--A lush courtyard which sparked my imagination like you don't even know.
--Kitchens, which we all lined up along one wall in a barricade of domed rooms, huge and for so many different purposes; there was even one kitchen devoted solely to the making of sweets.
--Split sycamores. Who knows?
--Probably my favourite tiled washing fountains (for before prayer).
--That pretty rock that I saw used as columns in the Ayasofya as well.
--The perfect place for views of both the Hacik (Golden Horn) and the Bosporus.
--The mosaic domes of rooms that I had to take pictures of because I was told that I could not take pictures.
--More signs of opulence from the headquarters of an empire that was intertwined with a religion in which open displays of opulence are a sin (HYPOCRITES! NO VIRGINS FOR YOU!)
--Spices!
And more. The spices were at the entrance to this one restaurant, which was a very nice establishment, apparently. It hadn’t been around forever--only for a few decades,--but in that time it had managed quite the reputation. The views from this place were fantastic, and they justified the prices of the food, which was apparently pretty good. We sort of split up, because not everyone was willing to shell out 55 YTL for lunch. A few of us walked up the steps to a little sitting terrace. People left to go the the bathroom, and Michelle sat with her head down to pass the time. When it became apparent that those who had wandered to the bathrooms were not wandering back, I asked Michelle if she would like to go for a walk, as I didn't want to leave her alone. Hearing nothing, I asked again, and she shook her head in her hands. I couldn’t stand to sit any longer. I told her that I’d be around the terrace. I wandered along the edge of a building, took some nice pictures of a couple from the south who, for some reason, didn’t speak stupid, and were living in Ankara for a while (they probably didn’t speak stupid because they weren’t like most southerners; they’d left the country) and were visiting Istanbul for the first time.
In my tank top and white skirt, I wandered to the edge of the balcony thing. Mistake. The wind undressed me from below. Hearing some chuckling behind me, I turned away from the balcony and laughed along with two guys, who happened to be from Australia. It was a little weird to hear English, I won’t lie. Another joined them, and they were hilarious guys. The third asked where I was from.
‘O, America.’
‘Well, I’m not stupid.’
‘Ha! Boston.’
His name was Mark, and another had a sister named (presumably with this spelling) Megan, so apparently we were meant to meet. I took a few pictures of Mark, after he explained that he would like him, the scenery, and no toursits--a concept that neither his uncle nor his cousin yet were able to master. I took two, and he was quite pleased. They said that I must have a gift, because I even made him look good in them.
We engaged in some brief talk in which I wore myself on my sleeve. They were stockbrokers from Melbourne, and the uncle was living in Ankara. Mark is Jewish, and a ‘greeny,’ like me. They repeated several times how they never thought that they’d meet a greeny in Istanbul. We talked about Meaghan topics: sustainable living, language acquisition, American foreign and economic policy… After explaining what I was doing where I was doing it, they invited me to tea. Not seeing Michelle anymore, I walked down the stairs with them to the restaurant, laughing the whole time, and we sat right next to the balcony where I could keep mine eye on the rest of my group. We had tea and joked around, discussing a multitude of topics. After some political discussion,
One: ‘Hell, why don’t they hire you to be an advisor to [Bush]?’
I: ‘Um, because I’d kill him within five minutes…’
Again: ‘That’s what I mean!’
Another: ‘...Uh-oh, an opinionated person who isn’t agreeing with him and is actually making sense… Get her out of here!’
Mark was a pescitarian, and they all laughed because I actually knew what that meant. Up at the introductions, they said that he’s the only greeny stockbroker that I’d ever meet, and he began to tell about his investments in sustainable enterprises for a while before asking me if I believed any of his bullshit. I think that I did… Hocam came over at one point to see what one of her pretty (we’re all good-looking) students was doing with three random men, and they invited her to sit down to tea as well. She wasn’t at all bothered, because she could tell that they were good-natured guys, but she had to take care of the nineteen others. She was flattered, and I think that they were a bit smitten with her. They told her that they thought that I should be cloned, because I’m going to save the world (she agreed), and then there was a wonderful slip when, instead of phrasing it more scientifically, the idea of cloning was put to words as something like, ‘We want to reproduce with… Wait, clone…’ O, lovely. As hocam left, they wondered if I would get in trouble, but I answered, ‘Are you kidding me?’
All in all, the lunch raised my spirits significantly, and I had a wonderful time meeting random people by having them see all up my skirt. I should try that more often, methinks.
