So on our first day off I went down to the main port of Istanbul, Eminonu and hopped on a ferry. I didn’t really know where I was going but figured for 1.30 lira it couldn’t be far. It was a beautiful sunny day as I road the ferry across the Bosphorus, seeing pieces of Istanbul in every direction, huge mosques on every hill of the city. The sea birds were riding the air currents around us, darting in and out of the wind, riding their way from Europe to Asia just as I was. The ferry was just old enough to have character, old wooden seats lined the sides, the rubber rimmed bottom connected to the dock by an old plank, the weather worn paint peeling in some places. But new enough to feel safe and serve cappuccino. Istanbul is beautiful from the water, three land masses all accessible by ferry. One can really get a sense how big the city really is. I sat on the deck and watched my new city go by as Turkish people smoke and drank tea, breathing in the sweet salty sea air. Nothing makes me happier than being on the water, seems like a body of water defines a city to me, and this city has four of them.
I got off the ferry at Uskudar and started walking. My tour book didn’t have anything interesting about the area except for a legend about the lighthouse on a 5x10 island off the coast. But I didn’t care, I just like walking around and seeing a new part of the city. Plus, I just found myself stepping foot onto the continent of Asia and how cool is that! So I got to walking and found the market area filled with people selling goods from small shops and tent covered stalls. I bargained for some much needed cheap sunglasses then made my way to the food section where dried fruits and nuts spilled over from huge bins. I bought some roasted hazelnuts (a Turkish specialty) and dried apricots (the best in the world…. Juicy and plump still). I perused the pickled store, everything from olives to hot peppers, and many things I can’t identify. I passed spice shops with large canisters of herbs and spices in every color of the rainbow and walked down the produce sections, colors once again bright and fresh, sometimes so much so that you can’t believe they are real. Silver fish with red fan shaped mouths sat glistening on ice, lamb heads stared out of glass cases as merchants shouted and sprinkled water from metal bowls on their bounty. I stopped at a bakery and brought special flat bread for Ramazan and sat an the steps of a mosque to eat my bread and write postcards.
The next week I did the same thing; down to the port, a fish sandwich, and a random ferry boat this time to Kadikoy on the Asia side again. (The fish sandwiches are sold all over the waterfront, kiosks with grilled mackerel sizzling and fresh bread, tomatoes, lettuce and onions. With a little salt and lemon juice they are such a treat.) When I got to Kadikoy I walked down café lined streets, bought hair scarves from Nepal, fresh spinach and garlic from an old man with wooden crates of vegetables, and walked the rows of fresh food vendors before stopping on the docks for a cup of tea with my book. Then it was back on the ferry where I watched the huge city go on for miles, boats crisscrossing the bodies of water, ferries, massive cruise ships, and small fisherman alone bobbing in our wake. The Bosphorus bridge was in the distance, suspended high about the water, connecting Europe and Asia for drivers.
There are fisherman everywhere here. Boats line the shore along the whole city, rickety old boats out in the morning, weathered skinned men holding nets in the sun, selling fish in markets along the coast. Everywhere you look someone is fishing, off the docks, along the rock beaches bordering the highway, and on every bridge. They line up next to each other talking and working and drinking chai of course.
Men here seem to have close relationships. Much like Greece, old men congregate everywhere, under a gazebo between apartment buildings, outside stores, in special men’s only tea houses where backgammon is played. They hug each other, kiss each other, and walk arm and arm down the street. There is nothing cuter in the world than two old men walking down the streets, their arms linked like school girls, leaning on each other chatting. But it isn’t just old men, young men are just the same. And in general people hug and touch each other more, my teammates and I are always arm locked or leaning on each other. Its nice.
I got off the ferry at Uskudar and started walking. My tour book didn’t have anything interesting about the area except for a legend about the lighthouse on a 5x10 island off the coast. But I didn’t care, I just like walking around and seeing a new part of the city. Plus, I just found myself stepping foot onto the continent of Asia and how cool is that! So I got to walking and found the market area filled with people selling goods from small shops and tent covered stalls. I bargained for some much needed cheap sunglasses then made my way to the food section where dried fruits and nuts spilled over from huge bins. I bought some roasted hazelnuts (a Turkish specialty) and dried apricots (the best in the world…. Juicy and plump still). I perused the pickled store, everything from olives to hot peppers, and many things I can’t identify. I passed spice shops with large canisters of herbs and spices in every color of the rainbow and walked down the produce sections, colors once again bright and fresh, sometimes so much so that you can’t believe they are real. Silver fish with red fan shaped mouths sat glistening on ice, lamb heads stared out of glass cases as merchants shouted and sprinkled water from metal bowls on their bounty. I stopped at a bakery and brought special flat bread for Ramazan and sat an the steps of a mosque to eat my bread and write postcards.
The next week I did the same thing; down to the port, a fish sandwich, and a random ferry boat this time to Kadikoy on the Asia side again. (The fish sandwiches are sold all over the waterfront, kiosks with grilled mackerel sizzling and fresh bread, tomatoes, lettuce and onions. With a little salt and lemon juice they are such a treat.) When I got to Kadikoy I walked down café lined streets, bought hair scarves from Nepal, fresh spinach and garlic from an old man with wooden crates of vegetables, and walked the rows of fresh food vendors before stopping on the docks for a cup of tea with my book. Then it was back on the ferry where I watched the huge city go on for miles, boats crisscrossing the bodies of water, ferries, massive cruise ships, and small fisherman alone bobbing in our wake. The Bosphorus bridge was in the distance, suspended high about the water, connecting Europe and Asia for drivers.
There are fisherman everywhere here. Boats line the shore along the whole city, rickety old boats out in the morning, weathered skinned men holding nets in the sun, selling fish in markets along the coast. Everywhere you look someone is fishing, off the docks, along the rock beaches bordering the highway, and on every bridge. They line up next to each other talking and working and drinking chai of course.
Men here seem to have close relationships. Much like Greece, old men congregate everywhere, under a gazebo between apartment buildings, outside stores, in special men’s only tea houses where backgammon is played. They hug each other, kiss each other, and walk arm and arm down the street. There is nothing cuter in the world than two old men walking down the streets, their arms linked like school girls, leaning on each other chatting. But it isn’t just old men, young men are just the same. And in general people hug and touch each other more, my teammates and I are always arm locked or leaning on each other. Its nice.
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