Day I- minarets ahoy

It is cold. The small-ish bed has been cosy. The really small loo has hot water, which is even better. Its not raining, we happily note. The tiny windows from our room look out to a shimmer of water in the distance obscured by lots of trees and a fire escape. In fact, ours is the Fire Escape room (or our room is the fire escape, as D puts it). We try to bound up the steep-ish stairs from the second floor (third floor) to the terrace. It is tiny, I start to notice, but my eyes are searching for the terrace views that all hotels and hostels in this area promise. I see the greyness first, begin to notice the cold just before I turn to see something that will follow me through this trip.
Minarets. 6 minarets hold the famous Blue Mosque as if in their womb, against a dank grey sky. It’s a hushed moment before D looks up, and we both gaze awhile, before starting to feel the cold.
Breakfast is by our side on one of three tables- the others are empty- not strange given we are the only guests right now! The sheepishly smiling Mahmut (not hotel boy nor manager nor waiter yet a bit of all maybe) puts down our plates, and despite expecting this, we both squeal as un-foolishly as we can. There’s a basket of bread, and each plate has slices of tomato and cucumber (unpeeled), a couple of ready-cups of cheese, butter, jam and honey, a boiled egg and there, in all their joyous blackness, lie olives- a heap of them telling us that we are in Turkey (which, along with Syria, produces over 50% of all world olives).
The cold is a little disconcerting- we have not come prepared for this, but it’s too late to ponder that. The bustle of the night has disappeared, giving way to desolate streets that flank the Hippodrome-the little garden like strip just outside the Blue Mosque that formed the body of last night’s carnival atmosphere- but between the streets are groups of tourists. Atmeydani or the Hippodrome might have been the “centre of Byzantium’s life for 1000 years and of Ottoman life for another 400” (LP) but little remains to suggest that sort of splendour ( it was looted by soldiers of the Fourth Crusade as they sacked all of Constantinople, a Christian ‘ally’ city).

Yet, rising above the shuttered-down shops and milling tourists are two impressive obelisks. The Rough-Stone obelisk hardly warrants acloser inspection, but the Obelisk of Theodosius demands curiosity. It was carved in Egypt in 1450BC, and brought by Emperor Theodosius to Constantinople in AD 390. You’d know it was Egyptian anyway, but thinking how old it is makes us stand there a little longer, then getting a photo of ourselves, if not a very good one.



Two mornings later we would be standing here again, marvelling at how different giant blocks of stone can look in bright sunshine.



Evading our first, and extremely polite carpet seller (dressed in a dapper suit, no less), we enter the Blue Mosque. I have already craned my neck enough times for it to be apparent to D that the minarets fascinate me. This trend shall continue. Hordes of tourists are ushered in to the mosque, their shoes in plastic bags- surprisingly we are told not to bother with headscarves.

The interior of the mosque is the oddest mix of crowded chatter and absorbing calm. I suppose that is a trait I often notice in religious monuments- theytake in all the people that visit them and render their numbers irrelevant with their grandeur, peace or beauty. The Blue Mosque manages to welcome you with a bit of all of these. The interior is fascinating- its intricate work, the blue tiles (from where the mosque gets its popular name), the beautiful calligraphy, the gapingly high hall with its columns. We both wish it were entirely empty, to have it all to ourselves.


Instead, we walk out to find the sun has peeped out a little, behind us. We walk around the main courtyard of the mosque before moving towards its exit, knowing we must take in the view of this place from afar.

There are tall autumny trees whose brown-gold leaves leave an imprint in every view. We turn our backs on them and their imposing host under a grey sky, knowing we will come back, knowing we will pass this mosque everyday. Knowing, in awe- and gladly. Walking out of the northern gate takes you very nearly to the doorstep of Ayasofya, our next sight.


our blue mosque pics