Istanbul Photos & Video!

  

Our Turkish baked potato, café overlooking Istanbul; shellfish and rice; the Blue Mosque; overlooking Asia on the Topkapi Palace terrace; breakfast at Mado; with Eva Mendes on palace grounds; below - Tolga divining our "fortunes." 

March 30-31, 2009

We began the next day with a Turkish breakfast at Mado - meet, cheese, bread, eggs, and veggies (including olives!) The emphasis on fresh vegetables (including squash) and healthy basics reminded me of my family's traditional Lebanese fare. Many of the dishes indeed overlapped. I was also quite happy to know of a culture where it is acceptable to eat cheese for breakfast (and thus vindicate some of my "heretical" eating habits!) 

We then embarked on our journey to The Blue Mosque. Istanbul has no "true" city center besides a sprawling patchwork of intersecting neighborhoods. The traffic situation is also complete anarchy: Baha and Tolga repeatedly mentioned their fear of driving on (and crossing!) streets overrun with too many vehicles, and not enough order in the way of traffic signals and lane dividers. (I was, in fact, the unfortunate victim of such carelessness, when our taxi driver took his foot off of the parking break and let the vehicle roll down the hill onto me at 2 miles per hour as I walked behind the car!) . . . 

Once at the Blue Mosque, we luxuriated in the sun on its hundreds-of-years-old courtyard and gardens, having to linger outside because of the services inside. We could, however, hear the call to pray on the loudspeakers outside the Mosque. We then ventured over to the San Sofia Church, which was made into a museum to settle the simultaneous Christian and Muslim claim to its history (or so Tolga, my walking tour guide, told me). Outside, we enjoyed more tulip-filled courtyards. Apparently (also according to Tolga), Istanbul used to be the tulip capital until Amsterdam claimed the title.

On our way to the next attraction, we stopped for freshly-squeezed fruit juice from a Turkish man who made us promise we would return for some "Turkish hospitality." Finally, we went to the Topkapi Palace: home to the Ottoman sultans and an amazing view over the Marmara Sea and Bosphorus. Inside the Palace are museums jealously guarding Ottoman Empire treasures, including an 86-carat diamond.

I feel extremely guilty to admit that, as exciting as all of this was, one of the most exciting parts of our trip took the form of good old-fashioned celebrity-stalking. After using a restroom on the palace grounds, an older American tourist informed us that Eva Mendes (aka American movie star) had been using the restroom stall next to us. We waited "casually"  outside the restroom, attempting to catch a glimpse of the star's exit, to no avail. We thus ventured back outside, where Brittany glimpsed Ms. Mendes attempting to keep a low profile with sunglasses, weathered jeans and a scarf as she her private tour guide showed her the palace grounds. After several minutes of not-so-secret stalking, we asked her to take a photo with us, and she agreed: as long as we were discreet - she was undercover, of course!!

We next stopped back at the juice stand to let our Turkish juice-stand-owner follow through on his promise of "hospitality." We received free apple teas and conversation: a father and businessman now, it appears he had some rough early years after spending time in an Amsterdam prison for "hitting" a policeman. . . . Hmmmm . . . 

After stopping at the requisite Grand Bazaar (formerly prestigious but now, according to Tolga and Baha, "only for tourists") we took a 20-minute ferry ride to Asia. Istanbul (and Turkey) spans two continents: Europe and Asia. We happily seized the opportunity to experience a uniquely Istanbul treat: "going to Asia" for dinner (even if Istanbul's Asian side merely appeared a slightly-more-modern version of Istanbul-Europe). We had dinner there, another label-evading meat-and-vegetables-concoction and the storied Turkish Coffee (my favorite!) for dessert. Tolga attempted to tell our "fortunes" (apparently a Turkish tradition) by tipping over  our coffee cups and reading the shape of the dried residue at the bottom. Our fortunes were hilarious, if not *quite* accurate . . . 

