The Travels Continue

The harem quarters were like a small walled village within the place. The bathrooms made of alabaster would not look out of place in a five star hotel of today.
I was pleased to see the courtyard and rooms in which the Mozart opera ‘Abduction from the Seraglio’ had been filmed a couple of years ago, and I had seen on our television just a few weeks before we left. It was great to link the two experiences. The opera also reminded of how much more civilised was the Pasha, than his European contemporaries.
By the end of the tour of the harem we were feeling a bit tired, and went back to the hotel for a short rest before going out for dinner.
We had dinner at Rumeli Café which is near the Sultanahmet Square. It was recommended by Adam and Rosalind, who had been there a few weeks before. We were shown into a small dinning room on the fourth floor with our table on a balcony overlooking the street below, Divanyolu Cadesi (pronounced Chadesi and that means street). While we feasted we watched cats nimbly running along the parapets of the building opposite, and ours, in search of their evening meals. They were one of the thousands, if not millions of cats that inhabit Istanbul. I think they are all Van cats, very long legged and athletic. We staggered back to the hotel carrying very full stomachs, and on the way again marvelled at the sight of the Blue Mosque against the night sky.
The next morning I had another huge breakfast with even more varieties of the cold meats along with all of the other items, that had become part of my staple diet. We took a cab down to the ferry terminal, just by the Galata Bridge and headed off across the Bosphorus, for the Asia side of Istanbul. It was only about fifteen minutes until we got off at our stop. We walked for a little way until we found a taxi rank, and asked to be taken to the Elma Arts Studio. The taxi driver spoke no English and we spoke no Turkish, and although we found what we thought was the address there was no studio. The taxi driver then walked up and down the road asking people for directions, as he was keen to make sure that we got to where we wanted to go. He asked policemen and passer-by, and eventually we found the correct location. The problem was I think that there are sometimes streets with the same names, and also some change their names as they move into another suburb. For the record the address is Elma Arts Studio Kalamis Ferer Cadesi, 84/1 in the suburb of Fenerbahce.
Fenerbahce is the home of the rival soccer team to the Galatasaray team from the European side, which I think is more known worldwide. We had read about the Elma Art studio in an Istanbul ‘The Guide Book’ and were keen to visit it. The studio is on the ground floor of a modern apartment block in a very leafy suburb that looks like the north shore of Sydney.
The studio is run by Mrs Gul Arik and Mrs Ugur Olgac, both of whom spoke excellent English. They were very warm and generous people who showed us their studio, and introduced us to some of their students.
They founded their studio twenty years ago with the aim of increasing public awareness of porcelain painting, and Turkish arts and heritage. To say that they have succeeded is an understatement. In March 2001 they took part in the Meissen Trophy International Convention of Porcelain Painting that was held in Venice. Prizes were won by Mrs Arik and Mrs Ugur, and also two of their students. They seemed to be more pleased with the success of their student rather than themselves. In the competition 225 artists with 500 pieces from 18 different countries took part. The first prize was awarded to Ms Ugur Olgac with the vase that she painted under the inspiration of Iznik’s first period that features much Iznik blue and gold motifs. In the same competition Mrs Gul Arik, who had worked for four years at the famous Pasabahce glass factory, won two gold and silver medals (the grand prix prize), while their other student Nilgun Ceylan won another gold medal. They say that the secret of their success is their philosophy:
‘Creativity is innate, but patience and love mean a lot also. Those of us in Turkey are very lucky in that we begin to observe our artistic and cultural heritage from early childhood. Even the streets we live in host the colourful mosaic of Turkish Arts. If you look at life from the perspective of arts, everything becomes more beautiful and easier.’
