Inspiration for my Future Food Museum

New place in the artist district: 10 - check out my ceilings and walls. It's an old, old building that my host and his friend have restored and decorated with antiques from the neighborhood.

Neighborhood: 10 - another local neighborhood, lots of cafés and shops, just behind the Euro hotel (which is about three times more expensive).

Location: 10 - near to "everything" on this side... maybe a five-minute walk. And this side is SO DIFFERENT than the "Old City." It's relaxed and hipster and there are no carpet sales going on anywhere.

Host: 10 - Marcel is cool. He is a musician from Germany and has been here for nine years. He plays music, works in a café, and rents half of his apartment out. It's a great set-up, because this apartment was used for parents of the former occupants and it is completely separate. The two apartments share a kitchen and living area, but it is private. I like.

Spent my day walking through the winding, narrow streets looking into antique shops and art galleries, working my way to The Museum of Innocence. Orhan Pamuk is Turkey's literary hero - I am reading his memoir, Istanbul, this week - and this is his museum. One of the guys in my cooking class said "Go and see it. It's a concept that is completely original."

He's right. The Museum of Innocence is the title of one of his novels, and he created the museum as he wrote the novel - it is meant to capture the memories and meanings associated with objects from daily life. The house of the museum has five floors, three of which are packed with "installations" - boxes filled with objects (very artistically portrayed) that represent this forbidden love story. Flash was not allowed, but this will give you the idea - each box began with Orhan reading a paragraph from the book, then commentary about the objects (really, on another level, it is Orhan's love story about Istanbul...):

So the concept is that our memories are like museums. I think my museum is filled with food. Only a few of his boxes represented food, and they were the best boxes. My museum is going to be awesome. Can't wait to read the book.

When I left, I had to walk up a very steep hill (the museum was extremely hard to find and was in an obscure neighborhood). About half way up, there was this great juice place advertising the special of the day: pineapple, watermelon and ginger with jazz playing and the dark-featured, pony-tailed juicer dancing and snapping his fingers behind the counter. Had to order the special, if only to stop and rest. So hot again today.

Drinking the juice special next to me was a woman who looked pretty interesting, so I struck up a conversation with her. From Japan, she was visiting a family in Istanbul. "One of my families," she said, from when she studied and volunteered through Istanbul University. She saw my brochure and said, "Oh, I am heading there now. I'm reading Istanbul."

So we connected on that, then the owner spoke up.

"You're from Japan? I just got a Akita Ina." Which is Japan's national dog, which made the woman light up.

When the owner said he was from Syria, she lit up. "I studied in Damascus!" she said.

And then he lit up again.

"It must be hard for you, now, with your country's situation," she said. She was the coolest person, I could tell.

"Well," he said, "I have been here for three years, and I only look ahead. I don't look back. I worked hard to open this shop, and this is where I am supposed to be." And when he said it, it seemed to really be so. He was the coolest person, too, I could tell.

That moment is why I love travel so much. Connections, literature, places, language... dogs.

I told him I would come back for juice each day I am in this neighborhood. If the woman wasn't headed to Malta to visit another of her "families," I would have suggested hanging out that night. I could tell she had a million stories, and her English was perfect. Anyway...

This is the famous street of modern Istanbul - Istiklal Street. The Syrian Juicer calls it the "Street of Madness":

Tons of people walk it at all hours. Every chain imaginable is on this street, including Fatburger. At the end of this street to the north is a place that I saw on Anthony Bordain, No Reservations, Istanbul: the "wet burger." Which is the anti- Fatburger, the ultimate sloppy slider, the Kizilkaylar. Kind of a retro Herfy's burger, but more soggy and delicious:

And up close:

 

Why is it so exciting to see something that you've seen on Anthony Bordain, anyway? But it is. So exciting.

And, like I said, I was going extra deep with my street food class and felt I needed to study the mussels at least one more time. Here is a better look at them:

And the deep fried mussels on a stick with garlic sauce:

I ended the day by walking all the way down Istiklal street, then down, down, down some winding, narrow cobblestone streets to see the Galata Tower at night. What a spectacular sight; now I know why all the men invite all the women here. It's stunning.

 

Constructed in 1348, it was the city's tallest structure for centuries.

You know, my one night in a hotel was good and I was very grateful to be out of that Sisli Situation, but it just reinforces to me that my current artist apartment - and my former wooden house - make me so much happier. And interesting. And strange.

