Written by Barbara Anderson
Our Russian friend Renad was intent on showing us around. The day kept changing as his schedule became crowded with details of his imminent return to Kazan. Bayram, the holiday following the end of Ramadan, had emptied out the university. Students had left for home, much as they do for Thanksgiving. Had we known about the holiday, we might have tried to schedule a trip oursevles although everyone told us getting reservations would have been difficult. Even the schedules at museums were affected. The campus restaurant closed, and we found ourselves eating at the student fast food place instead. Renad tried to convince Larry that no students would be in his class, so any day of the week would be fine for an excursion. Luckily, he checked before cancelling classes that ended up being fully attended. In any case, Tuesday was selected as the day when we would meet Renad at the entrance to the Metrobus stop. I'm being specific because we never met there. His directions may have worked except for the fact our bus never went to the Metro bus entrance where he was waiting. And our attempt to find Metrobus resulted in a long walk along the side of a freeway to an overpass where some Metrobuses were picking up passengers. After over a n hour wait, we decided to follow plan B: meet Renad at Kadikoy where all the buses (but not the Metrobuses --I know this is confusing) on the Asian side converge. Even there we saw no sign of Renad and were about to give up when he came rushing toward us. We all took a taxi to the Metrobus station and 2 hours late set off for our excursion. I mention all the problems because they were indicative of what would transpire for the next hour...confusion about where a place was, taxi rides to nowhere....The problem was the first stop on his agenda was a very new attraction, Panorama 1453; no one seemed to understand where we wanted to go or had any idea where it was...Knowing Chora Church was also on the agenda, I was feeling impatient and would have gladly ended the apparent wild goose chase for more time at the place I really wanted to see.
But as we have learned, everything just requires time and a few false starts. Maybe one of the lasting benefits of this trip will be my learning to be more patient, to"chill" as Larry always suggests; somehow I suspect that willingness to be more patient will be a temporary phenomenon. I'll return to Colorado and the stress to be somewhere at a given time will erase any of the "chill" lessons I'm trying to absorb here. We finally found Panorama 1453, a spot the typical western tourist probably will not visit at it is a recreation of the conquest of Constantinople in 1453, not the fall...Immediately, we noticed the visitors were of a different background. I may have been the only woman with an uncovered head, and the women totally covered in black were as numerous as those just modestly dressed in floor length garb and scarves. Many of the men were also in religious attire; I had never realized a kind of harem pant was seemingly essential to the wardrobe of religous men. We were viewing history from the other side as we looked at the 360 degree mural depicting the glorious triumph of Mehmet the Conqueror. The martial music, the steady beat of the military drums to me were a terrifying sign of impending doom; to everyone else the music was a triumphant hymn to the founding of their country. Maybe western tourists should include Panorama 1453 on their agenda to force them to look at a pivotal moment in world history in a new way. I wish we had opted to use the audio recorders so all the displays with their Turkish inscriptions would have had some meaning for us. Significantly, only at Panorama 1453 was there no English or other foreign language signage. The mural itself was painted by an Italian artist , but I know very few details because of the language barrier.
The earlier frustrations ended at that point. A quick ride to a neighborhood took us to the vicinity of Chora Church. Tour books recommend tourists visist the church, now a museum after sharing a similar conversion to mosque fate as Aya Sofya and most churches in Turkey, but the guide books all say it is far from the rest of the Old Town sights and must be reached by taxi (or be thankful if your tour bus has decided to included it on its list). Tucked in a neighborhood of old wooden houses, many brightly painted in shades of pink, blue, and green, it is near the Old City Wall. We would spend the rest of our day walking along the wall in increasingly poor neighborhoods, in areas that may not be safe for ousiders after nightfall. The walk would be a fascinating look at what remained of the fortification we had seen in its 15th century glory just as it was breached by invaders, as we stopped to have tea along the wall with an old Turkish man with one clouded eye, who expressed his affection for both President Obama and President Bush...and looked at old mosques, cemeteries, and houses barely standing, yet clearly still occupied...all in the shadow of that long old wall. I wish I'd had a guidebook with me since I really don't know exactly what we were seeing. Rick Steves gave a thorough description of the church, but we didn't know exactly where we were and hence were not reading the appropriate sections as we wandered, assuming any of the narrow streets we wandered up and down was even mentioned. I was feeling so tired, so unable to climb just one more set of steps up the wall, and wondered at my level of exhaustion. By the time we returned to our room, it was clear I was sick, running a fever, and needing a day just to sleep my way to recuperation. At the time I wondered if I had a touch of the flu, maybe even swine flu, but the achey feeling and the fever luckily passed quickly. But I digress from the important part of the day: the church...
Kariye Muzesi (Kariye Museum or Chora Church) is the site of one of the most significant collections of Byzantine mosaics in the world. Visit Ravenna to see early mosaics; visit Chora to see mosaics suggesting the realism, dimension, and artistry of the early Renaissance...and that's if you are interested in art history. Visit Chora as a Christian to see the stories of the New Testament come to life on every available surface, to "read'' the gospels in art...I was clutching my Rick Steves Istanbul and reading along; members of a tour group kept commenting on the book and explaining they were on a Rick Steves tour...But I soon decided to put the book away and "read" on my own...my head tilted back to see every possible scene. Larry, the reluctant observer of the glories of Aya Sofya, had no difficulties here; the mosaics were so complete, the beauty so evident...The plaster that had covered the walls in the centuries of its mosque visage had probably protected the 14th century mosaics. They are in remarkable condition and only emerged from centuries of concealment in the 1940s. Of all the places we have visited in Istanbul, this is the place, this small church, where I could spend the most time. I read later that all subsequent icons owe their images to the Chora representations, that religious art around the world reflects the images on the Chora walls. And the art is not just the mosaics. In the paracclesion, the funeral chapel, frescoes depicting the Last Judgment become an appropriate echo of the function of the space. One memorable detail:Christ pulling Adam and Eve from their tombs, His head in a halo of what still appears to be actual gold...
So many frescoes linger in my mind: the miracle of turning water into wine, the depiction of the pregnant Mary sleeping with the Holy Child still embedded in her womb, the tottering first steps of the infant Mary,the depiction of Peter and Paul on either side of the entry...This is a place to inspire awe and reverence and appreciation, depending on what you are seeking. And because it is so out of the way, the number of tour buses seemed less. I could actually spend uninterrupted time just looking...Outside, the church/museum is rather nondescript; the glory is inside. And for people who can "do" a sight quickly, there is a tea shop with high prices, Renad reported, and a few souvenir stands. But nothing really spoils this spot. Maybe we were fortunate to be visiting it in the offseason, but the crowds just seem fewer than we have encountered in other Istanbul locations. Since I ended the day in bed with a fever, I should probably be less enthusiastic about this day. We had run out of time to visit the last site Renad had hoped to show us, and we headed back to Kadikoy on a ferry with a rush hour crowd...but it still was a most memorable day, one I would love to repeat...minus the walk along the freeway...
