Why abuse in Istanbul? Well, you just have to read on....
After resting in Bulgaria, we were ready to take back our tourist roles. Istanbul, although not very beautiful architecturally (except for of course all its famous sites, such as Aye-Sophia, Blue Mosque etc), but is very colourful and spacious. We stayed in the old city, and it was rather charming. When we asked directions to it, locals informed us that "people do not live there", meaning, as we found out later, that it is abandoned to the armies of tourists.
Istanbul amongst other things is a city of cats. Cats are in complete control of this city. Our hotel for example had in its lobby three card board boxes of nursing cat-mothers and their cutey-cute litter: every visitor to the hotel would check on them periodically, witnessing various stages of kittenhood. A young man in the tourist agency explained to us that although Turkish people are very fond of pets, they have no space for them in their urban living quarters, thus they take care of them (meaning Cats!) in the great Istanbul outdoors.
As our ambitions to see and touch and experience has dwindled after Italy, we have enjoyed leisurely walks, drinking Turkish tea while looking out on the Bosphor Straight, taking a slow boat around the Bosphor, going to a Whirling Dervish show in the Oriental Express Train Station (what a place for poor Dervishes) and just strolling along the picturesque streets of Istanbul.
As the old folk proverb has it: If you come to Istanbul, you will leave with a carpet!"
I am proud to say that despite this prediction, we managed to leave unscathed, even though great many people kindly offered us help! Sale a la Turque can be fun although very relentless!
Sir, where are you from? How do you like Istanbul? How long do you stay(are all too familiar by now intro phrases, also well practiced in India)
Ola, amigo! Como estas? Can I show you my business? No need to buy, just look!
They are very cheerful and inventive: in one carpet store, an owner lifts up his shirt and turns around, demonstrating he has no gun: "we are not in Morocco, we are in Istanbul! ) (meaning that there is no pressure to buy!) It is true, he is not as blunt as many of his carpet selling compatriots, but at the end of a 30 minutes carpet presentation, during which his helper, like a circus performer, hurls on the floor dozens of beautiful carpets, and a magically appearing in our hands cups of good Turkish apple tea, he asks: "So, is there a carpet that is crying to come home with you?" Of course "we can ship it to Canada..."
Thankfully he lets us escape free handed.
I thought I found a good way with carpet sellers and restaurant callers-they do appreciate jokes. Joke can be like a token exchange when no other exchange is going to take place:
Sir, (it is always Sir even when I am with Teodora), let me show you my beautiful carpet!
"Thanks, I am afraid I am very allergic to them" or
"Sorry, we have bought 10 already!"
Dinner, Sir?
"Thank you, we are on a strict diet"..or "we have terrible diarrhea today!"
They smile, slap me on the shoulder (which I assume is a sign of appreciation) and we part seemingly without any frustration or bitterness.
Despite this constant pursuit of tourists, genuine hospitality is still discernible; like in Italy, people are smiling, singing and helpful on the streets of Istanbul. Often I get slapped on the shoulders.
So, why abuse? well, you have read this far and here is your reward! The answer lays in Hammam-famous Turkish bath.
According to one friendly tourist agent, incidentally a recent History Graduate, Turks do not go to Hamam anymore, they have hot water at home! His words were confirmed when we arrived to a gorgeous Hamam, build in 16 century. I was bathed near two Americans and three Spaniards, who uttered "Puta" and other indigenous swearing as the skinny dark skinned men who kicked, soaped, twirled and slapped them with obvious joy and sporty vigor.
The Bath was beautiful: the main room was under a tall dome roof, studded with small star-shaped windows through which soft day light was peaking in. In the center of the room was a large round marble stone, warm. On this stone, there were a few figures, draped in long checkered towels tucked at their waist. After a few minutes of relaxing my body on the smooth surface of the warm stone, a dark skinned, slim and mustached Turk suddenly slapped me on the shoulder and after a brief enquiry into my country of origin, loughed and started rubbing me enthusiastically with a coarse mitten, singing something militant to himself. I had no idea that in addition to the rub and wash, i was to be subjected to some kind of chiropractic procedure as my legs suddenly were pulled into the air, then folded with force above my head, then my hands pulled to the side so that my spine could open with a crack! All of this sudden maneuvers alternated with strong slapping on my back, shoulders, arms and buttocks: "aye, strong Turkish bath! Good for Canadian!-he yelled, and then came his rhetorical: "Is it OK, Sir!" Before I could answer or protest-"Slap!" and I was propelled into a 180 degree turn, executed quickly on the smooth marble slab. More rubbing,stretching, pressing and slapping and then-Whoosh! A bucket of cool water made me suddenly alert again, waiting for the next episode of violence!.. Finally, it was over, I stumbled away, clean yet skittish, tensing at the sight of anyone in Hammam who looked like a server-dark skinned and mustached......
Hammam, just like restaurants, carpet shops and other businesses are staffed by a number of men -all doing small jobs here and there, alternating, talking, appearing and disappearing. For example at the restaurant, you can be greeted by one of them, another brings the menu, the third takes your order, while the forth brings the food; another one asks you if you liked the food and then a new one, you have not seen yet, brings you the bill. It is a dizzying business!
Any story of Istanbul would not be complete without telling about deafening sounds of Muezzins: in the area we stayed, two big Mosques were competing for air time, using pre-recorded chants to command attention from everyone in vicinity. Although nobody responds with prostrations, Dervish show at a nearby restaurant halts for a while, conversations are disrupted...It seems that many modern Turks object to this hijacking of sound scape, but so far, the sirens of muezzin calls continues....
One day we were lucky to stray from the regular tourist path wandering into a picturesque but poor religious neghbourhood. Suddenly, it was not us any longer gawking at people and sights, we were now the minority to be eyed with curiosity. An old man tried to gesture to us to hold tight to our camera and wallets because this area, as we found later, was known for its petty crime... Children, however, were gorgious. Unselfconscious and curious, they posed with joy for my camera and said thanks to me for taking pictures...
As if compensating for fresh paint and gloss of the welthier neighborhoods, here the multilayered colourful laundry reigned freely over the streets.
to view more pictures from Istanbul, go to:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/69781927@N00/sets/72157601861580137/
