Turkey with Friends

Spices in the background, pepper grinders in front

Handled trays with sets of Turkish Coffee cups on sale at the spice market

Piles of herbs, teas, and dates

While we were in the spice shop, a runner, balancing his handled tray, came in with tea for some of the customers

Piles of nougat and Turkish delight in the background, dried fruits and dates, and colorful tulip glasses for serving tea in front

Just when I think Istanbul can't get any better, it does. Sue I began our day at the Bead Market. To get there, we had to walk through groups clustered behind their flag-wielding tour guides at the Spice Market. We stopped at her spice vendor, near the back of the market, so she could pick up some saffron for an American friend. The vendor pointed out which pepper grinders were made of solid brass, and the price was reasonable, so I bought a couple as gifts. From there we dodged the throngs and a few aggressive merchants to get to the Bead Market.

The housewares lane outside the Spice Bazaar

Scarves decorated with oya, Turkish edging embroidery

A vendor working a stall filled with fabric flowers near the bead bazaar

Immediately adjacent to stalls of housewares selling mundane items like dust pans and cleanser, this area catered to a different clientele. There were fewer tourists and within the bead shops, many of the customers were veiled women. As we browsed the shops, I found a few unusual items that I hadn't seen at bead stores at home. There were crystal and pearl beads, lengths of chain, and many, many gold and silver “findings”—clips, attachments, and clasps needed to make a finished piece of jewelry. One of the items that intrigued me were little pendants made of yarn and beads. They looked very Turkish, but I couldn't figure out how to use them, so I passed them by.

The prices for crystal beads were much lower than prices at home, so I focused on those. In one shop crowded with women in headscarves, I spied striking round beads covered with royal blue crystals. I was selecting some to take to the cashier, when a young man asked if I needed some help.

“Yes, I was wondering how much these cost per bead,” I told him.

He spoke to the cashier in Turkish and then turned to me: “One lira per bead.”

“Your English is very good, where did you learn?” Sue asked him.

“I have been in London for a year,” he answered, “This is my uncle's shop, I am back for a visit. I am a jewelry designer there, and I get some supplies here. Where are you from?”

“We're American,” I replied.

His face lit up. “I am going to New York in December for a show of jewelry designers!” he said. “It will be my first time in the U.S. I hope it is OK, I heard there is a big storm in New York, like a tsunami.”

Sue told him how her son's apartment in lower Manhattan is still uninhabitable. “But it should be fine by the time you get there,” she reassured him.

By this time I had paid for my purchase and we were preparing to leave the little shop.

“Good luck with your trip and the jewelry show, and thank you for your help,” I told him.

With smiles all around, I left. As we walked away, I thought of how, in these little encounters, we were ambassadors for our respective countries, and how with each pleasant exchange, we cemented the bridge between our cultures a little tighter.

A tea runner pauses outside a stall selling fabric goods

One thing I wanted to photograph in the market was a tea runner. Since merchants need to remain at their shops, and not everyone has facilities for brewing tea, they employ runners. We often saw young men weaving their way nimbly through the crowds while carrying a tray of two or three little tulip-shaped glasses of tea. The trays had swinging handles so that they would stay level as the runner moved. It was hard to catch a photo because the guys moved so fast. I often caught sight of them too late to snap a picture. By the time I had my camera out, they were gone. If I wanted to snap the shot, I needed to get the camera ready, stop by the side of the walkway, and wait. Sue indulged me, and served as a lookout.

“Patti, over there!” she said, “Just to your right. Get ready, he's coming out of that stall.”

Sure enough, a tall young man had just put a glass of tea on his tray and was weaving his way out into the narrow street. I managed to capture one frame before he was gone. It was like being a wildlife photographer, trying to snap a photo of a gazelle.

We had a bit of time before we had to catch the ferry to Kadikoy on the other side of the Bosphorus. Sue suggested that we visit a little mosque next to the bazaar.

"This one is really pretty," she told me. "I especially like small, modest houses of worship."

