Ms. Poiesis

I realise that my last couple of posts probably sounded a touch negative in spots … I have a kind of love-hate relationship with Istanbul, I’ve decided. There are so many great things about the place; the people can be really kind and generous and they can rip you off left, right and centre ( usually not the same people, though). The guys at Ocean’s 7 hotel in Sultanahmet where I’m staying could not be more helpful – they’ve been great and have gone above and beyond the call of duty for me and others. One woman I met here, Chrissie, an American living in Romania with her services husband, drove all the way to Istanbul in an enormous SUV with her three small children in tow – Ahmet and Sharam did everything they could to help her navigate around the place. And I discovered a really great coffee shop cum art gallery just around the corner from the hotel; it’s called Java Studio and is run by  a Canadian named Jennifer. They do a great cappuccino and chocolate cake, and it’s a warm refuge from the Istanbul winter weather.

Today I took the tram over to the more modern side of Istanbul to the Dolmahbace Palace on the banks of the Bosphorus. This enormous place was the home of the last 6 Ottoman sultans, as well as of Ataturk, the father of the Turkish Republic, who died here in 1938, I believe. It is mandatory to take a guided tour of the palace – they do not let tourists just wander around freely – so I joined an English-speaking tour group and was led first through the administrative section of the palace where the sultans conducted their day to day business in an atmosphere of splendour and opulence and then, by a different guide, through the harem section, the family rooms, so to speak. When I asked the guide how many women lived in the harem, he explained that there were anywhere from 40 to 1,043, depending on the sultan. Each of them had four “official” wives, and many unofficial ones who came from the servant ranks. Apparently, if these women produced sons for the sultans they were promoted to another, higher rank in the harem organisation. The real power in the harem, and in the Ottoman Empire itself, was the woman behind the man, the Queen Mother, the ruling sultan’s mother. Both guides told us that it was really the Queen Mother who ran the show … One of the last sultans was apparently an enormous man, 6’6″ tall and 160 kg (about 340 lbs) and a wrestler – his bed, which we saw, is also enormous. Interesting that, even though everything else in the palace is splendid, the bathroom toilets, even of the sultan, are still just keyhole shaped holes in the ground, albeit of marble.

Both sections of the palace are sumptuously decorated. I was especially taken with the amazing chandeliers made of bohemian and English crystal and all the gold. The furniture was also quite nice, as were the objects d’art such as the bearskin rugs from Russia and gigantic carved elephant tusks. Of these sorts of objects, there are never one but always two; this has to do with the sultans’ desire for symmetry. The palace was built and decorated in the 19th century in European style and has much western painting on the walls. “Dolmahbace” means something like “full garden” and the grounds surrounding the palace are very nice. In the back, next to the crystal pavillion, is a small zoo housing many fowl, including roosters and some odd black and white spotted birds which I found quite interesting.

See pictures here.

Sofie and I had dinner in a famous restaurant located near the Hagia Sofia in an old Ottoman wooden house and dessert afterwards in one of the many pastry emporia on the same main drag in Sultanahmet. Saturday we travelled by tram over to the main pedestrian walking street to Taksim in Beyoglu, across the Bosphorus. The architecture of the buildings here is great, 19th century neo-baroque. Some reminded me of Paris, while others looked Viennese or Prague-like. Lots of great restaurants, coffee bars and dessert places abound and the street was packed with shoppers and strollers. Walking back across the Galata bridge I saw all the local men out fishing, lining both sides of the bridge. The square around the New Mosque and Spice Bazaar was also crowded; obviously Saturday is the day for people to get out and about. Also, a pleasant change, it wasn’t raining!

See pictures here.