It turned out that Thursdays are when families get together each week, and while we were enjoying some tea in the studio, Mrs Gul Arik’s brother came in and we were introduced. He is a commercial photographer, and is very keen on scuba diving. We had a great chat and then their mother also arrived. She had been a lawyer, but spoke no English so we could do no more than exchange smiles. We bought two plates that feature designs from the Koran, and are excellent. We tried to pay with a credit card, but the machine would not work so Mrs Arik told us to send the money when we got back to Australia. We felt very humbled by this level of trust, but insisted that Mrs Arik process the sale by using a voucher. After more tea we were also given two glass amulets that are meant to ward off the ‘evil eye’. Mrs Arik’s brother used his skills, with our camera to take some photos of us with the plates and the lady that had decorated them. When we said that it was time we left they asked where we were going next. We told them about the article that we had seen in the weekend Sydney Telegraph featuring an ice cream shop in Istanbul. The ice cream is made and sold in shop run by an Ali Usta. The ice cream is made using powdered orchid root, and because the root of the orchid is a shape of almonds, the translation of the Arabic name of the orchid root is fox’s testicles.
Sheila was not all that keen on eating fox’s testicles, but we wanted to go to the shop, and give the owner the copy of the magazine which we had brought with us.
Mrs Arik and her brother were very amused and intrigued that the fame of Ali Ustar’s ice cream had spread to Australia. Then they said that, they in fact lived near the shop in the suburb of Moda and that Mrs Arik’s brother and Mrs Ugur would drive us to the shop, which they did.
We presented the magazine to the owner of the shop who turned out to speak no English, and who was also very dour. But, but the ice cream is superb. As it was being scooped out of the tubs it has the consistency of slightly melted mozzarella cheese. Sort of stringy and gluey, but with a teste that is sublime. There are no ice particles at all just a very smooth tasty ice-cream. I made some myself four days after we got back home. Sheila was very wary about the ‘fox’s testicles’, but she had the lion share of the batch I made. I hoped that I cold get some more ingredients to make it for Christmas. In fact I have found a source of supplies in Auburn in New South Wales. The ice cream has featured in a number of our dinner parties since. We then went to the nearby main street, and one could have easily mistaken it for Paris, London or Melbourne. It is a tree-lined boulevard that is very wide with lots of elegant café on the side-walks filled with very elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, taking their afternoon tea. There were also the ubiquitous McDonalds etc, and in fact we had to search to find somewhere that served Turkish food and not Thai or French. It seemed paradoxical to us that this was the Asian side of Istanbul, but was far more European than the European side. Sheila spotted a Marks and Spencer store, and when we got over the shock of having to put our bags through an x-ray machine to enter the store, Sheila was primed for some retail therapy. Sheila was thrilled to find that the Turkish ladies sizes were more suited to her than the ones in Singapore. Needless to say our bags were heavier when we finally left the store. I did escape for a while as I tried to find a post-office, a very rare commodity in Istanbul. After going into a telephone retail shop and a long conversation between a very nice young Turkish lady and myself, I came away with directions to how to find the PTFE. I still don’t know how, as again neither of us understood one word the other was saying. It turned out that the post-office was a very small office at the top of a long and dark stairway. I just showed him the addresses for the various countries that we wanted to send the cards to, and he selected the appropriate notes from my wallet, and indicated that he would see that they were posted. Well he did, as they all arrived at their destinations. By the by, we discovered that there are no telephone directories in Turkey.
I was amazed at this until I thought that at home we put together our own address and telephone numbers of the people we want to ring, and in fact we have ‘Telstra’ books full of names and numbers of people, that we will never ring. Hm food for thought.
We got a taxi back to our hotel for our first time crossing the Bosphorus, via one of the two huge bridges that now span it.
A bridge across the Bosphorus from the Asia to the European side.

We felt too tired to go out at night so after a brief rest we had dinner on the terrace watching the ships at anchor as they waited to traverse the Bosphorus. Another tiring, but very enjoyable day.
All that night, all next day and the next night was spent by me either in bed or in the loo, spray painting the porcelain with my posterior. The cold meats had at last caught up with me, and I learned to do the ‘Turkey Trot’, very quickly sometimes. One thing I discovered was that in the back of the toilet bowel is placed a small spout. If you reach down with your right hand you get a very accurate stream of water that washes one’s bottom very clean, and then one only has to use the paper to dry the excess water off. Most impressive, trouble is Sheila now wants them at home, and I don’t think Sheila will be satisfied by my idea of a bush bidet; some garden hose through the toilet window which I will turn on and off at command. Ah! how travel broadens and enriches the mind.
