It was the Sunday morning one week after my return from Cappadocia. I was despairing that I may have boggled the dates when Mavis and Herm would return to Istanbul. I thought they were coming back on Saturday, so I had spent that whole time sleeping on the couch in avid anticipation of their return. Come Sunday morning, my only consolation was Total Rugby. Then the phone rang -- it had to be them! I had a difficult choice to make: rugby or ... I chose my friends (= free lunch).
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It was another beautiful spring day. I charged downhill. (OK, I lurched.) Upon entering the bus, even though empty seats were available, I chose to stand because there was an open window slat above me that drew in the fragrant April morning air. Before we had even reached the next stop, however, a stern hooded woman in a heavy, tan, ankle-length, buttoned-at-the-throat Islamist uniform slammed the window shut with an emphatic bang. She must have felt the dreaded coolness of the air and had courageously acted to prevent its threatening the endangered Turks behind me.
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I knew it was going to be a fun day when the driver honked at an errant motorist and the horn stuck, blaring at the impassive walls of the ill-fated Ciragan (Turkish ‘g’) Palace, a restored residence of the last Ottoman sultans, now a 5-star hotel. Both Driver and Change Maker leaped heroically through the front door, thrust open the hood and yanked at random cables until the horn stopped, but we passengers could not know this because of the cacophony of car horns protesting from behind our vehicle. During this distraction, I reopened the window, and enjoyed fresh air until I disembarked in Besiktas, whereupon I met the Hermodsons.
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Our first stop was the Dolmebahce (pronounced Dole-meh-BAH-jeh) Palace, meaning filled-in garden. The palace was constructed in 1856 in what had been a garden created over land recovered in the 16th century. The line of tourists was huge, and after a short wait (made shorter when an usher informed the crowded line that it would be at least an hour and a half before we even made it to the entrance booth), we decided that this was a site we would not be visiting today.
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We caught a bus to my neighborhood, Ortakoy, and visited the Saturday open market and took pictures of the neo-baroque mosque, then caught a taxi up to Kurucesme and visited the neighborhood where Nancy and I had lived for several months (described in loving terms in previous Istanbullets). We walked downhill to the church built over the dry well from whence the village derived its name, and M & H scrambled through the ancient tunnel to the underground source of the holy water. We then walked along the Bosporus to Arnavutkoy (“Armenian Village” -- I’m sorry that I originally called it a Greek settlement). This is where I go to get my hair cut by Adil, but my favorite restaurant, Abracadabra, was closed for renovations. We walked around until we found a place that was open but not crowded, and was sending off a lot of take-out food, which meant the locals liked the cooking there. (Busy restaurants in Istanbul maintain small fleets of motorcycle serfs who will speedily deliver their culinary products to your doorstep, wearing unfastened helmets while smoking en route.)
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After lunch, we continued our walk along the water and passed through Bebek (in Turkish, “Baby”). This place reminds me of Rodeo Drive (“Yeah, baby”) -- international high-end shops abut one another, while yacht-brought wealthies jog along the sidewalks with their designer dogs. Once we reached the northern end of the village, we caught a taxi to Rumeli HisarI -- Rumeli (meaning Roman, but really meaning Christian, the enemy the place was built to thwart) Fortress.
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This huge fortification was constructed in 1452, under the direction of Sultan Mehmet II Fatih (“The Conqueror”), one year prior to the conquest of Istanbul. Mehmet II’s aim was to block any support which might have come south from the Christian nations that nestled along the northwestern shores of the Black Sea to assist the Byzantines. It was erected on the narrowest point of the Bosphorus, facing another smaller Ottoman fortress that already existed on the Asian side. Amazingly, in an age lit only by fire and powered only by slaves and animals, Rumeli HisarI was completed after only 4 months: Mehmet II designed the first tower and created a competition between his Pashas (Generals) to complete a tower each and a connecting wall to the next tower.
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Now, Rumeli HisarI is a huge museum, displaying many of the ancient stone-throwing cannons that were used during the conquest. It has a large, open-air amphitheater that is used during the summer months for concerts, and the views from the battlements above the Bosporus are among the most spectacular in Istanbul. I always take my foreign guests there. However, I find each visit more harrowing, personally, as I am developing vertigo. To get to the battlements, one must climb ancient stone staircases, each step of which is irregular in composition and height between steps. There are no guardrails, and the steps get narrower the higher up you go. Also, the gusts of wind off the Bosporus get more erratic and forceful. I cling to the walls like a starfish on Haystack Rock, inching upward while my heart and breath rates enter the red zone. But once on top, it is exhilarating!
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Thanks for the visit, Mavis and Herm! I hope to see you at my next international gig!
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