After the ferry back from Asia, the boys took us to their favorite Istanbul neighborhood -- Taxsim, "the most modern city center in Istanbul." They warned us it would be slow on a Monday night compared to Saturdays, where one could barely make one's way through the streets. It was, nonetheless, extremely lively, and the most "European-appearing" of the neighborhoods I had visited in Istanbul, with quaint, cobblestone streets and narrow, hilly paths. However, it was a dichotomy of cultures: European-appearing, but Eastern-sounding: as we made our way through the quaint streets, we could hear the Muslim call to prayer in the background. Just down the street from the European Topshop, Mango, Zara, and Nike stores was a Mosque calling conservative Muslims to prayer. Finally, after wondering the streets and ogling Turkish Delights (also, according to Tolga, only for tourists) we settled on a café for drinks. What originally appeared to be a nondescript apartment building was, after ascending six flights of stairs, a posh café-bar (named "Leb-iderya") with huge glass windows affording an expansive view over most of Istanbul and the sea beyond. Despite the slight chill, we nursed our expensive (for Istanbul) drinks to enjoy conversation and a beautiful view. 

After the drinks, Tolga and Baha decided it was time for "drunk stuffs" (their wording for what one eats after a night out - usually along the lines of greasy frites or crepes). But this is Turkey, and even supposedly "greasy" fare - or what should be greasy, by other cultures' standards - was here nothing more than a baked potato and fish (albeit fried)! Here's the story: we first stopped by a late-night restaurant replete with a baked-potato bar. It had the most enormous baked potatoes I have ever seen (a prerequisite for this type of snack, as Tolga boasted, because it must fit a myriad divergent toppings!) We picked from about 20 different toppings, including traditional American baked-potato toppings like cheese and bacon, but also non-traditional ones as well: creamed corn, olives, sausage, tomatoes, mushrooms, beet salad. . . . We chose what we *thought* would be a disgusting concoction (and it was topped off with mayonnaise and ketchup, no less) but that turned out to be one of the most delicious "snacks" I have ever consumed in my life. Next, we were taken to a cobblestone neighborhood selling seafood "street" food. First, there were shellfish stuffed with spicy rice. Next up: fried fish on a stick, topped with cream sauce and shoved into a roll. Finally, a sandwich filled with spiced ground meat . . . delicious, until the boys informed us we were eating sheep's intestines. Yum?

Our final day took us to Cagaloglu Hamami, a 300-year-old Turkish Bath, which for only 40 euro boasts a scrub, massage, and bath (which Michelle and Brittany inform me would cost upwards of $200 in the US). It was "not very far . . . but not even close," ie., how Baha and Tolga hilariously described its location, so we had to take a taxi from the city to get there. I had to leave that day to catch my flight back to Paris (Michelle and Brittany were on another flight thanks to Czech airlines' mistake - I believe this is the same airline that lost Beth's luggage on her way from Greece to Paris. The luggage somehow ended up in, of all places . . . Egypt.)

Sunday, March 29, 2009

The story of how our Istanbul trip came to be is worth retelling. We met two Turkish brothers, Bahadir and Tolga, university students, in Amsterdam. We talked for about 30 minutes at "The Smallest Pub in Amsterdam" and exchanged contact information. After some Facebook messages, we told them we were thinking about visiting Istanbul. They invited us to stay with them, which is a bit crazy. Even they knew that: as Baha said to Michelle on the taxi ride to their house, "I say to Tolga yesterday, how do they know to trust us?" Good question - but as we all agreed, it only takes a few minutes for intuition to tell whether someone is a kind person or not (of course there are exceptions, and thankfully, this wasn't one of them). Immediately after meeting them in Amsterdam, we privately thought that if Turkey is reflected in the sweet nature of its denizens, it must be a wonderful place - so, to Turkey it was.

