TRAVELING AROUND THE WORLD: Our Tales of Delights and Disasters (2 page)

No visit to Istanbul would be complete without a stroll through the Grand Bazaar and the spice market, both filled with colors, hookahs, samovars, jewelry, saffron, curries, lamps, rugs, Turkish towels, scarves and anything else you can imagine. Oranges and pomegranates were pressed as you watched into refreshing drinks. The air smelled of warm, roasting chestnuts and hot coffee.

While the shops were fun, my favorite thing was watching the man who shuttled Turkish tea to shop keepers. He zipped through the crowds with a silver tray held from chains while tulip-shaped glasses of warm tea crowded the tray waiting to be delivered.

Istanbul, unlike most of the other places we visited, has a layered history – first as Byzantium, then as Constantinople, and finally as Istanbul. Roman and Ottoman histories interweave in the landscape of religious sites, obelisks and palaces. For example, the old Roman hippodrome – where chariot races were held centuries ago – sits close to the Sultanahmet Mosque. The roads of the modern city occupy the ancient race-track but the center space retains the original obelisks. One obelisk clearly looked Egyptian and, oddly, new. I was right about the Egyptian part, but it was 600 years old – definitely
not
new. It was brought from Egypt to Istanbul by the Romans as a symbol of their conquest. Apparently, the Romans took obelisks to other locations around the world, too. It was like a mark of “Cesar was here” at a grand scale.

A short walk away was the Topkapi Palace, the home of the Sultans of the Ottoman Empire. The palace compound sprawled across a point of land next to the Bosphorus Sea. It was a beautiful spot. Part of the building complex (which housed more than 1,500 people) included the Sultan’s harem. The harem is the space where the women lived. What a life it was! Educated and pampered (including having their own huge swimming pool), these women had a world of their own – except when chosen by the Sultan. The more they were “chosen,” the higher their rank in the harem – second only to the official wife. Next to the harem was the chamber where the counsel of leaders from various parts of the empire gathered to discuss official business. The Sultan had a screened door overhead so that he could listen in without being seen. The visitors never knew if he was there or not – something like wiretapping for the Sultan.

We saw the treasury of fantastically jeweled stuff – pendants, flasks, jars, ornaments for the Sultan’s turban, thrones and swords. Noteworthy was the Topkapi dagger with its jeweled hilt of three golf-ball sized emeralds. And there was an eighty-six carat Kasikci diamond also to be worn in the Sultan’s turban. I hadn’t seen this much gold and jewels since the Vatican.

We stopped for lunch inside the Topkapi Palace and enjoyed a traditional meal of lamb, eggplant, grilled meat, and lentil soup. But the highlight was Mike’s coffee reading. After finishing his coffee, Yesim turned the cup upside down in the saucer and allowed it to cool. From the remnants in the bottom and along the sides, she told Mike’s fortune. He has at least five upcoming trips, there is a deep hurt in his heart, an eagle-like person is in his life, and he’s coming into a great deal of money. (Postscript: A week later, his first Social Security check arrived!)

While I’m at it, I should mention how different the Turkish food was. French
patisseries
were replaced by shops selling a beautiful array of candies concocted using pistachios, hazelnuts, apricots, filo pastry,
halva
, and of course, Mike’s favorite, Turkish Delight. Yogurt is also popular here. I tried yogurt drinks like
ayran,
a yogurt and water drink that looks like 2% milk but tastes like plain yogurt. My favorite was
sapel
– a hot, thick, yogurt-based drink with a creamy taste and texture. It is served warm and sprinkled with cinnamon. It may be better than hot chocolate!

After a busy day of touring in the cold, we decided to try a Turkish bath or
hamani
at the Cagaloglu Hamani. Men and women have separate areas so Mike and I parted ways. I was led by a hefty woman to a changing room and given a towel and funky, wooden slippers. Wrapped in my towel and precariously perched on my slippers (think wooden clogs with only a thin strap across the toes), Fatima let me to the bath. It was a large, round, domed room – all in marble with columns around the perimeter. The room was almost empty. She sat me down by a marble basin with water running into it and showed me that I was to pour water all over myself, and she’d return shortly after my skin warmed.