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Our last weekend
Written by Barbara Anderson
So quickly we have come to the end of our time in Turkey. I still have a long list of the places we need to see in Istanbul, not to mention the places beyond the city we long to see. Cappadocia, the beaches along the Mediterranean, more ruins… So we must try to be frantic tourists for a few days instead of the leisurely travelers we have been, and Larry will complain about the fast pace and long to find benches. I will feel stressed about the long time it takes for us to get anywhere because of our location on the Asian side and will probably complain..We must remember why this time has been special;we have learned to accept the different ways each of us likes to see a place and have adjusted the pace accordingly.
And now it’s Monday. Suitcases are spread out all over the floor. I am trying to figure out how we will find space for everything as I watch (or listen ) to the replay of the buckeye game, the weekly (except for a best forgotten game last weekend) gift Anders sends so that I remain in touch with what often seems most important to most of the Anderson/Berliner clan: Ohio State football. And as I pack, I reflect on the last few days when somehow we were able to find moments and experiences that in many ways summed up our time here.
Yes, travel on the buses was slow, stressful, and made filling in all the must sees on my list impossible. But we had interesting conversations with fellow passengers; a woman with 2 children in America (who talks to them on skype every night much as we do), a young college student majoring in international studies and political science with whom Larry discussed all his congressional lobbying experiences, a man who had lived in the U.S. For years, in Rochester and New Orleans with whom we could discuss food, weather, and shared memories of all the places we mutually knew. ..The bus rides seem less endless when the friendliness of the Turkish people exhibits itself. Of course, we also had the long crowded ride when we stood most of the way and rude passengers rushed to get the first free seat when they had just joined the standing crowd instead of letting any of us longtime standers take a seat…That experience , thank goodness, has been rare; instead we have seen courtesy, helpfulness, and a sense of esprit de corps best manifested in passengers getting on the back of the bus passing money or their akbils (the special passes) forward to the front, with everyone cooperating in the process. I think of the near tragedy for me in Canakkale when I left my purse on the dolmus and found it almost an hour later, untouched, unopened, safe! We have marveled at the kindness of strangers, the efforts most nonspeakers of English have made to help us. We should have made an effort to learn a modicum of survival Turkish, but have seldom felt we absolutely needed the local vernacular with the exception of the curious spray can Larry had picked up from a pharmaceutical company at a meeting before I arrived. He had assumed it was some sort of medicine for children; I studied it carefully and decided it might be a room deodorizer (something we have often needed living in such close quarters), which it was. But for weeks it sat on our shelves when we could have used it?
One of the best examples, though, of the helpfulness of strangers occurred yesterday as the closing time at a museum arrived. The guard reminded us the museum was closing, but then asked if we had seen the time to try to absorb everything.
So what was left to see and do? Too much. We will have to visit the Princes Islands next time (and there must be one and soon). We attempted to see the Dolmabahce Palace where the sultans lived from the mid 19th century to the end of the Ottoman Empire and where Ataturk lived and died as the head of the Turkish republic.
After visiting the Jewish History museum we decided to walk along the waterfront to the Palace, wasting (from my perspective) 45 minutes only to discover the lines to enter were so long that the ticket office sales were suspended. We can see on a future visit how the sultans attempted to live a more European lifestyle in the 19th century as the ottoman empire skidded into the “sick man of Europe” designation it had at the end of its life; Larry’s cousin Meral admitted she had never been in it, so we felt it probably was a wise decision to avoid the long lines and follow plan b, a tram ride to the Archaeological Museum. We reflected on the tram ride that the long walk had paralleled our walk on our first day of sightseeing. We had stopped at the same park for a break , this time to eat pastries from a bakery. We had wondered each time how far away our destination was, but this time it was a rather happy reminder that the Bosporus has provided us many of our happiest memories.
We had started the last day of sightseeing ignominiously by not realizing Turkey had changed its clocks while we slept. We arrived for toast and olives only to discover the student cafeteria would not open for another half hour. We all are so egocentric that we assume everyone in the world “falls back” the same time we do; instead Europe sensibly alters its clocks the last Sunday in October…The time change confusion put an edge on the morning, but the bus ride with the pleasant Turkish man with the varied American living experiences compensated. We even found the Jewish History museum with ease although the directions in Rick Steves made it sound difficult to find. The museum card did not work there, but the man at the entrance accepted American dollars instead (we were low on Turkish currency until we stopped later at an ATM). The museum is tucked into an old building, a former synagogue, at the end of a narrow alley near the entrance to the tramway. It presents a look at the presence of the Jewish people in turkey for over 500 years, emphasizing the haven turkey has been , not only after the expulsion from Spain in 1492, but even as a neutral safeguard for Jews rescued by Turkish diplomats during the Hitler era. Larry’s cousin told us later that the viewpoint may be overly rosy, but we certainly felt better informed about the background history of Larry’s ancestors in this country after the visit. We both were left with the hope that the tradition of tolerance and friendship will continue to be maintained as the Turkish government acquires a more religious mien. Tolerance should be viewed always as the direction we all aspire toward, not as a relic of a more enlightened past. Visiting this museum was an essential part of Larry finding his roots in Turkey, and as the day ended with a wonderful evening with his cousins, it was one of the most fitting ways to spend our last weekend as Turkish travelers.
Since so many of our travels have focused on the site of ancient ruins, the Archaeological Museum was a must for us to see.. Too many times we had encountered signs telling us the finds at a particular site were now in the British Museum, the Pergamun in Berlin, or the Hermitage, but we had read what treasures had not been stolen or signed away to other countries could be found here in Istanbul in this museum nestled near the side entrance to Topkapi Palace. We had read that a 2 hour minimum stay would be required and quickly realized we would have enjoyed multiple entries to absorb everything from the incredible sarcophagae (especially those from Sidon), the pottery from Troy, the sculpture, the friezes from temples, etc. My favorite pieces were probably the half smiling image of a young athlete, wrapped in a cloak, his face and youth reminding me of my favorite young athlete, our Anders., the large head of Sappho, and the Alexander sarcophagus. The sarcophagus is amazingly intact; some of the paint which once colored the marble carvings is still visible. You can see a hint of the yellow hair of Alexander, the blue of a cloak, the red of a shield. Our assumptions that every piece of Greek or Roman sculpture was a noble white are quickly erased by the evidence of paint, which may once have been truly Technicolor. There were also a fascinating collection of 2000 year old cuneiform tablets concerning a variety of legal issues. I found an early agreement between a husband and wife about their obligations to each other particularly fascinating. If the wife proved to be barren, the husband could take a prostitute as a second wife. In the case of divorce, the spouse desiring the divorce was to pay the other a given amount. It was a kind of ancient prenuptial agreement! Larry commented on how much more such museums mean to him now that he has seen where the artifacts were originally discovered. Seeing columns, statues, or architectural details in the country where they originated is very different from encountering them in another country far from their original provenance and wondering how that country acquired them (legally or illegally).
The museum covers 3 buildings, one concentrating on the riches of
Turkey’s archaeological past, the other 2 displaying an array of Turkish ceramics and tiles and assorted artifacts from the Ancient Orient. It was in this museum that we saw the ancient peace treaty and could reflect on how transient and yet hoped for peace among nations has always been. We needed more time to see and think about everything we were seeing. We would have liked to sit in the outdoor tea shop and enjoy tea in a garden setting where statues and columns served as the backdrop.