We took a taxi to their house, noticing the dogs and cats roaming the streets (as if squirrels or rodents). Istanbul is full of stray animals and the city and its inhabitants takes care of them (instead of sending them to shelters). Their home was just a one-bedroom apartment inside a shared house, but they used the space extremely efficiently. It contained a futon, a bed, and an extra mattress - fitting exactly five people. The boys were fully prepared with sheets, pillows, towels, and a "guest-first" policy - we told them their mother raised them well. (They are Rotary Club members! Yes, they have that in Turkey! They also, hilariously, owned an American Janet Evanovich book, which is part of  a literary series aimed at teenage girls. Apparently, while in New Jersey one summer, Baha thought it would be a great way to brush up on his English - obviously having no idea that he would later host three American girls who would tease him about this particular literary selection. =) ) They also invited us to everything that was in their refrigerator, assuming that we had already peered inside. This is one of the things I love about Mediterranean/Eastern European culture: a "what is yours, is mine" mantra, something that would never happen in many American homes.  The house was situated on the side of a hill overlooking the city, water, and highway. Istanbul's hills, ports, and bridges reminded me a lot of San Francisco, and its crazy, laneless traffic reminded me of Athens. 

The boys immediately took us for traditional Turkish fare at a local university restaurant called the Wonderlands. The food was comprised of spicy meats, vegetables, and bread soaked with sauce: delicious. During the trip, we had tried to pinpoint "exactly" what "Turkish food" was The boys could not tell us, pointing to a variety of varying fare. We finally realized that this would become a metaphor for Istanbul itself, a conglomeration of East and West, conservative and trendy, European and Asian: burka-wearing women walked alongside liberal European-esque college students who had just returned from a night of partying. Indeed, as the boys repeatedly tried to impress upon us, Istanbul escapes pat, cognizable categories, and can best be described by its unwillingness to bow to any one culture or religion. After all,as as Tolga boasted as we toured around Istanbul later that weekend, Americans looked to the old Ottoman Empire as an example of how to keep together an empire comprised of myriad divergent cultures for hundreds of years, with minimal strife.

After dinner, we walked through the Bogazici University campus, which looked exactly like an historical, East-Coast American University. Apparently it was founded by an American in the 1800s and was dedicated to English-speaking higher education. Finally, we walked through Bebek (meaning "baby"), a wealthy Istanbul enclave overlooking the water, past docked boats, little shops and ended up, of all places, at Starbucks! This has to have been the most well-placed Starbucks I had ever seen: its interiors were standard, but it had an adjoining back deck that overlooked the Bosphorus, the strait connecting the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara. I have to say that, given my penchant for studying at Starbucks, if I had were an Istanbul-ite, my grades would be off-the-charts!

Saturday, March 28, 2009

f

Counterclockwise from left: making a wish on the Charles Bridge; our Czech hosts; the old square; a tree decorated for the storied "Easter Market."




We arrived in Prague at 11 p.m. Saturday night for our 14-hour layover. After the airline cancelled our original flight, we hoped the airline would keep its promise to provide a free hotel for the night - which, after much cajoling (thanks to an ingenious Brittany and lawyer Michelle) it did. Finally, we checked into our hotel, right across the street from the Prague airport. After some primping, we hopped into a taxi for our whirlwind 14-hour, nighttime Prague tour. 

We hadn't expected to accomplish much in 14 hours, but at the very least, we wanted some traditional Czech nourishment and some beautiful sights. Prague is a beautiful city, with centuries-old medieval buildings, and a Town Square dating from at least the 1400s. The Czech food was more difficult to find. By the time we were dropped off in the city center, it was after midnight, and we were unable to find any restaurant with late-night food. The streets were filled with drunk European tourists who were of little help, as they weren't natives.