Entrance:
Receiving (what, exactly?) room:
Ceiling of receiving room:
Couch/throne/receiving chair and washing fountain in receiving room:
Harem courtyard (gardens and swimming pool over the wall):
Windows (from common rooms) of the harem (women's individual rooms were barred) (from in here was where they called out to me):
We walked through the harem after lunch, which, unlike what you may think, was also the housing quarters for the queen mother and at least one place for the sultan to stay. And yes, there were prison-like places for the concubines and wives, but this prison had about a million beautiful rooms, a courtyard, gardens, and a swimming pool, so shut your mouths. As I stood in the courtyard, I heard my name called, and had to look around stupidly as the three Australians didn’t realise that they were standing in a dark room in which it was hard for me to see them. Mark came up saying something like, ‘Well, Meaghan’s all right, but some of her friends are pretty cute… O, hi, Meaghan!’ and I just shook mine head.
If all Aussies are like this, then may I please go to Australia?
As we left the harem, we stopped to use ancient, architecturally gorgeous restrooms. Remember how Islam condemns open displays of opulence?
I love how the little girl is notices me from the dark in this picture. As for her mother, note the Chanel sunglasses. Burn in your firey hell. =)
We walked to the Sultanahmet Camii (Blue Mosque) from here, and were able to enter. I was actually quite lovely and peaceful inside, and I enjoyed walking in my bare feet on the carpet. I tried to meditate a bit. Growing up Catholic, but no longer feeling at home in a church, I try to remember that, even as I believe in a force moving through all Nature, other people see this force in a different way, and I think that it all goes to the same place if you pray. I tried to pray a bit, and I would have enjoyed lying prostrate on the ground, but I forget why I couldn’t. O, right, the women can’t pray with the men.
It was here that I hatched a heretical plan to dress, one day, in an entirely black lace burqa and walk through the streets of, say, Mecca, with all of me bare and visible under the burqa that will cover up all of me. I’m pretty sure that a stoning to death would ensue, but, were it not under pain of death, it would totally be worth it. I know that I should try to understand those with whom I can’t see eye to eye, but maybe kicking those misogynist oppressors in the balls will help them get down to mine eye level. Okay, okay, I’m being entirely intolerant right now, I understand. There’s just something in this that rubs me completely the wrong way, and makes me, well, want to walk the streets of Mecca in a black lace burqa, but I will explain this concept further with Burak, methinks.
From Sultanahmet, we wandered to the Grand Bazaar, which wasn’t entirely as I pictured it. It’s more like a maze of once open streets that are now completely enclosed, and some of the wares are clearly mass-produced. Happily, our first stop inside was the leather district. The men here were the worst. I involuntarily twisted my face into a sneer from the looks and o! the smell the whole time. Some people laughed in pity at me, and I tried (probably to no avail) not to call attention to myself. I walked out with Tamoria* and met the group in a few minutes. The bazaar was quite lovely for the most part, and I hatched neat ideas for presents for people. It made me really happy to think of everyone back home (I had bought postcards outside Topkai earlier, which I still have yet to send, but they’ve been written for a few days…) and of bringing them trinkets. I did miss everyone, methinks, or maybe more just having those whom I love accessible to me in person.
After seeing the oldest, Roman (yay Roman!) part of the bazaar, our group split up. I went with the few with the professor to the spice bazaar, but not before getting tea as Kim bought a leather jacket where the professor had bought one earlier that day. My face was priceless, I promise. We wandered back-streets to the Egyptian spice bazaar, and that place was so beautiful. I was so overwhelmed by it that I still haven’t bought any spices; any requests?
The professor took us out to dessert after that, because those who stick with her always get a treat, she said. We had delicious desert, only one of which I didn’t try, because it was made with chicken breast, and confections shouldn’t do that, anyways.
We walked across the bridge home and tried (successfully!) not to get hooked by a fisherman, literally. You have to watch for their casts. The sunset was beautiful. It got dark fast afterwards, and we hopped onto the Metro to get back home.
That night, Gözde made Turkish coffee and we read our fortunes. Yay! Mine was good, I’m sure, but I forget. The whole ritual of it was really interesting; I’ll show you stateside.
*Tamu and Victoria, the couple on our group, who were only twice not together for more than five minutes. Remind me to end my relationship if I no longer have a personal identity because of it, okay?
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