My comments are not chronological today. I’m trying to gather together similar experiences, not to list “what we did today.” I’m recalling a notorious journal of a summer vacation Anders once wrote which concentrated on what motels we stayed at and what we ate. We know what has always absorbed his thoughts! I’m less linear in my thinking; I’ve read too much stream of consciousness modern writing..
The day before we had also felt rushed in viewing the carpets and calligraphy in the Museum of Islamic Arts. Its location in the former palace of Ibrahaim Pasa, once the grand vizier and favorite of Suleyman the Magnificent until he was “murdered”(executed), makes it a fascinating place to see even if one has limited interest in the vast array of historic carpets. Since we had just spent too much time trying to get away from a rug dealer who could not accept our frequent comment that we could not buy a carpet without consulting our designer daughter (oh, the glories of having an artist daughter to present as an excuse for being unable to buy a carpet , for of course, we must ask her advice before any major decorating purchase), the carpets were fascinating. Perhaps on a future trip , with our artist daughter along to offer advice, we will consider buying an oriental rug, but we need to know so much more about carpets first. The ethnographic section was also interesting with its displays of how black tent nomads live in eastern turkey to this day, packing up their belongings and traversing by camel. The scenes of life in 19th century Istanbul were such a contrast with the centuries-old nomadic life as the blend of Europe and Asia was so evident in the urban scenes.
Leaving the museum for the nearby Underground Cisterns, we passed by the costumed performers playing martial music in a pavilion near the Hippodrome. Some were dressed in the battle attire we recognized from the Panorama 1453 paintings; the music also was an echo of that scene. We noticed that all but one member of the group were mustachioed. I wish we could have captured the sound of the band, the rhythm of their feet marching from the stage, and as their sounds faded away, the sound of mullahs calling the faithful to pray, echoed from two nearby mosques. That sound is so haunting and so beautiful in its minor key except, as we discovered in Selcuk, when you’re trying to sleep and the mosque is too close to your hotel…
The Cistern dates from Byzantine times and appears in an early James bond movie, so our James Bond/Sean Connery look –alike, had to see it. It’s lit in an evocative way, with reddish-gold lights casting strange shadows. Fish swim in the water among the 300 columns; their living presence serves as a sign that the water is safe for use. The setting made us think of the vast underground waterways the Phantom rowed as he carried Christine away to the Music of the Night.
We had also finally ventured into the grand Bazaar (we escaped with no purchases since my idea of bargaining starts and finishes at too low prices for the Bazaar merchants to accept). With more time and money, I might have enjoyed getting lost there for awhile, but I really am more of a museum browser than shopper, in spite of what my credit card bills would indicate. Years ago on my first visit to London, a fellow student on the trip observed that "I did museums the way (she) did stores. The comment still applies although I do feel frustrated when we travel somewhere and never stop to do any shopping. I think Larry and I enjoyed the Spice Market much more than its more famous sister. He was so intrigued with all the spices filling bins, the endless array of tea leaves, the cooking vessels, etc. I liked being able to sample various flavors of Turkish delight (and thinking of Edmund in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe). I wonder if anyone leaves that treasure trove of scent and taste without buying at least 100 grams of something.
So quickly we have come to the end of our time in Turkey. I still have a long list of the places we need to see in Istanbul, not to mention the places beyond the city we long to see. Cappadocia, the beaches along the Mediterranean, more ruins… So we must try to be frantic tourists for a few days instead of the leisurely travelers we have been, and Larry will complain about the fast pace and long to find benches. I will feel stressed about the long time it takes for us to get anywhere because of our location on the Asian side and will probably complain..We must remember why this time has been special;we have learned to accept the different ways each of us likes to see a place and have adjusted the pace accordingly.
And now it’s Monday. Suitcases are spread out all over the floor. I am trying to figure out how we will find space for everything as I watch (or listen ) to the replay of the buckeye game, the weekly (except for a best forgotten game last weekend) gift Anders sends so that I remain in touch with what often seems most important to most of the Anderson/Berliner clan: Ohio State football. And as I pack, I reflect on the last few days when somehow we were able to find moments and experiences that in many ways summed up our time here.
Yes, travel on the buses was slow, stressful, and made filling in all the must sees on my list impossible. But we had interesting conversations with fellow passengers; a woman with 2 children in America (who talks to them on skype every night much as we do), a young college student majoring in international studies and political science with whom Larry discussed all his congressional lobbying experiences, a man who had lived in the U.S. For years, in Rochester and New Orleans with whom we could discuss food, weather, and shared memories of all the places we mutually knew. ..The bus rides seem less endless when the friendliness of the Turkish people exhibits itself. Of course, we also had the long crowded ride when we stood most of the way and rude passengers rushed to get the first free seat when they had just joined the standing crowd instead of letting any of us longtime standers take a seat…That experience , thank goodness, has been rare; instead we have seen courtesy, helpfulness, and a sense of esprit de corps best manifested in passengers getting on the back of the bus passing money or their akbils (the special passes) forward to the front, with everyone cooperating in the process. I think of the near tragedy for me in Canakkale when I left my purse on the dolmus and found it almost an hour later, untouched, unopened, safe! We have marveled at the kindness of strangers, the efforts most nonspeakers of English have made to help us. We should have made an effort to learn a modicum of survival Turkish, but have seldom felt we absolutely needed the local vernacular with the exception of the curious spray can Larry had picked up from a pharmaceutical company at a meeting before I arrived. He had assumed it was some sort of medicine for children; I studied it carefully and decided it might be a room deodorizer (something we have often needed living in such close quarters), which it was. But for weeks it sat on our shelves when we could have used it?
One of the best examples, though, of the helpfulness of strangers occurred yesterday as the closing time at a museum arrived. The guard reminded us the museum was closing, but then asked if we had seen the time to try to absorb everything.
So what was left to see and do? Too much. We will have to visit the Princes Islands next time (and there must be one and soon). We attempted to see the Dolmabahce Palace where the sultans lived from the mid 19th century to the end of the Ottoman Empire and where Ataturk lived and died as the head of the Turkish republic.
After visiting the Jewish History museum we decided to walk along the waterfront to the Palace, wasting (from my perspective) 45 minutes only to discover the lines to enter were so long that the ticket office sales were suspended. We can see on a future visit how the sultans attempted to live a more European lifestyle in the 19th century as the ottoman empire skidded into the “sick man of Europe” designation it had at the end of its life; Larry’s cousin Meral admitted she had never been in it, so we felt it probably was a wise decision to avoid the long lines and follow plan b, a tram ride to the Archaeological Museum. We reflected on the tram ride that the long walk had paralleled our walk on our first day of sightseeing. We had stopped at the same park for a break , this time to eat pastries from a bakery. We had wondered each time how far away our destination was, but this time it was a rather happy reminder that the Bosporus has provided us many of our happiest memories.
