Plumbing in Istanbul

Lurking just below the central Istanbul tourist-police/information office is a vast hall awash in silky darkness; sort of a flooded Moria (sorry, I can’t help it with the LOTR references) initially used to store much of the old citys’ water. Now the romantically lit columns and vaulted ceilings loom high over tourists and an ancient population of carp who jostle and bump each other blindly in the shallow pools of dim illumination.

Either the original builders were strapped for materials and stole from other monuments of the time (not an uncommon story), or they had a quirky sense of humour, as in a far corner are two columns bolstered at the bases by weirdly orientated Medusa heads. Fortunately the magic seems to have left her eyes; we remained flesh.

An Ode to Baklava

Baklava is definitely my new favourite thing. Sara and I can’t get enough of the stuff at the moment, which abounds in all flavours and colours, so long as it’s walnut or toasted coconut brown, or pistachio green. Mmm pistachios. Honey. And how better to serve baklava than alongside pistachio ice-cream!?

We bought this mixed box at a specialist baklava shop in downtown central Istanbul, it’s good to go in there and look indecisive about what you want to put into it, since the cooks urge you to sample all the flavours first for free :-) Super cheap too, maybe €4 for this more than ample selection (which we promptly scoffed back at the hotel - notice the bites taken before we came to our senses and remembered to take a photo)

Despite all of this decadent dessert consumption, we both seem to be losing the bellies we acquired in western europe. (I’m looking especially at you Portugal) Seems to be down to lots of fresh vegetables and finally some sensible serving sizes.

Blue Mosque

A temple to God but also work of the vanity of men, as it was built to outshine its rival Ayasofya. It is still used as a temple and it closes during praying times; it doesn’t take long to get used to the call to prayer but Istanbul has definitely the most epic callings – they might take up to 10 minutes to complete and the reverb and pitch changes surpass the rivals (well, not exactly rivals) all over the country.

The name Blue Mosque is given by the blue tiles inside but in all fairness, the Palace was far, far bluer. More info about it here.

In case you are wondering about Islam, I recommend a read on it. Allah is the same god as the Christian and Jewish God, Jesus is a Muslim prophet and most of the principles are pretty similar.

Ayasofya

The number of attractions by square meter in Suntanahmet is something unbelievable, and you can spend days wandering around. We do recommend not trying to do everything in one round as it can be terribly overwhelming – there is nothing worse than gazing around due to aesthetic exhaustion.

This church turned mosque turned museum is one of the oldest buildings around, dating from the 4th century. Most of the Christian paintings were covered when the church was converted into a mosque but you can still see some frescos and mosaics from that era. The access to the upper floor done via a ramp - good to know that, at the time, there were already accessibility constraints! More info here.

Topkapı Palace and the Harem

The Palace could be defined, for us, in two words: pattern porn. Jon and I (or me and Jon, as I like to say in my broken english) went all wild when we got in and realized that all over the walls and ceilings were patterns, patterns, and more patterns. Screaming like little Japanese girls, we grabbed our cameras and aimed at our targets, shooting as if the world, digital cameras and tiled patterns were about to come to an end.

What we mean with this is, if you are not interested in patterns, you might want to skip this post ;) We decided to set up a Flickr account (André, dude, thanks for the tip) because we have an outrageous number of patterns photos and they are quite, quite nice (blame Jon’s stupid camera our nice camera).

Shopping for Wedding Rings

I know things have been quiet around here for a while, and we have our reasons for that. Sara and I have been together a while now, and people might think we’re crazy but it seems like the right time* to buy fake ahem ‘un-truthful, sham or fictitious’ wedding rings to avoid unnecessary cultural misunderstandings and associated issues whilst traveling in certain countries. At time of purchase we were still planning on visiting India, which was the primary driver of this important life decision, as we’d been advised that it could be wise in order to avoid friction with the locals.

We dutifully trawled the silver markets in the Grand Bazaar looking for something not too blinged out (not easy, they loves the bling in Turkey), eventually settling on two simple silver bands.

Sara wasn’t able to find a good fit, so a silver-smith took her measurements, pulled out a trusty blow-torch, some pliers and other assorted smithing tools, and whipped one up on the spot for her in a just few minutes while we watched, which was pretty neat, and all for about €9.

As for Sara and I, we’ve never been happier!

*Now that we’re past the character limit of a summary when posted to social networks… ;-)

Istanbul Dance Night

After some deliberation and hesitation between the Whirling Dervishes and a Turkish Dance Night, we finally decided on the latter, partially because it included a belly dancing part. It is definitely worth it for the great live music and the visual show - we were pleasantly surprised with the male belly dancer!