So – there I sat, naked, trying not to feel self-conscious. I kept pouring warm water all over me and found myself relaxing into the experience. Once I got past thinking about it, it began to feel decadent and luxurious in a forbidden sort of way. Fatima returned, had me lay down on the warm marble, and proceeded to loofah my skin all over – like scouring a scorched pan! Then she washed my hair. It wasn’t an attentive washing like at Hudson Fouquet (my salon in Annapolis) where they massage my scalp and carefully keep water out of my eyes. Here, she suds-ed me up with soap, rubbed it over my face and through my hair, and dumped buckets of warm water over my head. It was so unexpected, I had to laugh as soap ran into my mouth. When she finished, I sat, pouring water over myself before drying off, dressing and returning to Mike. The two of us were warm, calm and relaxed as we walked to dinner.
What a delightful experience!

Our next day was sunny but still cold. Yesim took us to more sites. Many of the major monuments are illustrations of Istanbul’s layers of history. Take, for example, the Kariye Museum, otherwise known as the Chora Church. This church was built in the 6th century in the byzantine era. Inside, the church is covered in mosaics of incredible detail. Tiny tiles of glass backed with gold and mini-squares of lapis are worked into scenes from Biblical times. Most of the depictions were of Mary’s history – her birth, childhood, marriage and motherhood. When the Ottomans took over, rather than destroying the mosaics, they covered them in plaster, which unintentionally preserved them.

The Hagia Sophia, from the Greek words Holy Wisdom, has a similarly varied past. It is a 6th century building, also with a large central dome. So large, in fact, that its size was not exceeded for 1,000 years after it was built (that’s not a typo… 1,000 years). It started as a Greek Orthodox Church, was converted to a mosque, then into a Christian church, and the building is now a museum open to the public so as to protect it and the art inside. The space is large and open inside – like the Blue Mosque – with mosaics of Christ and Mary (that’s the Christian history) and Arabic calligraphy (from its mosque heritage).

Across from the Hagia Sophia is an underground water reservoir. It’s an underground chamber of light and rhythm – column after column in all directions. It was constructed of used columns collected from monuments over the world that were rejects from the construction of the Hagia Sophia. It was an elegant reuse of materials. Two columns stand on used Medusa-head sculptures – one head sideways and the other upside down – just in case she could still turn workers to stone. You can’t be too careful when it comes to Medusa.

In Istanbul, it felt like we straddled two worlds. On one hand, the rich mosaics of the Chora Church represented scenes from the Bible – many of which occur in Turkey. Ephesus, for example, is in Turkey, as is the town where Mary reportedly lived and is buried. Mary’s hometown is, of course, legend, but it is enough of a legend that three Popes have visited the site. I remember reading passages from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. It takes on new life being a short distance from this place immortalized in history. Similarly, European history is entwined here. The Ottoman Empire, headquartered in Constantinople, stretched to Austria, where we saw some of its history. Slowly, the vast family relationships began to link together. Only in Istanbul, though, have we seen the dramatic shifts in cultures over the centuries. All left their marks here and it is fascinating to unpeel the layers.

Mike and I only glimpsed the layers of history in Istanbul, and we did not begin to be able to more fully appreciate the culture and the diversity of Turkey. That will have to be another visit. For now, all we can say to Istanbul is: “Excuse me. Hello. Thank you. Bye-bye.”

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Unexpected Cairo

Who knew? Who knew that Tunisia would spark unrest in peaceful Egypt? Who knew that riots would escalate quickly in the major Egyptian cities? Who knew that for the first time in my life, I would lie in my well-appointed hotel room and listen to automatic weapon fire while tanks blocked the street in front of the hotel? Who knew we would leave this uncomfortable experience feeling blessed and grateful?

We arrived in Cairo at 3:30 pm on January 28 with great expectations for our two week visit in Egypt. It was to be the highlight of our worldly travels. We were met at the airport by our guide, Mohamed Ali, tall, slender and smiling.