We finally found some Czech boys walking around with a coveted pizza box, and - lo and behold - they were willing to guide us to the Holy Grail: Czech late-night food. Dennis and Peter (Americanized versions of their Czech names) guided us to a restaurant off the tourist-track. It served Czech pizza, which we grabbed and immediately brought with us to their favorite Prague sports bar, called Non Stop (Europeans have a thing for incorporating random English words into their restaurant titles and slang). Beers were only 1 euro apiece - unheard of in Paris (or any other Western city, for that matter). We had a hilarious conversation, made all the funnier by the boys' English gaffes (For example, at one point, Peter meant to use the American slang term "smashed" - ie., drunk - but instead said "smashed up." We explained "smashed up" is what happens when you're smashed and you walk down the street and bang into something - which he promptly, ironically, did  - by walking into a pole shortly thereafter). 

Afterwards, the boys decided we needed to see the Charles Bridge, which spans the Vltava River and affords spectacular city views. The bridge contains the Statue of St. John of Nepomuck, and it's traditional to touch the statute while making a wish and gazing out across the river (it sounds so romantic!) We made our wishes, and despite the late (early) hour and a luxurious gratis hotel room awaiting, let the boys take us to a "must see" Prague nightclub, which had multiple rooms ranging from modern to kitsch. The boys insisted on ordering us champagne, but finally, we came to our senses and hailed a cab back to our hotel. We awoke after the standard two hours of sleep, stuffed our faces with as much free hotel breakfast we could gather, and made our way across the street to the airport for our connecting flight to Istanbul.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Last night, Michelle and I attended a dinner-and-cupcake party at Stephanie's apartment, which, luckily, is in my same neighborhood (so I finally wasn't late for once!) She had invited vacationing college friends and more exchange students in the Nanterre-American Law school dual-degree program. One conversation we had was particularly interesting. Michelle and I were talking with Stephanie's friend Sangwani about the convenience of purses. Stephanie had been trying to get Sangwani to take her leftovers (I tease her that she is the quintissential "grandmother," always trying to make sure everyone has enough to eat). Sangwani, however, had no way to carry them home. Michelle and I suggested he find a "murse" (read: male purse, looks like a book bag but smaller - all the rage in Europe). Sangwani was appalled. The conversation proceeded thus:

Me: Well, how are you going to carry things around without some sort of bag?
Michelle: I guess that's why every man needs a woman. Because every woman has a purse.
Sangwani: I completely agree with that statement.
Michelle: but if a man doesn't have a woman? Then obviously he needs his own "murse."
Me: Or maybe the man already has his "murse" and that's why he doesn't have a woman.
Michelle: It's like the chicken or the egg. What came first? The Murse or the Purse?

Sunday, March 22, 2009

On Saturday night, Amanda had left but Michelle's guests hadn't. So we decided to try Kong, a trendy, normally too-nice-for me restaurant with breathtaking Paris views. Featured on the last season of Sex and the City (where Carrie meets Alexander Petrovsky's ex-wife for lunch!), it was a low-lit, trendily-decorated space occupying the top two floors of a high-rise building overlooking the Seine. They sat us at a table for five, and seated a table of five well-dressed guys right next to us. We all laughed, thinking Kong was trying to do a little "match-making." Well, the joke was on us - every single one of them were gay - albeit very fun dining companions. The best part: the "All-Chocolate Dessert," a deconstructed chocolat fondant served with chocolate ice cream. Yummy!

