Notes from Istanbul

He Said:

Dear Friends and Family,

We are past the midpoint of our three week Istanbul journey and with cursory snippets trickled off through disconnected emails I feel that our promise of communication has failed. I am sitting down to tie these thoughts together from my perspective, then I will add Kari’s rendering in a different font – so those of you who find my writing too impertinently clever will have access to her translation. This said, I offer no apologies for how these thoughts/meanings manifest themselves. I am on vacation, and thus can relax into the most shameless core of myself.

The apartment we are renting has a cat that frequents one of our two balconies. We feed the cat. Kari does not like cats. The food we fed the cat this morning has been vomited onto the balcony that Kari swept yesterday. The seagulls that swirl around the minarets not far from the apartment will eat the cat vomit while Kari and I are touring the Dolmabahce Palace and Istanbul Modern Arts Museum today no harm, no foul.

She Said: Yes, well I would say that it’s quite foul. And while I do not have to clean up cat vomit, the whole thing completely creeps me out. And really,must we begin a letter to friends and family with talk of cat vomit?

The cat.

Our kitchen and the little kitchen lounge where we spent quite a bit of time

Our living room, and the cool front door on the street level that opened with a lock at the bottom.

The front patio overlooking the street three floors below.

He Said: Yesterday, in the streets below, we passed three little boys who had turned a broken office chair into a mobility toy. The kids play in the streets, often kicking plastic bottles as soccer balls, without constant parental supervision. The cab drivers speed past, ever aware as if the city were put in motion by a Prime Mover who choreographed this perfect dance. And then, perhaps, sometimes kids get hit by taxi drivers, and still the city continues to laugh and play. If a tree falls in the woods, and a lawyer is not there to rectify, does it make a sound?

She Said: Yes, well–I don’t know about lawyers..*rolls eyes* but Istanbul continues to charm us daily. There is the hugeness of history and architecture all around us–but it seems the small daily miracles impact us the most–those unexpected Moments that take our breath away or just make us laugh in sheer amazement.

The first night that Don and I walked through "our neighborhood" close to our apartment, the cobblestone streets were glistening with a light drizzle of rain. Under our umbrella, we wandered through a near-by marketplace that was once the stables for the Sultans horses. Each treasure-filled shop sparkled like bright jewels in the amber-lit street. And suddenly around us sounded the amazing echoes of the muezzin call for prayer from the minarets of the nearby Blue Mosque and the Haghia Sophia–each voice singing out in a haunting minor key and the other answering. We stopped in our tracks to listen–and to marvel in the astonishing fact that we are actually here in Istanbul!

She said: We shared our apartment and our first 10 days with Dons sister Barb, and our friend Dan. The four of us spent wonderful days together wandering through the sights and sounds and soul of this city.

We removed our shoes and stood awestruck in the hushed and huge ornate mosques..

We bought spices, tea, and fresh-caught fish from the market and enjoyed the meals Barb cooked (she can travel with us anytime!!).

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We experienced a Hookah bar, a non-drinking establishment where locals gather to play backgammon, smoke apple-flavored tobacco in elaborate hookah pipes, and listen to authentic live music. We enjoyed plates of lamb and sausage kabobs and thin pancakes filled with white cheese and meats, drank rose tea and groaned over the exquisite baklava. And fresh squeezed pomegranet juice! Like heaven in a cup!

Our day-long river trip up the Bosphorous to the Golden Horn was long and cold but we passed astonishing mansions and enjoyed meeting other travelers from Iran and Scotland.

The Archaeology Museum was a favorite for Don and me,

as was the elaborate Topkapi Palace of the Sultans.

We walked these side streets and saw these sights everyday

We took the tram and the funicular, went to the Grand Bazaar, (a giant tourist trap, but still pretty fascinating!)

found the Roman Aquaduct, got our shoes shined by amazing professional gentlemen,

shopped along the bustling Istiklal Street in the New District, saw the Islamic Arts Museum, the Galata Tower, and experienced an authentic and somber Whirling Dervish service.

He Said: Although the Dervish show/service is as authentic as could be with camera clicking tourists from all parts of the world, and though spectacular I still found it to be a worship-performance much like visiting a staged pilgrims cottage in Virginia. But this judgment comes from my distrust for group worship (I cannot believe in a party-line or conference call to God). Even as a child, when I pulled back my thumbs – "open the doors", then flipped open my hands, exposing the fingers "and here’s the people", I never fully understood….why.

This I know, if I am going to spin around (or do the hand jive, twist, or mambo) and call it worship, then, no matter how philosophically justified the act, I want some pals to do it with. One person doing such things on a stage is a little bit silly. Add a few participants and it becomes art, performance, worship, or all of the above.

My spiritual moment came while visiting (in fragmented English) with two theologian Iranians in the seats in front of us. They knew more of the Persian history/pertinence to the Dervish order and were quite enthused about the show. As the conversation trickled, carefully and briefly, into politics, with kind, dark, soul-penetrating eyes, one of them said something like this: (although more eloquently),"Everywhere people are people…their lives and actions can have meanings separate from the workings of government." He and I belong to the same "church". I would gladly whirl with him.