We had started the last day of sightseeing ignominiously by not realizing Turkey had changed its clocks while we slept. We arrived for toast and olives only to discover the student cafeteria would not open for another half hour. We all are so egocentric that we assume everyone in the world “falls back” the same time we do; instead Europe sensibly alters its clocks the last Sunday in October…The time change confusion put an edge on the morning, but the bus ride with the pleasant Turkish man with the varied American living experiences compensated. We even found the Jewish History museum with ease although the directions in Rick Steves made it sound difficult to find. The museum card did not work there, but the man at the entrance accepted American dollars instead (we were low on Turkish currency until we stopped later at an ATM). The museum is tucked into an old building, a former synagogue, at the end of a narrow alley near the entrance to the tramway. It presents a look at the presence of the Jewish people in turkey for over 500 years, emphasizing the haven turkey has been , not only after the expulsion from Spain in 1492, but even as a neutral safeguard for Jews rescued by Turkish diplomats during the Hitler era. Larry’s cousin told us later that the viewpoint may be overly rosy, but we certainly felt better informed about the background history of Larry’s ancestors in this country after the visit. We both were left with the hope that the tradition of tolerance and friendship will continue to be maintained as the Turkish government acquires a more religious mien. Tolerance should be viewed always as the direction we all aspire toward, not as a relic of a more enlightened past. Visiting this museum was an essential part of Larry finding his roots in Turkey, and as the day ended with a wonderful evening with his cousins, it was one of the most fitting ways to spend our last weekend as Turkish travelers.
Since so many of our travels have focused on the site of ancient ruins, the Archaeological Museum was a must for us to see.. Too many times we had encountered signs telling us the finds at a particular site were now in the British Museum, the Pergamun in Berlin, or the Hermitage, but we had read what treasures had not been stolen or signed away to other countries could be found here in Istanbul in this museum nestled near the side entrance to Topkapi Palace. We had read that a 2 hour minimum stay would be required and quickly realized we would have enjoyed multiple entries to absorb everything from the incredible sarcophagae (especially those from Sidon), the pottery from Troy, the sculpture, the friezes from temples, etc. My favorite pieces were probably the half smiling image of a young athlete, wrapped in a cloak, his face and youth reminding me of my favorite young athlete, our Anders., the large head of Sappho, and the Alexander sarcophagus. The sarcophagus is amazingly intact; some of the paint which once colored the marble carvings is still visible. You can see a hint of the yellow hair of Alexander, the blue of a cloak, the red of a shield. Our assumptions that every piece of Greek or Roman sculpture was a noble white are quickly erased by the evidence of paint, which may once have been truly Technicolor. There were also a fascinating collection of 2000 year old cuneiform tablets concerning a variety of legal issues. I found an early agreement between a husband and wife about their obligations to each other particularly fascinating. If the wife proved to be barren, the husband could take a prostitute as a second wife. In the case of divorce, the spouse desiring the divorce was to pay the other a given amount. It was a kind of ancient prenuptial agreement! Larry commented on how much more such museums mean to him now that he has seen where the artifacts were originally discovered. Seeing columns, statues, or architectural details in the country where they originated is very different from encountering them in another country far from their original provenance and wondering how that country acquired them (legally or illegally).
The museum covers 3 buildings, one concentrating on the riches of
Turkey’s archaeological past, the other 2 displaying an array of Turkish ceramics and tiles and assorted artifacts from the Ancient Orient. It was in this museum that we saw the ancient peace treaty and could reflect on how transient and yet hoped for peace among nations has always been. We needed more time to see and think about everything we were seeing. We would have liked to sit in the outdoor tea shop and enjoy tea in a garden setting where statues and columns served as the backdrop.
My comments are not chronological today. I’m trying to gather together similar experiences, not to list “what we did today.” I’m recalling a notorious journal of a summer vacation Anders once wrote which concentrated on what motels we stayed at and what we ate. We know what has always absorbed his thoughts! I’m less linear in my thinking; I’ve read too much stream of consciousness modern writing..
The day before we had also felt rushed in viewing the carpets and calligraphy in the Museum of Islamic Arts. Its location in the former palace of Ibrahaim Pasa, once the grand vizier and favorite of Suleyman the Magnificent until he was “murdered”(executed), makes it a fascinating place to see even if one has limited interest in the vast array of historic carpets. Since we had just spent too much time trying to get away from a rug dealer who could not accept our frequent comment that we could not buy a carpet without consulting our designer daughter (oh, the glories of having an artist daughter to present as an excuse for being unable to buy a carpet , for of course, we must ask her advice before any major decorating purchase), the carpets were fascinating. Perhaps on a future trip , with our artist daughter along to offer advice, we will consider buying an oriental rug, but we need to know so much more about carpets first. The ethnographic section was also interesting with its displays of how black tent nomads live in eastern turkey to this day, packing up their belongings and traversing by camel. The scenes of life in 19th century Istanbul were such a contrast with the centuries-old nomadic life as the blend of Europe and Asia was so evident in the urban scenes.
Leaving the museum for the nearby Underground Cisterns, we passed by the costumed performers playing martial music in a pavilion near the Hippodrome. Some were dressed in the battle attire we recognized from the Panorama 1453 paintings; the music also was an echo of that scene. We noticed that all but one member of the group were mustachioed. I wish we could have captured the sound of the band, the rhythm of their feet marching from the stage, and as their sounds faded away, the sound of mullahs calling the faithful to pray, echoed from two nearby mosques. That sound is so haunting and so beautiful in its minor key except, as we discovered in Selcuk, when you’re trying to sleep and the mosque is too close to your hotel…
The Cistern dates from Byzantine times and appears in an early James bond movie, so our James Bond/Sean Connery look –alike, had to see it. It’s lit in an evocative way, with reddish-gold lights casting strange shadows. Fish swim in the water among the 300 columns; their living presence serves as a sign that the water is safe for use. The setting made us think of the vast underground waterways the Phantom rowed as he carried Christine away to the Music of the Night.
We had also finally ventured into the grand Bazaar (we escaped with no purchases since my idea of bargaining starts and finishes at too low prices for the Bazaar merchants to accept). With more time and money, I might have enjoyed getting lost there for awhile, but I really am more of a museum browser than shopper, in spite of what my credit card bills would indicate. Years ago on my first visit to London, a fellow student on the trip observed that "I did museums the way (she) did stores. The comment still applies although I do feel frustrated when we travel somewhere and never stop to do any shopping. I think Larry and I enjoyed the Spice Market much more than its more famous sister. He was so intrigued with all the spices filling bins, the endless array of tea leaves, the cooking vessels, etc. I liked being able to sample various flavors of Turkish delight (and thinking of Edmund in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe). I wonder if anyone leaves that treasure trove of scent and taste without buying at least 100 grams of something.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
churches, mosques, and palaces - part one
Written by Barbara Anderson
The day after Larry's birthday we successfully found our way to Sultanahmet to visit some of the sites that had eluded us earlier. The ferry crossing was one of the least crowded we ever have taken. We sat in a lounge area and had tea, all omens of the lovely day that followed.