We are now up to day six, I think, well anyway it was Sunday.
We got up early on another great day, I ‘passed’ on the cold meats, and ate up big on the yoghurt. We got a taxi up to the Grand Bazaar. It is a good idea to read your guidebooks thoroughly before you set off. The Grand Bazaar is closed on Sundays. We walked through the grounds of the Istanbul University to see the Mosque of Suleyman the Magnificent built by the great architect Sinan.
Koca Mimar Sinan (1491-1588) like many of his eminent contemporaries was brought from Anatolia to Istanbul during the devsirme, the annual roundup of talented Christian youth, and educated at one of the elite palace schools. (Similar I guess to the Jesuits).
He became a military engineer, but was selected by Suleyman 1 to be his chief imperial architect in 1538. Sinan died aged 97, having built 131 mosques and 200 other buildings. Sinan was the Ottoman empire’s Renaissance architect. The masterpieces that he created enhanced not only the fame of the Sultans he served, but also all of Turkey, and it is fitting that the tomb of Sinan is in the grounds of the Suleymaniye Mosque.
Suleymaniye Mosque with the Golden Horn behind it and the Galata bridge.

It is called by many, Istanbul’s most important mosque because of its sponsor Suleyman the Magnificent and its architect Sinan. It was built above the Golden Horn in the grounds of the old palace, Eski Saray between 1550 and 1557. Like many other imperial mosques, the Suleymaniye Mosque was not only a place of worship, but also a charitable foundation. The mosque is surrounded by its former hospital, soup kitchen, schools, caravanserai and bath house. This complex provided a welfare system, which fed over 1,000 of the city’s poor – Muslims, Christians and Jews alike – every day.
In the courtyard the ancient columns that surround the courtyard are said to have come from the Kathisma, the Byzantine royal box in the Hippodrome. It was good that they believed in re-cycling then as well as now.
The mosque interior gives one a sense of soaring space and calm, as you enter the mosque. Apparently this effect is enhanced by the fact that the height of the dome from the floor is exactly double the diameter of the dome.
Over the tomb of Suleyman, in a building behind the mosque, one can see ceramic stars set with emeralds. In the same building are coffins of his daughter Mihrimah and two of his successors Suleyman 11 and Ahmet 11. But both Sheila and I did not feel the same reverence that we felt in the Fatih Mosque of Sultan Mehmet the conqueror.
Also in the grounds is the tomb of Roxelana, (1500 – 1558) the scheming Russian wife of Suleyman the Magnificent. Roxelana.
Haseki Hurrem, her name in Turkish, rose from being a concubine in the imperial harem to become the chief wife of Suleyman. She was the first consort permitted to reside within the walls of the Topkapi Palace. Roxelana would stop at nothing to get her own way. When Suleyman’s grand vizier and friend from youth, Ibrahim Pasha tried to warn Suleyman about the scheming of Roxelana she persuaded Suleyman to have Ibrahim strangled. Much later she performed her coup de grace when in 1553 she persuaded Suleyman to have his handsome and popular heir, murdered by deaf mutes to clear the way for her own son Selim to inherit the throne, and the start of the decline of the Ottoman empire. Pillow politics has had much to answer for through the ages.
From the Mosque of Suleyman, we walked to the ferries near the Galata bridge, and went on a three hour cruise up the Bosphorus to a small suburb, just down stream a little from the Mehmet bridge the second large bridge across the Bosphorus. Nearby are castles on both sides of the Bosphorus which were built by Mehmet the Conqueror as safe havens for his army prior to his conquering Constantinople in 1453.

Castle on the shore of the Bosphorus

We stopped for an hour for lunch, and then sailed back on the Asian side of the Bosphorus.
The houses on the shores of the Bosphorus would not have looked out of place in Sylvania Waters or the Gold Coast. Many of them are quite new, four stories with room underneath to berth the cruiser. When we got back to the ferry terminal we walked over the Galata Bridge, passing hundreds of men watching their bait at the end of the fishing lines. We hailed a taxi and headed for the Mevlevi Monastery. At this mosque on the last Sunday of every month the Whirling Dervishes put on a public performance. The performance was scheduled to start at 1700, so we made sure that we got there for 16.00.