I was hoping to wake up to a change in weather today but no such luck. After the usual breakfast buffet spread on the roof of the hotel (in their unheated small dining room), I fired up my red boots and hit the wet pavement. I had decided to go to the Kariye Museum, a old Christian church from the time of Justinian (6th c) that had later been converted into a mosque and is now a museum. “Museum” is a bit of a mis-nomer for this building, since it is basically an empty church and has no explanatory labels or museum-like material of any kind. Perhaps calling it a museum allows the government to justify charging 15 Lira for entry. It was a long hike in the rain, first along the tram-line road and then along another grand boulevard whose name I could not find signposted. The museum itself is located in a very unpreposessing neighbourhood of semi-derelict houses. Once inside, the interior of the old church is quite beautiful. Byzantine mosaics illustrating stories from the bible and Christ Pantocrator decorate the walls and ceilings. Many are not in very good repair, probably because they were whitewashed over during the period in which the building was a mosque. Part of the interior is also frescoed nicely. As usual, a cat seems to have taken up his station inside the church, much to the delight of some of the younger visitors who were more excited about patting the cat than viewing the mosaics …

I trudged back again along the same nondescript route, past many, many shops selling the most garish wedding dresses imaginable in red, blue, purple, gold and white with enormous ruffled shirts, past shops selling cheap shoes, cheap jeans, cheap doner, etc. I was the only tourist to be seen, weaving back and forward between the enormous old head-scarved Turkish women in their floor length overcoats, and horking, snorting and hacking Turkish men smoking their brains out. No one here got the memo about the ill effects of smoking -

When I arrived back in the Sultanahmet district I popped into the famous hamam just around the corner from the Grand Bazaar, the Cemberlitas. This Turkish bathhouse is the oldest in Turkey and was designed by Sinan in 1584 and has been going strong since then. Since I was feeling miserable, I thought, “What the hell”, paid my money and had the full-on hamam experience. This particular bath has separate quarters for men and women and all the attendants in our section were women, all of whom were large, semi-naked, and could have been twins, or sisters at least. They all looked identical. First, on entering I got a locker in which to deposit my heavy backpack and sodden clothes. Then, after stripping off my wet clothes, and putting on a small, thin piece of fabric, I was ushered into the bath proper.

There were no signs or instructions about how to proceed, and none of the attendants spoke English, so it was a bit of a disconcerting experience at first. I was told to lie down on the marble slab and pour cups of hot water over myself at regular intervals (all this more or less in sign language). Then, at some point I managed to communicate to one woman that I was ready to be scrubbed, and she did the deed, scrubbing me vigorously with a rough glove, and then massaging me with soap suds for a while. She was actually great, quite humourous, singing to herself as she scrubbed away at me, peridoically showing me all the dead skin she was exfoliating from my body and shaking her head. After that was complete, I was taken into another room, where I received a rather desultory oil massage by a woman who talked non-stop to her friend while rubbing me down – I do mean non-stop; she did not once stop for breath. Luckily, it was all in Turkish so it was easy to ignore it, although the massage would have been more relaxing had it been done in silence. After that, it was back to the marble slab and hot water buckets for another period of time. I felt rather like a character in one of those 19th century Orientalist paintings by Gerome – I’m sure the water buckets are probably the same ones they were using back then. All in all, though, it was a very pleasant way to spend a rainy Turkish afternoon after a long, tiring, wet and cold hike.

On another note, the tombs of Turkish sultans are everywhere in this town and surrounding them are small cemeteries, I think of lesser dignitaries. The graves in these cemeteries all have a, to me, very odd feature. On each of them are one, sometimes two, very large pillars, many with what looks like a stone turban on top. I’m not sure what the deal is with these – I must ask someone. And most of the tombs and cemeteries are in an advanced state of decrepitude.

See pictures here.

It’s still cold and rainy in Istanbul … I’m remembering sunny Thailand with great fondness! I forgot to mention that yesterday, on the ferry back from the islands, a Mongolian artist that I first met in Side in 2007 was on the boat looking for portrait commissions. She executed a colour pastel drawing of Ann Marie that was pretty good; although she did not remember me, I recognised her. I guess she works the ferry boats in Istanbul in the winter and the beach resorts in the summer. Along with her, another vendor on the boat was an old man who reminded me a lot of my Dad; he was trying to sell maps and postcards of Istanbul – not many takers, though. I think that digital cameras have just about put the postcard business out of business.

