The Parting of Ways

8:29 PM Ellen Porter
Sunday, June 6th

Sad. So sad. Today the group goes its separate ways. Most are heading home, some are staying here in Turkey, and others are heading off to other grand adventures. I fortunately have a few more days here in Istanbul, which I am super psyched about. More time for explorations :)

Early Departures

We all got up extra early this morning to see our comrades off. Since the majority of their flights were departing at 11 am, the plan was to be down in the lobby and ready to leave by 8 am. And guess what?? For the first time this entire trip, everyone was down in the lobby and ready to go by 8 am. Shock and amazing. One teensy weensy wittle problem. No bus. Call it cosmic justice.

8:15 rolls around, still no bus. People start getting antsy. We call the bus people. We are told the bus will be here in fifteen minutes. A collective sigh of relief goes out from the group. However, 8:30 comes and goes, and still no transportation. Suspicions begin to arise that the Asian group that left at 8 am had stolen our bus. Whispered murmurings of a retaliation attack on Japan start flitting among the troops.

However, the day is saved when lo and behold, the bus arrives! Hooray! It’s only 8:50 at this point, and despite there being a 30-40 min drive to the airport, several security checkpoints to pass through, a fairly large airport to navigate, and Matt’s plane departing at 10:30, there are nooo worries at all. Success.

New Mosque

So end of group tour. Begin explorations of Istanbul. Well, after I indulge in a long and lengthy breakfast followed by a delightful conversation with the group members left in Istanbul, of course. Omid offers to take me to go see some of the cool mosques that we didn’t have time to go visit earlier, so after I finish my third cup of coffee, we set off.

 The New Mosque. Built 500 years ago. Still referred to as the New Mosque. That is just plain awesome. I mean, think about it. The oldest thing you can find in the States is 200 or 300 years old, tops. Hell, when this “new” mosque was being built, Americans were still running around wearing buttflaps. Amazing.

I actually really enjoy the New Mosque, especially the outer architecture. The courtyard is quite gorgeous, and really designed to catch the eye, as well as the skyline. The inner decoration, despite being a bit paler than I personally would’ve picked, gives b a peaceful yet noble feel to the mosque. All in all, me likey.


Woman Mosque

We cross over to Asia (I still get a kick out of saying that) and set off to explore the only mosque ever built by woman. It’s pouring down rain at this point, and on multiple occasions I discover why Rainbows ironically should not be worn in the rain. However, Omid did get an opportunity to demonstrate his cat-like reflexes in an attempt to save me from falling…5 seconds after I had already righted myself.

We make it to the Woman mosque – I think it does actually have another name, but I’m sticking with this one. Unfortunately, we seemed to have stumbled upon a funeral. Hmmm. Normally, I love attending random events and blending in with the masses, but alas I had several handicaps:

·         Clearly American features
·         Flip flops
·         An inability to wear a head scarf properly
·         A complete inability to speak or even understand the language

Hmmm, yes this does make it difficult to make small talk with the other attendees. Though I did smile and nod and pretend to understand one guy when he offered me candy! Maybe I should’ve played the deaf-mute card?


The mosque itself was awesome. Due to the funeral service going on, I was restricted to the woman’s section, which awesomely enough is located above the men’s section. It means the women get to look down on the men below and mock their bald spots.

The design inside was beautiful. Loved the color scheme and the decorations were so elegant. Yes, this is why interior decoration should be left to women. None of that gaudy gold and tile excess that men use to blatantly display their wealth. Pshh, newbs. Unfortunately, I failed to get a picture, mainly due to the fact that I was trying to blend in and look as pious as possible. (And I think it worked! The consequence? The only picture I got was of the courtyard above. Alas.)

Patriotic Mosque

We decide next to trek our way over to the third mosque of the day, a smaller one of Sinan’s. My ability to remember the mosques’ names decreases exponentially the further I get from a knowledgeable expert. I shall refer to this one as the Patriotic Mosque – solely because the color scheme was red, white and blue.

This one was fairly cool, though in my opinion, having both red and blue as an accent color was a little bit too much. There was a faintly musky smell in this one too and an obnoxious fly that disturbed the meditative feel. Also there were random splotches of green. Like the minbar was green. Uhh random. Either Sinan needed a color scheme lesson or the workers who repainted it had absolutely no sense of visual coordination.

We end the morning/afternoon adventures by stopping at a nice restaurant and indulging in one of my favorite meals: beans and rice (Dad, you’d be so proud of me). Lunch was delicious, and more importantly, the restaurant was warm and dry. Nothing like eating warm food and partaking in good conversation while watching the rain coming down outside in solid sheets.  

Finally, several hours later, we accept the fact that no, the rain will not let up and we brave the dreaded drizzle to make our way back to Europe (tehe).

