After three flights, four sets of swollen ankles, one bout of travel sickness, and a topsy-turvy drive through the congested streets of Istanbul, your intrepid travellers finally arrived at the Golden Horn, and the hotel which bears it's name.
Fatigue immediately kicked in, and I found myself unable to watch yet another episode of the West Wing, the tonic for insomnia I'd been self-medicating myself on for the last few weeks. I'd been through scandals, censures and the political machinations of Jeb Bartlett's first term in the White House, but nothing could resist the urge for the heavy blanket of weariness to be pulled up, and snuggled underneath.
The next morning, the ever-smiling Mendy (the hotel's concierge) greeted us at breakfast, and helped us plan out first and only full day in Istanbul.
"Mendy?" I asked. "Well actually it's Mandy", she said, "but the manager misunderstood my German accent when arranging my name tag".
Crikey! What will they make of Ginger then?
So with a loose plan involving the sage advice, "...just follow the tram line", off we ventured into the exotic world of Istanbul.
First stop, the Grand Bazaar. So, think of the Grand Bazaar as the Vic Market meets the Arabian Knights, providing the Arabian Knights sold rip-off football shirts of course. And without the $12 bags of hot donuts.
To a chorus of "...come inside, I show you lovely carpet - best in all Istanbul my friend" we ploughed our way through the hundreds of ceramic, jewellery, leather goods, and yes carpet stalls, determined to not get lost.
Unfortunately there's no tram line inside the bazaar, so lost we got - a bit like an 8 year old who's wandered off at the Royal Melbourne Show distracted by the promise of yet more showbags. Fortunately for us, after stopping for a Turkish coffee, the charming near-teenaged vendor gave us some directions, and as we'd had a bit of a look around, decided we'd seen enough in the time we had allowed on our one day maxi-tour. To do this 500+ year old complex justice, you could spend days inside exploring every main section, the coutless sub-sections, and the maze of side paths and tiny lanes all meandering around the site.
So to Door 18 we headed, and off to the Spice Bazaar we traversed.
To get to the Spice (or Egyptian) Bazaar, one leaves the insanity of the Grand Bazaar, and makes a bee-line for the road adjacent to Door 18, and heads down the hill. This promenade is closed to traffic, so is filled with families, hawking traders, young girls looking for new outfits, kebab men, mobile pastry trolleys, and the ubiquitous Castanea stands, whom by dry frying the chest nuts, not only fill the air with that delicious toasted nut smell, but also with smoke.
By the time we wandered down to the Spice Bazaar, our main goal was to get in, and then out the other side as quickly as we could, as our stomachs had been rumbling for some time. Well I say we but I meant me.
This wasn't as simple as you would think given the amount of people all squeezing in the same entrance as us. A sea of humanity pouring in as if being drained in through a funnel - close confines to be sure.
Having been to Morocco before, once inside, this cavalcade of olfactory delights was like a visit from an old friend. Plenty of cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, and paprika, all neatly formed into spice pyramids, but none of the elusive Turkish Viagra I'd read about.
For the record, I was only interested in the label on the jar of this local trouser starch, which apparently features a small baby with a massive phallus protruding forth like some bizarre pole vaulter.
Out into the blinding sunlight we came, and then down to the waterfront we headed for the famous Istanbul fresh fish sandwiches. Sounds less than delightful I know, but Mandy had confirmed when I enquired, that we must have this for lunch. So for six Turkish Lira (roughly A$3), you get a bread roll with a freshly caught and barbecued fish fillet shoved inside.
Man oh man. This fishy little no-thrills ripper is a real winner, and when you add a little lemon juice and a pinch of salt, I was on a one way trip to a potentially new food happy place!
Just when this meal couldn't get any better, the Moslem call to prayer started drifting across the big open square from the mosque perched on the shore, which looked just like a turtle sitting in the sun, holding two spears.
I've experienced the call to prayer in Morocco and Dubai before, and despite the fact it sounds like it's being broadcast on an AM radio station which is not quite tuned in correctly, I find it's the icing on the exotic cake of travel.
So now satiated, and being on the river already, why not jump on a river cruise?
The Bosphorus is the bit in Turkey which separates Europe and Asia, and is a massive channel which sits between the Sea of Marmara to the South, and the Black Sea to the North. The cruise lasts 90 minutes, and takes a journey around both sides of the river's bank. The cruise ship is filled with tourists - both Turkish and others alike - all of whom are well looked after by waiters selling cups of tea, bottles of water, and other snacks.
And all are taking selfies.
I'm sure even the locals on board had, like us, no idea what was being said across the circa-1961 PA system - I'm not even sure words were being used to be honest. So we had no idea what we were seeing, but whatever it was, it looked terrific.
