Traversing Turkey

In eighteen hours we have traversed the greater part of Turkey, from west to east. At nine o'clock last night we boarded a bus and this afternoon arrived in Trabzon. For most of the night we travelled inland. As the sun rose, we broke out from the interior to arrive at the shore of the Black Sea. From the bus window looking out over the vast expanse, it felt almost as though we were riding on its currents. The dark blue water merged with the land, joining it to the horizon.

Yesterday morning we purchased tickets and then walked to the Yeni Camii to visit a nearby, smaller mosque, and to walk the streets around Istanbul's spice market. At one thirty we found ourselves eating grilled fish by the shores of the Bosphorus, and by two on a ferry set upon it. From the mouth of the river emptying into the Sea of Marmara the shore rose in seven hills punctuated with domes and minarets. The view rivalled that from the Galata Tower.

The boat fought against the current as it passed the Maiden Tower, dropping off passengers on the Asian side, then continuing on past bridges and mosques abutting the shores. After an hour, the boat turned and headed back for the Old City. I found Ed on the lower decks; water splashed from the prow onto his trousers. He said he was glad we didn't stop; that we were heading back. Looking at his watch he suggested stopping by a hamam. The guidebook recommended one near Camberitas built by Sinan.

Back on the shore we sought a direct route for the hamam, but turned around in the spice market, we went a long way around. The hamam lacked the atmosphere of that we had visited separately in Damascus. The anteroom looked rundown, and we were ushered into private cabins to change and in which to lock up our belongings. The bath itself was warm without being too hot. A large marble slab sat in the center upon which to lay. Foundatains lined the sides in separate rooms. We washed and then lay sweating on the octagonal slab, then washed again, once in hot water, and once in cold water. In the anteroom they changed our towels and pointed us back to our cabins. We both recalled the beautiful anteroom of the hamam in Damascus and of the tea they served while men lounged in it.

Cutting across Sultanahmet we walked to the Blue Mosque, entering it from the side. Just before prayers, the mosque was crowded with tourists. The light of the setting sun lit the stained glass windows brilliantly as the Byzantine chandeliers dangled from the ceiling.

Leaving it from its western entrance, we each made a donation and then walked to Rumi for dinner. The maitre d' seemed surprised to see us. Too early for dinner, we asked? No, no, he replied, and then lead us to an enclosed terrasse on the top floor. I mentioned we had made a reservation the day before, and he recognized my name. We sat by the edge, the Blue mosque loomed beside us. The dining room was beautiful.

By eight o'clock we were on board a van headed to the otogar. It circled the city picking up passengers, and left us at the station moments before our bus was to leave. On the outskirts of Istanbul, our bus collided lightly with another minibus at an outlying station. There was no visible damage. And so we were off, stopping occasionally for meals and for rest room breaks. A group of Russian women sat before us; one reminded me of Masina, Fellini's wife, and as I watched her sleep I thought of La Strada and the road ahead.

This afternoon we toured Trabzon. I had my first taste of Lahmacun, an Arab pizza. It was the first meal I had eaten in almost twenty-four hours. We visited the street of the bazaar, the narrow cobblestoned streets looking for all the world like a small mideval French town (Dinan, perhaps), and the various churches and mosques scattered about. Nearing the end of our walking tour, Ed declined to visit the last mosque on our route. An old man in a skullcap stood up from a bench upon which he was sitting to wave him in. I think this man wants me to go in, he said, and began taking off his shoes.

When he emerged, the man beckoned us towards him. I sat beside him and he told us of the meaning of the mosque in Turkey. He spoke in Turkish, guestulating with his hands. He held his hand to my chest as he spoke passionately, mimicking the taking off of shoes, and then putting his palm to his forehead. We thanked him, holding our hands to our hearts and he smiled, responding in kind.

We returned to Meydan square for Turkish coffee. We had walked along Uzun Sk looking for a shop recommended in the guide without luck. And so we sat in the shadow of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk's statue, relaxing our legs in the early evening.

Our hotel room overlooks the Black Sea; a shipping yard commands the foreground. Turkish airlines flights periodically tear through the sky on their final approach. This evening, Turkish dance music wafts up from a restaurant on the street below. The cry of seagulls periodically cuts through the quiet between songs. Traffic passes occasionally and the lights of the nearby ships reflect beams of light into the dark waters. Past the bend where lights of the town stretch into the bay, the sea and the sky become inseparable. As Ed remarked on first glancing out the window, on the opposite shore lies Russia. Posted by eku at August 27, 2004 11:52 PM