Despite its small size, the mosque was bright and airy, and the blue-tiled walls were especially pretty.

We had only about five minutes in the mosque, as prayer time was about to begin.

As we walked toward the ferry, I told Sue that finding a bathroom was becoming a priority.

“There's a one lira toilet just across the parking lot,” she told me.

You can find decent public toilets in Istanbul, but they're often very crowded. Sometimes it's worth paying 60 cents US to get a clean facility where you don't need to wait in a long line. This one looked to be run by a middle aged couple. I handed two coins to the man, who served as cashier. When Sue and I entered the facility, a woman in a headscarf was busy with a mop.

From there, we took a pedestrian tunnel under the road to the ferry dock, where Sue swiped her public transportation card twice. The ferry cost the same as a bus or tram ride, and when we took public transportation, she always paid using the card. She had added 50 lire of value to it the day before, and with each swipe, 1.6 lire, the equivalent of about $1 U.S., was deducted. Public transportation in Istanbul is a good value.

View from the ferry looking toward the old city

We rode the ferry across the Bosphorus, where Umit was waiting for us with the car. We would be meeting the sister of my Turkish friend, Baha, at the restaurant she and her husband ran in the eastern suburbs of Istanbul. I had become acquainted with Baha recently, and when he heard that I would be going to Turkey, he insisted that I meet her.

As Umit wove his way through dense traffic, Sue asked him about the ladybug motif we had seen on a number of items in stores. We had googled it the night before but couldn't get a definitive answer. Maybe Umit knew.

“Does the ladybug have some special meaning?” she asked him, “On line we read that it means good luck.”

“Yes,” he replied, “It's nothing that special, but I guess it means good luck.”

As he headed up a road with tram tracks I thought of how earlier, Sue had clucked about taxi drivers using the tram lanes illegally. Ah, well, I thought, Umit is a professional driver, he knows what he's doing. He turned onto a street that was suspiciously devoid of traffic. We trailed some utility trucks and a large, black Citroen sedan.

The Citroen swerved to avoid some traffic cones and came to a stop. Several police cars were there, lights flashing, and the cops waved us over to the side, too. An officer walked to the car and Umit rolled down his window. They spoke quietly in Turkish. Umit removed some documents from the glove compartment and exited the car, following the officer to where a group of police stood, along with the driver of the Citroen, a distinguished-looking man in his late 40s. Umit looked cool, but I sensed some nervousness in how he held his hands. He spoke with the officers politely, and then the little group walked up to the Citroen. The distinguished man pulled out a document, showed it to the police, and he turned to Umit, smiling. Umit gave him a smile and a little bow, walked back to our car without hurrying, and got in.

Once we pulled away, Umit explained.

“That lane is only for public buses and municipal vehicles. I could have gotten a ticket. But I said I was taking the two foreigners on business. The car in front was an official vehicle. The police asked if I was with him. I didn't say yes or no, but they didn't ask any more so I just let them believe we were together. They didn't give me a ticket.” Umit was smiling, a little giddy.

The man he had attached himself to could have denied that Umit was traveling with him—which would have been the truth—but he said nothing, saving our driver a $50 fine and a heap of trouble.

“The Turkish police are pretty serious,” Sue told me.

“Yes,” Umit agreed, “They are usually very strict.”

“You are not just The Amazing Umit,” I told him, referring to the nickname I'd given him for his ability to snake his way through traffic and find just about anything without a map, “You are the Lucky Umit!”

Now past the congested downtown area, we were on a wide boulevard lined with palms. The Sea of Marmara was on our right, and posh hotels and restaurants on our left. This place looked like the French or Italian Riviera, quite different from the crowded, old European part of Istanbul.

“This part of Istanbul is a nice place to live,” Umit said, “There is more space, and it is easier to drive and to park.” We continued a little further until the GPS directed us to turn inland.