Getting off the ferry at Eminonu, we found ourselves in the usual crowds. Larry stopped to have corn on the cob, an omnipresent treat at little stands along with the sesame covered simits (bagels), and then we found our way through an underground market (where we bought a very cheap watch for me) to the trolley stop for the Sultanahmet area. The atmosphere had changed; the buildings were older, the streets narrower, and the shops selling everything a tourist could ever associate with Turkey were filling every spot we passed. We were in the heart of the old town, the place most tourists know as quintessential Istanbul. Restaurants were abundant with prices marked up for the tourist market...and the hustlers worked their trade outside every shop trying to lure the hoped for customers inside.
But our destination was Hagia Sophia, the ancient church dedicated to Holy Wisdom (not St. Sophia as some of the guidebooks say), which became a mosque when the Ottomans conquered Constantinople in 1453 and then became a museum after Ataturk. One of the greatest examples of Byzantine architecture, it is the treasure of the city, a monument to man's religious aspirations, and a building I had studied in art history. Only St Peter's in Rome was more famous; for almost 1000 years it was the center of worship for the Christian faith in the eastern mediterranean. Legend has it that Mehmet the Conqueror sprinkled dirt on his head before he entered it as a sign of his humility in entering the church. But then he had the mosaics remaining after the earlier attacks of the Iconoclasts covered with plaster, and minarets were built to surround it, signifying the end to its place in Christendom. And for almost 500 years it was a mosque...Apparently, there have been movements to turn it into a church again, as a sign of reconciliation, but perhaps its status as a museum to the centuries of believers of 2 faith is more appropriate.
All the descriptions and all the pictures fail to prepare you for the space inside, for the sense of being in a giant dome seemingly floating on air. For Larry, it was just an old building with way too many Arabic inscriptions covering what must once have been a glorious display of mosaics. but I think he was playing the role of a latterday Innocent Abroad (I can't wait to reread Twain when I get home)...And certainly, the long walk up a series of ramps did remind us of years of walking up similar ramps (albeit 1200 years younger) to B deck in Ohio Stadium. On the upper level, you can see where the emperor sat during services (the ramps provided access for the horses carrying him to his seat) and the mosaics that have been uncovered. Perhaps in time, more will emerge from behind the plaster, and Aya Sofya (its name here) will reveal more of its Christian origins. But I kept reminding Larry that this great building with its massive dome became the prototype for subsequent orthodox churches and mosques, which is why its shape seemed so familiar to him as a kind of mosque...
But I was struck by some of the mosaics which remain, especially a hauntingly beautiful figure of Christ, which captured His humanity in a moving way. I felt I was sharing a moment of worship with centuries of earlier believers..That feeling would be asserted even more strongly when we visited the Chora Church a few days later. How the dome must have inspired worshippers when it too was covered with mosaics...
Leaving Aya Sofya, we walked to the nearby Blue Mosque, built to rival the grandeur of its neighbor. I donned my scarf but still wasn't adequately covered in the eyes of the people directing visitors to remove their shoes. I had memories of the Dome of the Rock over 30 years ago when Saskia and I were told to leave the courtyard area because we were indecently dressed (I was wearing a dress with cap sleeves that barely covered my knees). Now I understood what had mystified us then and , to be honest, had infuriated us since there had been such rude intrusion of commercialism by Christian sites in the Old City, like the sign "Jesus Prison Souvenirs." As we waited to enter the mosque with its 6 minarets (to surpass the 4 surrounding Aya Sofya), a Turkish man offered to "guide" us. We had been warned to avoid the would be guides, who would offer a tour for a price, but this man only wanted us to visit his carpet shop afterwards. However, his commentary on the essential elements of Islam did get in the way of my appreciation of the glorious tiles that fill every surface, the brilliant blues in the tiles giving the mosque its name. Certainly, its interior is more beautiful than its older sister nearby..And we hope we get another chance to enter it and appreciate its beauty on our own terms.
The visit to the carpet shop was low key; we sampled tea (which we have learned is customary in every shop), talked generally about the different kinds of carpets, and realized how little we knew. But we had never planned to invest in a carpet during our stay here; we didn't even know where we would put another carpet in our house. I may sometimes wish we could remove the wall to wall carpeting in our living and dining rooms and replace it with hard wood floors, a change that would make oriental rugs a necessity. But that idea is in the wish category with a mountain home...|We left without buying a carpet as we would 2 other stores into which we were lured later in our travels. So proudly we think of ourselves as travelers, not tourists to be lured into the souvenir shops, and yet there are always moments when the itch to buy, to be the tourist accumulating junk and not just memories takes over...Since I'm never carrying any money, I may be tempted, but I have no way to succumb/
We had hoped to have some time to get refreshed at the Marmara Hotel before meeting Larry's cousin for an evening with our Turkish relatives, but he was already waiting for us when we emerged from the funicular in Taksim. He drove us along the Bosporus, past the old city walls to the apartment building where his daughter lived. We were to join the extended family for Rosh Hashana. Larry needs to add his own memories of a lovely evening with cousins who quickly made us feel at home, sharing Meral's cuisine (including dishes she only prepares once a year). Lively children , Nedem's grandchildren, reminded me of ours at similar ages although there was no family resemblance The little girl was wearing Micky Mouse socks, just like Anni did for so many years...
Nedem dropped us at Kabitas where we took the last ferry of the night to reach the last #19 bus of the night. We had spent a day visiting church, mosque, and family...What better way to end our first weekend of venturing out past the hills at Yeditepe.
The day after Larry's birthday we successfully found our way to Sultanahmet to visit some of the sites that had eluded us earlier. The ferry crossing was one of the least crowded we ever have taken. We sat in a lounge area and had tea, all omens of the lovely day that followed.
Getting off the ferry at Eminonu, we found ourselves in the usual crowds. Larry stopped to have corn on the cob, an omnipresent treat at little stands along with the sesame covered simits (bagels), and then we found our way through an underground market (where we bought a very cheap watch for me) to the trolley stop for the Sultanahmet area. The atmosphere had changed; the buildings were older, the streets narrower, and the shops selling everything a tourist could ever associate with Turkey were filling every spot we passed. We were in the heart of the old town, the place most tourists know as quintessential Istanbul. Restaurants were abundant with prices marked up for the tourist market...and the hustlers worked their trade outside every shop trying to lure the hoped for customers inside.
But our destination was Hagia Sophia, the ancient church dedicated to Holy Wisdom (not St. Sophia as some of the guidebooks say), which became a mosque when the Ottomans conquered Constantinople in 1453 and then became a museum after Ataturk. One of the greatest examples of Byzantine architecture, it is the treasure of the city, a monument to man's religious aspirations, and a building I had studied in art history. Only St Peter's in Rome was more famous; for almost 1000 years it was the center of worship for the Christian faith in the eastern mediterranean. Legend has it that Mehmet the Conqueror sprinkled dirt on his head before he entered it as a sign of his humility in entering the church. But then he had the mosaics remaining after the earlier attacks of the Iconoclasts covered with plaster, and minarets were built to surround it, signifying the end to its place in Christendom. And for almost 500 years it was a mosque...Apparently, there have been movements to turn it into a church again, as a sign of reconciliation, but perhaps its status as a museum to the centuries of believers of 2 faith is more appropriate.
