A Tale of Two Continents

A Tale of Two Continents

It was the prettiest of cities, it was the dirtiest if cities. It was
the height of learning, it was the depth of ignorance. Cleaved in two
by the Bosphorous, Istanbul is split into two parts, an Asian and a(n?
Would you say "an university" or "a university"? You certainly would
say "an ugly duckling"--the other just sounds so funny) European side.
The palace and government all rest in the European half (since, I
presume, everyone would rather be in Europe than Asia). Interestingly,
they only built a bridge spanning from Europe to Asia in 1973--before
that you had to take a boat from one side to the other. The Asian side
even includes a palace used by sultans when they were afraid of being
deposed (before it actually happened for good in 1922).

It's crazy for me that there were still kings and queens and sultans
in 1922. I mean, my grandmother was born in 1924--and she's not even
that old. There are people alive who could have known the sultans and
their kin. Or the Romanovs. But that's another story for another time
(next summer? Anyone interested?).

I am in the south if Turkey, but this consists of my last memories of
dark, stormy, rainy Istanbul for a jaunt down memory lane.

We stayed in a 3 star hotel, the Istanbul Holiday Hotel. It was a
decent spot--better than I would have sprung for on my own (mind you,
I was originally planning to go on my own, but when I forwarded my
flight confirmation to my mother, she was aghast at the idea that I go
on my own), but I wouldn't want mama wheeler sleeping in a European
campsite. Either that, or I offered and mama Wheeler chose not to. I
can't imagine why... In any event, it was a place to wash my face and
lay my head, till I went into the bathroom one night and tapped on the
faucet, and to my surprise the entire faucet came off in the sink and
water shot upward like Old Faithful. Whoops! 3 stars doesn't get you
what it used to.

After I washed my face, I sat on my bed to read for a few hours before
sleeping. We'd get in for the day at 8pm or so, then sleep at 11. They
had a nightly call to prayer at 8:45 and 10:30, where they announced
from the minarets surrounding the mosques "God is great. Come to
prayer" several times over (according to one gentleman we talked to).
The call, though I didn't understand the words, sounds like a mix of
whining and wailing and announcement. It's interesting. In fact, to my
untrained ear, much of their music sounds like whining and wailing.
It's a markedly different style. Not the type I'm going to bring home
and start listening to, but interesting to hear and experience.

There are mosques everywhere here. They are as thick as chapels in
Utah--with their distinctive minarets jutting out from every street
corner, it seems. That was the first thing that struck me about the
city. It sounds like they mostly just come to pray at them--most of
the time there is no ceremony or meeting, like we would have in a
church. It makes me wonder how much more we would pray if we were
called to prayer five times a day? Would we pray more? Would we be
more fervent in our prayers, or would they grow more rote? I prefer to
pray in private, on my own, but it's an interesting thought.

They let anyone into any mosque, though they ask you not photograph
the people as they pray. That's a fair request, so I haven't got their
photos, though I did get a number of pictures of the inside (with the
same dizzyingly semetrical tile pattern as in the palaces and the
tombs). At one of the mosques, I even got to practice my French, as
the door was shut and the tourists standing in front were French. It
was fun--and helpful. They told me that the gentleman in charge of the
mosque has stepped out, and that we were to wait for him. When he
returned, he opened the door and let us in. He also offered to sell us
a pile of pictures, which my mom felt we ought to buy to support him
in his quest to maintain the mosque (despite the fact that he had just
informed us that the government payed to maintain it).