Good night, everybody...

The Eggplant Knows What the Eggplant Knows

This is the view from my hotel in Sultanamet Square. This is the Blue Mosque, and on the other side is Hagia Sofia. And then there is the view of the Sea of Marmara from these hammocks - you all know how much I love swinging in a hammock on a roof in another country...(I find it hard to smile for selfies in the first place, but wasn't in a place to smile at this moment, anyway (read on). Oh, and www.donttellmetosmile.com)

Yeah, so, things didn't quite work out with Zehra. Story to follow. But I ended up here and put an umbrella over a hammock and slept and read this very hot day away. Tomorrow I head to the artist district for three nights, and plan to see museums and art galleries and do some follow up from my food tour there the other day.

From the perspective of a traveler who spent ten days in a Vietnamese hospital with dengue fever and who was mugged on a motorbike and who got food poisoning in Venezuela (etc. etc.), I am aware that things "go wrong" when you travel. On the way to the airport, I wondered aloud to my mother, "What will it be on this trip?" (which probably wasn't the best time to ponder the question).

If these past two days is as bad as it gets, then I will count myself lucky for this Turkey trip. Nevertheless, they have pretty much sucked.

Yesterday, my wooden house host, Emre, offered to "take" me to Zehra's house, via bus and metro. He needed a reason to get out of the house, he told me, because he wanted to break fast without his parents knowing... meaning he wanted to smoke and have a kebab sandwich. Emre is 30-something and went to flight school in Key West  (a lot of Florida on this trip) and is the one who renovated the bottom of the family's house for airbnb business. He speaks perfect English and respects his parents enough to not worry them about his Western ways. He is a nice guy, if a little full of himself.

He insisted on carrying my bags. "Turkish men need to do this," he said as we worked our way north to the suburb of Sisli. As I mentioned, I wanted to experience three different parts of Istanbul, and the reviews for this part sounded interesting, and everyone said that Zehra was "wonderful."

Well, when we got there at our pre-arranged "between three and four" time, Zehra did not answer the buzzer. She did not answer her phone when Emre called. We waited in the entry way for about 20 minutes, in the 94 degree heat. An elderly woman sat there with us, and Emre translated that she was inviting me to stay in her apartment. "She is the old style Turkish woman. Very gracious." I should have accepted her offer.

Finally, Emre suggested that we find a nearby café to wait. We ate kebabs while he answered many of my questions... the gypsies near the buses are refugees from Syria, the Ramadan drummer wakes people up at 2 am to eat before the 3:45 call to prayer (he personally told the drummer to stay away and never come back..."everyone has cell phones now and we know what time it is!") Finally, Zehra called. She had been vacuuming, apparently, and did not hear her phone or the buzzer.

To take a break from my whining, let me introduce you to this dessert I tried yesterday. It has cheese, some kind of maple syrup-y tasting sweetness and it is topped with pistachio powder - made by melting the cheese over hot coals until it browns:

I didn't really like it. (uh oh, can't break the pattern.)

Anyway, with a slight apology, she led us down the stairs to her place. It looked different than the pictures. Emre shot me a look, and I shot one back. One that said, "Please don't leave me here." He laughed a little and said I could call him any time if I needed anything. So then it was just Zehra and me, and the person that I was expecting to be my personal connection relief says to me, "I am on my way out. I am putting in my resignation at my job, then I am meeting friends, so you have the place to yourself." She showed me to my room - in the back - clean. But the rest of the apartment was not what I would call "clean." Toothpaste on the sink and mirrors, wet towels on the floor. No one mentioned anything about this in the comments. Oh, and she has a very cute little dog, and the apartment reeked of this cute thing.

So she left, and there I was, in a suburb of Istanbul all by myself. Surrounded by the Trump Towers and the "best shopping malls in Turkey." (Trump Towers:)

So I wandered over to the mall. I found the theaters. I figured out how to buy a ticket from the kiosk. I bought one for a movie starring John Cusack and Robert DeNiro - couldn't read the title or anything, but how can you go wrong with those two? Well, you can. It was a crime committed against cinema. When I got back to the apartment, I looked it up on Rotten Tomatoes and it scored a 0% rating. Seriously bad. "The Bag Man."