Outside of the octagonal shaped room where they were to perform was a very pleasant garden with some stone seats. We sat and enjoyed the ambience of the garden. While we sat there an elderly gentleman in a dinner suit came over to us and beckoned for Sheila to follow him. Away they went around the back of the monastery. I watched some of the numerous cats stalk the birds until Sheila and her guide returned. Apparently he was a lute player for the performance, and he showed Sheila where the monks kept their robes and where the instruments were stored underneath the monastery. Again this was all achieved without each person knowing one word of the others language. It was yet another example for us, of the kindness and generosity of the Turkish people.
Sufism is the mystical branch of Islam. The name comes from ‘suf’, the Arabic word for wool, for Sufis were originally associated with poverty, and self-denial, and often wore rough woollen clothes next to the skin. I guess the Islam version of the Christian hair shirt. Sufis aspire to a personal experience of the divine. This takes the form of meditative rituals, involving recitation, dance and music to bring the practitioner into direct, ecstatic communion with their god. I am again amazed at the similarities in this to one of the mystical branches of the Jewish faith. One can’t help but wonder why, when we are so much alike there are also huge schisms. www.virtualtourist.com/m/tt/371c7/
There are several sects of Sufis, the most famous of which are the Mevlevi, better known as the Whirling Dervishes on account of their ritual spinning dance.
Although Sufism was banned by Ataturk in 1924 when he made Turkey the secular state it is today, this monastery has survived as the Divan Edebiyati Muzesi, a museum of ‘divan’ literature (classical Ottoman poetry).
The monastery belonged to the Whirling Dervishes. The original dervishes were disciples of the mystical poet and great Sufi master Mevlana (Our Leader) Jelaleddin Rumi, who died in Konya, in south central Anatolia in 1273.
The monastery was not easy to find, it is tucked way in a small street named after one of the great poets of the sect, Galip Dede. The museum centres on an 18th century lodge, within which is the beautiful octagonal wooden dance floor that is bounded by a metre high wood balustrade and then above is a balcony. We were lucky that we arrived early as we were able to get seats in the front row next to the balustrade, and with a view that was not obstructed by a pillar. The room filled up very quickly and some of the tour groups behaved badly, as usual, and a couple of English women, I would not call them ladies, ignored a sign asking them to not sit on the steps of the Minbar, (the stairway which the Iman ascends when he leads their prayers).
In fact they took down the rope that was blocking it off from access, and they cast the rope and its sign to one side. When a young acolyte from the sect asked them very politely to move they refused very aggressively saying they had paid to get in, and they were going to sit there so that they could see more easily, and in comfort. He waked away sad, but I guess not surprised. There were also a number of signs asking people not to use flash cameras and tripods in the room during the performance. Sheila and I got headaches from the continual use of flash cameras. There were more ‘flashers’ than at a pervert’s picnic. It was hard not to let their rudeness spoil the moment, but anyway:
The musicians walked on to the floor first and bowed towards Mecca before taking their seats. The music was haunting and gradually got faster and then was accompanied by the musicians singing. We could not recognise most of the instruments nor any of the words of the songs, but they created images of heroic feats of old.
When they had finished their ‘set’ they left the dancing floor, and on their way to the balcony above the floor, donned flowing robes and fez.
At last, the dancers were led in by the Iman. There were ten dancers on this day, dressed in very tall, grey, woollen fez and long black cloaks. After filing past the Iman, where they received a blessing, they sat as a group on one side and seemed deep in prayer or meditation. After about ten minutes one of the group collected their cloaks, and we could see the heavy white woollen gowns that they wore underneath their cloaks. They again filed past the Iman for another blessing, and then started to spin, at first slowly, and then as they gathered speed they also rotated as a group around the floor. One of the dancers stayed in the middle of the floor, and the others rotated around him. There was also another man who was dressed the same as the dancers except he had a large white fez, and he kept his black cloak folded around himself. He would slowly walk in between an around the dancers. I think to give them a visual reference point as they whirled around. After about twenty minutes they stopped whirling and crossed their arms over their chests.
