First Day in Istanbul

I started my first full day in Istanbul by washing my hair and throwing in a load of laundry. Sue, Sankar, and I ate cereal and toast with rose jam for breakfast (very fragrant with hints of raspberry—they are in the same plant family.) 

Sue prepared tea the traditional Turkish way, which involved braising the leaves in the dry upper chamber of the kettle for several minutes while water heats in the chamber below. Then add the boiling water, steep for a few minutes, and strain into a small tulip-shaped glass. If you're Turkish, you then add about four spoonfuls of sugar. I added a single spoonful of sugar to mine, and savored the rich flavor of the tea.

Sue had a plan for the morning: visit a 15^th century castle along the Bosphorus not far from their apartment, then shop some markets before meeting some expat friends for lunch. But first, we needed to walk a couple of blocks to the neighborhood market to pick up some bread and tomatoes. 

It was a steep hike, past the neighbor's chicken coop and several homeless but well-fed cats and dogs lounging on the sidewalks. 

We walked to the market on narrow cobblestone streets lined with charming old houses decorated with pots of flowers.

The store was no larger than my kitchen at home, with a low ceiling that made it seem even smaller, but I was impressed with how completely it was stocked: a case of fresh cheeses and deli meats, boxes of tomatoes and fruits, canned goods, a selection of freshly-baked bread, toiletries, and household needs. As we made our way back to the apartment, Sue commented that three years of climbing Istanbul's hills has made her thighs her best feature.

The cleaning lady, Aisha, arrived for her weekly appointment just as we got there, so Sue introduced us and instructing her, in Turkish, what needed to be done that day in the apartment. I thought back to Sue's struggles with the language when she first arrived and was impressed to see her in action now, easily explaining who I was and that I was their last visitor before they departed for America again.

It was time for us to head out for the day. We bid Sankar goodbye—he would be departing for China while we were gone—and walked out to the car, where Umit was waiting to take us to the castle. It was a short drive, and he waited while Sue and I climbed the battlements and took in the views of the Bosphorus.

 

The castle was built on the European side of the waterway by a man whose father had built a lesser castle on the Asian side. He was determined to conquer the city, as his father had not (I immediately thought of George W. Bush and Iraq) and did so by connecting the two fortresses with enormous chains, halting traffic on the Bosphorus.

The fortress was built in four months by an army of workers, and I marveled at the heft of the stones used to construct the many staircases and towers. The steps were narrow and steep, and had not been “improved” with railings of any kind. It was a challenge to climb them and an even bigger challenge to come down without losing footing. I cannot imagine such a place being allowed to stay open in litigation-happy America. But the atmosphere was medieval and the views were amazing. 

From one high vantage point, we were able to see and photograph Asia on the right, and Europe on the left, in the same frame.

As we walked the grounds, keepers were sweeping the stones free of leaves and sand. Sue explained that cleaning is a national obsession of the Turks. One of her Turkish textbooks explained the routine of weekly cleaning: remove and wash the drapes and rugs (weekly? I do that twice a year if everyone's lucky), empty and clean the refrigerator...you get the idea. Turks are CLEAN.

We met Umit again, and he dropped us off at a small shopping area about a mile away. We would get around on our own for the rest of the day while he took Sankar to the airport.

I had developed a rash on my arms and legs during the trip, and Sue suggested we see if a pharmacy had anything that would help. As we entered the small shop, Sue explained in Turkish what the problem was. A man emerged from the back of the store, and in good English, directed us to a mild steroid ointment that might help.

“Put on at night before bed. It is not so healthy during the day, however,” he said.

I purchased a tube, and after we left, Sue explained that since it was based on petroleum jelly—Vaseline—the Turks would find it greasy and aesthetically unpleasant.

“You wouldn't want people to see your greasy arms,” she said.

Next we looked for a headband. I'd lost mine on the plane, and my hair was unruly without it. Sue hadn't seen them in stores here, but she stopped to ask a couple of women taking tea outside their beauty salon if they had them. The women directed us to a little shop around the corner, and I selected the least glitzy option, a simple band comprised of pearls strung on a firm wire. After I made my purchase, we headed toward the waterfront, past an old Turkish bath building.

“You can tell the bath buildings because they have domes,” Sue said, “That way the condensation doesn't drip back down on the patrons. It gathers at the top and rolls down the sides.”

On the other side of the waterfront road, a row of stalls sold a local staple, baked potatoes with many different toppings. The toppings were arranged in colorful mounds: yellow corn kernels, yogurt tinged pink with beet juice, green olives, red tomatoes. Patrons pointed to their selections as the vendor slit open a large baked spud.

From there, we walked past several vendors selling handmade jewelry and colorful scarves, many trimmed with a type of handmade lace or pompoms. Many ceramics and pieces of jewelry feature the evil eye, a symbol that is said to ward off bad luck.

