Kadikoy to Istanbul Old City: Ancient Anatolia to Byzantium.

Yesterday I caught the ferry from Kadikoy on the Asian side of Istanbul to the old part of the city. The Asian side is ancient Anatolia, and the European side is ancient Byzantium, in an area known the ‘Golden Horn’. Only a few miles of water, the Bosphorus Strait, separates the two continents.

 

Kadikoy, or ancient Chalcedon, was first settled by the Greeks in 685 BC, and was known as the ‘city of the blind’; a prophecy told at the temple of Apollo in Delphi revealed that the great capital (Byzantium) would be built opposite the city of the blind.

 

Approaching old Istanbul, the waters become busy with boats and ferries, set against the backdrop of the city’s dramatic skyline, of which the Yeni Cami mosque is the most immediate and spectacular.

 

At the port, bustling crowds of people jostle in vibrant sunlight, amid intoxicating smells of fish, roasted corn, and chestnuts.

 

A few metres beyond that are the precincts of Yeni Cami, which means ‘new mosque’. Yeni Cami is apparently a notable example of the ‘Sultanate of Women’, meaning from a period when some consorts, mothers, sisters and grandmothers of the sultans of the Ottoman empire exerted extraordinary political influence (1534 to 1683).

 

Inside, Muslim people continue their daily prayers to Allah unperturbed by gazing tourists like me who are impressed by the magnificent architecture.

 

Men and women wash in separate areas before entering the mosques; women are not permitted to enter the main praying area and remain hidden behind a partition at the back.

I know nothing of this religion, but I appreciate the majesty of the temples and the sublime beauty of the prayers that waft out across the city 5 times a day. In my apartment in Kadikoy I am awoken each day at sunset with the sounds of prayers.

 

Outside the mosque, a man has a tiny stall from which he is selling prayer beads, made of 100 beads in precious stones. The Buddhists and Hindus use the Japa Mala – the only prayer beads I have seen – have 108 beads.

 

I consider purchasing the onyx beads and while I am looking at them the man approaches me with a little liquid from one of the many bottles displayed on his stall. He gestures for me to give him my wrist, which I do, and he applies a drop of liquid. After rubbing my wrists together, I smell the scent: warm sun-baked oranges, sweet smelling figs, and fire. He tells me I can buy a vial of the scent for 100 Turkish Lira, then he comes at me again with another sample: fresh ocean breeze, deep forest green, hidden monasteries in high mountains. My senses open in the exquisite sensualness… but I don’t buy anything just yet. I have time.

 

After my visit to the mosque, I wander aimlessly into the Spice Bazaar, or the Egyptian Bazaar, and beyond that into narrow street after narrow street of noise, smells, and merchandise of every conceivable form. Handsome young men beckon like snake charmers to come and sample their pomegranate tea, their sumptuous confectionary, or else to touch the silks cottons, linens. Beautiful bold designs, or else simple and demure head coverings, hijab, and veils… a man shows me how to wear a traditional veil and it feels good, but still I don’t buy anything.

 

I find a seat at a street café where I watch this vibrant and eclectic cacophony of life flow by. There are many locals, and many tourists from all over the world.

 

Here East meets West, Christian meets Muslim, rich meets poor, the sacred meets the profane, ancient meets modernity, all in one beautiful and buzzing complex note of humanity, time, and space. It feels alive, and so do I.

 

When my bill arrives, I see that I have been charged for something that I didn’t order, and the waiter who has been serving tells me that he left his usual glasses at home today and cannot see properly. He ‘mistakenly’ adds an extra few liras onto my bill. I don’t argue, it’s not much, we laugh at the mistake and agree that it’s a tip. This is all part of it too. I am a single woman travelling alone, I do not speak the language, and in some ways, I am a sitting duck. But I also know that things of value in life are not always monetary, and that I have received many gifts on my day in old Istanbul.

 

I will visit again, another mosque, another site, but this takes time and preparation. I need to filter these experiences one at a time, otherwise, like the proverbial tourist, I only skim the surface.