Birthday Boy, Grand Bazar and a Blue(ish) Mosque

Good morning. Big day today. Happy Birthday Sabas. How does it feel to wake up 50? (Oh, there’s also some Royal wedding somewhere, but let’s focus on the important stuff shall we).

We’re getting organised for our excursion to the Old City / Sultanahmet, home to the famous Grand Bazar and Blue Mosque. I stuff my bag with a light jacket, iPad and keyboard, three water bottles, and all the other bits and bobs I just can’t do without, you just never know. Wandering Jew? One thing is sure, it’s heavy.

Hungry as we may be we go to change money and get those Dervishes tickets for tomorrow. First things first.

I propose a posh looking place I identified the other day for breakfast to start the birthday celebrations in style. Sabas glances around, flicks through the menu and doesn’t say much. And when Sabas doesn’t say much it can only mean one thing. We end up at the lovely simple buffet place round the corner from the hotel where I had dinner on the first night. Sabas is not into ‘fussy food’, and this is ‘honest food’ as he puts it. Inexpensive and unpretentious, and indeed yummy. Works for me.

We take the tunel to the north side of the bridge that leads us to the Old City. And no it’s not a spelling mistake for the sharp eyed amongst you, Tunel is the name of the tram-like vehicle taking us down hill, you guessed it, in a tunnel. From there we cross the ‘Fishermen’s Bridge’ (and if that’s not the bridge’s name then it should be). At the other end lots of people going places, vendors selling things, and very loud music with someone saying something over a loud speaker. We weave our way to the Grand Bazar with Google Maps’ devoted assistance, coming across a mosque or two (or five) on the way. The narrow market streets are buzzing - an appropriate prelude to the Bazar. Slowly we climb. I’m in need of a coffee. Let’s drink some of that water so the bag is a bit lighter. 

And there it is. The famous Grand Bazar. The structure is impressive enough, in an Arabian market kind of way, but the place somehow lacks character. Too many bland modern nicknacks and too little authentic local produce. Sabas’s fantasy of stands full of spices and colourful delights ebbs away with each corner we turn. (Another) carpet shop - ‘come in come in, have a look’ a carpet seller tries to charm us. ’Thank you’ we smile and walk on. ‘But you look very rich’ he says, protesting our resistance. ‘From your mouth to God’s ears’ I mumble to myself. (Another) scarf stand - ‘I know exactly what you need’ a handsome scarf seller declares with a glint in his eye. ‘Oh you have no idea...’ say I with a glint in mine. ‘Here, for your girlfriend’ - ‘I don’t have one’ - ‘your ex girlfriend then’. Oh dear.

We leave the bazar empty handed and head towards the Blue Mosque. Sabas finds his thrill in the form of a little shop on the main road with lots of spices and Turkish delight. Not only that, they have that mysterious spice that was in our salad the other day. That’s it, Sumac. And some of that meat spice mixture please. What more could a man ask for. Oh and a few of those variety mix Turkish delight packs please. Heaven.

We walk on, trusted Google Maps to hand. Oh look, another Mosque. We reach a little food market and enjoy a refreshing tamarin drink. Nice. 

Wait... I think we’ve just stumbled upon the Blue Mosque. A young man standing by the compound’s entrance reassures us that it’s still open. Thank you. Perhaps we want to come buy a carpet afterwards? Umm... nope. 

The Blue Mosque is undergoing refurbishment, so we were not fully exposed to its magnificence. We follow the crowds, worshipers to the left, visitors to the right. We take our shoes off, placed in a single plastic bag (provided) as instructed, and walk in. A large prayer room, divided into a viewing area and the part for those who are actually there to pray (or check their mobiles?). Authentic enough, shame about the carpets. There’s an air of calm and reverence. Like in a church, only more chilled out. I detect a musky smell of feet. Sadly the very high ceiling dome is obscured by the renovations platform but we get a glimpse of it from the side and its impressive. I’m not quite sure why it’s called blue, but then again I did not get to see the full picture. All in all we were left somewhat underwhelmed.

Can we have coffee now? Please? Sabas seems alarmed by my complexion and insists of carrying the bag. Good to have a strong man by your side. 

A short distance away, you guessed it, another mosque. And we need to get in before it closes. Coffee will have to wait. Ayasofya was in fact originally a cathedral in Byzantine times, turned into a mosque when the Ottomans took over, and now is a museum. It survived three fires, an earthquake, and hoards of tourists. Just about. Some more refurbishments here too, but we do get to see the ceiling in all its faded grandeur glory. 

Right. Time for a coffee. I insist. We walk around, venturing into the side streets, until we come across a laid back hostel. The friendly doorman helps us solve the flags mystery and explains it’s a national holiday for the young. Ataturk in his wisdom and benevolence gave the youth of the nation a special holiday. No school today. What a shame it falls on a Saturday. The hostel’s roof terrace bar has lovely views of Ayasofya, but no coffee. Our friendly doorman recommends a street nearby which indeed has a little selection of cafes and restaurants. 

It’s hard to pick. We inspect one of the restaurants which turns out to be a hotel. Walking through a labyrinth of rooms full of antique furniture and adorned with colourful Turkish stained glass lamps, we’re led to the charming but claustrophobic roof terrace. Very nice. We’ll sit outside thank you.

We settle in and by this time are ready for dinner to accompany our coffee. The food is predictably delicious. I explain to the cat eyeing my plate that I’m in no mood for sharing. Sabas enjoys a couple of beers while my coffee is made with long life milk. Yuk. 

At the table next to us a young American woman asks her dad to take a picture (for her Facebook travelog?). 

Young American Woman - ‘Not from here, from there’. 
Dad excuses himself as he moves in front of our table for a better angle. 
Young American Woman - ‘Already? But I wasn’t smiling’.
Dad - ‘Here’.
Young Woman - ‘I’m never asking you to take a picture again’.
Dad - ‘Is that a promise?’
Me - ‘Family bonding trip?’
Dad - ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time’.

We take the tram and Tunel back and get to the flat for some down time, just as it starts raining. I’m glad I brought my new Bluetooth speaker acquisition. After a few failed attempts I manage to find a playlist that we can both live with and we chill with some sage tea and that delicious Venezuelan chocolate in the cosy flat. 

It stopped raining and recharged we venture out again. I’m looking for a nice restaurant to celebrate Sabas’s birthday. So many nice options to chose from. We naturally end up at another workers restaurant with a plate-full of hearty homemade food. 

Here’s that nice looking baklava place. Shall we? It’s all a bit too sugary, but very tasty nevertheless, and I manage to collude with the dashing efficient waiter while Sabas is distracted and he promptly organises a little birthday cake, candle and all. Mission accomplished. 

On the way back to the flat Sabas’s sharp instincts lead us to the place where the loud music was coming from the other night. A funky roof terrace, with beautiful views of Istanbul’s skyline at night. There isn’t much else you can do with this loud music but dance and we bond with a middle aged local Londoner and his Japanese girlfriend.

What a day. Now time for bed, we’re both past 50.

What's this loud music at this time of night?