Evening Shenanigans

Sooo what would you do with a free afternoon in a fascinating city located in a foreign country on a continent that is not your own? I don’t know about you guys, but I partook in a rare activity that one could not possibly do anywhere else in the world. Yepp, you guessed it. I took a nap.

Hey! But in my defense, I had been operating on about four to five hours of sleep the entire trip, and that was an AMAZING nap. On a real bed too. A rare commodity for a roomless teenager home for the summer.

Once I finally awoke [damn those heavy curtains blocking all light from entering], the evening was spent lounging on cushions (chairs are so overrated), enjoying delicious gözleme and fruit, while mocking tourists for wearing stupid Oriental outfits. Nothing better than a nice, therapeutic session of judging people for their stupidity.  Judgejudgejudgejudgejudge.

The latter part of the evening/night was spent at a local café, which was actually quite a lot of fun. We got this weird tea – and by weird I mean real tea with leaf thingers floating in it [once again showing my sophistication] – and got to listen/watch the mini hurricane that was swamping Istanbul.


And guess what? The power went out! Sudden and complete pitch blackness! (I really don’t think I’m remembering this phrase correctly). Luckily, I was secretly destined to be a Boy Scout and I was prepared with matches. Candles, no. Lamp, no. Torch, no. But I had matches! So we had light! For about 6 or 7 seconds until my fingers burned, but we had LIGHT. Just call me, Ellen – Master of Flame.


Eventually power was restored, light was produced, the rain ceased, and the night ended. And thus ends my post. Ta-ta, dahling.
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The Last Night Together

7:38 PM Ellen Porter
Saturday, June 5th

Alas, today is the last full day here in Turkey with everyone. While today was pretty much designed as a free for all, with the exception of a few people who missed some of the earlier monuments, everyone pretty much chose to spend the day together. It was a great testament to the wonderful group dynamic we had this trip. Aww now I’m feeling all sentimental.

Small Neighborhood Mosque that was of Some Historical Importance that I Can No Longer Remember

We started off heading to this small mosque nestled in a small neighborhood. On our way over there, we had to trek through the Russian neighborhood, where it became evident that the incident we saw last night was not only not uncommon [triple negative…*cringe*] but was in fact one of the top three industries the Russians provide to Istanbul. Ah well someone has to do it.


The great thing about the mosque we visited was the fact that we were probably to first visitors to step inside this mosque since its ribbon cutting ceremony.  The caretaker was so ecstatic that he came up during one of Omid’s lectures, grabbed Mitch by  the arm, pulled him to the other side of the mosque, and started excitedly jabbering about … something. I really need to learn Turkish. However, Mitch’s look of total incomprehension? Priceless.


Sooo…I’m pretty sure we learned something at this mosque. Can’t quite remember what though (sorry, Omid). Unfortunate side effect to writing blog posts so long after they happen. All I remember is feeling sleepy and thinking that the air smelled musty.

Suleymaniye

Afterwards, we hike ourselves down cobblestone pathways to visit the Suleymaniye, Sinan’s masterpiece. I’m pretty excited because I’ve heard great things and I’ve more or less been a fan of Sinan’s other mosques. Alas, the universe was once again conspiring against us – the entire mosque was closed for restoration. Pshh lame. But props to the restoration crew – I wouldn’t want to have their job:


We do go and visit two of the tombs outside the Suleymaniye – one for the Sultan who commissioned it and the other for his wife (epic love story – he broke 350 years of tradition to marry her – *sigh* be still my beating heart). We were given the task of guessing what famous building his tomb was modeled after. The conversation went something like this:

Me: “Hmm…so is the building a mosque?”
Omid: “Yes, at one point”
I guess random mosques that look nothing like this tomb
Omid: “I’ll give you a clue – it’s not in Turkey.”
Ellen: “This severely restricts the number of mosques I’ve seen.”

Despite being given the number of sides (eight) and location (in every CNN report of Jerusalem), I was completely oblivious to the fact it was modeled on…yes, you’ve probably guessed it: the Dome on the Rock. I need to get out more.


We also went to go visit Sinan’s tomb. Anticlimatic.

Afternoon Delights

So the group disperses at this point and the majority of us head back to the Spice Bazaar to do some last minute shopping and souvenir purchasing. I am basically following like a blind puppy as the afternoon sun starts taking its toll on my ability to be alert and present. Bonus to walking around with one’s eyes closed? Shopkeepers don’t yell at you in garbled English. Which is surprising considering most Americans do seem to go through life with their eyes closed. [ba dum ching]

Eventually I give up on shopping (total number of souvenirs purchased for friends and family: zero), and I go back to our lovely hotel and sink into the sweet embrace of my bed’s soft sheets. Sighhh heavenly.

