Istanbul, not Constantinople

Seeming similar to San Francisco, arriving in Istanbul was familiar. Unique architecture meshed with nature create a skyline so picturesque you can watch for hours. Our ship docked across the river from old Istanbul, so we were lucky enough to take in broad sweeping views as we walked the pedestrian bridge toward the city. The lofty spires of Istanbul’s many mosques were enough to keep our eyes full of anticipation. Studying the map, we headed straight to Hagia Sophia. Having studied the building in architorture school, I approached the mosque somewhat academically, studying the plan, section and vaulting. However, it was its character that blew me away. Completely taken in, I was reminded of the first time I visited St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome as a teen. I remember the dome overwhelming me and the wondrousness of building such a vast structure. Experiencing that again, I was floored by the span of the dome. (even whilst scaffolding somewhat blocked my view). The fact that this structure was built in 500 A.D. is astounding. I laugh even now at how architecture tends to level me. What will happen when I finally get to the Giza Plateau and ponder the pyramids?

I believe a striking quality of this now national museum, was the light. Light is a ubiquitous friend. It is what determines translation to film, distinguishes color in painting and brings life to what we build. Without light…photography, art, architecture is flat. It is light that brings this building to life. Every window draws part of the day into the domes and arcades of Hagia Sophia. I tend to visit massive structures in various times throughout a day since they often change as the day and light progresses. This one would be a candidate for that, yet we had to move on as time was precious.

Leaving the Hagia Sophia Museum, we ventured across the park to The Blue Mosque. Being an active worshiping mosque, we visitors were obliged to enter with a reverence and respect traditional of the Islamic faith. We were given clothing to cover our entire bodies, and although not required for Non-Muslims, many women covered their heads. As we entered, the lights suspended from the sculptural iron chandelier called the texture of the tiles to a dance . Cascading shades of blue created a peaceful calm and highlighted each individual dome originally experienced from the outside. I’ve heard many comments on each of these two structures and how one liked each for whatever personal preference. Honestly, I couldn’t decide which space I liked more. They were both so unique in personality and feel; Hagia Sophia with its grandiose space and majestic height, and the blue mosque with its serene calm and ethereal light. I can’t wait to return to Istanbul and spend a little more time in both spaces. But the clock ticks as we traverse Istanbul and the Grand Bazzar was calling our name.

A market or bazaar is such an emblematic representation of a place and its culture. In fact, the markets are the places I tend to enjoy most. No surprise there! Beneath the sales and commercialism often beats the heart of a very specific set of ideals and passions. The markets in Thailand and Cambodia often showcase the silk industry and all it has brought to those economies. Krakow, Warsaw and much of Polish “cloth halls” represent the indigenous amber found sprinkled all over the shores of the Baltic Sea. Parisian flea markets often reflect the toiles and rich damasks of 17th century France. Istanbul, I found, was all about carpets and diamonds. While I’m a huge fan of the beautiful Kilims, hand woven wools, and Persian masterpieces, diamonds could make me run into a flaming building. The Grand Bazzars main “grande” nave was shop after shop of both new and antique jewelry. The child in a candy shop came alive and I sought out supervision in my mother. She, however, proved to be an equal accomplice as she encouraged me to purchase a beautiful rose gold brown diamond ring. I fell in love with this unusual Byzantine styled piece and decided to allow the little girl a toy. Worn by an Armenian woman in the 20’s, I found the piece to combine the period's deco style of the west with the Moorish motifs of the east. A perfect blend in my little ring found in the gateway city of Istanbul. I absolutely love it.

Scrambling around, taking in the Grand Bazzar, mother having a necklace/bracelet set made, I tore through a pashmina shop grabbing every color I thought anyone would ever want to wear. I found several colors I knew some girlfriends would like, and of course, some completely unnecessary ones for myself. Catching sight of the time, my heart jumped as I realized we had 30 minutes to get back to the ship. Our friends Heather and Idona, the wise and safe travelers that they are, had long since left us and head back in peace. Carole and Jessica, however, usually used up every last minute and ended up with mild infarctions as we scrambled back to the boat in panic. Seeing the time, I knew this would be one of those days. Running down the main nave of the bazaar, I tried to raise mom on the walkie – “we have to go, we have to go!!” I finally got her, waiting for her jewelry still unfinished. Panic continued to rise in as we waited for the jeweler to return. Our boat departure loomed...thirty minutes became 25, ticking to 20, on to 15. Visions of the stern of the huge Emerald Princess sailing away started to flash before my mind. Finally returning, the jeweler sent his apprentice to put us on the nearest streetcar in hopes to expedite our trip back over the river. Having no idea where we were or were going, we had nothing to do but blindly trust, and hope he actually knew where our ship had port. Befriending most of the surrounding Turkish commuters on the train, they confirmed our direction and assured us not to worry. Seeing our ship loom closer, we consider ourselves just about home free when I imagine I hear a ship’s horn. The doors of the streetcar barely had a chance to open as we lofted ourselves out at the pavement for a flat run toward the boat. I see it in the distance, one gangway still out, men in white still at their posts. I suppress the need to scream out “Wait!!” and continued my dead run. As we hit the gangway, we were met with a bit of concern from the staff regarding our lateness. Curiously, I asked how many more were behind us, finding out we were no 121 & 120 (meaning 119 people were still behind us). I felt relieved I wasn’t the last aboard. However, 121 out of 3000 passengers was not something brag about. I figure this is often my way when I’m enjoying exploring. Down to the wire, absorbing everything I can, I’ve never been one to play it safe.

So take me back to Constantinople... it can't be too soon. I've always wanted to explore this amazing gateway city. There wasn't near enough time, but I plan to be back.