Around the World in 60 Days

Adventures, misadventures, characters, unsolicited opinions, observations, and images from eight countries, eight weeks, and an array of architectural treasures.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Day 13: Snippets from the street




ONE: 9:15 a.m. "I could not find you on Facebook!" is the first thing I hear upon leaving my hotel for the Palace. Ozgur, one of the guys hanging on the square, has launched a campaign to have a beer with me. He says he is not shilling- just hanging out with his friends who are shilling- but he is. He is so darn likeable , though, I might have a beer with him anyway. But I am not going into any carpet shops.

TWO: 9:30 a.m. I realize, with no small shame, that I would probably toss aside all of my feminist ideals if somebody invited me to live in the Topkapi Palace harem.

THREE: 2 p.m. Grand Bazaar. I stopped outside in one of the winding lanes leading out of the labyrinth of the Bazaar, in front of a push cart with a giant samovar. I held up a finger for "one please!" expecting tea, but something white came out, steaming hot. The man with the samovar fussed over it for a minute, sprinkling spices on top, and fished out some coins from the change in my hand. Sweet heavenly deliciousness. It was like drinking a cloud. Not a "nog," not a custard, not an "au lait" of any kind- just thick milky cinnamon-y bliss.

FOUR: 2:10 p.m. Grand Bazaar. I am flagged down by a long-haired Turk outside a leather shop. He is pretty entertaining- I am invited in to this impossibly small space, already occupied by four people smoking and drinking tea. A computer is playing Dire Straits on Itunes. I am given a plastic stool, after a round of photographs. Abdullah, the shopkeeper, instructs me to tell all of my friends back home that I have just met Turkey's Antonio Banderas. (Consider it done.) Apparently he is half Spanish. He proceeds to clean my shoes, covered in salt from the slushy streets. As a leather goods salesman he instructs me that, from here on out, I should carry them over my head to protect them. He also makes me read my future in the dregs in a coffee cup. This is some kind of Turkish Rorshach test. I see absolutely nothing resembling anything- and I am a designer, people- and I say quizzically, "That part kind of looks like a bird? Maybe flying? Maybe a trip?" And Abdullah looks at me and says with his eyes, "You are not very good at this game."

FIVE: 4 p.m. I have decided to live in the spice Bazaar. I got hungry walking towards the big bridge, and figured it was my best chance at a cheap meal. I love this place. Today I found the row of cheese sellers- they are each screaming at the top of their lungs like it's a bar fight, but I think they're just saying "CHEESE! CHEESE!!" I stopped at a "kebap" stand. The kid behind the counter said, "Germany?" And I said, "USA." And he said, "America? OBAMA!" and I said yes, and he said, "Obama good! Yes? Yes!" And I proceeded, for 2 lira, to have one of the best meals I've ever eaten. The sliced meat was in a soft puffy pita kind of thing, with fresh parsley and pepper, and something in there was also perfectly deliciously crunchy. I am going back tomorrow.

SIX: 6 p.m. Went up the ancient Galata Tower, across the water. Gorgeous sunset view. I came down and had a vague intention of wandering towards Istikal Street, but with the winding streets leading straight downhill in approximately eight directions, I was immediately confounded and lost. And it was dark. And cold. (I had two maps, actually, but those are for dire emergencies.) I started walking down a pleasant little lane, figuring I'd have to find a cab...and rounded the corner onto a street of light sellers. Both sides gloriously lit up by thousands of beautiful lamps, as far as the eye could see. And I wandered from lane to lane, downhill towards the water, and lane after lane was filled with lights. Surely, a reminder that, even lost in the dark, an improbable plentitude of lights will appear to show you the way home?