But back to getting to the apartment. The stairway was so dark I had to use my "brightest flashlight" ap to walk down it, and at the bottom, there were two doors to choose from. For the life of me, I could not remember which one was hers. I stood there for the longest time, just trying to remember. Finally I went with the one on the right, and the key worked - to my immense relief. The last thing I need is to be arrested in Turkey - I have seen that movie. The apartment was stifling hot, and there was no air conditioning or fan. I laid down on the bed, but Arabic rap and Eminem played in the courtyard and cats were in heat and... well, I got online and canceled my second night with Zehra within an hour, citing the heat and lack of fan. Then I laid awake all night, plotting my escape. I got up and packed my things and left before she woke up. Oh, and there was dog poop outside my bedroom door. I grabbed a taxi and had him take me back to the city center, to the travel agent who helped me book my trip around Turkey. At that point, he and Emre seemed to be my only friends. It was a very lonely twelve or so hours.

So when Huseyin finally came up the stairs to work, he saw me sitting there. And I cried. So embarrassing. But he is a very kind person and he helped me call this hotel, which is not far from his agency. He invited me out to break fast with him and his friends, which is where I spent my evening - after spending the rest of the day on the roof of my beautiful, air-conditioned, Zehra-free hotel. Fun night. When Huseyin's friend found out I had stayed in a wooden house in Unkapani, he just about died.

"You are the most interesting tourist I have EVER met! Order anything you want, we are buying! You look like Kate Winslet (Barb, know you will like that) and you stayed in a wooden house in Unkapani. You are interesting, and nice, and strange!"

So I had lentil soup and kebab with kofta and roasted eggplant. The eggplant I had in Sisli last night - kind of an eggplant lasagna - was absolutely horrible. It's as if eggplant reflects what is going on in my life.

Then Huseyin and I walked around the square and he told me that it was fine if I needed to show up on his steps again. I sure hope it doesn't come to that, but thought about that quote from Mr. Rogers: "Always look for the helpers..."

You take your chances with airbnb. Really. Dang. You will be getting a good report from me from the Artist's district, I am setting that intention now...

Stuffed Mussels Every Day

 

I am thinking of renaming my blog after today's "Culinary Backstreets" tour of the artist district of Beyoglu - where, fortunately, I will stay for three nights next weekend. It's on the other side of the Bosphorus, and I had not ventured over there yet, choosing to spend my time seeing everything I can of the historical sites while I am over on this side.

Let's just say that today's FIVE HOUR tour with at least 25 tastes has prepared me well for next weekend.

At the beginning of the tour, I was Casey's Ann Arbor Dan, letting everyone know of my equivalent to a doctorate within the first few minutes, having lived in a wooden house district for six days and having eaten mostly local food. Our first two food stops were yawningly familiar to me - stuffed boreks that my little baker had been feeding me all week for breakfast, and homemade Turkish yogurt with greens, brought to me by my host family upstairs last night during their Ramadan feast.

But I was quickly put in my place, first by these stuffed mussels, and it got really crazy from there. Sheep head and pickle juice drink crazy. I had seen these mussels for sale by vendors down by the docks, but who is going to take a chance on mussels sold like that? I may be adventurous, but I am not stupid...remember, I have experienced Istanbul's insistence about padlocking women's bathrooms.

But these mussels were served through a window, and they were steamed and stuffed with a mixture of rice and black pepper (you can see one open mussel at the top). "Turks stuff everything," says our guide, Senem, who lives in the district and knows her street food. They really do stuff everything, and these mussels are food for the gods, as is most everything else the Turks choose to stuff. You use one shell to scoop out the mixture from the other shell, and do the whole thing in one bite. They also sold mussels fried on a stick and served with "yogurt salsa." Basically, anything mussel is up there as high as eggplant in the guidebook that I will one day write.

Joining me on this tour were five other Americans - a couple from Florida and a couple from Brooklyn - who were both 1) tiresome and 2) embarrassing. Then there was a girl from Boston who was neither tiresome nor embarrassing, but who was not even close to being a foodie - she turned her nose up at everything. But that was okay, because her friend who works for Culinary Backstreets got her the tour for free. Thank goodness for the addition of the Brit, Lorna, who works as an art director for an advertising company in Qatar, and who was interesting and cool and made the tour worthwhile (along with Senem and, of course, the food). The woman of the Florida couple, a psychologist, asked for clarification times five on every single thing, and she was so worried about safety that all of her questions eventually circled back to the protests that have occurred in Istanbul over the last few months. And the man of the Brooklyn couple asked Senem broad political questions every chance he got. Examples to come.