Baha had not told me what his sister's restaurant was like, and somehow I had been expecting a little cafe like the one down the hill from Sue, where the sole proprietor grilled meat and carried across the road to tables where his neighborhood pals sat, drinking tea and smoking cigarettes. This place, attached to a tennis club, was very different. We entered a walled parking lot and entered the club house, where a receptionist directed us to a spacious, modern restaurant overlooking the tennis courts.

Berna, Patti, and Mete at their restaurant in Istanbul

Baha's brother in law, Mete, greeted us. He was a huge bear of a man with a shaved head and a friendly manner, and he spoke excellent English. He showed us to a table and soon we were joined by his wife, Berna, Baha's sister. Berna was a tall, attractive lady who bore a strong resemblance to her brother. She spoke no English, but with Mete, Sue, and Umit there, we were able to maintain a lively conversation.

When Sue told Berna that we had just been to the bead market, Berna smiled and excused herself. A moment later she was back with a plastic tote filled with beads. She began digging through it, and fishing out silver starfish beads, strings of coral and turquoise, and some of the yarn charms. She put them on the table and spoke, Mete translating.

“She wants you to take these. We have two and a half year old twins. Taking care of them and the restaurant, she doesn't have time to do beading work, so she wants to give those to you.”

I was flattered and a little taken aback. I had just met this woman and here she was, giving me a stash of beads! But they were lovely, and I accepted.

“I'll make something with these,” I told her, “and when I wear it, I'll think of you and this lunch together.”

Mete suggested an appetizer, a cheese and meat filled flaky pastry, and I agreed to try ayran, a salty yogurt drink that the Turks love. We ordered entrees, Sue a dish of meat and mushrooms with vegetables, me a plate of saffron-sauced chicken. Umit got kebabs, Mete ordered soysauce-flavored meat, and Berna a vegetarian dish of chickpeas and rice. The food was beautifully presented and tasted great.

Our yummy lunch

Left to right: Patti, Berna, Mete, Umit, and Sue

As we ate, Mete told us how he had learned English. A civil engineer by training, he had worked for a large holding company that wanted to open Wendy's restaurants in Turkey. They wanted to send him to the States to learn the business. The only problem was, he spoke no English. Training was done for blocks of people on a set schedule, and would be conducted in English. He had one month to learn. He hired a tutor and worked hard.

“One month later I was on the plane and I thought, 'What have I gotten myself into?'” he said. Sue and I both laughed heartily. I felt that way when I was first on the plane to China, and I know she felt it on at least two occasions, first when she went to Yemen as a young woman and again when she came to Turkey three years ago.

Dinner was followed by tiny cups of strong, foamy Turkish coffee and little squares of Turkish delight with walnuts. I'm growing to love the stuff. I'd initially written off Turkish delight as tasting like gussied-up jellybeans, but this version with the walnuts was delicious and I had to remind myself not to be a pig and eat it all. The coffee tasted great, but I had to discipline myself to drink only a few sips or risk staying awake all night. They brought me tea instead.

Sue and I shared a brownie, drizzled with chocolate sauce and beautifully presented on a plate with the outline of a crossed fork and spoon outlined in cocoa powder. Later I noticed that the crossed cutlery was a symbol of the restaurant. A metal version of the design on our plate hung on the wall in the main dining room.

Berna pulled out photos of her daughters, and I brought up a picture of my two-month-old granddaughter, Elliana. If you want to erase cultural barriers, talk about babies and toddlers!

It was getting late, and we had to drive through rush hour traffic to get to the shoe repair shop before they closed. As we drove, I reflected on yet another amazing day on this trip. Sue says that Turks are some of the friendliest people in the world, and I think she is right. Berna and Mete had never met us, and yet they treated us like old friends.

This trip has been remarkable because in every place we visited, we were visiting friends and acquaintances, not just sightseeing. The experience is completely different than taking a tour. Sure, it's great to hold a koala or see the Hagia Sofia, but there's nothing like making a connection: Meeting the man who has the corner restaurant, taking a bag to the shoe repairman down the street, even watching a local guy get out of a scrape with the cops!