Today so far I have visited the New Mosque, on the banks of the Bosporus in Eminonu, the Rustempasha Mosque, the Egyptian, or Spice, covered bazaar (from 1660) and, one more time, the Grand Bazaar. The Rustempasha Mosque was built in 1561 and is a bit hard to find, hidden in amongst small shops and winding streets near the water. It is famous for its beautiful blue mosaics and is a small quiet jewel.

I have to say that wandering through the covered bazaars, and to a slightly lesser extent, walking along the streets in general, is an exhausting experience in Turkey. Every shop and restaurant has at least one and often several salesmen outside trying their damndest to get people to buy their wares. I cannot walk past a shop door without hearing: “Is it my turn now?”, “Hey Lady, where you from?”, “Hey Blondie, nice hat”, “Yes, please, have a look at my ________ (fill in the blank with shoes, jewellery, lamps etc)”. It is relentless and persistent and incredibly annoying. If I had sufficient Turkish to explain it, I would tell these guys that, rather than wanting to stop and buy anything, their come-ons make me want to run in the other direction. It is impossible to even glance their way or at their wares without a barrage of sales pitches. I get it that they have to make a living, and this is the culture, but it’s a major drag because I would like to look at some of the stuff but end up just turning my back on it. And similarly, when walking down the street, a woman cannot look at Turkish men in the eyes without having that construed as a come-on with all the attendant crap – that means looking anywhere and everywhere else but at the people in the street; having to maintain a vague glance into space always is also very, very exhausting.

In the Grand Bazaar I had lunch at one of the cafes that serves the locals; I was the only woman there and, of course, that generated a buzz of attention from all the sales personnel in the area. I do get tired of being a spectacle – part of the problem is that, because it’s winter there are fewer tourists and thus it’s not as easy to blend into the crowd as it would be in the summer.

Oh, and though officially cigarette smoking has been banned in stores and restaurants here, in practice everyone smokes everywhere all the time. No wonder the male life expectancy here is only 62. They’re all hacking and coughing and lighting up one after another – one internet café I went into had a pall of blue smoke and such a really foul stench that I could not stay there. All the salesmen smoke in their shops and so of course the smell of smoke permeates everything they sell …

See a few pictures here.

Sofie very kindly offered to show me how to get the tram and boat to go for a trip along the Bosphorus today. We took the tram to the boat from Eminonu to Kadikoy on the Asian side of Istanbul, and, having shown me where to get the tickets for a trip to the Princes Islands, she went off to a huge flea market. The ferry boat to the islands took about one and a quarter hours, and stopped at three smaller islands before arriving at Buyuk Ada (Big Island). Istanbul has many, many ferries, large and small, traversing the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn. These are rather ancient, making even BC Ferries’ oldest vessels seem positively postmodern in comparison. Men come through the boats carrying trays of tea, juice and the ubiquitous nescafe, as well as sesame bagels – that’s it in terms of the food and drink selection.

Buyuk Ada’s claim to fame is its horse-drawn carrirage rides around the island, so that was today’s order of business. My driver looked like an old drunk, and his pair of horses cantered along at a fairly sedate pace, being passed by other younger speed-demon drivers as they raced up the hill. We passed the opulent summer homes of Istanbul’s rich and famous, mostly shuttered for the winter with signs warning of snarling dogs on the premises. We also rolled past decrepit, rundown shacks and beach restaurants that had definitely seen better days. At some point in the journey I could see the barracks where all the horses are housed and the corrogated shack slum in which some of the drivers live. When we arrived back in town again we entered a large square where there were very many horses and buggies and cafes with men drinking tea. The whole experience was very surreal. The place is sleepy hollow in the winter – I went into one cafe where I was the only customer and received the full attention of four waiters who stood around watching me drink my cappuccino. Turkey seems to have too many men for any job – rather than one guy on the boat carrying tea, there are three; rather than one waiter for an empty restaurant, there are four. Sofie thinks it’s so that more people are employed … it’s very odd.

The island is also infested with cats – large and small, all well-fed and sassy-looking.

