Peeling Back the Complicated Layers of Istanbul, Turkey
Like all visitors to Istanbul, Turkey, I began with the city’s most famous sights. At Sultanahmet Park, I stood aside the central fountain and looked toward the six delicate minarets of the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, more commonly known as the Blue Mosque for the handmade ceramic blue tiles that adorn its interior walls. Swiveling 180 degrees, I beheld the four minarets and copper dome of the stunning Hagia Sophia. Completed in 537 as a Greek Orthodox Basilica, it was converted to a Roman Catholic cathedral during the Latin Empire and became a mosque after the Ottomans conquered Constantinople and renamed the city Istanbul. In 1935, it was transformed into a museum by order of Mustafa Atatürk, the first Turkish President and founder of the Republic of Turkey.
Just 500 feet from the Hagia Sophia I descended into the bowels of the Basilica Cistern, the largest of the ancient brick water tanks that lie beneath the streets of Istanbul. Today its 336 marble columns are mirrored in the few inches of water it still holds, however the fifth-century AD cistern once held 100,000 tons of water and supplied all the needs of the Topkapi Palace.
Tucked into a dark corner of the Basilica, two mysterious giant Medusa heads sit in quiet pools, one upside down, the other sideways. Although most experts concur that they were re-purposed from an ancient Roman building, opinions vary as to the reason they were placed in the cistern. Some believe they were simply the right size for the columns they support, however tradition holds that they were specifically placed to negate the power of the Gorgons, mythological Greek female creatures with hair of venemous snakes, who turned anyone who beheld them to stone. Like the Medusa heads, most columns were recycled from previous structures but one in particular appears to have been specially made for the cistern; tears carved into its length represent the more than 7,000 slaves who perished during construction of the cistern.
One lazy, sunny afternoon I strolled through Gulhane Park to a viewpoint overlooking the Bosphous. At an open-air cliffside cafe I sipped Turkish tea and watched ships from all over the world pass through the strait that connects the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara, the Mediterranean, and seafaring destinations around the globe.
One entire day was devoted to Topkapi Palace, residence of Ottoman Sultans for nearly 400 years and still home to the Imperial Treasury. The 86 carat pear-shaped Spoonmaker’s Diamond, fourth largest of it’s kind in the world; two enormous gold candle holders mounted with 6,666 cut diamonds, brought to Istanbul from Mecca shortly before the fall of the Ottoman Empire; and the emerald-encrusted Topkapi Dagger are just three of the magnificent items displayed in its Treasury.
Stunning as these treasures were, I was more fascinated by the rooms of the Harem, where Queen Mothers – the first wife to present each Sultan with a child – ruled over the political intrigue and gossip that inevitably ensued in an environment where dozens of women competed for the attentions of a single man.
It quickly became apparent that a week would not suffice, so I cancelled my plans to visit other Turkish cities and spent 17 days just exploring Istanbul. The spice market, cheese market, and Grand Bazaar led me on merry walks through neighborhoods of crooked cobblestone streets, but enjoyable and historic as these places were, I realized that the Old Town Sultanahmet area was tourist central. To experience the real Istanbul, I would need to get out into the neighborhoods.
A cruise down the Golden Horn and Bosphorus acquainted me with other parts of the city and soon I was exploring further afield. In Eminönü, working class Turks hawked their wares from tiny stalls lining cramped streets, waited for ferries crossing the Golden Horn, or heeded the muezzin’s call to prayer at the New Mosque (Yeni Cami). Hoping to see the interior of the mosque before it was closed for afternoon prayers, I wrapped a scarf around my head and shoulders, removed my shoes, and stepped inside. As the Imam’s melodious chants resonated through the prayer hall, men streamed in from all directions and faced the Mihrab, a semicircular niche on the wall indicating the direction of the Kaaba in Mecca. Worshipers scattered around the hall began performing a series of movements designed to emulate the method of prayer used by the Prophet Muhammad. With palms facing forward, each man touched his earlobes with his thumbs and crossed his arms over his heart. They bowed deeply from the waist before sinking to their knees and prostrating, touching forehead to the thick blue carpet. Suddenly, the Imam stopped chanting, signaling the start of the ritual prayer ceremony known as the Salaat. As one, the men moved forward onto the raised platform where the Imam sat and, with almost military precision, lined up shoulder-to-shoulder in rows, leaving just enough room between rows to prostrate during the ceremony. Surprisingly, I was allowed to remain for the entire ceremony.
Prior to arriving in Turkey, friends told me it was a liberal Moslem country, but I was unprepared for just how liberal. In addition to allowing non-Muslims to attend prayer services, I noted that alcohol is freely available and women have the legal right to attend university, hold jobs, vote, and hold political office. In 2002, Turkish law was revised to grant women equal rights in matters regarding marriage, divorce, and property. Turkish women are also free to dress as they choose, including everything from Western style tank tops and short dresses to traditional black burqas that cover everything but the eyes and hands. The majority of Turkish women, however, wear the hijab, a scarf that covers the head and shoulders, paired with an ankle-length coat, a choice that I would soon learn has as much to do with politics as it does fashion.
