10 Hours in Istanbul

[Thought I published this weeks ago...]

I had the great opportunity to visit Emily in Egypt last week. First, however, I had to travel to Istanbul, the city of 12 million that seamlessly straddles East and West...





Just past midnight on Friday the 19th, I heaved my duffle bag into the storage compartment underneath the bus and settled into my seat. It had been a long day of teaching, football with the students, and last-minute preparations. I was admittedly nervous taking the six and a half bus ride: firstly, no one else has taken the bus anywhere, so I was the travel guinea pig. Secondly, I knew the bus ride would last between four and seven hours: the difference between arriving in Istanbul two hours before dawn or just after sunrise. On the plus side, I was ready to explore Istanbul until 4pm, when I planned on finding the airport for my 7:30 flight. With my LonelyPlanet travel guide at the ready, I took out my contacts and prepared to get some sleep.





Unfortunately, as soon as I'd settled into my seat, I lost my second contact. And my solution was out of reach, in the duffle bag beneath the bus.





I froze. For five anxious minutes, I searched my body looking for my contact. I was too timid to move my right arm, lest I should nudge the wayward lens off my person and onto the black abyss of the bus floor.





Thankfully, I found it, stuck in an unlikely fold of my coat. Relieved, I screwed the cap onto my lenses. I popped in my earplugs and nodded off to sleep.





At around 5am, we made a stop. I didn't know where we were. The 'station' didn't look like the massive Buyuk Otogar I was expecting; in fact, it was just a few small depots in a massive parking lot. Still, several people were getting off. But not everyone. So, I took a leap of faith and assumed this wasn't my stop (though I had no idea there would be any stops). As we pulled away from the dark bus depot, I prepared to be dropped off anywhere at any time. There was still another two hours until daylight.

Around 6am we crossed the Bosphorous Bridge, a beautifully lit span crossing the dark water of the Bosphorus Strait. I knew then that I was in Europe, headed toward Buyuk Otogar.



When the bus finally pulled into the massive, labyrinthine complex, I felt relieved. The pervasive clouds glowed grey in the predawn light, and the weather was warm. I found the Metro station at the Otogar, and headed in the direction of Ataturk airport, the last stop. Navigation through the transportation system is easy, as all the signs and stop announcements are in English. I checked in my duffle bag at the airport, and then headed back towards Istanbul, going to the opposite end of the Metro.



I put in my contacts and ate a pre-packed sandwich for breakfast. I was feeling pretty good about myself, having gotten past the only part of my trip likely to give me trouble. I was now on my own to explore Istanbul with the help of my Lonely Planet....



... I rummaged through my carry-on-- my guidebook was nowhere to be found: I'd left it in my checked baggage! At this point, I resorted to the only thing I knew about Istanbul: the general geography and the fact that there are lots of mosques. And one of those mosques is called the Hagia Sofia. Though I didn't know what it looks like. But it must be big and well-marked!



I got off at the last stop of the Metro, completely unsure about where I was or if this was even a good place to depart. Then I started walking. I knew I should head east, towards the water, and determine my position from there if I got really lost. Only thing was, the overcast sky blocked out the morning sun, so I couldn't find east. I walked down a long bulvari aimlessly. For all you Bostonians, imagine being dropped off on the Roxbury part of Washington Street and told to find downtown. So I walked.



And walked.



And walked.



Until I found an old stone wall. It was huge! I guessed (I found out later, correctly), based on the sheer size of the wall (at least 40ft/10m high and 15 feet/5m thick), that it was the old perimeter wall of Istanbul. I followed it for a couple clicks, until I reached an area that wasn't so broken down that I couldn't climb it (this being Turkey, there is no attempt to preserve the wall that I can discern, nor any marker indicating the history of the wall). At the top of the wall (which featured a staircase that was closer to a ladder), I figured out my position. The wall was running to the east, toward the Bosphorous; to the southeast I spotted a large hill crowned by a large mosque. The Hagia Sofia! I thought, and plotted my course in that general direction.



