Sultan would sit behind a grill and listen in. History, it would seem, can be universally sleep-inducing. Or at least on guards.:)

The Third Court houses the Treasury, but before that we walk to a display of some religious items. Curious but not overly excited, we are both amazed by some of the things we find. These are called the Sacred Safekeeping Rooms. Decorated by iznik tiles that we have already gazed at in the Harem, it has the holiest of things- Prophet Mohammed’s sword, tooth, footprint in clay, his leather sandals and strands of his hair , a carved door from Mecca besides much more. Most of these are scarcely fathomable, and thus fascinating.

When we finally make it to the Treasury (all four halls of it), we are so thankful. Of course neither the Sacred Rooms nor the Treasury Museum allow photography (aaargh). At one point we decide to jot down some of the things we have seen in the museum lest we forget them (forget exactly what we saw that is, not the visuals themselves). So here you go:

- an 86 carat diamond surrounded by 49 other diamonds. SPECTACULAR. That’s it. It is the world’s fifth largest and is called the Spoonmaker’s Diamond because it was found in a rubbish dump and purchased by a peddler for three spoons! By the way, D ‘wants’ it. Sure. You won’t be able to sell me and get one of the 49, forget the big fella.
- The famous Topkapi Dagger- I wish I could hold it. (this was what the film in ’64 was about, and the film in 2006 will be)
- A HUGE sword that could be upto 1400 years old, or at the very least 600 years.
- The arm of St. John the Baptist. Yes, the arm. It is cased entirely in gold except the back of the palm where you can see the fingers bones. Next to it, his skull. Bizarre, to say the least.
- Mega sized ‘pendants’, aigrettes, lots of ornate thrones, gorgeous medallions from all over Europe, a whole dish full of emeralds…the list goes on.

The Fourth Court has beautiful views of the Marmara Sea and the Bosphorous at its north-eastern side, while from the other end you can look out to the Golden Horn and see the striking Galata Tower.
This is from a marble terrace with a pool and a couple of structures that are covered in beautiful iznik tiles. Entire walls are covered in these lovely- and expensive- tiles.
It is the back end of Topkapi Palace, and soothing despite some crowds. We take photos, get photos taken, and start to feel hungry. Somewhere on the other side of a long but pleasant walk back through the all the Courts lies lunch. If we aren’t so hungry, we might just linger. But it is about 2.30pm (we walked in at 9.30!), and we must leave these beautiful, sprawling, grand grounds for less lofty purposes.

writing woes

There is way too much to write. I cannot stop myself from writing to the extent of detail that I am, for I want it to be as much blow by blow for those who read it as for us- and I am really enjoying it. But this also means I am progressing slowly, and the fear of things fading from freshness is all too real, already. What is one to do.?
Write write write, I suppose. There won’t be so many posts per day for every day, sure- some might just have the one- but there is so much to write about. Small tidbits and remembrances that strike me on the bus and in the bath and as I lay down to sleep- and where will they all end up? As fragments of words and thoughts in time or will they get articulated?
Sigh….

Day I- neyle meyle

Nevizade Socak is a tiny- and by tiny I mean very narrow- street off Istiklal that is chockfull of meyhanes or taverns. One literally falls into the other, chairs and tables are all but on the walking area, and the party-feel is wonderfully communal. Lonely Planet zindabad- we end up at a tiny place (aren't they all?) called Neyle Meyle. What follows is a boisterous and loud meal (by the people around us- we were quite quiet, in a smiley way). Of the gentleman and two ladies next to us, only one knew a smattering of English- it wouldn’t have mattered, the way they were going through their raki. Behind was a much louder and bigger group, headed by a large, ruddy cheeked and loud man- Bora Ozbuk is Turkish, settled in New York, has no kids and absolutely loves cats. Between them, they managed to give us some tips, a few toasts and lots of jolly laughs.

The meze tray (we’d read about these) is truly delightful. Mezes are Turkish appetisers (mostly cold, also hot) that are eaten with bread and invariably fill you up. We finally choose two- feta cheese and a spicy meze that is only vaguely reminiscent of salsa, but much finer in texture. It is outstanding- sharp, zingy and oh-so tasty. This is all washed down with one each of what seems like the national beer- Efes.
Mental note: resign yourself to a watering mouth while writing about meals.