After a few seconds they again slowly processed past the Iman who gave them another blessing. They then started spinning again this time with a different member at the centre. After twenty minutes they stopped and then went through the same sequence before starting another ‘set’. At the end the Iman joined in the dance briefly and they bowed to Mecca and left the floor in single file. We felt very honoured at being able to witness their devotions. How on earth they are able to spin around for about an hour is beyond my comprehension, but we saw it and believe it or not, it happens. We had a little look around the terraced gardens outside, in which are ornate tombstones of members of the sect. We then walked a few yards to one of the main streets in that suburb, it is called Istiklal Cadesi, along which trams run, and crowds promenade. There are plenty of cafes, and we had apple tea and cakes, I also had rice pudding. They have a dessert which they call ‘chicken breasts’ and it looks for all the world like chicken breasts poached in milk, but it is in fact semolina, and very very nice; much liked by the Turkish, but loved by me. We walked for a while to see some shops and enjoy the ambience of the warm evening, and the friendly crowds. Then it was into a taxi and back to our hotel to collapse into bed at the end of another great day. Monday the next day was going to be our foray into the Grand Bazaar. (It is open on Mondays)
One of the initial steps taken by Sultan Mehmed the Second after the conquest of Istanbul was to order the construction of public baths, caravanserais, mosques, and housing of the new population of the city. Covered market places in the eastern world, were initially designed for the fabrics trade, and later to be centres for trade of all valuable commodities, were at the time named Bedesten. The Bedestan commissioned by Mehmed the second, better known as the Conqueror, was near the Old Palace and later was referred to as the Old Bedesten, the Inner Bedesten and Cavahir Bedesteni. The New Bedesten, which was later to be called the Grand Bazaar, received the name Sandal Bedesteni from ‘sandal’ clothing, which is woven half cotton and half silk, for the sale of which the Bedesten was specifically created. The design of the Bedesten was typical of the construction of Mehmed’s era. The jewellery, gold and silver of the notables and businessmen of those days were kept in vaults in the Bedesten for a small fee. Jewellery, gold and precious fabrics, shawls, carpets, and a variety of other precious goods from all over the Turkish Empire and the world were sold in the Old Bedesten. The tradesmen here were the richest men in the city. Throughout its history the Grand Bazaar has undergone numerous repairs, but received a major reconstruction after the 1894 earthquake that devastated the city.
After the influx of European fabrics in the second half of the 19th Century, trade of the domestic hand woven fabrics received a great blow, while the inauguration of a national banking system no longer necessitated that aspect of the bazaar’s services.
These changes confined the functions of the Old Bedesten to sales of jewellery, carpets and antique wares, while the Sandel Bedesten could no longer function. The Sandel Bedesten was bought by the Istanbul Municipality in 1914 and reopened as a general auction hall.
The practice was later to be discontinued, although these auctions had become a respectable tradition. The bazaar, which reflects all eras of the City’s life, survives. The Grand Bazaar, which encloses and covers some 3,000 shops, is visited daily by 250,000 to 400,000 people, varying with the seasons. The Bazaar, has saved many trades from extinction owing to a cultural entity of its own. It also serves as the oldest, biggest and most diversified shopping space in the world. Unaffected by the architecture and cultural structures of the shopping malls of today, the Bazaar is still able to offer many commodities cheaper than elsewhere. It is worth noting that:
the Bazaar has the world’s oldest banking system and is the world’s oldest and biggest shopping arcade.
On the way to the Grand Bazaar we called into an Internet Café so that I could try and check on my e-mails. The keyboard was a little different having some Cyrillic letters added to the keyboard, but with a little help I was able to check my mail, however when I closed down, it posted a message that my messages had not all gone. But at Australian$1.50 for an hour, I did not complain. One of the main reasons for our visit to the Grand Bazaar was to see if we could buy a twin for the gold bangle that I had bought for Sheila 34 years ago. That was when I was in the Royal Navy and tried to get a worthwhile gift from the Bazaar. One whole street in the bazaar is dedicated to shops selling gold, and we wandered from one to another showing them Sheila’s bangle and asking them if they had one the same. “Very old design” was the response each time, “sorry we can’t help you with that design, but we have many more that are similar”.