Now this next item was familiar to me - a kofta durum, but it was about 1,000 times better than the one I ate at the fast food place. It contained no pickles and no French fries, which Senem says is "only done for tourists." It was a purist kebab (kebab means "meat wrapped in bread.") This hole in the wall is so pure that it is endorsed by Anthony Bordain. The bread is "handmade by a Syrian woman."

Florida Psych, who hadn't eaten meat in 20 years, ordered the cheese durum, much to Senem's dismay. After listening to everyone else make yum noises - and after asking sixteen qualifying questions - she decided to break her meat fast at that very table. It was tiresome. And we had to wait extra long because she didn't order it in the first place, and waiting an extra ten minutes gave her too much time to clarify the exact locations of every protest in Istanbul since Christmas, and she wanted Senem to guarantee that the riots would not happen during their vacation. She is even going to cancel her trip to Cappadocia because it is "closer to unrest" - which made me very, very happy in the off chance that she might be on my trip. The wait also gave Brooklyn time to ask Senem, "What do you think of Iraq?" to which she replied, "What do you mean?"

Another highlight was the "raw meat" guy. I had seen these stands all over the place, but couldn't quite bring myself to try this bright red mixture that was formed by pressing thumbprints into the soft "dough." It is actually vegetarian, made of red lentils, bulgur wheat, walnuts and pistachios, topped with a pomegranate sauce and also served in a sandwich, which is what this man is making here:

It is called "raw meat" because it used to be made with actual raw meat, but because it was street food made outside in the heat, many people got sick from it. So they removed the meat part. Florida clarified the ingredients I just listed for you at least six times, even though she had just broken her twenty year meat fast and it didn't really matter if "raw meat" was totally vegetarian, did it?

 

When Senem offered us sheep's head parts from a specialty butcher - specifically cheek and tongue, Florida went into clarifying hysterics, which ended with her pleading for our group not to try such a thing. None of us were dying to try the sheep's head parts, but part of me wanted it so badly, just to see what it might do to Florida.

 

Florida had nothing to clarify about pickle juice, though, and Boston was comfortable with it, too, which made the pickle shop kind of feel like Switzerland for our group. Pickle juice is also served down by the docks, but does it sound refreshing to you on a hot day? Even though I didn't love it, I found it to be very interesting. You tell this picklemaster behind the counter all of the chunky things you want in your juice, and he mixes you a cocktail. The pickled beet was my favorite.

 

We ended the tour with Turkish coffee, and sat at this man's shop for about 45 minutes. His logo is a bull sitting in a cup, and the concept is that the coffee is so thick, that not even a bull could sink in it. He has been making coffee here for 65 years, which seems to me must be his entire life. While lounging, we got onto the topic of the aggressive men on the street and I told the story of the guy who attached himself to me in the cistern line. Florida's eyes got really big and she kept saying, "Oh no, oh no..., what did you DO?" It seemed she was on the verge of administering a rape kit on my behalf as she asked millions of clarifying questions, which solidified the fact that I was glad I hadn't addressed the whole group during the previous four hours. Only Lorna and Senem. When Florida finally let the topic go, Brooklyn seized the opportunity to ask Serem, "So, what do you think of Syria?" To which she replied, "What do you mean?"

Surrounding the coffee is two types of Turkish pudding - the one on the left is called "chicken breast pudding," and is made by boiling chicken breasts for hours, even though you can't taste chicken at all. Boston had to step away after the description. But that chicken breast pudding was delicious... much more layered than the rice pudding, pictured at the top.  I did try the coffee, which sent this caffeine-free girl to the moon after about three sips. After everyone finished the coffee, Senem was giving us a little "coffee ground reading" - just for fun - but Florida wanted nothing do to with it, especially because the example was given for her husband's coffee grounds. "Please don't do that. I don't like that at all..." she whined.