I don't consider myself to be a great shopper. In big department stores, I tend to glaze over after the first 15 minutes. Many of the fashions are not my size, or are too expensive for my budget. But visiting these little shops is like going to a museum. The designs and symbols are unique to the area, intricate and colorful, a delight to the eyes. 

In another shop, I coveted business card cases, fused glass plates and clocks, and elaborately decorated dishes of all sizes and shapes. Sue warned me that another visitor, a mutual friend of ours who, like me, is not especially materialistic, was so taken with the reasonably-priced, beautiful items in the market that she bought a larger suitcase to accommodate all the items she purchased. I can see that happening to me.

Sue had to hurry me along so we could walk to meet her friends for lunch. We ate at a very westernized restaurant called Midpoint. The menu was quite cosmopolitan, featuring sandwiches, pastas, meat and fish. I had been hankering for a burger and ordered one in Brisbane that ended up tasting more like a meat loaf sandwich than a hamburger—good, but it didn't quite scratch the burger itch I had going on. So I ordered a burger that came with fries and salad. It was delicious.

Our dining companions included Waverly, also from Minnesota, the wife of another employee from Sankar's company; Waverly's father, Benjamin; and Rhonda, a Kiwi living here while her husband works for Hong Kong Shanghai Bank. Sue and the two women became acquainted through a knitting club for expatriates organized online, that meets weekly in Istanbul. Benjamin was in Istanbul visiting Waverly for three weeks. His brain was sharp and his demeanor sweet; he repeated a couple of times how proud he was of his daughter. We lingered long after we'd finished eating, talking about crafts and Pinterest, the women gently griping about things they found funny or irritating about Turkey. For example, they refer to something as “Turkified” if it has layer upon layer of trim and decoration. The Turks cannot simply hang a chandelier. Once it's up, they have to dangle beads, crystals, and tassels from it. My burger had been a bit Turkified, being topped with a complexly flavored homemade ketchup.

I would have loved to spend all day with Sue's friends. They were funny and down to earth and I liked them immediately. Although I had just met them, I was a little sad to have to say goodbye. Sue and I walked back along the main street at the base of the hill and and then turned to hike up to her apartment. We passed a little kebab restaurant, and the proprietor was scurrying across the little-traveled street carrying plates of food to patrons who sat at tables set out in the open air on the other side.

“What a great life!” Sue exclaimed, “He lives upstairs and and his whole family lives within a couple blocks of the restaurant. He always seems to have business, and many of his customers are his friends. I can go by here anytime and see them having a cup of coffee, smoking a cigar, or visiting. It always seems so friendly here. When the kids are out of school, they just play here, so the parents can keep an eye on them.”

In a surprisingly short distance, we came upon the little store we'd visited early in the morning to purchase bread.

“What a compact little neighborhood,” I remarked. I was completely charmed and now I want to live here.

Sue and Sankar do their own dishes and laundry, leaving little mess, and yet when we returned from our outing at about 2:30 in the afternoon, Aisha was still hard at it. Every surface was gleaming. Sue said that Aisha hates what she perceives as clutter and sometimes reorganizes the pantry when the bottles and cans are not arranged to her liking. Last week, Sue had to buy a new bottle of olive oil because Aisha had tucked the old (nearly full) one away someplace different and Sue could not find it. I had opened my suitcase and laid the contents out on the second bed in my room, but was still doing laundry so I hadn't put everything away yet. Sue instructed Aisha to leave my room alone, and I'm pretty sure that having to do so raised Aisha’s blood pressure by a few points.

Sue went upstairs to answer a phone call from Sankar, who was between planes in Amsterdam. I had gone to my room to rest when Aisha knocked on the door and motioned me to come with her.

“Chai,” she said, smiling.

While she set glasses of tea on the table, I ran up to tell Sue. Aisha stirred four spoonfuls of sugar into her glass; I had to stop at one. Sue brought out some butter cookies she had bought on a recent trip to France (Turkish baked goods fall short of expectations, she explained.) The three of us sat around the dining room table sipping tea, nibbling the cookies, talking about children and grandchildren and showing off pictures of them. Aisha told us she was from the city of Riza, just east of Trabzon, and was impressed that I knew that Trabzon was on the Black Sea coast—I'd put it on maps many times. Her family ran a tea plantation and a bakery, and she had three children, two daughters and a son. She is very proud of her older daughter, who is a university student. Sue translated. Once again, I was impressed with Sue's Turkish. She stopped to think a few times, but managed to communicate how she knew me, how many children I had and what they did for a living.

I was not over my jet lag, so once the conversation had wound down, I went back to my room to rest. Several minutes later, Aisha knocked on my door to wave goodbye. It would be a quiet evening for me; Sue had a Turkish lesson so I napped and wrote, enjoying the solitude and the wail of the call to prayer when it echoed off the hills.