The night has been quite cold. We make our way to Taksim square and return in the tourist-famous T4 bus, that connects Taksim (and so, Istiklal) to Sultanahmet. Between the substantial cold and satisfied exhaustion, there is no time for any journal writing or pondering. We fall into a deep and blissful sleep. We have seen some of spectacular Istanbul, and are quite taken by it- tomorrow the rest of it beckons.

all Day One photos

Day I- Istiklal Cadessi

There is something atmospheric about the walk on the bridge- it is not the most picturesque, certainly not beautiful in a conventional sort of way, nor really soothing; but it leaves us with a smile on our face. A smile and enough of a mood to decide to walk to Beyoglu, the suburb that houses the bustling street of Istiklal Cadessi- the ‘place to be’ in the evening. (Cadessi is pronounced Jadessi)

We walk much more than we expect, some of it in the wrong direction, before a couple of university students boisterously and gregariously lead us back and onto the single street that will take us there. It’s a single street alright, but it stretches on, going uphill. We labour across, passing the Galata Tower that is meant offer spectacular panoramic sights- its Euro3.50 entry made sure it did not make it to our list. The street (we now know believe it was Galipdede Cadessi) is mostly deserted, we realise that’s because its nearly iftar time- when most people of this city will have their first morsel of food/ drop of water since before sunrise. It is a phenomenon that we will marvel at many times to come in the next week or so, particularly because of how widespread this Ramadan (Ramazan) fasting is. We pass a shop overflowing with exquisite glass lamps- that this photo does no justice to- and after a while, the street is lined with innumerable shops selling music instruments- some only guitars, others only percussion. Outside them, people are breaking their fast as we reach the very bottom end of Istiklal Cadessi.



The next two hours or so are spent walking up, down and off this bright, bustling and terribly charming 2km long cobble stoned stretch. Every little while, the mass of people- sans vehicles- is cutely disturbed by a rattling old tram that runs two stops from Tunel at the bottom, to Taksim Square at the top of Istiklal. It is red, tiny and I have the urge to hop on to- it moves slowly enough to do so- and hang for a stretch, but better sense (?) prevails.
There are lots of people- well dressed, good looking people, families, youngsters. The feel is terribly European ( I find it amazing how often I feel something is “so European”, but I have never been there), and of course, geographically, we are in Europe. Oh, and there are what seems like hordes of rockers. No, I really do mean rockers. Leather jackets, long hair, guitars slung over their backs, some punkish, some metal-ish, guys, girls…surely there is some club or something here.

We even pass Galatasaray Square (Galatasaray FC, anyone?), but therein lies a photograph I postponed and eventually never took. There are shops- all kinds of shops, restaurants, bars, confectionaries, bakeries and two Loos of The World- McDonald’s and Burger King. How many people do you know who use fast food joints like these as public rest rooms? None? Ok- either you’re founder member of the Supreme Bladder Control Club or you’re terribly scrupulous. Or you’re lying. We, on the other hand, are honest upstanding global citizens who acknowledge the worth of these establishments, and our own kidney shortcomings. So there.

At about 9.30, post the consumption of a little personal vodka, we decide to finally go to Nevizade Socak (a street we have already surveyed in our tiring walk), but before that we must change some money. Yes, we are short again- changed too little this morning. What do you know, the changers are shut. One, then the next and the next- and it is not even 9pm yet! Just as we have, for the third time, reached the end of the road (ah, I love this language), we despairingly ask a policeman who sets us off on a two minute walk that fattens the wallet and ensures dinner will not be just the one dish between the two of us.

Day I- The Golden Horn

We take the tram to Eminonu, and walk through the subway. Come up the steps and you see water. Grey water under grey clouds with lots of people in the foreground. I am not sure what hits me first- the mass of people, bustling, chatting, hurried; the seagulls flapping out noisily over choppy grey water; the sight of fishing rods, so many of them; the vista of Asian Istanbul across the Bosphorus on one side, and the north half of European Istanbul across the Golden Horn; the boats and ferries cluttering the water like the transport hub that it is.

Then the other sights- hawkers sitting on the pavement selling completely random tings- from beads and nazars to underwear and socks; vendors with fresh fish being grilled and literally thrown into sliced loaves; the outpuring of people from the turnstiles at the ferry entry.

It is here that the Istanbul skyline that so fascinated me is truly visible. Take a 360-degree turn and take in seemingly endless city- a mass of low-lying buildings all clustered together; rising out of them, in every direction, are minarets. Entire tall minarets, the tips of others, solitary minarets and clusters, all searing into the sky, but gently, like beacons, like a signature, like grand, confident statements the the city is making.

