Bizarre Bazaar
With another jam-packed day lined up, we were showered, breakfasted and in the bus before we knew it. We were on our way to Istanbul’s famous ‘Blue Mosque’, but I can testify it most certainly isn’t the only mosque in Istanbul that’s blue. We must have passed at least 30 mosques that were blue, along the way, and each time I’d say: ‘oh look, this must be it’ only to find it wasn’t the case. A fun fact for you: the actual Blue Mosque isn’t even blue (but the tiles inside are). I never would have found it on my own.
Once again we girls dutifully donned our glamorous head coverings and we all made sure there wasn’t a knee in sight, when we disembarked the bus at the correct mosque. We weren’t the only ones who had thought it’d be a good idea to visit this Ottoman architectural wonder with its six soaring minarets today. It was packed. There was a definite waft of foot odour permeating our nostrils as, after a solid wait in the winding queue, we were asked to take our shoes off and place them in our designated shoe pigeon holes.
Built in the 17th century by a 16 year-old sultan who obviously had a love for domes and tiles (32,000 tiles to be exact) the building was magnificent with its soaring ceilings and stunning stained glass windows. Lanterns hung from big hoops and there were passages from the Qur’an written in Arabic on wall plaques. With a seating/kneeling capacity of 5000 people, the mosque was divided up along gender lines with a handful of men choosing to pray, despite the tourist traffic, in the big roped off area in the front of the mosque. Only a couple of women were bowing the knee, relegated to the much smaller females-only area under the arches.
Unlike the churches and monasteries we’ve visited on this trip - wall-to-wall with haloed saints, angels and paintings of Jesus - the mosque had not a single statue, icon or picture of a person, sticking to flowers and patterns, their obviously preferred choice of decor.
Shenol was full of interesting facts and tidbits of info again today, pointing out the islands off Istanbul (Prince’s Islands) that were used as prisons for any King of Istanbul who had brothers. None of this happy families business when there was a constant need to look over your shoulder lest your brother try to knock you from your royal perch. Much safer to keep your brothers under lock and key.
Not far from the Blue Mosque was Istanbul’s famous Hippodrome. Contrary to popular belief, it was not a zoo for hippos (slightly disappointing) but an ancient stadium where chariots were pitted against one another in epic races and punters came from miles around to watch Roman wrestling matches. These were no ordinary matches. No tight lycra wrestling suits (or even togas) for these battles. No, the opponents faced off without a single stitch of clothing; completely starkers. For this reason, the Hippodrome was only open to male spectators, though from time to time a wily woman might draw on a moustache and sneak her way in. Emperor Valen was outraged at these female rule breakers and came up with a foolproof deterrant. Not only would the sportsmen be in the nude, the audience would have to disrobe as well. Genius.
Later, under Emperor Justinian, the Hippodrome was plagued with uprisings and riots - by fully clad rioters by the way- and it was closed down as a racing venue, becoming a military training ground instead.
Just outside the Hippodrome, under the shadow of the snake pole, whose twin we’d seen at Delphi, and the 3000 year-old Egyptian obelisk that had been in situ since the 4th Century BC, there was a square where lots of little food wagons had set-up. Enterprising corn salesmen were roasting sweet smelling cobs over hot coals, yelling: ‘Zero calorie corn, come and get it!’
In direct opposition to the corn salesmen were those selling calorie-laden treats -bagels with chocolate swirls and flaky pastries- keeping curiously quiet about the nutritional integrity of their snacks but selling a truckload nevertheless.
It was a case of sun’s-out-guns-out today, with armed guards toting huge (scary) weapons standing watch over the square. Gary asked very nicely if he could please snap a pic and the guard obliged with a nice cheesy grin.
Before lunch we managed to fit in a visit to the Topkapi Palace Museum. Built in the 15th Century this beautiful palace covered a huge area and was packed to the rafters with relics and the most extravagant and massive jewels I’ve ever seen!
Shenol had us excited for our afternoon visit to the Grand Bazaar, with tales of endless market stalls and opportunities for some Turkish treasures. We had thought the spice market was big but this place was huge! Told to meet at Gate 7 in 2 hours, we were let loose to explore. The possibility of getting lost somewhere had never been more likely and I clung tightly to Ross’ arm, imploring everyone to stick together. It was noisy with chatter and clatter, salesmen proffering taste-testers and trying to lure us in to buy what they had on offer. Shenol had schooled us in how to bag a bargain, stressing not to EVER buy from the first shop you see. Try a few shops, ask for their best price, do a bit of bargaining and then pick the best value item. I inadvertently completely disregarded this advice when, on the hunt for a fez, I was sucked into the very first shop I saw. Molly and I were introduced by the meek and mild salesman, Thomas, who shared his favourite psalm with us and - twice - knocked some lira off the price without me even having to ask. I’m now the proud owner of a Turkish fez. Dress-up parties here we come. Lira well spent.
Sam had been recommended a restaurant inside the Grand Bazaar and incredibly, like a needle in a haystack, we actually found it. The larger-than-life waiter was so loveable and his English was reduced to ‘Excuse me!’ (which he yelled each time he brought a meal); ‘Thank you!’, ‘No problem!’, and ‘Sorry!’ He also knew how to say ‘This is free!’, which he proclaimed loudly when he slapped, firstly, salad and then bread and then some sort of eggplant dip on our table. ‘All is free!’ How good.
We’ve noticed a funny thing that seems common in restaurants here. The waiter will scribble down your order on a piece of paper but once the meals have come, he’ll screw it up and throw it away. When it comes time to pay, he’ll do a round of the table again, asking each person to identify on the menu what they had, so he can grab a pen and re-scribble the same order on a fresh piece of paper. Too funny.
The Grand Bazaar had ‘no smoking’ signs all over the place but they were obviously a token, so ignored by stall-holders and customers alike, that the place had a haze reminiscent of a 1980s nightclub. In the outdoor laneways, where big signs prohibited motorbikes, motorbikes freely zoomed, coming within a whisker of shoppers and scaring the daylights out of them. Rules, schmools.
Tobes and Sam also got to cross something off their bucket lists by having a Turkish coffee prepared in the traditional copper pots, heated in burning hot sand. According to the boys, the spectacle of watching it being made was a lot better than actually drinking it.
As we were just about to leave the markets, Janine came running over, smiling, to ask if any of us would like an ice cream. I wasn’t too hungry but Maisy said she felt like a scoop or two. They all insisted that I be the one to order it, smirking as they sent me forward to the red-vested ice cream man. Phone cameras trained on me, I had the distinct feeling that they knew something I didn’t. Sure enough, this guy was a showman, handing me an icecream cone several times and then whisking it away each time, just as I was about to grab it. Working his icecream in its tin with a big crowbar, at one point he had the entire 6kg block perched on my little cone. Inviting me to take a bite, the first time I ended up with icecream all over my nose and the second time, with lightning quick sleight of hand, he switched the icecream with a serviette that somehow ended up stuffed in my mouth. I was laughing so much I was crying. He was hilarious! Molly and Toby got the treatment as well.
It was very sad to think that this was our last night of the tour. We have all had such an amazing time and have made deep friendships with all our fellow tourers. We had some great sharing time together after dinner, singing and reminiscing about our favourite places and sharing our joys and challenges from our time away. Tomorrow we will all go our separate ways - some staying on in Istanbul, some going to other destinations and some heading home. We will continue travelling as a family, flying to France tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to having to say goodbye to our gang in the morning.