Thus began a succession of "false-summits" to the Hagia Sofia: at each mosque-crowned hilltop I ascended, I learned it was not the Hagia Sofia, but I did spy another large, ornate mosque to the southeast. This happened three times. Along the way I past an ancient aqueduct. At the final mosque, I crossed through the plaza, after a failed attempt at entering Istanbul University's campus, and saw a teeming marketplace. I decided to walk to it, since things had become more and more crowded and touristy over the past few hours (it was now almost 11 am-- I had been seriously lost for a good two hours before feeling I was on the right track). Walking through a labyrinth of shops and ignoring the superficial friendliness of Turkish shopkeepers catering to tourists, I realized I was in Istanbul's Grand Bazaar. It is much like any other overcrowded tourist market, so I didn't stray there too long (I did appreciate the architecture though: it seems as if the Bazaar was an old neighborhood with a ceiling over it).



Finally, I reached the large tourist section of Istanbul. I was on the southeastern 'peninsula' of west Istanbul, as I learned from a map. The Hagia Sofia and Blue Mosque were obvious landmarks: their size surpassed any of the previous mega-mosques I had passed. However, there was such a long line for each, I didn't feel like going in. I decided to save touring these sites for when I came to Istanbul with the other Americans. Plus, given the scale of the megapolis, I did not want to tarry too long in a place I would no doubt return. I passed through the well-groomed gardens of the teeming plazas, down the San Fransisco slopes of this edge of Istanbul, wound through the ancient streets, and came out to the vast Sea of Marmara. I sat down and had lunch, resting for the first time since 8am. I stayed there for a long time, appreciating the first body of seawater I'd seen since leaving for Turkey.



I continued walking along the seawall, until I stumbled upon a tea garden that overlooked the intersection of the Golden Horn, the Bosphorous, and the Sea of Marmara. This garden was beautiful and peaceful; I could only imagine it in full bloom. I strolled leisurely throughout the winding lanes, very much lost in the idyllic garden. Eventually I wandered out of the garden and back to Sultanhamet (as I later learned the name of the big touristy plaza), completing a big loop that took about an hour. I decided to find a museum; I ended up at the Museum of Turkish and Arabic Art, which features the world's largest collection of carpets. The ornate carpets didn't exactly capture my imagination, though I had never before really appreciated the skill required to consturct these several-meters-wide-by-several-meters-tall pieces. The museum took about an hour, during which a group of Turkish kids and their parents toured near me: all the kids ran around with their cellphones snapping shots of every last curio in every collection in the museum. I'm not sure they directly looked at any of the exhibits; merely, their view of the museum will be perpetually through a digital lens. More proof that Turkey is a very modern place, and like all modern places with cheap technology, kids have successfully guilt-tripped their parents into buying cellphones. Like so many other places in Istanbul, the building served as a museum only recently- before that it was an office of the government, before that a prison, and before that a gift from some Sultan Sometingorutter to his loyal courtier Wassisname. Istanbul's many old buildings remind me of hermit crab shells- perpetually recycled until they eventually wear out and melt back into the cityscape, their foundations forming the foundations of new constructions.

After the museum I briefly toured the Blue Mosque. The religious aesthetic present in the other mosques I'd seen that day was shattered by the light of many shutters; multilingual tourists broke the atmosphere of worship through discussion, photoshoots, and sighing. One little kid was sprawled out on the ground and rolling around in bored agony, tugging the leg of his father, who was distracted capturing the perfect picture of the massive glass chandelier suspended from the Blue Mosque's huge central dome. Still, the Mosque is a magnificent work of architecture. I highly recommend it (but try and get off the beaten path and view some more 'authentic' mosques).

After the Blue Mosque I walked around for awhile, got lost for another hour, ate my last sandwich, and eventually made my way onto the Metro to go back to the airport. I was about three hours early for my flight, but that was okay-- I spent the next four hours documenting my awesome day in my journal, over a cup of overpriced coffee from one 'Gloria Jean's Coffee' and a package of Tutku cookies. It was an awesome day, and I really looked forward to seeing Istanbul again. I would later learn I hadn't even begun to start scratching the surface...