Three Rakis to the Wind

My last day in Istanbul was pretty full.   The weather was cold and wet and I made my way to the Grand Bazaar.  It’s absolutely huge, a whole city block, indoors, with thousands of stalls selling everything Turkish you could imagine.  It was sensory overload and I walked a straight line through it, though staying out of the rain was the best part of it for me.

Upon exiting, I made my way down the narrow rickety, cobblestoned street filled with puddles of rain turned thin mud by the all the construction dirt… and stumble upon the thinnest sliver of a durumuc (sp?) joint.  I’d been meaning to try durum, though honestly, I can’t tell the difference between any number of Turkish foods with different names that sort of look the same and seem to be cooked the same.  It was kebab like, so I just dunno.  Anyway, skewers of meat in and out of the fire, two men working the small grill, three stools, four bowls of spices with deft fingers dancing in and out of them, sprinkled over meat, greens and pita.  The spices were probably thyme, paprika, sumac and something else.  And it was the best thing I’d eaten, better than the fried fish I think.  Then I tried an ayran, which is the popular thin yogurt drink here, um, not so great for me.  I love yogurt, but growing up in a culture that obsesses about sell by dates and sniffing milk containers to see if its contents have gone bad does not lend itself to enjoying ayran so easily. 

I head to the Rüstem Pasa Mosque because Pico Iyer details his affinity for the small mosque in this article from National Geographic Traveler, http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/city-guides/istanbul-traveler/.  I can’t begin to describe Istanbul in a way that would begin to capture the fascinating complexity of this city, so if you get a chance, I highly recommend reading it. 

I then delve into more street food and have corn on the cob, half of which wound up in the trash.  Then the memory of the fish sandwich from yesterday was nagging at me.  The rain meant there was but one vendor on the Golden Horn side, and their condiments did not include the spice and pickled peppers I liked so much.  But rather than cross over to the Asian side again, I got one anyway.  Blech.  All bread, and more bones than I cared to pick out of my mouth.  Ate the fish, threw the rest away. 

On my way home, I start picking up some souvenirs.  There is a little complex behind the Aya Sofya with artisans, including a calligrapher.  I thought it’d be sort of neat to start collecting little calligraphic mementos of my journeys – well, this guy was not going to be helpful.  In fact, he was reading the paper and perhaps it was the language barrier, but he did not exude warmth of any sort, so I left. 

Thinking I should do a Turkish bath (hamam) before I leave, I research a bit.  The famous Çemberlitas Hamam is nearby and I have passed it several times, but it is so geared towards tourists and honestly, I’m not really “feeling” a hamam at the moment, but thought it would be a good remedy for the cold rain.   But my internet research did turn up Jennifer’s Hamam which is in fact, a towel/textile store run by a Canadian ex-pat.  It is in a small outdoor bazaar right near my hotel and I stop by. 

Jennifer is very informative about her organic textiles and the losing battle against modernization in the business.  But she is doing her part, restoring old looms, working with the last family in Turkey that grows their own silk worms, etc. to preserve this important part of Turkish culture. 

A few stalls down, I hear a haunting Turkish melody and stop.  The young clerk shows me the CD that is playing, but then he is also glued to me for five minutes, um, hello, personal space?  I wind up buying the CD and another one he recommended.  Haggling doesn’t come naturally to me, but there was no way I was going to pay more than iTunes prices for these CDs.   Mission accomplished. 

I walk towards Çemberlitas, but am still hedging.  $22 seems a bit much for just the bath (sans massage) experience and the stream of tourists going in and coming out isn’t so appealing.  On the corner, there is another calligrapher.  He was friendlier than the earlier one, but his schtick seemed to be similar to the Chinese calligraphers in NYC who cater to tourists by writing their names in English but with Chinese-inspired stroke-work and icons.  And there was the language barrier.  Oh well.  But there is a barbershop right next door to the hamam and I have been roaming the streets of Istanbul looking like a shaggy wet dog.  Relievedly, I get my locks snipped.

Feeling human again, I stop by a brightly lit eatery with a rotund woman with a headscarf sitting by the front window rolling out dough.  She is making gozleme – Turkish crepes.  It’s busy, which is a good sign. The place itself had old rugs on the floors, low round tables that look as if they belong in a pre-K, horrible fluorescent lighting, also with new compact fluorescent bulbs (but not turned on mind you) with their extension cords strung over the room as one might do with actual decorative Turkish lamps.  But like much of Istanbul, it is shabby chic, emphasis on shabby.  I order the two house specialties, gozleme and manti (Turkish dumplings/ravioli) and some fresh pomegranate juice.  The food was very tasty and I was quite pleased. 

Now that I had my eating mojo on, I stop for baklava at a bakery.  It should be noted that I am allergic to most versions of baklava, as they usually have pistachios or walnuts.  But the pistachio and chocolate one looks especially good.  I order some to go as my Benadryl is back in the room.  I stop by Mado, a famous ice cream/gelato place and order the special, which includes pistachio.  I start to have a little trouble breathing but am fine. 

On my way back to the hotel, I run into a couple of young men from Cappadocia.  We chat and they invite me to join them for some raki, but again, I decline.  I have some trust issues :)  Instead, I head back to the restaurant I had eaten at on my second night (and had breakfast there once too) to have a glass of raki.   It is 10 p.m., the restaurant is mostly empty, but host Yusuf’s warmth and hospitality make up for it.  Plus, they are playing the best music, a “new jazz” mix that includes a Turkish version of “Hit the Road Jack”. I enquire as to what it is, and thus we begin a whole conversation about music, he brings out his laptop to show me what he personally has, etc. Unfortunately, the music on the stereo is compiled by a company that does mixes and does not provide a playlist :( He said he’d try to get the info for me, but thus far, nada.  By then, I am on my third glass of raki and Yusuf has given me a plate of cheese, tomatoes and cucumbers gratis as accompaniment.  Feeling warm and fuzzy, I head to the hotel and offer Ramazan, on night duty, my baklava.  Spreading the love.