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She Said: Each day in this wonderful city has been punctuated with splendid food, welcoming smiles, laughter of children as they practiced their English, "Hello!" "How are you?" "I love you!", glasses of apple tea, hair-raising taxi rides, aggressive but humorous carpet salesmen, women in traditional Muslim headscarves (yet sassy jean skirts, boots and leather jackets) and an unparalleled sense of ancient place.

A Couple of Side-Note Rants here:

A few Travel Tips from KarenLee: (Karen Lee is the given name of the scary dont-mess-with-me babe in my passport photo, who springs into real life during stressful (or simply outrageous snapping point ) situations.)

On the subject of hole in the floor toilets: Oh nononono! No Way. We simply do not abide those. In fact, (dear girlfriends)—what we do (unless of course we are TOTALLY DESPERATE) is to turn right around, march up to our male companions, and insist on an immediate detour. And yes, even if it means totally changing the agenda, spending another 1.40Turkish Lira, getting back on the tram and traveling blocks out of the way back to that nice little coffee shop (that serves THE best desserts) and that has an adequate facility. Thats what we do.

On the subject of going for a walk along the river in horizontal gusts of cold ocean wind: There’s the INTENTION to be a good sport of course…dress in every layer in the suitcase, plus hat, gloves, coat and warm shawl. But when you discover after the first hundred yards that the "nice walk along the river" is now on a path between an icy body of water crashing with white caps and a screaming four lane autobahn–all the good sport completely disappears.

You shout: "THIS IS NOT FUN!" But because the wind is howling away every other word, he hears this: "…IS…FUN!" And he just smiles and blathers on about golfers in Scotland or something. So you must keep chanting "THIS IS NOT FUN! THIS IS NOT FUN! THIS IS NOT FUN!" until he is finally able to put the whole sentence together and realizes that you are Not Enjoying this Hale and Hearty Moment. Ignore him when he claims you are "difficult", and keep insisting how NOT fun this "bracing exercise" has been. And even when he calls you "a whiney, weeping woman like those on the sarcophagus of King Stratton of Sidon", do not relent until you are out of the gale as quickly as possible and drinking hot chocolate.

He Said: It is true I have spent time with the very image incarnate of one of the moaning women on the sarcophagus of King Stratton of Sidon. The appeal of great art is that it captures forever emotions often displaced or discarded. This sarcophagus (large marble burial casket) depicts women in various postures of sorrow, perhaps, if I were to investigate the story, all valid, but I prefer to identify them as follows: "I forgot to bring a hat!" "I NEED a nice new hat; then a bag to carry my sketchbook to match the hat." "Are you sure the tramstop is this way? I have made the mistake of trusting you before", "I would like to sit down for a moment…could we find a place with porcelain…a porcelain throne?" "The Yarim Yagli you bought…is that milk?- it tastes like baby formula" (as if the $19.95 Turkish course I bought online gave me complete understanding).

So any Sultan worth his salt does the right thing by saying, "Anything for you my Turkish Delight. Nefertiti has nothing on you".

Yesterday we saw the oldest written love poem on an Assyrian stone tablet approximately 2000BC. I delight knowing that if I were to have written a love poem, at the nanosecond moment I finished the last character of the poem I would be in the presence of the oldest and the newest recorded love poems on Earth. (it is a Zen thing) And now I celebrate the width, not the length, of time….

She Said: Pfffttt!!! The cheap but warm emergency hat cost under $10 and the crocheted leather bag was about $12 and bought directly from the little old woman who made it. These were hardly extravagant purchases. (But I DID find The Best Beadshop In. The. WORLD….extravagance ensued….)

He Said: Despite these and similar nags of foreign travel, Kari and I are perfect companions at it. We are both wanting to spend hours in the museums, we can sit in street side cafes and draw in sketchbooks (even I do this), and we spend our evenings dancing in the streets with our bellies full of Raki (a potent Turkish liquor) while singing folk songs of small Anatolian fishing villages. (This Raki thought is my invention for the benefit of Kari’s family;) Instead we play late night card games in our kitchen, (some of you will be pleased to know that I am trouncing Don so far) at our apartment, on the side of a hill crowded with prayer singing minarets many miles from our true homes and the friends and family we love.

She Said: We’ve walked for many miles in this city—through trendy metropolitan shopping areas, vine-covered cobblestone alleys packed with restaurants, steep industrial/wholesale side streets lined with rolls of leather goods, and family neighborhoods where children play and women string beads in the sun. The Turkish people have been incredibly gracious and welcoming (and very patient with our language barriers!)

We have been so comfortable here–learning the tram system, exploring bazaars, mosques and neighborhood parks. We are awestruck at the sheer expanse and accessibility of ancient history. (And the glorious food is probably our favorite of all the places we’ve been!!)

We are grateful that we have been able to travel to this amazing city, and look forward to sharing more stories when we get home. But today is another precious day in Istanbul, and we are off to collect more Moments before it is all too quickly over!

See you when we return!

Kari & Don