The tour, all in all, was fun and very informative. Despite Brooklyn's poor delivery, his questions provoked interesting answers from Senem, and we learned a lot about Turkey's politics while experiencing the food and culture of these classic streets. Speaking of culture, Lorna told stories of Ramadan in Qatar, where fines are given for anyone seen eating or drinking in public during daylight hours - and this in 120 degree heat with enough humidity to fog your glasses when you go outside. She says she has gained 80 pounds during her time there for lack of exercise because there is nowhere to walk. And despite all of this, plus the fact that if she shows the wrong kind of skin she could be put in jail, she likes it there. She enjoys the tight international community, and plans to stay two more years before heading back to the UK. And, like I said, I have featured only a fraction of what we tasted today. To keep my eggplant score happy, we had dried eggplant stuffed with rice. Here is the drying eggplant (sorry it is out of focus).

My time in my wooden house local neighborhood ends tomorrow, and - I have to be honest - I am relieved. I am so glad I got to experience this and I'm not sure I would trade it for a place near "everything," where I would have met lots of other tourists. But it has been kind of hard, and pretty lonely. Traveling alone is definitely not my first choice, but it is better than not traveling at all. Besides, I didn't want to mention this until I got it figured out, but on Friday night I realized that I had left my cash card in an ATM - such a rookie, stupid mistake. But Chase has obliged me a PIN number over the phone for a cash advance, which I am eternally grateful for - even though I am paying a whole lot for it, it's more than Bank of America would do for me ("we will send you your new PIN in the mail, and you will receive it within ten days..."). And no fraudulent activity on my card, thankfully... All I had for the weekend was about $75, which wasn't bad, it was just mentally uncomfortable.

So, tomorrow I will stay with a woman named Zehra in another local district for two nights (in her house), and I am eager for some company (she is also through airbnb).

Final assessment: I have walked thirty miles each day (honestly, I have a step counter and it has logged me in at between 7-10 kilometers each day) and have learned a ton of history. I have done this side of Istanbul justice and cannot imagine the tourists who come for just one or two days. I have experienced a local neighborhood and have been served breakfast and dinner by generous, gracious people who don't speak English. And I took a great cooking class and experienced food with some weirdo travelers. Sometimes, I look at the present for how it will be viewed in the future, and in that case, this week scores pretty darn high.

(End Scene for Week One.)

p.s. The stuffed dried eggplant was good enough for the blog title to remain as is. Besides, there are not 200 mussel recipes here.

 

 

 

 

 

Conversations

Dessert - Pistachio and pomegranate Turkish Delight - chosen from about one hundred selections - from the baklava shop directly across from my wooden house apartment:

Store owner:  "Hello! Welcome!" (Very little English spoken in this neighborhood.)
Me:  "Which one?" (make a hand motion spanning the treats and shrug my shoulders)

SO: (chuckles) "Your problem! Your problem! Not mine!"

 

It's good, for sure, but if I am going to treat myself to a buttery, fattening treat, I would rather have a meat-or-cheese filled borek for breakfast every day:

 

 

Here is how conversations have gone up until today with men on the street. Guides, carpet-sellers, etc, from age 20 to age 60. I have about twelve cards in my bag, and could have hundreds. I'm telling the truth when I say that these conversations vary very, very little:

 

"Hey, Lady, where are you from, Holland?"

 

"USA." And eye-contact makes them stick like I am fly paper.

 

"Ah, very nice. Which part of USA?" (they begin walking beside me)

 

"Seattle, Washington."

 

"Ah, my favorite place. So beautiful. What are you looking for?"

 

"Hagia Sofia."

 

"Ah...I will take you there. I have a shop along the way. I sell carpets. Do you want to buy a carpet?"

 

And when I hesitate, they say, "Don't worry, I'm not like those other men."

 

"No, thank you."

 

"Ah, well, you should buy a carpet. When you get home you realize how valuable they are. You can sell it to your rich friends and make lots of money."

 

"No, thank you."

 

"I get you high quality carpet. Everyone else in this city will cheat you. I promise."

 

"I appreciate it, but no, thank you."

 

"Do you want a guide? For 30 Lira, I will be your guide. You won't miss anything."

 

"No, thank you."

 

"Let me give you my card. I have a holiday tomorrow. We can go to the Galata Tower, all over Istanbul!" (hands me the card.)

 

"Thank you. Goodbye."

 

"You are alone? Be careful Istanbul. Do not trust all Turks. Be very careful."

 

"I will, thank you."

 

"Ok. Good bye. Call me!"

 

Here is how they go now, after I decided that I didn't want to be flypaper anymore:

 

"Hey, Lady, where you from?"

