Istanbul Part 2

 

The coffee culture has amazed me in every country I’ve been in.  Even though the Turks had their own coffee from way back, they have also adapted to the more modern lists of coffee concoctions.  It’s not advisable to drink the water there, but for a caffeine fix, the city has you covered.  You can go anywhere in the city and get an Americano, an espresso, a cappuccino.  But I was in Türkiye.  I had to try their famous coffee at least once before I left.

I followed a suggestion on my phone to this little out of the way place for my first and only Turkish breakfast.  I had no idea what I was ordering or what to expect but I’m here to say: Turkish breakfast is amazing.  I’m not even going to tell you what’s in those little cups.  You’ll just have to go to Turkiye and experience it for yourself.

The coffee is strong and very chocolate-y with a bunch of silt at the bottom of the tiny cup (Greek coffee was the same).  They ask if you want it sugared or not (definitely order sugar) and they give you a little glass of water with it to clear the palette.  Despite being mired in tradition, the coffee has been relegated to special occasions.  Modern Turks actually drink tea all day.  In any marketplace, you can see men walking around with trays loaded with cups of tea to deliver to shopkeepers throughout the day.  When the lovely waitress offered me more bread and tea, I said yes to both.  Everything was just so tasty.

I’d learned from a meal earlier in the week: when they give you the little cup of tea, don’t touch it.  It’s served boiling hot so you can’t drink it right away.  Just put in the sugar cube, stir it, then let it sit for a minute.  Then when you can touch it without burning your fingers, take a tiny sip to test the temperature.  It’s good tea and worth the wait.

My last day in Istanbul in three words: OH MY GOD!

Saturday was a particularly gorgeous day.  The weather during my entire stay had been great – rainy when I arrived and overcast on one morning, but other than that, every day was mid-70’s and sunny.  I’ve already explained that I’m not a fan of entering religious buildings as a tourist – makes me uncomfortable.  But as there are numerous historic buildings in Istanbul and I had yet to see any of the touristy parts, I figured I’d make an effort on my last day.

I also wanted to finally figure out the transit system.  I had purchased an Istanbulcart card, a multi-day pass for tourists to use on most means of public transit.  Tried to use it on the subway and it didn’t work.  Did some research that evening and found out the card has no credit on it (!).  You have to do that separately – which is stupid, but okay.  Went to charge it the next day and it said the card couldn’t be charged.  What.  The.  Hell? 

Cut to that Saturday.  I tried to charge the card using a different machine when a little girl gestured to me that the machine didn’t work.  She pointed me to the machines used by the locals for the more permanent transit cards.  Guess what?  I couldn’t get that one to work either.  Ah, screw it.  I’ll just take a trip on the ferry instead.

I’d planned a tour of the Bosphorus anyway, so now seemed the right time.  My neighborhood of Kadikoy is considered the trendy area with all the shops and cafes.  Across a short stretch of water lay the Karakoy (sounds the same but are two different places) neighborhood with many of the historical churches and buildings.  I decided to see the Galata Tower first as it was a famous landmark.

This is where my time in Portugal comes in handy.  The Tower is in an ancient section of town.  The roads are made of old, uneven cobblestone up some impressive hills.  I saw other tourists stop to rest as they tried to make it up this beast.

This isn’t even the full hill.  It makes a turn, so I couldn’t get it all in one picture.  But it is ugly.  And a pretty typical hill in Portugal, so I was able to make it up without rest or injury.  Yay me!

The tower was beautiful – from the outside.  I didn’t even try to get in because the line was way too long.  Instead, I took my pictures, bought my simit for the day, and explored the surroundings.  As I was sitting and eating by a fountain, I started to actually feel the place.  Yes, Istanbul is chaotic and I don’t know what anyone is saying, but the history in every building, the music coming from all around, the interesting mix of cultures and religions that are woven into the city is just mesmerizing.  I can understand how the city draws in so many visitors. 

Simit done, I made my way across Galata Bridge to the Egyptian Bazaar, a famed marketplace.  It consists of a glut of stores and stalls before you get to a large gate.  That was a struggle getting through the narrow, incredibly clogged alley.  I was tired of being jostled even before I got to the gate.  And then onto … The Grand Bazaar in two words: sensory overload.  There is so much to see that you end up not seeing anything.  It was purses, and rugs, and spices, and jewelry, and shoes and … so much stuff.  And so many people angling to get to that stuff and hawkers trying to get you to look at their stuff and the sounds and the smells and …  As with the rest of Istanbul, it was a lot.

I couldn’t stay long.  Even with all there was to see, the crush of people wore me out pretty quickly.  I exited the Bazaar and figured I’d head over to the Blue Mosque, a famous temple.  On the way there, a man speaking English stopped to inform me that the Mosque was currently closed to anyone but worshippers.  If I were to come back, I’d need to cover my hair (I knew that, but I just wanted to see the mosque, not enter it).  Instead, he suggested coming to his rug shop.  I started walking and he kept pace with me, telling me about the area. He led me to the basement of his shop to show me his art – the most gorgeous handmade rugs.  He invited me to tea in the sitting area (tea and hospitality are very big with the Turks) and the rugs were forgotten as we just talked. 

His name is Zaza and he called me delicious.

This is his rug shop where we had tea.

And this is the view from his apartment.

And that’s all I will say about Zaza except that he is the sweetest man I have ever met and I will remember him for the rest of my life.

Never did get to see the Blue Mosque, though.

Making my way back from his place in the growing dusk, down unfamiliar Turkish streets, I was still reeling over meeting that man.  I got back to the ferry muttering OMG the entire time.  The sun began to set and a couple of musicians started to perform in the back of the ferry.  It made the whole trip home even more surreal and beautiful.

No headache upon my return to the apartment this day.  I was way too freaked out to absorb much of anything between his apartment and mine.

The next day, I packed up to leave.  I had declined breakfast with Zaza by WhatsApp and instead climbed into a cab ... driven by another crazy cab driver.  Honestly, I barely noticed.  My brain was still too fried.  Only one thing I can say about my visit.

Freaking Turkiye, man.