I'm on a boat

Aside from the obvious landmarks, we were able to explore a few other things. One of the more relaxing parts of our trip was taking a boat tour along the Bosporus Strait to the Asian side of Istanbul. This was almost four hours (to and from) of beautiful coastlines dotted with homes, electric towers, mosques (we counted twenty total at one junction alone), and Turkish flags. We'd initially boarded the boat too late and almost resigned ourselves to sitting inside the cabin, having to peek over the shoulders of people lucky enough to sit outside. Fortunately, after a enough exposure to the Turkish "every-man-for-himself" way, we were able to squeeze ourselves onto the deck. Our boat stopped at Anadolu Kavagi. We had the option of climbing up to the Yoros Castle or relaxing on the patio of a waterfront restaurant, making use of their WiFi. We chose the latter. Our return trip was not as exciting, mostly because our prime upper level seats became a popular spot for people to hover, obnoxiously blocking our view and insisting that we still had a foot of space to utilize. My passive aggressive retorts ("Oh, I'm sorry, I thought waiting outside in the heat for two hours would've entitled me to a better view than you") fell deaf on non-English speaking ears.

View of Anadolu Kavagi

One of the coolest things we got to see were the famous whirling dervishes. This also happened to be one of the more disappointing parts of our trip as well. After hours of site seeing, we took the train to what we thought would be an easy way to the Galata Mevlevihanesi, an authentic monastery. Unfortunately, we weren't prepared for the grueling hike up the slanted road. When we eventually made it, after some wheezing and an aching side, we were told tickets to the prayer had been sold out. After recuperating on the curb of a sidewalk, watching ticket holders easily pass through, we took a cab to Taksim Square to eat a late lunch. This was not the same Square the media had been sensationalizing in the U.S. for months on end. Aside from the dozens of police officers present, it looked like any normal city center. The restaurant we ate at had a great view of the Republic Monument (pictured), as well as all the passersby. This allowed us to rack up numbers on our denim shirt count. Apparently denim shirts are a thing with Turkish men. Our count exceeded 100 by the end of the trip.

We then took the train back to Eminonu (making note of the very clean underground train system) and caught another dervish prayer at Serkeci Gar. We were greeted by two young men who showed us to our seats, one of whom asked whether we were Canadian or American. He said he was getting better at distinguishing between the two. When the ceremony began, we noticed that two of the participants looked an awful lot like our young ushers...I don't know if this was done by legitimate Sufi dervishes. But I do know that training for the ceremony can't have been an easy process. It was very interesting to see the role of music and Islamic scripture in their meditation. We ended up eating dinner at a nearby Irish pub (so random!) where many Turkish patrons had gathered to watch a local football (soccer) game.

On our last day we were able to visit some of the old churches. Although we didn't get to some of the churches I really wanted to see (such as Zeyrek and St. George), we did get to see some beautiful buildings. My favorite was Chora Church, a 500 year old church decorated with flying buttresses on the outside and countless mosaics and frescoes on the inside. Much like the larger mosques we'd already seen, I didn't know where to start looking. We also got to see the Aya Triada, another Greek Orthodox church and the Church of St. Anthony, a Catholic Church (my first one!) on Istiklal Street. With very tired legs, we ended up taking a cab more on this last day. One of our cab driver spoke English fluently and gave us a bit of guided tour of the city, pointing out the Jewish neighborhood and even quizzing us on landmarks for "points".

Inside Chora Church

Inside the dome of Chora Church.

Mosaic inside the Aya Triada.

We also were able to visit Galata Tower, a medieval landmark with an observation deck that gives you an amazing view of Istanbul. We also saw the Basilica Cistern, a Roman aqueduct near the Hagia Sophia. This was actually really cool to see. Fun fact: one of the James Bond movies filmed a scene down here.

View from Galata Tower (You can see the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque in the distance!)

From inside the Basilica Cistern
At the end of the fifth day we were exhausted and ready to go home. After an awkward dinner on the rooftop patio of our hotel (I say awkward because the creepy guest services manager of our hotel insisted on sitting with us), we caught some sleep before heading to the airport at 3 am. This is when something interesting happened - We were caught in a situation where we needed to understand what our Turkish-speaking driver was saying to us. I sought out a driver of a shuttle bus and asked if he spoke both English and Turkish, to which he answered yes. Relieved, I asked if he could translate for us, as we really needed to understand our driver. His response? No. I was appalled. Here we were, three women, standing with at least half a dozen bags outside of the airport at 3 am and this man wouldn't help us? He said a few words in Turkish to our driver and left. Still seething, I decided to try asking someone else, this time a female airport employee. I asked her the same two questions. She hesitated for a few moments before finally answering, "no". Just like the man. No.

So that was it. This was going to be my last impression of not only Istanbul, but Turkey itself. That these were inhospitable, rude, and selfish people. I kept thinking that back home in the U.S., should a South Asian tourist ask me if I could help translate from Urdu to English, that I would gladly oblige. But then I looked at our mustachioed driver, who continued to speak to us in mostly Turkish, repeating, "no problem!" again and again, refusing to leave us alone until our problem was solved. In the end, one of his colleagues solved our problem, and neither man asked for extra money. It was the middle of the night and one of them had to take a drive that he didn't ask to be paid for. We left them with the little remaining lira we had left. And when I think of Turkish people, I want to think of the these two drivers, the friendly cabbie, the waiter who brought over Turkish Delight and tea on the house, and of course, the very attractive scarf vendor in the bazaar.

So, Istanbul taught me two things - (1) There is always kindness people. One or two bad experiences shouldn't define a people as a whole. And (2) - It took traveling to the other side of the world to a foreign country for me to appreciate my Pakistani heritage. I'd mentioned earlier than the Turks seemed unimpressed when we said we were American. I think this was largely due to a language barrier. Most people we said this to would ask where I was really from (some guessed I was actually Turkish). When I admitted to being Pakistani (something that gets me looks of horror or sympathy in the U.S.), I noticed a complete attitude change. I heard several cries of, "Oh, we love Pakistanis!" and one woman even went on about how much she adored the late prime minister, Benazir Bhutto. By the fourth day of our trip, I was proudly saying I was Pakistani.

Thank you, Istanbul, for a great adventure. Until next time!