Departure

In many ways I feel that the time I spent in Istanbul was shorn with a pair of dull scissors. It was an incredible city to discover, but the proper way to take in Istanbul would require a slow approach to create the most intuitive observations.

I was not ready to leave Istanbul...the city that crosses two continents. As it turns out, that city was not ready to let me go, either.

Just ten minutes before my plane was scheduled to depart, we were informed that the plane was having some "technical difficulties" and was unsafe to fly. The next plane available to take us to our destination would be in 24 hours. Of course, this news inspired mass hysteria and proportional disappointment. Amidst the frantic shuffle out of the airport (a long and arduous process involving an unending line of furiously confused travelers and one man with one stamp. I will spare you the details.) I have to admit that I fostered some secret smile that I was not yet to return to the place called home.

Disgruntled, but not desolately so, I settled in for a long night on the platonic grey and white tiles of Istanbul's largest airport.

Shortly after I had resigned myself to this dreary conclusion of my Mediterranean travels, we were rounded up and guided onto shuttle buses to take us somewhere for the night. This seemed positive to me--I would rather wait in transit than wait for transit. The shuttle journey took on an ethereal quality as the bright and cheery sights of Istanbul flashed past my window and I sank into a good cd. I wondered where we were going, (it was a 1.5hr bus ride) but was not overly concerned.

On arriving we were ecstatic to find that our destination was a five star hotel on the waterfront.

I walked along the waterfront and allowed myself the space to say  "hoşçakal".


As the sun slipped out of the sky, our company enjoyed food far too extravagant for our budgets, made only so much more delightful by the fact that there would be no bill. That night we fell into the comfort of our pristine rooms, and let ourselves be ushered into a state of dream that knows no geographical boundaries.

My pictures from Rome and Istanbul now seem saturated with colors, tastes, smells, and experiences that   will fill a permanent reservoir of my imagination. On the returning flights I thought to myself that it doesn't necessarily have to be that a new place comes with a new reality...we create our own realities from wherever we stand.

I think that it is possible to be a tourist in familiar places. It takes a greater amount of effort to discover the nuances in the ordinary, but there is beauty in these simple things waiting to be explored.

Even though I have physically returned to a place that I call home, I would like to think that I have found a new color palette with which to visualize my world.

Mosques and other sightings

Images from the Blue Mosque

The Fatih Mosque

This was my favorite mosque in Istanbul for its eclectic use of space, bright natural lighting, and the intricacies of its design. However, my favorite mosque of all was the Grand Mosque in Rome because I could admire its personal qualities and its design as both beautiful and functional.  It had intimate character, whereas quite a few of Istanbul's mosques were clearly tourist destinations...timeless and ornate, but lacking in that personal touch of community.

Kumkapi neighborhood of downtown Istanbul. The government is forcing these people out of their houses in order to rebuild and modernize the area. 

Quite a contrast to Istanbul's business-oriented center.

Those killer 7 coursers...

Obviously, I must include a posting on Turkish cuisine.  We had a great many spectacular group dinners that included a ridiculous number of courses.  I had no idea what I was in for.  I consistently filled up on appetizers...only to realize that these small dishes were actually the precursors to the main meal. Dinner would often take hours to finish. So...I learned to pick my seat wisely. My neighbor must be someone who does not mind fielding my desperate pleas to help me finish my own plate. I am extremely picky when it comes to cheese, meat, and strange looking food. Since the waiters were so attentive and warm, I felt terrible leaving anything leftover or untouched.  I was often seized by anxiety attacks when yet another dish would materialize, and, consequentially, my neighbors bore the brunt of the responsibility for alleviating my fears.

And then there was Turkish khave!

This is the menu from the most historic coffeehouse in downtown Istanbul.  It is also a hookah bar, which enhanced its mystical charm.

The bottom of a cup of Turkish coffee is absolutely disgusting sludge. It tastes like sand. One should avoid drinking this at all costs.  The liquid itself tastes very earthy and thick.

Apple Tea! Basically apple cider, except much better.

Istanbul

Istanbul flashed past.

Literally.

We traveled through the city on a guided tour bus for a large portion.  Cities are very different when viewed as a constant visual stream from behind clear glass.

The Bosphorous River, which connects the Black Sea to the Mediterranean, as viewed from a bus window.

Modern Istanbul spans both sides of the Bospohorous River. The Asian side is more focused on industrialization and expansion, while the European side has more historical sites, as this was the original location of Constantinople.

This is Sultan Ahmed Mosque, more popularly known as the Blue Mosque for the blue tiles that decorate its interior. I now realize that this picture does not present the mosque in the typical glorious fashion. This is a picture from the backside.

The minarets reminded me of Disneyland. This made me very sad, and I tried to dispel such notions.

The streets of Istanbul are very busy with noise, bright colors, heavy loads moving to and fro, and a constant stream of street vendors vying for attention.

ROMA Montage

Flowers in the Campo

Carabinieri, one of the local branches of police. It is very entertaining to watch these guys in their skin-tight uniforms and ray-bans. You can just feel the attitude rolling off...

At the Vatican

Media protest in Piazza Navona

"Fisher of Men" symbol on Santa Maria de Trastevere Church

The floor of Santa Maria de Trastevere--just imagine how long it would take to cut these slices of granite from the columns in order to create this pattern!

Pastries from the forno

Trevi Fountain

Legend has it that tossing 3 coins from your right hand over your left shoulder into the Trevi Fountain ensures a return trip to Rome--2 coins for a divorce, and 1 for marriage. Needless to say, I tossed in 3!

Private Gardens at Palazzo Barberini

Coffee for 25 at La Tasa d'Oro, one of the oldest Roman coffeehouses

We take pictures in the antique mirrors

This woman's life purpose is to feed Rome's pigeons. She rides around the city on her bike with bags full of birdseed, followed by a dark cloud of filthy birds. Very disgusting.

At Cartoleria, a shop near the Pantheon that recently celebrated its 100 year anniversary. They sell a plethora of leather bound journals and exotic writing materials.







By law shops in Rome are only allowed to offer sales and discounts during two periods of the year. I was fortunate enough to be in Rome for the two week long July sale, in which shops have discounts ranging from 20-70% off. The streets have been filled with driven shoppers. Personally, I prefer to shop at local markets, family-owned stores, and second hand shops, so I avoided most of the commercial mayhem, but it has been fascinating to watch the action.





The above street vendor is Nestor. He collects coins and fashions them into exquisite necklaces. He came to Campo de Fiori so that a group of us could see his wares. However, after he set his cardboard stand up in the street, a nearby shop called the Carabinieri, who showed up demanding to see Nestor's permits for street vending. Nestor does not have a permit for the Campo because he usually stays in Trastevere, so he was likely to get fined or worse for setting up in the Campo. Luckily, my fast talking art professor, Lisa, was able to extricate Nestor from the situation, and Nestor moved his station to the UW Rome Center's hallway.

My Ponte Sisto

I took a train to Ponte Galeria, on the outskirts of Rome where I tried to find a detention center for illegal migrants. I walked around for a couple of hours, but was not able to find it.



I found graffiti, though! One piece of graffiti associated the detention center with a state-run concentration camp, which I thought was particularly powerful.






Graffiti marks my way home. Much better than roadsigns, which I tend to forget.

Last visit to Porto Portese market

Marlon Brando spotted!