Evening Shenanigans

The plan: meet in the lobby at 6:50. The goal: to go to this restaurant in Taksim Square that David had found in his guide book. Such a simple ordeal. Not.

Well we did leave within the half hour window that seemed to dictate our departures throughout this entire trip. And the trip to the other side of town was relatively uneventful, with only minor detours and delays. So when we arrive in Taksim Square, I assume that we are almost to the restaurant. Thank god, because my stomach is rumbling quite loudly at this point.

However, it was not to be. We wandered up the main road, and then back down again. Down a side street and then back up it. Oh maybe let’s try this residential area, or maybe this dingy, smelly dark alley. Oops, not this one, time to turn around again guys!

At this point, Ellen is sending death glares at any unfortunate soul who happens to be making eye contact. It’s not the fact that we are going in circles, or the fact that we had to turn around and backtrack on four separate occasions (I hate backtracking), or even the fact that we are travelling in a large, obviously American tour group as we follow a guy with his nose stuck in a guidebook (a scenario I’ve always hated and avoided at all costs). What really got on my nerves is that we literally passed about a hundred different restaurants. All equally good. All equally delicious. I was finding it difficult to stifle my stomach’s chants for mutiny.

Eventually, through gritted teeth, we politely insist that we stop our futile search for a restaurant that could only be marginally better than the millions we were passing. A place is picked and we spend our dinner sampling a variety of mezes as an obnoxious band blasts music in our ears. Ok, the music wasn’t that obnoxious. Their hassling attempt for money was.

After dinner some people went home and others went out on the town. Highlight of the night? My double chocolate Magnum bar. Mmmm absolutely delicious. Being the old fart that I’ve become, I didn’t  stay out too late. We instead sprinted back, caught the last funicular [thanks awesome operators!], and made it back safely to our hotel.

And thus ends the last night the entire group is here in Istanbul.
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Sufi Party Crashing Part Two

11:49 AM Ellen Porter
Friday, June 4th

Ok, so officially I am sitting in an airport on my way home, but since I got behind in my blog posts, I am going to pretend it is still Friday. And I shall keep pretending until I have finished all my posts. So there are about 4 or 5 more for you guys to look forward to! Hooray!

This morning? Torture. I think two weeks of about 4 or 5 hours of sleep a day is finally starting to catch up to me. I’m pretty sure this feeling is somewhat akin to how Lazarus felt after his resurrection. However, morning bonus? I finally got a picture of the naked fat mannequins. Score! (small victories, small victories..)


Great Mystical Adventure Part Two

So the morning started off calm. The plan: meet up with some Sufi connections on the other side of the town. It turned into an epic whirlwind adventure involving every mode of transportation minus the tricycle, weaving in and out of small winding alleyways, and blinding following giants up small twisted staircases. No joke.

After navigating trams, broken funiculars, buses, metros, cabs, and the like, we finally met with Omid’s friends Cem (pronounced Jem) and Sherif Baba. Characterization time: Sherif Baba is a fairly short and stooped old man with a big mustache, wiry hair, and a large mole on his upper lip. He also is a fairly prominent Sufi teacher (though remained fairly quiet the whole time) who has a tendency to kiss close friends on the lips. Cem is this huge man with long (mid-back length) bushy red hair, New-Age-y to the extreme, and he eerily resembles Hagrid. Cem had lived in the Chapel Hill for about 17 years so he helped translate much of what was going on.

Ok, now that you all have a mental picture of our haphazard group, you might be able to understand what an interesting group we made tramping around random residential neighborhoods, way off the beaten path of most tourist groups. The whole time, the only real thought running through my head was how easily they could be leading us to some remote location to kill us and sell the body parts. This suspicion only deepened when we all started blindly following them up a small twisty staircase, single file, in some remote dark building. I mean if I were in the underground organ business, that’s how I would do it.

But SURPRISE! It turns out we were getting the chance to not only to participate in a zekr ceremony, but we also were getting to crash the second Sufi birthday party in two weeks. I mean, most people go their entire lives and never experience anything like this.

Before I get into the explanation of what happened, here is the setting: small apartment crammed with women (and two men) ranging from middle aged to very old. Leader: ancient looking woman by the name of Shirin Anne, dressed entirely in red (are blindingly bright costumes requirements for Sufi masters?), and huffing on unfiltered cigarettes like they were her life support. And they probably were, to be honest. First thought upon seeing her? That I have no desire to live to the age where my boobs are below my belly button. (Though it turns out she’s only 68ish – She looks 90 – another reason not to take up smoking)

Okay explanation for the Sufi newbs: zekr is a ceremony that through chanting/singing the names of God, one is led to the remembrance of God.  While at the last Sufi gathering we attended the music was very soothing and calm, this ceremony was of a frantic, fervourish type. It. Was. Fascinating. It was full of ebbs and flows, as people became more into it, spontaneously whirling, spinning or shouting. Cem was getting really into it too, looking very much like a redheaded Wild Thing. I was fortunate enough to basically get a front row seat. However, this comes with certain participatory stipulations as being a passive viewer was not acceptable nor looked favorably upon.