All the descriptions and all the pictures fail to prepare you for the space inside, for the sense of being in a giant dome seemingly floating on air. For Larry, it was just an old building with way too many Arabic inscriptions covering what must once have been a glorious display of mosaics. but I think he was playing the role of a latterday Innocent Abroad (I can't wait to reread Twain when I get home)...And certainly, the long walk up a series of ramps did remind us of years of walking up similar ramps (albeit 1200 years younger) to B deck in Ohio Stadium. On the upper level, you can see where the emperor sat during services (the ramps provided access for the horses carrying him to his seat) and the mosaics that have been uncovered. Perhaps in time, more will emerge from behind the plaster, and Aya Sofya (its name here) will reveal more of its Christian origins. But I kept reminding Larry that this great building with its massive dome became the prototype for subsequent orthodox churches and mosques, which is why its shape seemed so familiar to him as a kind of mosque...
But I was struck by some of the mosaics which remain, especially a hauntingly beautiful figure of Christ, which captured His humanity in a moving way. I felt I was sharing a moment of worship with centuries of earlier believers..That feeling would be asserted even more strongly when we visited the Chora Church a few days later. How the dome must have inspired worshippers when it too was covered with mosaics...
Leaving Aya Sofya, we walked to the nearby Blue Mosque, built to rival the grandeur of its neighbor. I donned my scarf but still wasn't adequately covered in the eyes of the people directing visitors to remove their shoes. I had memories of the Dome of the Rock over 30 years ago when Saskia and I were told to leave the courtyard area because we were indecently dressed (I was wearing a dress with cap sleeves that barely covered my knees). Now I understood what had mystified us then and , to be honest, had infuriated us since there had been such rude intrusion of commercialism by Christian sites in the Old City, like the sign "Jesus Prison Souvenirs." As we waited to enter the mosque with its 6 minarets (to surpass the 4 surrounding Aya Sofya), a Turkish man offered to "guide" us. We had been warned to avoid the would be guides, who would offer a tour for a price, but this man only wanted us to visit his carpet shop afterwards. However, his commentary on the essential elements of Islam did get in the way of my appreciation of the glorious tiles that fill every surface, the brilliant blues in the tiles giving the mosque its name. Certainly, its interior is more beautiful than its older sister nearby..And we hope we get another chance to enter it and appreciate its beauty on our own terms.
The visit to the carpet shop was low key; we sampled tea (which we have learned is customary in every shop), talked generally about the different kinds of carpets, and realized how little we knew. But we had never planned to invest in a carpet during our stay here; we didn't even know where we would put another carpet in our house. I may sometimes wish we could remove the wall to wall carpeting in our living and dining rooms and replace it with hard wood floors, a change that would make oriental rugs a necessity. But that idea is in the wish category with a mountain home...|We left without buying a carpet as we would 2 other stores into which we were lured later in our travels. So proudly we think of ourselves as travelers, not tourists to be lured into the souvenir shops, and yet there are always moments when the itch to buy, to be the tourist accumulating junk and not just memories takes over...Since I'm never carrying any money, I may be tempted, but I have no way to succumb/
We had hoped to have some time to get refreshed at the Marmara Hotel before meeting Larry's cousin for an evening with our Turkish relatives, but he was already waiting for us when we emerged from the funicular in Taksim. He drove us along the Bosporus, past the old city walls to the apartment building where his daughter lived. We were to join the extended family for Rosh Hashana. Larry needs to add his own memories of a lovely evening with cousins who quickly made us feel at home, sharing Meral's cuisine (including dishes she only prepares once a year). Lively children , Nedem's grandchildren, reminded me of ours at similar ages although there was no family resemblance The little girl was wearing Micky Mouse socks, just like Anni did for so many years...
Nedem dropped us at Kabitas where we took the last ferry of the night to reach the last #19 bus of the night. We had spent a day visiting church, mosque, and family...What better way to end our first weekend of venturing out past the hills at Yeditepe.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
more yeditepe thoughts
Besides the Ataturk pictures, some buildings display a large picture of the Founder, a smiling chubby Madoff-like face, apparently a former Mayor of Istanbul, who is now "away." We hear rumors that he and his family owe an enormous tax bill to the turkish authorities, which is why he is "away." But everything is quietly whispered...Curiously, we might know more if we could understand Turkish since there is a verb tense used only for rumor or conjecture...
Security is a major issue. A formidable metal gate stands at the top of the steep hill we climb to leave the university grounds. We must pass through security to enter the university, and cars without some type of special clearance are inspected. Trunks are opened; mirrors are placed underneath cars...Even the dogs may play some role in security. I had been curious about their seeming silence, but then witnessed a pack of them snarling at a car. There is a second entrance also manned by security guards..We can only wonder at the reason for the precautions...Even Larry's building is "protected." His office and classroom are open to anyone, but to enter the department offices he must use a special magnetized pass. Just now I had to rush over to give him his pass, which he had left in our room, because he couldn't join his colleagues for their morning coffee!
Our tv viewing is rather earnest stuff, only what we can access on line:charlie rose, 60 Minutes, News hour with Jim Lehrer...but we do some turkish tv while we eat. In the morning as we eat our toast and olives in the student cafeteria, we can see Turkish music videos displayed on the flat screen tvs. At lunch in the faculty club restaurant the flat screen televisions present restful, hypnotic scenes of fish...At night in the same locale we'll see Turkish news, always local stories..A few nights ago the lead story was obviously about a demonstration going on in Taksim with police and protesters fighting each other. We watched demonstrators lobbing rocks into store fronts, looting...police lobbing tear gas canisters...Innocent bystanders rushing to get away...It looked so intense and dramatic. We read later that the protests were against the meeting of the IMF going on in Istanbul. turkey has one of the 20 largest economies in the world, but , as we have seen, there is a wide gap between the haves and the have nots...But no one else seemed to think much about the demonstrations; they occur from time to time. What to American eyes looked upsetting was the physical violence...It seemed not to have ever been intended as a peaceful protest...but our knowledge is so limited. Just seeing the news without understanding the words gives a rather skewered view of everything!
And when we eat in the student fast food area on the weekends, we'll see football matches or once a basketball game between the national teams of turkey and greece. The game went into overtime, and the intensity of emotion of students hinted at the historic conflicts between the two countries. The students were so silent when greece finally won..
Security is a major issue. A formidable metal gate stands at the top of the steep hill we climb to leave the university grounds. We must pass through security to enter the university, and cars without some type of special clearance are inspected. Trunks are opened; mirrors are placed underneath cars...Even the dogs may play some role in security. I had been curious about their seeming silence, but then witnessed a pack of them snarling at a car. There is a second entrance also manned by security guards..We can only wonder at the reason for the precautions...Even Larry's building is "protected." His office and classroom are open to anyone, but to enter the department offices he must use a special magnetized pass. Just now I had to rush over to give him his pass, which he had left in our room, because he couldn't join his colleagues for their morning coffee!