Most were nowhere similar, but one could not criticise them for trying to make a sale. We quickly learned that the gold was sold by weight with a surcharge according to the amount of workmanship that was in the design. I was pleased that the first one I had bought was a very simple design. Apparently many secretaries etc buy the gold bangles each week as a saving and part of their dowry. We compared weights with costs in about ten shops. One ‘best price’ that we were quoted for a design that was closest to what Sheila liked, was 10.32 grams of 22K gold for Australian$215 or 215 x 750,000 Turkish Lire.
That is 16,125,000 lire the thought of spending 16 million of any currency brought sweat out on my brow, but I guess it is the same with other currencies such as the Indonesian Rupiah, where a 1,000 Rupiah is worth about 10 cents Australian. Sheila says the sweat is not about the exchange rate, it is about buying anything. Well back and forth we went, comparing prices per gram and haggling. Buying gold by weight seemed to be so financially sophisticated we felt like agents for Fort Knox. The reality was we bought a bangle weighing 10.14 grams for Australian $189. Sheila and I we were happy thinking we were ‘ace’ negotiators, so please don’t telephone and tell us we were ripped off. If you think it was a good deal, when you go, the bloke to see is Erdogan Bektas, Kuyumcu Kapalicarsi Kalpakcilar Cedessi, telephone 5266654. (I am not on a commission). He doesn’t speak English, and he is not a cheerful soul like many of his flash competitors, but he seemed an ‘honest broker’, and his shop was not supporting staff and exotic overheads. Well one purchase, a few to go. We could have easily spent a fortune, but settled for a couple of Fez, and some plates. Sheila was quite keen on a dancer’s outfit, but baulked when I started to get keen as well. Not for me, but for her. It is interesting that ladies seem to enjoy the shopping experience, but blokes just want to get in buy and get out again. Ladies are definitely a different breed, God bless them.
After some more shopping experience, but no buying we had a respite in a small café and enjoyed some glasses of apple tea, where I also bought some ‘worry beads’ off a very elderly hawker who the waiters wanted to throw out. After refreshments back to the fray and wandering down different streets (cadessi) and lanes (sokak). In the Old Bazaar we were walking past an old shop, which was about the size of a large wardrobe, which sold ancient Ottoman calligraphy. As we past, a young man inside called out to us and asked if we had five minutes to spare. We agreed and sat down expecting to get the sales pitch but no! Mustapha Achmed Errol, son of Omar, was studying how to do Ottoman Calligraphy, and asked if we would like him to draw our names for no charge, just to give him practice. We were again humbled by Turkish generosity, and our first assumptions. It took Errol about ten minutes to do as he was very painstaking, and also keen to talk with us about Australia. When he was finished he added his signature ‘block’, the word for Istanbul and also dated it 1422, that was the current year according to the Muslim calendar. Year one was when Mohamed fled from Mecca to Medina. I think also that the Muslim year has twelve, thirty day months so that it is slowly catching up with our Gregorian one. It is a good exercise to work out when they will coincide. I make it 2117, but then again sums were never my strong point. We had the calligraphy framed and I think it was one of our best acquisitions, and not just because the price was right.
I was about shopped out by now, and we went back to the Hotel for a rest. After a short nap we decided to walk west along the shore of the Sea of Marmara to a group of seafood restaurants. They were very picturesque with tables set out on the cobbled streets, and lit by many lanterns and Turkish music coming from various sources. To be honest it turned out to be a bit of a hassle as it is a big tourist dinning area, and each restaurant has at least one tout trying to get you to sit at their tables. The food was okay, but we felt we would have done better at one of the other sites where we had been before, but it is all a learning experience. We walked back to the hotel and fell into bed exhausted again, but pleased with our purchases in the bazaar, but particularly meeting Mustapha Achmed Errol son of Omar.
Breakfast of yoghurt, figs, dates, olives fetta cheese etc heralded the beginning of our next day.