And just behind, towering over Eminonu and its bustle is a smallish (by what we have seen anyway) mosque (only later are we to realise it is Yeni Camii). Despite its imperious closeness, it loses out in the sights stakes to a mosque further away, the distance adding to its charm- even from this far it seems huge and spectacular in the dying light, and we are unsure which one it is- maps and readings suggest it is Suleimaniye Camii.

Taking all this in has been a few minutes, but the first ting we have to do is buy an akbil. This is the key-like pass which works on buses, trams, the metro and even local ferries. Locating the akbil both, however, is quite a task- we never did lpick enough Turkish before coming, and despite roaming around with the LP open to its language page, it is a while, and many walks in and out of the underpass by the Galata Bridge, before we finally find it. The signs only say gunluk, haftalik, aylik...
So we are lucky to get a young boy (“Ingilizce?”, we ask, and “so-so” comes the reply) who helps us out understanding we don’t have to buy a daily, weekly or monthly pass, just a normal one (not specified in the signs) is available as well.

Then we are walking on the Galata Bridge. The sun is setting behind us now, behind the mosques. There are more people fishing here, many more. Cars, buses and small lorries (like tempos) whiz by but I still can’t remember them being as noisy as they surely must have been. Below you, and to the left and right, ferries ply the increasingly choppy waters of the Golden Horn (the finger of water that divides European Istanbul).
We stop a moment, taking this in and clicking photos. The sun is inching its way behind the Suleimaniye Camii (for that is what the grand mosque in the distance is), and you understand where those postcards have been shot from. It is as if the mosque was made so it would seemingly swallow the sun every evening, first basking in the glow then leaving an outline that couldn’t be better were it painted on.

Day I- yerabatan spook

The Blue Mosque and the Ayasofya- both of them have drained words out of me. You’d think they would do the same to one’s travel senses, but post-lunch there is renewed vigour. Sultanahmet is full of tourist sights, which is great because you can walk from one to other even if you are unfit louts like us. The two imperious monuments call out to each other, and further north, behind the church/mosque/museum is Topkapi Palace which we shall visit tomorrow. Right now we make our way towards the top of Divan Yolu, where right round the corner is the entrance to the Yerabatan Saray Sernici.

Going down the steps we know what to expect in this underground place. Called also the Sunken Palace Cistern, it is literally that- a cistern that is seriously huge. Why would a water storage tank underground be of any sight-seeing worth is anyone’s guess. Well, for those who have not been there, at any rate. What will we see besides space enough to hold 80,000cubic metres of water? (80,000!)
There is a warm glow about the place as we reach the last flight of stairs; nothing in particular yet everything as a whole captures us. We see walkways disappearing into the relative darkness, brightened only by atmospheric lighting. People are milling around but the noise is minimal- being underground in this sort of a place seems to make hushed whispers obviously normal.

On either side of the walkways that take you deep into the 2.4 acre area (!), are 336 marble columns rising out of the pools of water they are meant to house. For something as mundane as water storage, it is strange that there is so much attention to detail, but who are we to complain? The columns themselves are imposing and beautifully carved, but the feel they create is what this place is all about. We keep telling each other what a great ‘location’ this would make- as in, a location for filming- and sure enough it has been used in From Russia With Love.

A few minutes into the walk and we hear spooky music. Well, in all fairness the music was probably not spooky by itself, but listening to it there was another thing altogether; also, we couldn’t quite figure out where it was coming from. At one end of the Cistern, past a few places with little fish and innumerable pennies for wishes (what is this thing of throwing money into water for you wishes coming true- I’ve seen it in so many bloody places but I haven’t the faintest what’s the thinking behind it)…we come to the two Medusa heads that are placed here for no apparent reason; and for definitely no reason that has occurred to anyone, one head is upside down, one is lying on its side (and both look moderately ugly in their greenish sliminess).

On our way back we realise the music is live music, and is being played at the café just by the exit. It is a lovely place to sit awhile (especially cause there aren’t benches around for you to sit elsewhere) with a cuppa, music and the seemingly endless glowing pillars; except at nearly 2Euros a cup of tea, it isn’t something we’re going to be doing. It must be about 5pm by now, and we are going to make our way to Eminonu, the port at the famous Golden Horn, by the Galata Bridge.

cistern photos