 

(no answer, look straight ahead)

 

"Hey, where you from? Holland?

 

(no answer, guy runs up beside me anyway)

 

"Hey, why don't you talk?"

 

(keep walking, look straight ahead, guy eventually gives up)

 

Today, however, a guy with very bad teeth followed me for a few blocks, talking at me the whole time (mumbling, really) and STOOD IN LINE with me at the Cistern. Just stood there next to me. Like we were together.

 

He out-waited me, so finally I said, "Why are you here?"

 

(gibberish response)

 

"I don't want you here. Go away."

 

(keeps standing beside me in line)

 

"Go away. I don't want you. Go!"

 

(doesn't move)

 

I ignore him for a few more minutes and turn my body away, crossing my arms. I wonder if the people in line think it's a couple's quarrel. Finally, after about five long minutes, I see him slinking away out of the corner of my eye. I have no idea what he had in mind - was he going to go into the cistern with me?

 

Well, anyway, here it is:

 

The largest surviving cistern in Istanbul, the Basilica Cistern - built by Justinian in 532. Constructed using 336 columns that were salvaged from temples:

 

One Medusa column base:

 

 

Two Medusa column bases:

 

 

 

True story: the history in this city may just blow my mind. There is so much to see and absorb. I need a 24 hour tour guide who can tell me stories that make linear sense. But not one for hire on the street.

 

Later, at dusk, I am up near the aqueduct, gazing at the view while standing at the side of the street, when a guy pulls up in a car, singing his heart out while he is stuck in traffic.

 

When he notices that I am standing right outside his door looking at him, he laughs at himself and addresses me directly. "Oh, hello! Enjoying Istanbul?"

 

I nod and point to the view.

 

"My city is beautiful! I'm glad you love it!" he says, and then he moves on with the traffic.

 

Underneath this structure is a night restaurant scene that is something else. I walked through it at about 8:15. It was packed with people - whole families - sitting at long tables, plates of food in front of them. Only the food was wrapped in plastic, and no one - not one single person - was eating one single bite. I'm serious. They were all waiting for the sun to set so they could break fast together. No one is eating in this picture: 

 

And I will leave you with a dusk-time silhouette that is so common in Istanbul that this mosque isn't even listed in a guidebook...

 

Oh, and I had another two-hour conversation with a very nice travel agent today, who has booked me for a week of seeing the rest of Turkey by bus:  Cappadocia for underground cities and cave houses and fairy chimneys, Pammuke for snow-white, cliff terraced waterfalls - a natural hot springs, and finally to Ephesus, to see some of the most significant ruins in the world. Not bad, right?

 

Eggplant note: it was in my chicken, eggplant and yogurt kebab.

 

Breaking Fast Fun

There is a story in Turkey - a visitor sits down at a restaurant and orders water and must say, "Please, no eggplant in my water." That is how ubiquitous that vegetable is here.

My cooking instructor at the Ataturka Cooking School, Mara, told our class this story last night as we made five courses: lentil soup, the eggplant, stuffed grape leaves, zucchini fritters and walnut-stuffed figs. Day Four was a turning point for me, the day my trip began to feel really fun. It began by sleeping through a severe rainstorm until noon (finally, catching up!) and ending with making four friends in my class: one Australian, one Norwegian and a pair of French biology teachers living and working on the island of St. Martin.

Here is the beautiful pot of eggplant, which we spent 30 minutes peeling, scoring and stuffing - so many secrets to the eggplant, not just "forgetting about it" in the oven...

And here is our Chef teaching us how to stuff grape leaves with lamb:

The class/dinner began at 4:30 and ended at 10 - one of those nights where travelers from all around the world discover more similarities than differences, especially when it comes to American HBO and Showtime.

After dinner, I witnessed my favorite cultural vision yet with my new friends: thousands of families breaking the daily Ramadan fast in the Sultanehmet (center) of Istanbul, laying Turkish blankets down in the square between the Blue Mosque (picture #2 below) and Hagia Sofia (#3). What a sight. Picnics, music, candy-makers and whirling dervishes everywhere, and the local/tourist ratio was about 300 to 1:

With these two monuments as a backdrop, I kept saying, "And this is not Disneyland!!" We strolled through a night market and just soaked in the culture. I really needed this - a night with Westerners and this exposure to such a cool cultural event. Like I said, corner has been turned.