After dinner, we decided to take the metro to the Latin Quarter. We had to switch trains at Chatelet-Les Halles, the largest (and dirtiest) metro station in Paris, containing its fair share of crazies and vagrants. I believe this is the infamous metro station that I dubbed, circa my family's 2006 Paris trip, the "poop"  station, so-named for its extreme lack of cleanliness. We were walking along, minding our own business, when a man LITERALLY jumped out in front of us, arms splayed, singing "I'm FLYING!" We quickly concluded that although slightly crazy, he was harmless. So we laughed along as he told us in a slurred voice that he was Jamaican and now lives in Paris, and wanted to sing us songs. We then attempted to move around him - not an easy feat when one is on a narrow platform, sandwiched between a wall and a train. Jamaican Man then decided that it would be a fun game to stand in front of us, blocking our path down the platform. So, one-by-one, Brittany, Michelle, and Michelle's two friends all managed to cleverly get past him. During that time, I was still hovering behind them, too shocked (and laughing too hard) to move, and afraid that his dirty hands would try to touch me. It took a good three minutes before I summoned up the courage to run past him, laughing hysterically (if not laughing, I would have been crying). Finally, I barely got past - when he apparently took a liking to us and started following us down the moving walkway. Between swigs of beer, he sang us showtunes among a myriad other, less-recognizable songs. We were fine, however - five girls versus one, extremely inebriated man  . . . as long as he kept to his own personal space, we were fine. . . . Not so much. He then decided to lean in and touch Brittany's cheek with one extremely unsanitary finger. At that point, we decided we had no choice but to bid Mr. Crazy adieu. We had to outwit him with a plan - and fast. Finally, realizing that he had just been wandering around the metro station aimlessly, I asked him "Where's your train? You don't want to miss it!" He tipsily agreed, and wandered down a random train's platform while waving at us, presumably to terrorize another group of unsuspecting commuters. We got on the train and inspected Brittany's face, remarking how - having observed many a Parisian man urinate on the street - he probably had unhygienic bodily fluids on his hands. Brittany, in her usually open, relaxed demeanor, said "well, everybody poops!" "True," I countered, "but not everyone has Hepatitis B!" Fortunately, one of Michelle's visitors had an anti-bacterial wipe in her purse and we were able to wipe the offending bacteria off of Britt's face before we arrived in the Latin Quarter.

In the Latin Quarter, we took Michelle's guests to our favorite piano bar with our favorite Turkish bartenders, Takis and Ali. As soon as we walked in, we were shushed by the restaurant patrons. We soon realized that the bar was so quiet because the guy on stage was about to propose to his girlfriend. It was one of the cutest things we had ever experienced! After he proposed, the whole bar clapped and the pinao man sang a song in the couple's honor. We sat next to some British guys, and a very drunk British girl who kept stealing pictures off of the walls. The songs were classics - everything from jazz to "Grease" to Frank Sinatra - everyone joined into a rousing rendition of "New York, New York," and I had a pang of homesickness for the US. We were apparently having TOO much fun, as, amazingly, a (presumably Parisian) girl next to us decided to SHUSH us . . . in a BAR!!! Someone needs to get out a little more . . . 

Saturday, March 21, 2009

This week, both Michelle and I had American visitors, and we decided to ensure they got the most out of their Paris experience by sampling quality French cuisine. Yesterday, after work, Michelle threw a dinner party in her studio apartment with a modern balcony affording a view over half the Paris skyline, the Gare d'Austerlitz, and the Jardin des Plantes. We attempted to show them the "usual" Parisian lifestyle - according to our French friends (and I had noticed this from previous French trips) it's more common for friends to get together for a dinner party than go out to a restaurant because they're so expensive here. Instead, we had roast chicken, sausage, salad, vegetables, fresh bread, cheeses, and desserts. The next night, Amanda, Brittany and I met up with Michelle and her visitors at Restaurant Jules in the 2nd arrondissement. Our French friends were unable to recommend a restaurant as students their age never go out to nice restaurants, so we took matters into our own hands. Brittany used her friend Google for a recommendation, and we loved the experience. Many of us ordered duck confit and wine, which melted in our mouths! 

Both Michelle and I also had a Number One Priority on our agendas: to show our guests the Perfect Nutella Crepe. I have experience in ordering the perfect crepe, and, not only have I tracked down the best crepe locations in Paris, but have been known to tell the crepe-makers to "make it fresh," or put "extra Nutella on it" (sometimes to the chagrin of the crepe-maker . . . a.k.a. my family's visit in 2006). On one of the first days of her visit, Amanda and I traipsed up the Champs-Elysées and, despite having dinner reservations in a couple of hours, decided we needed a "snack" - and Amanda decided it was time to have her first Nutella crepe. Unfortunately, the crepe was already-made and contained generic Nutella that dripped messily with every bite. But it made for some hilarious photos!