TIME STANDS STILL IN ISTANBUL
We meet on a flight from Istanbul to Berlin. He’s my seat neighbour: silver-grey hair, gentle eyes, smartly dressed. I sidle into my seat and buckle up. He fumbles for his earphones, preparing to phone his wife in Japan to say good morning. He’s on his way to Berlin for an awards ceremony in architectural innovation.
Suspended in air, we chat about art, relationships, science and dialogue. It’s a nonstop, effortless conversation punctuated by coffee and an awareness of the clouds below. But it’s his firm’s “Circle” platform — organised events where diverse thinkers debate global topics — that grips my imagination.
“We’ll have to get you over to lead a panel,” he says, as the plane starts to descend. My brain works quickly. “I’m in Istanbul next Thursday, why don’t we do it then?” A glint in his eyes. “Topic title?” I throw out a few. “I like that one, sounds academic,” he says.
We bump the tarmac. Amid the bustle of unbuckling belts and collecting bags, we exchange numbers, shake hands and part ways.
I arrive back in Istanbul at 2.50pm on a Thursday, scheduled to fly out 35 hours later. This tiny window of time stretches to enable me full immersion in the magic and hospitality of this ancient city.
I am gifted my first visit to a hammam, at Çemberlitas Bath in Sultanahmet. It is the oldest hammam in Istanbul and I am ushered into a mirage of time past, then chaperoned into a red clay womb. At its centre is a silver circular slab of marble, its edges lined with naked women being bathed. Inside the steam I join them and lie down. I close my eyes and listen to the echoes of song and yield my body to the hands of the mother, who washes me with attention and care. Rested and refreshed, I leave in awe of this age-old ritual that is still very much alive in Istanbul.
The next day, I wake early to take in the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, Cistern Basilica and Grand Bazaar. I stumble into the spice market and exit onto a street where only locals remain to eat lunch.
I sit across from two men in suits and next to a family of three generations and enjoy the best and simplest meal I can remember. My senses are exploding with Turkish delight, Turkish tea, patterns of colour everywhere.
Majestic buildings are set against peeling apartments. Opulence and poverty are neighbours.
I am enticed into a leather shop. I leave with a pink-leather jacket I cannot afford, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
A quick trip back to my hotel, where I shower and dress. Bags packed, I catch a taxi to the upmarket area of Beyoglu. As with all events, my nerves kick in, building in proportion as the time draws near. Then two hours of delicious dialogue with my panellists on space — inner and outer, emotion, and the relationship between the brain, body and space. Though we’ve just met, we glide into our shared complexity and the audience joins in. At 9pm it’s time for dinner. The team and some of the audience squash around a table for pizza and more conversation. Too soon it is 11pm and I am in a taxi heading for the airport and home. I am satiated in every fibre of my being from this cross-continent crosscultural exchange.
Time suspends with travel, opening the heart to the synchrony of human connection.
Do you have a funny story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photo of yourself.