I am typing this at 4:00 am. The drummer woke me up at 2, so I figured I would blog until the call to prayer. I even captured it on video but I can't figure out how to load 30 seconds of an honest-to-goodness local wooden house neighborhood call to prayer. Brian?

 

A Big Turkish Mama and Crimes Against Allah

This is the woman who feeds me breakfast from the bakery down the street each morning so far. I love her and I love her pastries - boreks - pastries filled with cheese or meat, or pastries that are eggy and sprinkled with powdered sugar. So yummy. She is not the Big Turkish Mama. You'll meet her later.

Proud of myself - negotiated a Bosphorus Strait ferry ride, a local bus and many side streets to find an Anatolian restaurant that has been featured in The New Yorker, The New York Times, and all other important food magazines. I have to say - The Lonely Planet gets it just right. They provide information on mainstream tourist attractions plus the ones that are out of the way and cool. It takes a lot of asking and figuring, but that is the fun part (if you are in the mood). Today was fun and so, so tasty. Here are some highlights:

These two men reign over Cifa Sofrasi and guide guests as to what is in their twenty or so dishes of the day. They write the ones you want on a little slip of paper, then a waiter brings out little tastes.

Here are some of my favorites:









Minced lamb wrapped in zucchini

Cherry meatballs

Lamb pieces with almonds, onions, raisins and apricots (my favorite)

Stuffed eggplant (not pretty, but so tasty and must include)

Flowers stuffed with rice:

The flavors are cinnamon and saffron and I'm not sure what else. But the lunch was worth the two hours of negotiating water and buses and busy streets to find. Such an interesting area - it's on the Asian side of Istanbul, very conservative and I definitely should have dressed more appropriately, like covered and in a long skirt. But oh well, don't own anything like that, and they will all get over it eventually, I suppose.

Then I took the ferry back to the European side of things, (here's the view of the Asian side from the boat):

and went to the archaeology museum for a few hours. Incredible sarcophagi and cuneiform and pottery. Then I did something that is kind of embarrassing to explain - I went to a Hamami, a Turkish bathhouse.

I was the only one there - I guess because it was in the middle of the day, and this is where I met the Big Turkish Mama. She wore what looked like a black, roaring twenties whole-body bathing suit and she roughly wrapped me in a light towel, held my hand and pulled me toward a beautiful, domed room with a huge, round slab of marble in the middle. "Lay down," she demanded. "Relax."

It's difficult to relax, though, when your head is on hard marble and the room is steamy hot. As many of you know, I can nap anywhere. But today was a problem. Also, the roof was filled with decorative holes and what seemed to be little pebbles kept dropping through the holes and hitting the chandelier, then nearly missing my head. I pictured little boys on the roof, throwing rocks through the holes, aiming to hit me.

So I lay there, "relaxing" for about 45 minutes until my Big Turkish Mama returned and ordered me to disrobe. Just like that. "Take off," she said, pointing to the towel.

There was no way to do anything but obey; she was fierce. So I disrobed.

"Lay down, head here," she said, mercifully pointing to a pillow that I wished had been there the previous 45 minutes when I was the target for rock throwing.

So I am naked, laid out on a slab, and this big mama begins to pour warm water over me from one of numerous "sinks" surrounding the marble, then soap, then she begins to soap me down - everywhere. I have never - not in all of mine and Katherine's massage investigations - had a massage like this. All I could do was just pretend it was normal and that I had been rubbed and soaped down naked by large women wearing black one piece swimming suits my whole life.

"Turn," she ordered after about five minutes. Then she spent another five on that side.

"Sit," she said, and I sat up to have her pour pans of warm water over me, and to shampoo my hair without mercy, getting soap in my eyes and mouth to the point that I choked and sputtered and pleaded with her to rinse my eyes.

When the trauma was over, she pulled me up roughly from under my arms and told me, "Get dressed."

Disoriented and humiliated, I dressed and slunk out of there without even combing my wet hair.

I'm still processing it.
Here is the waiting room - no pictures were allowed in the marble slab room:

The highlight of my day, though, is something that is becoming ritual already. I come home and nap and rest my poor feet, then I go and eat at the neighborhood restaurant, which is better than any other food I have tasted in this city. The two waiters used an app on their iPhones to talk to me about all kinds of things, including their view of America. "America is criminal to Allah," one of them told me. "But you are nice."