It was a very interesting experience. Very interesting. It’s easy to see how one can get caught up in that community – the bond you feel in this setting is almost tangible. But it also made me slightly uneasy as it seemed … cult-like – channeled into a seemingly good manner, but cult-like nonetheless. Another interesting thing? Her wall was covered with photos and pictures – and in the right hand corner of the room was a smiling picture of Ataturk. You know, the guy who killed several Sufis, banned Sufi lodges, and made it illegal to continue the Sufi practices.

The whole experience took about four hours. So we unfortunately didn’t get to everything we had planned for the day. As we were leaving, here are the cultural faus paux’s that I made:
  1. I turned my back on her – a sign of disrespect
  2. I stepped on the threshold of the doorway – big no no
  3. I couldn’t drink the Aryan (a drink that tastes like the spoiled part of the distilled liquid on top of sour cream)

However, I did remember to bow with my hand over my heart. C minus for cultural aptitude.

Journey of Giants (tombs, tombs, and more tombs)

Upon leaving our Great Mystical Experience, we all crowd into several dolmushes (van like bus thingers) to the other side of town. Kat and I sat with Cem and his mustache-sporting, mini-‘fro-rocking British friend, and we proceeded to receive a lesson on how we’re all connected to everything  and other New Age-y outlooks. We also learned that you don’t mess with graves. Or if you do, be prepared to suffer some fatal accident like oh so many architects and landscapers before us. Duly noted.

Cem leads us all to go visit the shrine to the grandson of the grandson of the prophet, kept inside the remnants of the ancient Byzantine wall. Ehhh, it was mildly interesting… We all board a boat next and once again I proceed to demonstrate my prowness for sleeping without regards to location, time of day, temperature, comfort, or present company.

Once we safely dock (and don’t ask me where – I am clueless to our present location at this moment), we waddle our way over some ancient soup kitchen. The gatekeeper refuses to let us in. I’m sure my apathy would not have been quite so apparent had both my mind and body occupied the same state of being.

We also head to visit Ayup, home of the shrine of Ayyub al-ansari – companion of the Prophet. Apparently this place is the epicenter for ideal burial grounds, as grave sites become exponentially more expensive the closer to this shrine they are. Shrine was very intensively incensed – with incense, not anger. Also, once again, I fell victim to the brutally spiny elbows of fat Turkish grandmas.

One thing I noticed was the abundance of circumcision boys. Every young boy on the day of his circumcision, is dressed in a princely costume and paraded to different shrines, through the streets, and to parties. There was an exorbitant amount present of said unfortunates at this shrine. I wince in sympathy for their unknowing future suffering later today. I also tried to sneakily take a picture of one without appearing to be a stalkerish child molester, but this is the best I got:


Subtly holding a camera at one’s hip while whistling and admiring the neighboring floral arrangements doesn’t lend itself to artistically framed photos.

Early Evening Explorations

We part ways with Cem, Sherif Baba, and the odd looking British dude, and taxi ourselves over to the Spice Bazaar. There, we meet one of Omid’s friends in a jewelry shop. There, I also receive my first non-American guess at my ethnicity. Hooray! I can pass for Dutch/German apparently! Though, he also said that I looked like Claudia Shieffer, so I don’t know if I can really trust his judgment.

We go and dine at a nice restaurant for our last dinner together in Istanbul. Aww sadness. Our sentimental moping period was interrupted though by an idiotic waiter and bill confusion. After dinner, we split ways and several of us set out to explore Taksim Square, the hip-hip-hopping part of town. Packed streets, pumping music, and…Christmas decorations. Hmm, well I’m not the one to judge considering my lasted played playlist on my iPod was my Christmas one.

But whatevs. Later tonight, once back in the hotel after an interesting ride in a neon cab, I once again laid my claim over my favorite chair in the lobby to sit down and write a blog post. Unfortunately, I was distracted by two sleezy men trying to bring in Russian prostitutes to our hotel [the hotel refused]. Funnily enough it made me remember an incident earlier this trip, one of the first few nights in Istanbul, when I had returned back to the hotel a little earlier in the evening than the rest of the group. The front desk had questioned me as to my room number and asked to see my room key. Being tired and obliviously naïve, I thought nothing of it. In retrospect: does this mean I can pass for Russian?
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