Sheila’s bazaar experience had wet her appetite for retail therapy, and we decided to visit a suburban shopping centre called ‘Carousel’ in the suburb of Bakirkoy, which was about 15 minutes west of our hotel by taxi and half way to the airport. We did not know what to expect, other than it was described as ultra-modern, non-smoking and fun for kids; BM Club, Benetton, British Home Stores, Mothercare and more, open every day 10.00 – 22.00. The first surprise was having to go through metal detectors at the door and having our back pack x-rayed. After that, the only surprises were the fact that it could have been lifted up and set in Melbourne, Sydney, or London and would not have been out of place. On the lower ground floor was a huge children’s Carousel , supermarket, café and Adidas shops etc. On each of the four levels were various shops all facing the hub and smaller shops each side of wide corridors that were like spokes of a wheel. It was a shopping centre the same as in many parts of the world. On the top level was a ‘three theatre’ cinema, and snack bars most of which were KFC, McDonalds etc. Again we had to search for one that served Turkish foods, and they seemed surprised when we ordered it in preference to pizza or hamburger. All a manifestation of globalisation I guess, but it seems sad that we are being pushed into having one global culture.
A couple of months before our trip a friend and colleague of mine Professor Hayim Granot from Bar Ilan University in Israel came and did a research project with me in Bathurst. While he was with us he mentioned a trip he had taken to Istanbul before he came to Australia. While in Istanbul he had visited a earthquake research centre, and he gave me the contact details of the people there, and suggested we visit. So today I telephoned Zeynup Turkman and she suggested that we meet outside the Marmara Hotel at 2000.
We got a taxi across the Golden Horn again, and got out in front of the Marmara Hotel that is on a very large and busy traffic intersection. Of course we arrived a little early, and had a short walk around and nearby found a Japanese restaurant that seemed very out of context. We walked back to the main entrance of the hotel that is a large multi story hotel and judging from the accents we could hear as people entered and left, very popular with Americans. That would also explain the x-ray equipment etc in the foyer.
I hate waiting to meet people who you have no idea what they look like. But it was also as bad for Zeynup, and also she did not know what sort of people we would be. I almost approached a couple of people who were also waiting for people at 20.00, but in the end a very nice looking lady came up to me and asked if we were John and Sheila. There were no awkward silences that sometimes can happen when strangers meet. Zeynup introduced us to her partner Engin, and suggested that we go for dinner to a café that they know. It was very very busy and we were lucky to get a table on the second level. Engin and Zeynup ordered the food and it was excellent, I felt that I was getting to be a real ‘porker’. After dinner we walked along the Istiklal Cadessi, along with thousands of Turkish people, who just promenade. It seems to be a very European form of socialising that I had seen in Malta and Italy. As we walked along I spoke with Engin, and Sheila with Zeynup, it is amazing how the worldwide sister hood rears its head. It was a great night and Zeynup suggested that we visit her at the earthquake centre the next day. We got a taxi back to the hotel quite late, and fell into bed again exhausted, but feeling good.
Wednesday morning, gee it was hard trying to keep in touch with what day of the week it was. Breakfast was the same as before, but even more of the same. I really was over my stomach upset, and making up for lost time and lost food.
Today was our second ferry trip up the Bosphorus on a larger ferry and this time it took us only an hour to get to a small village called Anabolu Kavagi which is on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, and as far as the ferries go, near where the Bosphorus flows from the Black Sea.
Anabolu Kavagi reminded me very much of small villages in Malta in the early 1960’s. It was still warm and the stillness of the air only marginally disturbed by a lethargic dragonfly. It took us about thirty minutes to see Anabolu Kavagi twice, and we decided that we would not wait the next two and a half hours for the ferry to start its trip back, as we were planning to get off on the way back anyway. So we decided that we would catch a local bus. We had about ten minutes to wait during which the bus driver communicated the fact that he did not sell the bus tickets and that we would have to buy them from a general store in the square.