See pictures here.

Today is a rainy day in Istanbul – still jetlagged, I woke up at the ungodly hour of 5 am and pounded the wet pavement, looking for an open coffee shop. None was to be found … sigh. One of the guys at the hotel said that people from North America are all the same when it comes to early morning coffee – they all want one and never get one. Since it was pissing with rain, I decided to visit the Topkapi Palace in the morning. This place was the home of the Ottoman sultans from the 15th to the 19th centuries; inside I saw their voluminous caftans and pantaloons and exquisite jewellery and objects d’arte. The most interesting part to me was the harem quarters where the sultans housed their many wives and concubines, as well as the court eunuchs. The tilework on the walls here is exquisite, fantastic blues, greens and golds with flower and geometrical motifs. Although the palace as a whole was not too crowded, the harem was packed with Spanish and French tour groups.

After that, I ventured out to the Grand Bazaar, a labyrinth of passages, arches, and streets with more than 4000 shops selling everything imaginable. On the walls and ceilings are beautiful mosaics, in some cases decaying into dirty splendour. The colours of all the merchanise are incredible, especially the ceramic, porcelain, Turkish lamps, tilework and fabric. Since I was still freezing and the boots I brought with me had holes in them, my clothing required remedying. I bought a fake fur Russian cossack hat, thick woven socks, and red leather ankle length lace-up boots to go with the coat I got yesterday. My bargaining was, I think, faily successful, although I did get ripped off at the cafe for a cappuccino – I ended up paying far too much for it (4 Euros – about $6) because I did not have any Turkish lira. I managed to get a bit lost on the way back to the hotel but did find the Hagia Sofia and knew my way from there. Tonight I’m off to dinner with Sofie from Belgium to a fish restaurant in the neighbourhood.

See some pictures here.

I arrived in Istanbul at 5:15 this morning, after a 12 hour flight from Singapore. Luckily, the plane wasn’t full and I had a whole row to myself and was able to sleep for a few hours. Right at the moment I’m very jet-lagged but I did manage to fit in a half-day tour of some of the sights in the Sultanahmet area of Istanbul where my hotel is located. A small group of three of us, along with our guide Hassan, went to the Blue (Sultanahmet) Mosque, the Hagia Sofia, and the Hippodrome. After an aborted trip to a carpet store where I told the guy I had absolutely no interest in buying anything, and an attempted nap, I made a foray out into town to buy a warm coat and toque. It is freezing here and my old leather jacket was just not cutting it – I got a knee length black sheepskin coat that, hopefully, will keep me warm on my journey through Istanbul. I also visited the Basilica Cistern, a beautiful orange-lit underground watersource with fantastic arches and huge fish, from the Byzantine era.

See pictures here.

The last couple of days in Singapore I spent at the National Orchid Garden (Botanical Gardens), the Singapore Art Museum, the History of Singapore Museum, the Peranakan Museum, Raffles Hotel, Arab Street, Little India and the Bukit Brown abandoned Chinese cemetery. See pictures here, here and here.

See pictures here.

See photos here and here.

After a night spent walking for what seemed like miles to the huge Suan Lum Night Bazaar, our last day in Bangkok was spent mostly on the Chao Praya River. We were very lucky to have a local guy overhear us talking on the street about how to get to the ferry boat pier, and he took us to a dock from which we were able to take a private sanpan boat cruise for two hours up the river and along one of the canals, with a stop at Wat Arun (Temple of the Dawn). It was amazing – I really loved it. We saw lots and lots of local riverside houses, as well as fancy hotels and ruined structures. From the water we could appreciate the roof lines of the Grand Palace complex, as well as the many other temples that line the river. We fed the enormous river fish with bread purchased from a local boat vendor. The boatman stopped for 20 minutes to allow us to run up the fabulous Wat Arun, with its very, very steep staircases and great view of the city from the top.

Riding on the water was very peaceful, breezy and relatively cool. The waterside structures were fascinating and we could see why the city is sometimes called the Venice of the East.

See pictures here.