A few days later I crossed the Galata Bridge, where I was toasted by friendly fishermen who line the rails each day, trekked up Istikal Street to the Galata Tower and Taksim Square, and back downhill to the Istanbul Modern Art Museum. The museum’s Past and Future exhibition, a retrospective on the history of Turkish art, provided yet another surprise. Following the abolition of the sultanate in 1922, the newly created Republic’s first president, Atatürk, was determined to remake the former Ottoman Empire into a modern nation by separating State and religion. This would not be an easy task; with elements drawn from the Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman, European, Middle Eastern and Central Asian traditions and a landmass that spans both Europe and Asia, religion was the main unifying cultural force in Turkey.
Rather than attack Islam directly, he arranged for the government to pour huge resources into fine arts. Artists were sent to Paris to study European styles of painting and encouraged to bring back Western ideas. Inspired artists returned home and began reshaping Turkish culture through the images in their paintings and lectures on Western society. Much the same occurred in the field of literature. Writers, who had up until that time only written traditional Ottoman poetry and prose, began producing western-style novels and short stories. Using this as a springboard, Atatürk moved forward with his plans to secularize Turkey. Power to make policy was taken away from religious institutions; fundamental Islamic traditions, such as Sufism, were banned; Sharia law was replaced by European legal codes; and the Gregorian calendar replaced the Islamic calendar. Religious education was prohibited, as was the building of new mosques.
Although Atatürk successfully wrested power from Islamic institutions, he had not counted on the extent to which religion and prayer were woven into the fabric of Turkish life. The most despised of his reforms may have been the Hat Law of 1925, which made it illegal for men to wear the traditional conical red felt fez. Those who resisted were subject to imprisonment, hard labor, and in some cases were even executed. Though women were discouraged from wearing the veil, no specific laws prohibited them from wearing clothing with religious associations, perhaps because they were expected to follow the example of men. Taking advantage of this oversight, in the 1970′s women began wearing the hijab as a symbol of the widespread desire for a return to traditional religious practices. Worried that Turkey was moving back toward an Islamic state, in the 1980′s the government banned wearing of the headscarf in government offices, hospitals, universities, and schools. Women now had a choice; remove their scarves or lose the opportunity for an education or quality job.
Some found creative ways around the law. At the Istanbul Modern I watched a video about a young woman who was given an ultimatum: take off her scarf or be ejected from the university. Uncovering her head in public was a sin in the eyes of God, but refusal to remove it meant giving up any chance for a decent career. Ultimately she decided to wear a wig over her scarf, choosing a cheap blonde synthetic model to ensure everyone would know it was not her real hair. One week after I left Turkey, the ban was lifted for women who work in civil service or government, but it is still in force for women in the military or those holding judicial positions. Like most things in Turkey, reaction was mixed. Some hailed it as a human rights achievement while others decried it as the beginning of the end of secularism.
The complicated culture that simmers below the surface in Turkey is impossible for a newcomer to understand, so I stopped trying. Instead, I feasted on Meze plates that hailed from the Middle East, fresh vegetables influenced by Mediterranean cuisine, and topped off with traditional Turkish Delight and baklava for dessert. I walked for miles along the waterfront, salivating over a skyline where ancient minarets reflect in blue-mirrored skyscrapers and palaces stand like enormous Rococo and Baroque wedding cakes. At the fish market I giggled at men in tall rubber boots tossing around fresh-caught fish, while trying desperately to keep my balance on the slime-covered asphalt. I accepted every single invitation (there were many) to join locals in a cup of Turkish tea and petted scores of the much-loved homeless cats that are fed by every merchant.
On my final day I returned to the Hagia Sophia and looked at it through new eyes. Ongoing restorations have uncovered exquisite Christian mosaics beneath the plaster layer that was applied when Sultan Mehmet II converted it from a Basilica to a Mosque. More than 250 years later, Sultan Ahmed III renovated the crumbling plaster, saving the Christian artworks yet another time. I couldn’t help but wonder how and why they survived. As was the custom at the time Mehmet II conquered Constantinople, the Sultan allowed his troops to pillage for three days before claiming the city for himself. At the time of the second renovation, it was common for mosque workers to sell mosaics to visitors as talismans. I wrote it off as just another of the city’s unfathomable mysteries which, in their entirety, make Istanbul one of the most fascinating, intriguing destinations I’ve ever visited.
If you’re considering a visit to Istanbul, my favorite site for finding the best prices on accommodations is Booking.com. I earn a small sum if you book by clicking on the image below, which helps keep this blog free for you to read.
True Blue Tours kindly provided my tour of the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, and Basilica Cistern. Though this tour was provided free of charge to the author, the receipt and acceptance of complimentary items or services will never influence the content, topics, or posts in this blog. I write the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.