Having bought our tickets for the princely sum of a couple of dollars, we were shown that we had deposit the small bits of paper into a large metal box just inside of the bus. The driver did not check the tickets so who knows how they work out if you have bought a ticket for the first stop, or the last, or maybe its one price, wherever one gets off. The road out of the village was a steep narrow winding path surrounded on both sides by trees and bushes. Much of the lands around the village and for many miles outside of it, is military land with many sentries very obvious, and well armed. I guess that it is a very sensitive area when one remembers that other countries with which they have borders including Bulgaria, Armenia, Georgia Syria, Iran, Iraq and Russia. Most of the trip was over steep wooded hills, and stops were frequent for local people who seemed very interested to see tourists on their local bus. Our plan was to get off at the nearest bus stop to the Bosphourus University Earthquake Centre that we had arranged with Zeynup last night to visit today. Well we enlisted the help of people on the bus to try and identify the most appropriate stop. There was considerable discussion about which was best, and when consensus was reached by the passengers we saw ‘our stop’ passed by, out of the rear window. The driver thought he knew best, and although he and they spoke no English, he was determined that he knew what was best for us. The rest of the passengers were incensed, and although we did not understand a word it was obvious that he was being roundly abused, and they wanted him to turn the bus back. But he slammed on the brakes at the next stop, and gestured that this was where we got off. We were not sure of whether it was because it was the correct stop, or because we had been the cause of a mutiny. As it turned out he was right, the stop where everyone else wanted us to get off, was just a clearing by the roadside, whereas the bus driver choice was right by a taxi rank. We got in the taxi and showed him a card that had the details of the location of the earthquake centre. More climbing narrow wooded lanes, round and round we went ever upwards until we reached the top, and a series of buildings set among the trees with very special views up and down the Bosphorus. After a couple of tries we found the correct building and our host Zeynep Turkman.
Zeynep introduced Sheila and I to other staff in the centre, and then suggested that we have a tour of that centre, and some other centres. I enjoyed playing with the props that they use to demonstrate to children the effects of earthquakes on buildings.
After playing with them Zeynep took us to the seismic monitoring section, and we were shown the paper record of the earthquake that happened in 1999, not far from Istanbul. The paper was covered in erratic pen tracings, and they have promised to send me a copy that I look forward to getting.
From there Zeynep took us to the solar observatory that was also fascinating. It was a wooden dome that moved around on a geared track to keep the telescope aperture in line with the sun. The telescope was also on a track to keep pace with the movement of the sun. No-one looks through the telescope, instead the light from the sun shines through the telescope onto light sensitive paper where the ‘sun spots’ and flares are recorded. The size and movement of the flares etc, are tracked to see what significance they might have. The chap who showed us around and explained everything was very kind and patient. When we went back to Zenep’s office we were given tea and cakes, and I must admit I was the one that ate all of the cakes.
We then met Marla and American lady who heads up the earthquake preparedness program which is funded in fact by the U.S.A. I became excited about their work and my ideas, and time went very quickly. Zeynep said that she would take us to dinner with Engin, and drop Marla off at her house on the way.
We went to Zenep’s apartment and felt very privileged to be invited to her home when we had only met the night before. Engin was there and showed us his Hi Fi equipment that amazed us, as it is some of the latest equipment, yet it featured valves instead of transistors. Engin explained that the aficionados of sound equipment believe that the sound quality of valves is superior to transistors, and much of the best equipment is now utilising valves. Sheila and I were amazed and pleased that an old valve radio that we had was at last being appreciated again. For dinner Zeynep and Engin took us to a local vegetarian restaurant where the food was excellent and the people very friendly.
After dinner we went for a walk to try some different ice cream that Engin insisted was better than Ali Usta’s. The shop was called Bal Kaymail Dondurmalei and I am not sure which is best, I think I will have to sample many more before I can make a judgement. We then had coffee, tea and Baklava, or I should say I had lots of Baklava. It must be something to do with the fact that a lot of people said that I looked like a Turkish man. Then again the same has been said of me in Italy and Greece.
We then went for a drive down to the waterfront and a tea-house at the end of a jetty. It used to be a maritime signal station and was going to be taken over and used as a commercial venture, but the community took it over and made it a facility for the community. We sat outside in wicker chairs watching the moonlight and ships on the Sea of Marmara. When we were asked what we would like to drink I opted for a beer, but Sheila thought she might have a little Raki. Wrong! There is no such thing as a little Raki, and also the waiter said that they did not have a licence to serve spirits.