I did notice the Istanbul Modern (art gallery) in it's residence in an old waterfront warehouse, and this only served to remind me that not only does Istanbul sit between the two very different worlds of Europe and Asia, but it also sits between the new and the old worlds of modern Turkey itself. There's the very traditional, steeped in history old capital of the Byzantine & Ottoman Empires, and then there's the post-Ataturk Turkey whom is young, bold and secular (for the time being).
From the cruise we rushed back to the Golden Horn (by following the tram tracks) in time to change, and then meet with the rest of our touring party for the next fortnight.
And it was only just 6pm on our first day!
Stay tuned...
Fatigue immediately kicked in, and I found myself unable to watch yet another episode of the West Wing, the tonic for insomnia I'd been self-medicating myself on for the last few weeks. I'd been through scandals, censures and the political machinations of Jeb Bartlett's first term in the White House, but nothing could resist the urge for the heavy blanket of weariness to be pulled up, and snuggled underneath.
The next morning, the ever-smiling Mendy (the hotel's concierge) greeted us at breakfast, and helped us plan out first and only full day in Istanbul.
"Mendy?" I asked. "Well actually it's Mandy", she said, "but the manager misunderstood my German accent when arranging my name tag".
Crikey! What will they make of Ginger then?
So with a loose plan involving the sage advice, "...just follow the tram line", off we ventured into the exotic world of Istanbul.
First stop, the Grand Bazaar. So, think of the Grand Bazaar as the Vic Market meets the Arabian Knights, providing the Arabian Knights sold rip-off football shirts of course. And without the $12 bags of hot donuts.
To a chorus of "...come inside, I show you lovely carpet - best in all Istanbul my friend" we ploughed our way through the hundreds of ceramic, jewellery, leather goods, and yes carpet stalls, determined to not get lost.
So to Door 18 we headed, and off to the Spice Bazaar we traversed.
To get to the Spice (or Egyptian) Bazaar, one leaves the insanity of the Grand Bazaar, and makes a bee-line for the road adjacent to Door 18, and heads down the hill. This promenade is closed to traffic, so is filled with families, hawking traders, young girls looking for new outfits, kebab men, mobile pastry trolleys, and the ubiquitous Castanea stands, whom by dry frying the chest nuts, not only fill the air with that delicious toasted nut smell, but also with smoke.
This wasn't as simple as you would think given the amount of people all squeezing in the same entrance as us. A sea of humanity pouring in as if being drained in through a funnel - close confines to be sure.
Having been to Morocco before, once inside, this cavalcade of olfactory delights was like a visit from an old friend. Plenty of cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, and paprika, all neatly formed into spice pyramids, but none of the elusive Turkish Viagra I'd read about.
For the record, I was only interested in the label on the jar of this local trouser starch, which apparently features a small baby with a massive phallus protruding forth like some bizarre pole vaulter.
Out into the blinding sunlight we came, and then down to the waterfront we headed for the famous Istanbul fresh fish sandwiches. Sounds less than delightful I know, but Mandy had confirmed when I enquired, that we must have this for lunch. So for six Turkish Lira (roughly A$3), you get a bread roll with a freshly caught and barbecued fish fillet shoved inside.
Just when this meal couldn't get any better, the Moslem call to prayer started drifting across the big open square from the mosque perched on the shore, which looked just like a turtle sitting in the sun, holding two spears.
I've experienced the call to prayer in Morocco and Dubai before, and despite the fact it sounds like it's being broadcast on an AM radio station which is not quite tuned in correctly, I find it's the icing on the exotic cake of travel.
So now satiated, and being on the river already, why not jump on a river cruise?
The Bosphorus is the bit in Turkey which separates Europe and Asia, and is a massive channel which sits between the Sea of Marmara to the South, and the Black Sea to the North. The cruise lasts 90 minutes, and takes a journey around both sides of the river's bank. The cruise ship is filled with tourists - both Turkish and others alike - all of whom are well looked after by waiters selling cups of tea, bottles of water, and other snacks.
And all are taking selfies.
I'm sure even the locals on board had, like us, no idea what was being said across the circa-1961 PA system - I'm not even sure words were being used to be honest. So we had no idea what we were seeing, but whatever it was, it looked terrific.
I did notice the Istanbul Modern (art gallery) in it's residence in an old waterfront warehouse, and this only served to remind me that not only does Istanbul sit between the two very different worlds of Europe and Asia, but it also sits between the new and the old worlds of modern Turkey itself. There's the very traditional, steeped in history old capital of the Byzantine & Ottoman Empires, and then there's the post-Ataturk Turkey whom is young, bold and secular (for the time being).
From the cruise we rushed back to the Golden Horn (by following the tram tracks) in time to change, and then meet with the rest of our touring party for the next fortnight.
And it was only just 6pm on our first day!
Stay tuned...
Oh man the fish sandwiches sound fantastic, I was drooling over them on SBS only just last night. And you are having them for real!
ReplyDeleteYou MUST find that jar.