Mohamed Ali was with Fly Well Travel, the Cairo operator for Egypt Magic, our tour company in the U.S.
Perfect
, I thought. Then,
not
perfect. Unfortunately, we arrived just as the Egyptian government’s crisis escalated. Mohamed Ali politely informed us that none of the foreigners were allowed to leave the airport at the moment. All the roads in and out were closed. Plus, the cellular network and Internet were taken offline to prevent the organizers from organizing. Okay, we thought, we’ll wait a bit and then we’ll be off to our hotel. I mean, really, how long could this persist? It was bound to be just a minor inconvenience. Hours later, a curfew was declared until 7 am the next morning. We prepared to spend our first evening in Egypt at the airport. This was
not
in our plan!

And so, we sat, and walked, and napped as best we could. Planes continued to land, dumping more people into the airport. Thankfully, the local Egyptians were allowed to leave, which kept the airport from being completely filled. It became a study in contrasts. English (American, Australian and British) voices predominated, but there were many others as well. A Chinese tour group huddled in a corner propped against each other trying to sleep. Sheiks in flowing robes wandered the airport. Women with their heads covered with a
hijab
held sleepy toddlers. Children ran happily around until they collapsed in parents’ laps. All the chairs were filled by those like us who had arrived early in the afternoon. Late-comers lay on the floor, leaned against the wall, or sprawled wherever there was space.

Once everyone realized that we would be stuck here for hours, there was a run on the food. The convenience store had a long line of people buying armloads of bottled water. The Burger King was a madhouse. People crammed the counter as employees threw burgers into bags that were passed to grabbing hands. At one point, hot airplane food was distributed, but it went fast and there was not enough for everyone. About 4 am, boxed food was given out. While beggars can’t be choosers – cold beef and gravy with cold rice was difficult to choke down in the wee hours of the morning. Amazingly, everyone remained patient and in good humor. The airport was filled with Egyptian guides who had met their clients, and now they were stuck with everyone else because of the curfew. Mohamed, like the others, was worried that we would leave with a bad impression. Mike and I assured him that we were fine and understood people’s desire to create a better life. Sometimes that’s messy business. He was intensely interested in showing off his beautiful country to us, and he wasn’t the only one. A lone airport employee, also named Mohamed, worked a coffee stand behind us. He was there all night by himself. He introduced himself as I purchased some juice, and said that he hoped we enjoyed our stay in his country.
Nice
. Everyone we met was like that. As it turned out, we would not get to see his country, except for glimpses of the pyramids and beautiful mosques as we crossed the Nile. We would cross the Nile four times going back and forth to the airport.

After napping, me across a couple of chairs and Mike on top of our luggage, we woke cramped and exhausted. Thankfully, our tour guides transferred us to our hotel early in the morning after the curfew lifted. But another group, also with Fly Well Travel, was staying at a hotel in downtown Cairo and needed to be dropped off. With curtains pulled across the van windows, we were driven through the streets of Cairo (the erratic traffic is another story). Mohamed, who himself was exhausted from caring for us all night, was clearly agitated and nervous. We soon understood why. We drove past burned, overturned cars and lines of tanks. Debris from the previous night’s riots was strewn across the streets. At that moment, an eight-story burning building came into view – windows red with flames. It was the headquarters of the Democratic party – the party of Mubarak’s son. Approaching the others’ hotel, Mohamed, in strict, urgent tones, admonished us to stay in the van while he escorted the others inside their hotel.
No problem.

After a short, anxious stop at the hotel, we were taken along the Nile, past more burned trucks, to our hotel in Giza – about forty-five minutes from downtown. We briefly glimpsed some of the reasons for the unrest. The city was littered with garbage, people walked the streets, old cars and the occasional donkey-drawn cart rumbled past. Half-completed buildings (taxes rise when construction is complete) created an atmosphere of interest lost. Even our first view of the great pyramids couldn’t compete with this backdrop.