Our tv viewing is rather earnest stuff, only what we can access on line:charlie rose, 60 Minutes, News hour with Jim Lehrer...but we do some turkish tv while we eat. In the morning as we eat our toast and olives in the student cafeteria, we can see Turkish music videos displayed on the flat screen tvs. At lunch in the faculty club restaurant the flat screen televisions present restful, hypnotic scenes of fish...At night in the same locale we'll see Turkish news, always local stories..A few nights ago the lead story was obviously about a demonstration going on in Taksim with police and protesters fighting each other. We watched demonstrators lobbing rocks into store fronts, looting...police lobbing tear gas canisters...Innocent bystanders rushing to get away...It looked so intense and dramatic. We read later that the protests were against the meeting of the IMF going on in Istanbul. turkey has one of the 20 largest economies in the world, but , as we have seen, there is a wide gap between the haves and the have nots...But no one else seemed to think much about the demonstrations; they occur from time to time. What to American eyes looked upsetting was the physical violence...It seemed not to have ever been intended as a peaceful protest...but our knowledge is so limited. Just seeing the news without understanding the words gives a rather skewered view of everything!
And when we eat in the student fast food area on the weekends, we'll see football matches or once a basketball game between the national teams of turkey and greece. The game went into overtime, and the intensity of emotion of students hinted at the historic conflicts between the two countries. The students were so silent when greece finally won..
Selected observations about Yeditepe
From Barbara: The excitement this week has been the Nobel Prize announcements. Tomorrow Larry will give his Nobel Prize talk. Advertisements with his face superimposed on the Nobel medal are visible all over the campus. Before lunch every day he and Mustafa sit by a computer screen awaiting the news from Sweden, and once the names(and sometimes faces) flash across the screen they rush to share the news and reflect on the appropriateness of the choices. Sometimes Larry has a story to tell about this or that prize. It's like women watching the Academy Awards to see the dresses...But what a joy to see Larry in his element, far away from the petty politics of his department, talking science gossip and feeling on top of the world..
There is a wonderful friendliness here. Birthday parties abound. Students and faculty gather to celebrate, with large plates of borek and cake. Today the cake featured sparklers as well as candles...What a treat to have boreks instead of pizza..
Larry had never mentioned his birthday to anyone except Renad; will there be a belated celebration? Students everywhere will find any excuse for the party, the free food, to break up the monotony of school.
In the morning when we eat in the student cafeteria we join the crowds selecting from the identical breakfast plates, putting stacks of bread through the toaster; all of us shaking the morning sleepiness out of our eyes with cups of chai or Nescafe..The students could be students anywhere. I'm seeing now Uggs on many feet which earlier were wearing every color of Converse sneakers. Skinny jeans on the girls, Gap and Abercombie sweatshirts...100s of heads of dark curls...how strikingly different my naturally strawberry blonde Anni would be here. Allegra would almost blend into the crowds although her skin is too ivory colored.. See how my children fill my thoughts? And no one looks like Anders or Rob although the occasional piercing blue eyes will stare back at us...And sometimes there is an echo of American English; someplace there are foreign students here for a short time as we are and probably as lost and as at home as we are...
One of the special delights of the university are the small pockets of trees filled with picnic tables where people gather on sunny days. We walk through them on our way to meals and always think how civilized...except there are way too many people smoking and sometimes we have to step over sleeping dogs...And to the south of the campus buildings are the hills still covered with trees, a remnant of what must have filled the hills above Istanbul before it became a sprawling mass of 15 million people spread out over 2 sides of the Bosporus.
The library is subtitled the "Knowledge Center" and occupies one floor of the administration building. Sometimes we find an English language paper here or a Time or Newsweek, but it is mainly a place for me to browse and wonder at the curious selections in the English and American Literature sections. The classics, yes, and odd best sellers....But as my supply of books from home is depleted, it's a welcome source of reading...
Wandering around the local neighborhood is an adventure, too. One night we wandered out beyond the gate to find Larry a barber shop, and there the shops were, down a side street, a whole cluster of them. Larry chose one at random. We sat and had apple tea, that delightful custom we're discovering everywhere in shops whether they are hustling carpets or cutting hair, while we waited. He was the first American to have his hair cut there and was immediately the center of attention. Somehow the barber understood what he wanted (I had had visions of a totally shaved head because of the language problem) although the price was not the bargain Larry had assumed it would be. But his beard looks great...and for a few weeks he wears his Turkish souvenir: a Turkish haircut...
On the weekend when we had planned to visit one of the islands in the Sea of Marmara, the rain (and a recurring digestive problem I'm having) changed our plans. We stayed at the university until it cleared and then went for a short walk near by, stopping to have pomegranate juice at a stand and to eat at a nearby kafte and talk to a waiter eager to try out his English on native speakers. We wandered into shops offering samples of cookies and candies and filled a bag with our versions of Turkish delights. We strolled by an old wooden mosque, painted white and trimmed in red.. I wonder which mosque is the source of the calls to prayer I hear when the window is open...We compared prices at grocery stores, bought some glasses with the special tulip shape so at home we can still have "Turkish" style tea. Just like locals, we headed up the hill to the university, our arms filled with bags...Not the "adventure" we had planned, but a pleasant stroll in this Yeditepe neighborhood. One sign of how removed we are from the familiar, though. In a vacant lot a sheep was tied, and behind it we saw a truck filled with live sheep, all destined to be sacrificed in the upcoming Bayrim holiday...Biblical echoes...
There is a wonderful friendliness here. Birthday parties abound. Students and faculty gather to celebrate, with large plates of borek and cake. Today the cake featured sparklers as well as candles...What a treat to have boreks instead of pizza..
Larry had never mentioned his birthday to anyone except Renad; will there be a belated celebration? Students everywhere will find any excuse for the party, the free food, to break up the monotony of school.
In the morning when we eat in the student cafeteria we join the crowds selecting from the identical breakfast plates, putting stacks of bread through the toaster; all of us shaking the morning sleepiness out of our eyes with cups of chai or Nescafe..The students could be students anywhere. I'm seeing now Uggs on many feet which earlier were wearing every color of Converse sneakers. Skinny jeans on the girls, Gap and Abercombie sweatshirts...100s of heads of dark curls...how strikingly different my naturally strawberry blonde Anni would be here. Allegra would almost blend into the crowds although her skin is too ivory colored.. See how my children fill my thoughts? And no one looks like Anders or Rob although the occasional piercing blue eyes will stare back at us...And sometimes there is an echo of American English; someplace there are foreign students here for a short time as we are and probably as lost and as at home as we are...
One of the special delights of the university are the small pockets of trees filled with picnic tables where people gather on sunny days. We walk through them on our way to meals and always think how civilized...except there are way too many people smoking and sometimes we have to step over sleeping dogs...And to the south of the campus buildings are the hills still covered with trees, a remnant of what must have filled the hills above Istanbul before it became a sprawling mass of 15 million people spread out over 2 sides of the Bosporus.
The library is subtitled the "Knowledge Center" and occupies one floor of the administration building. Sometimes we find an English language paper here or a Time or Newsweek, but it is mainly a place for me to browse and wonder at the curious selections in the English and American Literature sections. The classics, yes, and odd best sellers....But as my supply of books from home is depleted, it's a welcome source of reading...
