Going to the bazaar when it opened (9 am) was such a pleasant experience. We had expected to be in and out but found ourselves slowing down and amiring wares. Why? Because all of the shop owners were enjoying their breakfasts, sipping the tea that was brought directly to them by a small army of wandering waiters (unlike in the US, these waiters will walk several blocks throughout the city delivering food and tea around mealtimes) and catching up.
Not a single person shouted "where you from?", tried to maneuver us into their shop, or even seemed to notice our presence. It was oddly magical. Josh and I turned to comment on this at the same time, and just then the first vendor finished his food, stood up, and said "Please, miss, mister, come into my shop. I have beautiful scarves." The magic was gone, and with a laugh we made our way back outside.
Today's agenda involved a lot of walking, starting in the heart of Sultanahmet, crossing the Galata Bridge, and exploring the new city on the other side of the Golden Horn. Our first stop was the Rüstempasa Mosque (Rüstempasa Camii). Built in 1560, it was designed by Mimar Sinan (just like the Suleiman Mosque) and has semi-domes surrounding a main dome. It is one of the most embellished mosques of the Ottomans. The mosque was destroyed by the cumulative effect of earthquakes and fires, but it was repaired in the mid-1990s and is now offers a brief respite from the noise of the city. Unlike the Suleiman mosque, though, the Rüstempasa Mosque is rather hard to find. It's very close to the waterfront and the spice market, yet its entrance is an inconspicuous doorway off a side alley. We realized that we had walked by it a half dozen times already, never noticing the humble placard nailed to the arched doorway.
It was certainly beautiful, and we were grateful to have the recommendation to stop by from a friend who had previously visited Istanbul. Hurray for crowdsourcing your travel itinerary!
Next, we walked the Galata bridge toward the new city, curious to see whether the "modern Istanbul" was all it was cracked up to be. We passed even more fishermen, creating a sea of undulating fishing rods as they tensed and slackened their lines. If you look closely, you may notice an L-shaped piece of wood with a triangle cut out of each end. Every fisherman had one of these, as well as a bungee cord to hold it in place, as a fishing pole rest (for when they'd grown tired of waving their poles about, I guess).
On the other side of the bridge, we huffed up some hills, narrowly escaping the reckless drivers of Istanbul, until we reached the Galata Tower. This 205-foot-tall stone tower was bulit by the Genoese in the mid-14th century (alright, I guess this district isn't entirely new) and has been used as a fire tower, barracks, dungeon, and launch pad for human-powered flight.
Several blocks from the tower, the modern Istanbul gets going. The heartbeat of this younger, more hip part of the city is Istiklal Caddesi, or Independence Avenue. Modern seemed to mean "full of international brands", so we saw quite a few familiar names, from Krispy Kreme and Shake Shack to Gap. Modern also seemed to mean "full of graffiti", some of which was rather disturbing if painstakingly painted (though I didn't photograph those). And, often, there was graffiti-style art in English decorating the shops.
On the way home, we stopped for dinner and I decided to try an Istanbul special: a "Fish bread" (or fish sandwich) straight off of a fishing boat. You can't really see the boat behind the restaurant facade, but there is a boat rocking just off the pier with a giant load of freshly caught fish and an equally giant grill. Stuff a fish fillet, some lettuce, and a few onions into some bread and you're good to go. On the little casks-turned-tables, there are also sport-top water bottles filled with lemon juice for some added flavor.
Six kilos... SIX KILOS??? That's 1/4 of your entire weight limit for a checked bag. And since this is made fresh and without preservatives, it doesn't last very long. Other reviews were similarly glowing, discussing how this was (1) worth completely reversing all progress on your current diet, (2) spending absurd amounts of money to try one of every type of baklava (uncertain how they did this; there are about 30 types), and (3) how the chocolate baklava (what I like to call chocklava) would blow your mind with its dessert mash-up goodness. How could a baklava-lover like me not go? I mean, I once bought so many orders of baklava at a restaurant that they started giving me a free one with every purchase. (It was a great afternoon.) Therefore, we found ourselves at the counter of Karaköy Güllüoglu.
They have an entire separate wall (the one shown) just for take-out orders; the other two walls are for people who choose to eat in. We loaded up a half-kilo box sampler with "normal" (unsure of the real name), chocklava, some dumpling-shaped ones, and a pistachio one that basically has no pastry (just extra nuts).
I will admit, this baklava didn't change my life. But it is delicious, very fresh, and uses only honey instead of dabbling in other sweeteners. While I enjoyed trying a variety of flavors, I like the traditional baklava best. The chocklava was not my favorite (although Josh loved it) and the pistachio one lost the balance of flavors that has inspired my love. Definitely worth a visit. Apparently you're supposed to follow your baklava with a sip of limonata when you eat in the restaurant, but since we took ours to go we didn't get to experience this important ritual.
Also, possibly the most important art we have seen:
Spotted #1: Counterfeit money. Among the many things sold on the street, counterfeit money has been the most surprising. Or, at least, that's what it looks like. We haven't stopped to engage these street vendors, who have rubber-banded stacks of paper that looks like various currencies. We have seen enough to notice that the bills look slightly off. The 5TL signs on top of a stack have put us off from the notion that perhaps they are just money exchangers... as does the fact that they will often leave their booths unattended. The money doesn't look convincing enough to use, so we're slightly baffled as to why anyone would buy it (not that we have witnessed any transactions).
Spotted #2: Really endearing typos. These pop up all over the city and can be found on every menu, pamplet, and sign if you look closely enough. Our favorite was a restaurant that had carefully blacked out the typos on each pamphlet with a marker, but when you looked under a light you could read that they had accidentally described their shop as (blacked out parts in brackets) "A nostalgic [views], service the most [un]professional".
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