They sat with me as I ate Kofta - minced meat on a stick, with bread and rice and roasted tomatoes.

 

 

 

Getting Used to It?

It's now 10:00 and my neighborhood is breaking fast. It's alive with restaurant noises and TV's blaring, and - of course - the calls to prayer. I just "broke fast" (in solidarity) and ate the best lentil soup on this continent, which would throw down in all intercontinental lentil soup contests.

And it's made right down the street, served by my new 20-something friend who is here on a Visa from Pakistan. (There, he is a Henna artist and an electrician. He loves America. He wishes our countries loved each other...).  Then Emre, my host who lives upstairs with his "conservative" parents (his words) brought me a selection of baklava and tea and discussed tips for negotiating Istanbul. (This fishing boat picture was taken just down the street from my house.)

So it feels like a good end to a mixed bag of a day, which, unfortunately, began at 2:00 am with the Ramadan Drummer. At 3:00 am, I heard a loud crashing noise, like breaking glass. Two guys had been breaking glass across the street (as a job, I guessed) all day long, so I thought, "Huh, weird that they would be breaking glass at 3 am." Then, at 3:45, the call to prayer. I keep thinking of Alfie's family living under the Thunderbolt rollercoaster at Coney Island in "Annie Hall." Will I just get used to this?

At 5 (with no more sleep), the sun was rising, so I went to the front bedroom to check the activity on the street. Turns out that those guys were not breaking glass after all. Turns out that when I told you that the wooden houses were "collapsing," that included the collapse of this house. The window just fell right out of its "socket." Of course, at first I considered that maybe someone was trying to break in, but the windows are all covered with bars. Needless to say, I could not get back to sleep, thinking about witnessing the collapse of Istanbul's wooden houses from the inside, hoping that the collapse will stop at the front bedroom window.

So I got up early again and hit the streets. Here is a quick run-down of what I did, because I really, really need to get some sleep in before my 2 am wake-up call.

1. Spent three hours at the Topkapi Palace and saw things like Muhammad's sword, Joseph's turban, the prophet John's golden arm. The Palace is really indescribable, with all of its mosaics and mother of pearl and biggest diamond in the world and balcony views, so I am not going to show you any of those pictures - not even of the Harem rooms (my favorites) - since they do not capture it at all.  Just this one, from the "circumcision room." There was no explanation given:

2. Emerged from the Palace to find a café with grilled eggplant displayed out front. Here is my lunch, chicken sliced from the "gyro wheel" (what do you call that?), eggplant, three fries and Turkish yogurt. Simple and wonderful.

3. Saw the Hagia Sofia - the "most important church in Istanbul's history." It was gorgeous, and you should recognize it from the background blog picture.

4. Got lost for about an hour. I was getting too confident about how easy it seemed to navigate this city, when I stumbled out of the Hagia Sofia toward the Sea of Marmara instead of the Bosphorus side. I walked for a couple of miles looking at the beauty of the water, kind of knowing that something was off because there were no bridges, but I kept going and going. And pretty soon, a guy ran across the street from the beach, went behind some ruins and emerged with no pants on and a little show for me. Now this has happened to me in Italy, Mexico, Green Lake and here. It is not an experience I seek.

5. Had a stand off with the taxi drivers of Istanbul. It's high tourist season, and I am demanding that they use the meter. They get really angry at this and drive away. So I kept walking. I walked about a thousand miles today. But I found a short-cut through a beautiful park, and stopped long enough to do this:

And to take a nap (to the horror of many of my friends). But what is the harm? Everyone else was doing it, and it was cool and breezy in the shade and I sleep with my bag secured under my arms. There was no longer a reason for me to go on living, anyway, since I had no sleep and swollen feet and refused dishonest taxi service. I woke up ready to be alive again.

6. Stopped at a fast-food gyro place. They have been calling to me. This one was fantastic... chicken, French fries, sauce and pickles wrapped up in flat bread for three dollars.

7. Made it home at 5. Slept for three hours. Ventured out to break Ramadan fast with my neighborhood.

The 10:30 call to prayer just ended, so I am going to quickly hop into bed and sleep until 2, when the drummer will prepare me for the next call to prayer at 3:45.

Oh, and Emre is going to fix the window tomorrow. "These houses are so old," he says.

Thanks for your comments and emails - they really, really mean a lot to me!