The lady is obviously kamehameha-ing/hadoukening us

Pilgrimage for the perfect pants

Since Spain, we’ve both spent a disproportionate amount of time in shops that feature baggy (AKA Harem) pants (‘trousers’ for those of you in the UK; we still like to wear our underwear on the inside thank you). Sara in particular has been on an on-going mission to find the perfect pair of these loose-fitting marvels forged from cool 100% cotton, engraven of swirling psychedelic paisley patterns.

The quest finally met its end in Istanbul, where not only are the pants of high quality (poly-cotton blends misses the whole loose-breathing-fabric point of these garments) but also designed for shorter (or as I am quick to emphasise – average) people. I even purchased a pair for myself. Oh, the freedom! It feels like I’m not even wearing pants at all, such is the sensation of the gentle breeze brushing my inner-thighs… But I digress.

Despite their empirical awesomeness and practicality of these wonder-pants for this climate, the Turkish seem to have forsaken their superior native fashions for jeans and so, so many tight polo-shirts. People look at the pair of us with some bemused curiosity as we pass by empantalooned, presumably we look like the equivalent of young people in the west using tweed grandpa pants.

Fine, whatever, your loss Turkey – but for your sake I hope that like the aforementioned tweed, baggy pants make a hipster comeback in this part of the world. Maybe one day nike will even make shoes with curled up toes to complement them.

Sara in Harem pants, in the Harem. Ooh la!

Quirkynesses of Istanbul

Istanbul has a very interesting vibe going on: the old stands side by side with the new, and walking through the narrow streets of Sultanahmet – the old city – is quite an experience. We spent most of our nights in a local neighbourhood where cats hung out, kids still play on the streets and ladies shopped in a local food market.

We found an art gallery on a street full of goodness – my baggy pants shop is there and the top of the street has a row of reconstructed traditional wooden Ottoman houses. The studio had a very Shoreditch feeling going on, with the tiny difference that no one was listening to vinyls on a portable turntable and trying to look ironic. Some of the abstract paintings were really nice and would work awesomely on a wall; yes, if you have a free wall, this is a hint ;)

Unfortunately I can’t decode the name of the gallery but the location is exact.

Istanbul

After the packed, touristy Rome, Istanbul was a charming place to land. Turkish fellas are quite nice and helpful – we had a bit of a problem when we arrived, as Jon didn’t have the address or contact number of our accommodation, though we knew it would be nearby. The chap from a snack-bar nearby approached us and asked if we needed help – coming from Rome and Barcelona, this is the kind of thing that freaks you out. He kindly provided us with the wifi password of the café (yes, it’s eeeeeeverywhere) and called the owner of our accommodation, who happened to have a mini-market on the other side of the street. We got some drinks there as a sign of appreciation but our “landlord” insisted in paying for them. Even if the sympathy is there only because tourists bring money - as a young waiter told us - there are gazillions of touristy places in the world where people don’t make any efort - so, thumbs up, Turkish people.

Turks like to have their nightly walks in parks and gardens and walking around after dinner time is a pleasant experience; there are a lot of kids running around and you see a different side of the city. We passed an ice-cream stand where a young man in a funky outfit was performing tricks with a cone, pretending to drop it but grabbing it on the last moment - to great despair of the lady he was serving and great amusement of the crowd. The ice cream is fished using long metal rods and the funky outfit seem to be common to all ice-cream waiters.

The touts are not very insistent and the quality of products is better than in “similar” countries like Marrakesh and Egypt. You pay more but in general it is a worthwhile trade-off. Istanbul has a few bazaars and speciality shops where you can buy clothes, tiles, glass lamps, and jewellery. The amount of gold, silver and gems in some areas of the Grand Bazaar is almost unbelievable, and you better use sunglasses, or you might be blinded by the shininess ;) (♫ Bliiinded by the light ♫, anyone?)

A kedi (cat) chilling out on the entrance of the blue mosque

A post about Istanbul wouldn’t be complete without the mention of cats. They are everywhere, in all kinds, colours and shapes. Most of them are quite young and skinny but the locals don’t seem to mind them and even throw some leftovers at them. As you walk by the streets you can hear people of all nationalities suddenly screaming “Miau!” (or Meow, or Nian, whatever takes your fancy) and grabbing they cameras to take photos of their new found friends.

And a furry eared pisi (kitty)