A brief immersion in Istanbul
ISTANBUL — For years, my graduate school buddy had extended an invitation: “Come, visit me in Istanbul,” he said. “You’ll like it.”
Finally, I had the chance. It was May, and I was in Paris, with several journalists, winding down an excursion exploring the legacy of poet Langston Hughes in the City of Light. With a few more days to spend in Europe, I thought, I can leave the group, hop over to Istanbul and catch up with everyone when I return.
Selman, my friend, is now a professor of sociology at the University of Ankara in Turkey’s capital. It’s the country’s first institution of higher learning, about a six-hour bus ride away from Istanbul.
To visit him, I’d take an early
Istanbul’s Blue Mosque at twilight. flight to Istanbul and then a midnight flight to Ankara. In between, I’d have 10 hours to explore Turkey’s most populous city, which straddles the continents and cultures of Europe and Asia and mixes ancient culture with modern rhythms.
It was a rapid-fire immersion into local culture and cuisine that left me swirling in delight, almost as entranced as one of the Whirling Dervishes, among the Sufi Muslims who populate this area and are renowned for their ecstatic dance rituals.
Selman was teaching when I arrived in Istanbul, but he dispatched one of his students to be my guide. Ibrahim, a junior at the Divinity School at the University of Ankara and a student in SelGetty man’s sociology of religion class,
met me near the airport’s information desk. He was holding up a cardboard sign with “Irving Dyer” sketched in black ink.
Ibrahim was joined by his friend, Sacid, a teacher.
“Where to now,” I queried, “the taxi stand?”
Nope, we were to get around like the locals. Off we walked to the subway stop and took the metro out into the sunshine of a bustling, spicy Istanbul. This city is a great introduction to Turkey. It is the former capital of three empires — Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman — and a lively melange of the three influences.
It is election season in Turkey, and almost every stop is like a festival, full of music, balloons and political campaigners.
The always-smiling Ibrahim and Sacid were perfect hosts. Sacid had to leave after a couple of hours, but Ibrahim stayed with me until near midnight, when he pointed me to the proper subway line, handed me the subway ticket, told me to ride to the end of the line, get off and run to my gate to take the last flight out to Ankara.
Ibrahim, who aspires to be a professor, mostly quizzed me on U.S. politics, race relations and academic life. An imam, or Muslim cleric, he mostly tried to help me figure out the puzzle of how Istanbul remains an enigmatic mix of Muslim and secular life.
Faith and tradition: 1:30 p.m.
At our first stop we stepped off the trolley into one of the oldest districts in Istanbul, Sultan Ahmet Square, built around 1584, and the site of the famed Blue Mosque.
We ate lunch, Koftecisi — a Turkish meatball — and Pepsi, before we walked across the street to the mosque. It was a beguiling sight. Ibrahim and Sacid performed their ablutions (washing) and then went in for communal prayer. (It’s closed to nonworshippers for a half-hour or so during the five daily prayers.)
I roamed the grounds, admiring the exquisite architecture and the cool blue Iznik tiles that decorate the interior. The grounds are impressive, too. When the mosque was built in the early 1600s, it was part of a campus of baths, hospitals, schools and a covered bazaar. Today, the mosque is covered in a turquoise carpet, which is heavily worn from visitors. To respect the mosque, visitors remove their shoes before entering. “Sorry it smells like feet,” said Ibrahim, apologizing and turning up his nose. “Not all the visitors make ablution before coming.”
After the mosque, we walked across the plaza to the Topkapi Palace, now a museum.
The Ottoman sultans lived in this airy residence for nearly 400 years of their 624-year rule. The grounds here are immaculate, and the museum contains sacred relics, artifacts from the royal family, and a spectacular view of the sea.
There was a movie being filmed on the grounds of the palace. One of the cameramen ran up and asked for my autograph. He has mistaken me for the singer Bobby McFerrin. When Ibrahim heard this he confessed: “I hope you are not offended,” he said, “but when I first saw you, I thought you were Snoop Dogg.”
It was warm outside, so to escape the heat temporarily, we went underground into the Yerebatan Cistern, built to supply water to the nearby palaces. One of the largest in Istanbul, it was a cool labyrinth of waterways supported by “recycled” columns, believed to be salvaged from fallen Roman temples.
Spices of life: 5:30 p.m.
From the old district, Ibrahim and I take a 20minute walk, moving closer to the sea.
Istanbul is a pedestrian’s dream, with lots of crawling streets, architecture that mixes modern and traditional, small shops and street vendors to keep the stroll interesting.
We make our way to the Grand Bazaar. This is one of the largest covered markets in the world. It dates to the 1400s and covers 60 streets and has some 5,000 shops.
Ibrahim and I don’t stop to purchase anything. However, as we snake our way through the crowds, I marvel as the colorful merchandise and spice aromas dazzle my senses.
Little alleys are like boutique fairways, offering clusters of shops that specialize in fabric, jewelry, rugs, ceramics and more. You name it, you can find it in the bazaar.
Five times a day, Istanbul chimes with the call to worship for Muslims. Ibrahim stops to pray at the nearby New Mosque — new because it is only about 400 years old. His worship gives me a chance to sit down, stretch my legs and people watch.
Just as I’m about to recline, Ibrahim runs over. “Let’s go,” he said, wanting to keep us on schedule.
A short walk to the front of the port and we board for a cruise of the Bosphorus Strait.
We take two seats on the upper deck. We snap selfies as the breeze whips at our faces, and we sail for about an hour on the choppy strait and get a broad view of the European side of Istanbul. It’s a relaxing, scenic cruise and I am happy to be off my feet.
On return, we dock and head to Eminonu Square, a festive crossroads at the port where tourists and locals gather. It is a landmark where one gets a sense of what port life might have been in old Istanbul. New to the crossroads are scores of Syrian children, recent refugees from the crisis in their home nation, who sit with cups in their hands and beg for alms from passers-by.
We stop for dinner and get a balik ekmek (fish in bread) at one of the port’s fish restaurants. I try the Uskumru (mackerel) with lemon, and it is served between two huge slices of bread. Ibrahim also insists that I try the salgam, a salty, cold turnip juice. I first struggle to identify the taste, but the drink is actually quite refreshing.
Into the night: 9 p.m.
By now, the sun is setting. Ibrahim and I are near the Galata Bridge, a popular spot from where locals fish. We walk across and take the historic trolley to Taksim Square.
The neighborhood that hosts Taskim Square feels bohemian, full of narrow streets and winding hills and cozy cafes with people sitting out drinking coffee. It reminds me of Paris. The lights glow in the windows, and I listen to the music of the soft conversations that resonates into the night. Ibrahim and I peer up at the Galata Tower, a nine-story building, made of stone and once the city’s tallest structure. At the top today is a restaurant and nightclub that offer sweeping views of Istanbul.
We walk up the hill in Taskim Square. We are in the neighborhood of Beyoglu, on Istiklal Street, and the scene turns a little more animated. Bright lights, like stars trapped in fishnet, are strung over the streets. The Turkish team has just won a soccer tournament, and fans are parading and whooping it up. We end up at Ozsut, a dessert bar. The evening is getting late, and I’m worried about the time.
“No, we are OK,” said Ibrahim. We continue to sip our coffee and finish our ice cream.
We sit on the second level and watch the crowds move through the street. Finally,