Wandering around the local neighborhood is an adventure, too. One night we wandered out beyond the gate to find Larry a barber shop, and there the shops were, down a side street, a whole cluster of them. Larry chose one at random. We sat and had apple tea, that delightful custom we're discovering everywhere in shops whether they are hustling carpets or cutting hair, while we waited. He was the first American to have his hair cut there and was immediately the center of attention. Somehow the barber understood what he wanted (I had had visions of a totally shaved head because of the language problem) although the price was not the bargain Larry had assumed it would be. But his beard looks great...and for a few weeks he wears his Turkish souvenir: a Turkish haircut...
On the weekend when we had planned to visit one of the islands in the Sea of Marmara, the rain (and a recurring digestive problem I'm having) changed our plans. We stayed at the university until it cleared and then went for a short walk near by, stopping to have pomegranate juice at a stand and to eat at a nearby kafte and talk to a waiter eager to try out his English on native speakers. We wandered into shops offering samples of cookies and candies and filled a bag with our versions of Turkish delights. We strolled by an old wooden mosque, painted white and trimmed in red.. I wonder which mosque is the source of the calls to prayer I hear when the window is open...We compared prices at grocery stores, bought some glasses with the special tulip shape so at home we can still have "Turkish" style tea. Just like locals, we headed up the hill to the university, our arms filled with bags...Not the "adventure" we had planned, but a pleasant stroll in this Yeditepe neighborhood. One sign of how removed we are from the familiar, though. In a vacant lot a sheep was tied, and behind it we saw a truck filled with live sheep, all destined to be sacrificed in the upcoming Bayrim holiday...Biblical echoes...
how I spend my days
From Barbara: Always the question... Larry sits in his office, prepares lectures, chats with fellow scientists, sends e-mails, lectures, gives scientific advice...His days change little regardless of setting, or so it always seemed to the children when they were little and had to answer the question what daddy did. But what about me in this place where I don't have to clean, prepare food, fulfill any of the housekeeping chores which fill a little of my time in Colorado? People ask if I'm bored since during the week we don't sight see. I'm obviously tied to the university campus, which has limited places to explore...But what a silly question...since I have stacks of books to read, e-mails to write and answer, a reading journal to write...Boredom would only be a problem for someone with no imagination.
We have fallen into a routine. Our traditional breakfast at 8, lunch at 1, dinner at 6:30 or 7, viewing of the News Hour from the previous night followed by charlie Rose...Oh, it's all so predictable...and sometimes we'll hear the bloop of Skype telling us one of the girls is on..and for a moment we could be home chatting about the day's trivia..
But I like my days of reading and writing. I like wondering what book to pick up next. I like the time to think and wonder and imagine...I just wish sometimes I could share more of the moments with those I love. I wish Anders could watch the strange football practices taking place down the hill from our dorm where Turkish players try to master the art of tackling or receiving...Larry teases me that I should be their cheerleader or at least give them pointers on how American football is really played...especially since rules about holding seem not to be part of their playbook. Tackling looks like wrestling holds resulting in players being lifted above the tackle's head and then thrown to the ground. It's a wonder there aren't more practice injuries...But we will never see an actual game; the season apparently starts sometime in November, and no one can tell us what teams this ragtag group of Yeditepe football players play. Certainly on the tv we see in the student center, soccer is the game of choice, prompting the noisy cheers of an American college football audience at a sports bar...
I wish Anni could sit with me, pencil or paint brush in hand, and capture the mood and sight of the sunsets we see as we eat dinner. The buildings, so often seeming nondescript during the day, become ethereal in the purple and orange streaks before dusk.
I wish Allegra could hear the echoes of voices calling in the distance from the minarets. I wish our Turkish travels could include the children, all of them, Rob, too, like so many travels in the past when their children's eyes found the most amazing sights we would never have noticed. I miss those other sets of eyes, perhaps more sophisticated now, but still so full of strange awareness and insight.
Just as I traveled for years with Larry in my imagination as he set off for innumerable foreign meetings and we stayed home and could only picture where he was, I hope our children travel with us now in their mind's eye, knowing someday this world or maybe one we will never see will also be theirs...To travel and become part of a larger world, not to stay within the safe confines of tours and American style hotels (not that a real bath tub wouldn't be a much appreciated luxury right now), but to see in a new way with open eyes to a world so rich, so varied that can only make you somehow larger, more human...citizens of the world, cherishing home, but treasuring what every new place offers.
So how do I spend my days? Don't worry. They are rich and varied even if I just open a book, send a few messages, walk up and down the hills of this campus, chat with Larry's colleagues...never boring...And to see the pleasure Larry has here would make this experience worthwhile even without the sunsets...
We have fallen into a routine. Our traditional breakfast at 8, lunch at 1, dinner at 6:30 or 7, viewing of the News Hour from the previous night followed by charlie Rose...Oh, it's all so predictable...and sometimes we'll hear the bloop of Skype telling us one of the girls is on..and for a moment we could be home chatting about the day's trivia..
But I like my days of reading and writing. I like wondering what book to pick up next. I like the time to think and wonder and imagine...I just wish sometimes I could share more of the moments with those I love. I wish Anders could watch the strange football practices taking place down the hill from our dorm where Turkish players try to master the art of tackling or receiving...Larry teases me that I should be their cheerleader or at least give them pointers on how American football is really played...especially since rules about holding seem not to be part of their playbook. Tackling looks like wrestling holds resulting in players being lifted above the tackle's head and then thrown to the ground. It's a wonder there aren't more practice injuries...But we will never see an actual game; the season apparently starts sometime in November, and no one can tell us what teams this ragtag group of Yeditepe football players play. Certainly on the tv we see in the student center, soccer is the game of choice, prompting the noisy cheers of an American college football audience at a sports bar...
I wish Anni could sit with me, pencil or paint brush in hand, and capture the mood and sight of the sunsets we see as we eat dinner. The buildings, so often seeming nondescript during the day, become ethereal in the purple and orange streaks before dusk.
I wish Allegra could hear the echoes of voices calling in the distance from the minarets. I wish our Turkish travels could include the children, all of them, Rob, too, like so many travels in the past when their children's eyes found the most amazing sights we would never have noticed. I miss those other sets of eyes, perhaps more sophisticated now, but still so full of strange awareness and insight.
Just as I traveled for years with Larry in my imagination as he set off for innumerable foreign meetings and we stayed home and could only picture where he was, I hope our children travel with us now in their mind's eye, knowing someday this world or maybe one we will never see will also be theirs...To travel and become part of a larger world, not to stay within the safe confines of tours and American style hotels (not that a real bath tub wouldn't be a much appreciated luxury right now), but to see in a new way with open eyes to a world so rich, so varied that can only make you somehow larger, more human...citizens of the world, cherishing home, but treasuring what every new place offers.
So how do I spend my days? Don't worry. They are rich and varied even if I just open a book, send a few messages, walk up and down the hills of this campus, chat with Larry's colleagues...never boring...And to see the pleasure Larry has here would make this experience worthwhile even without the sunsets...
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