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to travel
Istanbul
Istanbul
Adventure Bosphorus
Anyone who gets involved in Istanbul stands right at the crackling seam of two continents. Asia and Europe separate in the city on the Strait of the Golden Horn.
Josef Seitz
01/27/2003
Early morning on the Bosphorus. The contours of Asia slowly rise from the haze on the other side of the strait. Countless pencil-tip minarets pierce through the milky mist that hangs over the hills like the veil of a harem lady. Like a ghost ship in front of the first light of day, a huge freighter glides silently over the slightly rippled sea surface. I got up extra early to take the Honda down to the Besiktas district and enjoy the still drowsy city. Istanbul at rest, a rare phenomenon. When I want to drive back to the Eminonu district just an hour later, the stone dragon has already come to life. Within half an hour, Istanbul becomes an ancient cattle, a living monster, a host for twelve million people. Estimates even go up to 15 million. Nobody knows how many people live unannounced in the city looking for work. The main arteries of this monster are made of asphalt. Like blood corpuscles, the columns of cars crowd along at centimeter intervals to the pulse of the traffic lights. More standing than driving and accompanied by an eternal horn concert. Above all, an army of taxis. Its drivers apparently know the dimensions of the yellow tin cans as well as their own skin. I get in line, let the Africa Twin swim with you. Over the Golden Horn and then into the middle of the old Sultanahmet district. It’s finally getting a little quieter. Here, where the last two thousand years of Istanbul’s history are manifested in stone monuments. Much from times when the capital was still called Constantinople. Named after the Roman emperor Constantine, who turned the simple settlement of Byzantium into a powerful metropolis in the fourth century. The city bore his name for eleven centuries. Until the Ottomans invaded as the new rulers and they christened Istanbul in the fifteenth century. The first destination this morning is a building from that time: the Sultanahmet Mosque, the Blue Mosque. It has become world famous because its interior is lined with thousands of blue ornamented tiles and it is the only mosque in Turkey with a fabulous six minarets. From its exit it is only a few hundred meters through the here and now, before time jumps back centuries. Because the entrance to the Topkapi Museum is just around the corner. Where the atmosphere is like an airport at first. The photo bag has to go through the X-ray control, I myself go through a metal detector. Fear of terrorism is no longer a foreign word in Istanbul either. The palace itself shows off the riches of past sultanates. In addition to finely chiselled golden swords, sabers, teapots and pieces of jewelery, an 86-carat spoon-maker diamond twists in one of the showcases in the light of the spotlights. However, a room at the other end of the aisle is of far greater importance for Muslims: there they are displayed, the proverbial hair from the beard of the Prophet Muhammad, as it is called. A whole clump. With his emigration to Medina in the year 622 AD, the Islamic calendar began and he is considered the founder of the Islamic religion. But with the beard of the prophet – what interests western tourists most is and remains the harem. But it was never, as is often assumed, a kind of brothel, but simply the place where the women live. Here they were able to live relatively relaxed, if possible within the strict rules of Islam. With the exception of the sultan and the eunuchs, entry to men was forbidden. I would define it as the most beautiful and splendid prison you can imagine. The wealth visible on walls, ceilings, domes and doors is enormous and as delicate as it is diverse. After visiting the monstrous palace, I drive down to the Golden Horn, where the common people have always lived. The narrow streets between the high rows of houses without gaps look like stone gorges, the walls of which are painted in all sorts of colors. A bay window protrudes from almost every house, on which the laundry blows in the wind like flags. This ancient corner of Istanbul looks like a secluded little world. Tiny shops share business with the street vendors who sell fruit and vegetables on wooden carts. Car repair shops are hidden in small, oil-blackened garages, and the tiny Lokanta on the street corner is only geared towards customers from the neighborhood. In the meantime it has become scorching hot, and nothing helps quench your thirst than the Turkish national drink: Çay, black tea. And there is a very special place to drink tea in Istanbul. The entrance to the Yerebatan Sarniçi, a cistern from the sixth century that overshadows every temple of Zeus, is hidden in an inconspicuous stone hut west of Hagia Sofia. The huge, underground room is supported by 336 columns, so that it looks like the temple of a megalomaniac. Turkish music echoes between the pillars and, together with the dim lighting, plunges the room into a mysterious atmosphere. And there’s a little restaurant down here. One that makes even drinking tea an experience. Back in daylight I drive out to Ortakoy. It will be a surprise excursion. If I actually wanted to enjoy the view of the Ortakoy mosque in the evening light, I suddenly find myself in a world of pubs, young people and pop music. The cobbled streets are full of stalls whose dealers seem to have come straight from the ’68 generation and sell self-made jewelry. In between, old Turkish women who offer homemade and baked goods. Apparently I’m the only tourist. I happened to choose Cafe Creme for a short break, and it just so happened that the landlord lived in Germany for years. He says that it is like this almost every weekend. Ortakoy is not exactly in the middle of Istanbul, but it has recently become the secret heart of the city. When I want to drive back to my accommodation a short time later, the city seems completely freaked out. Cars race through the streets, tugging on nerves with incessant honking. The occupants hang out of the car windows, arms stretch out from the sunroofs, wave blue-and-yellow flags, or show the victory sign with splayed fingers. Even the women are screaming like crazy. It’s Sunday evening and Istanbul’s Fenerbahçe football club has just won an important game. The world is the same everywhere and the horn concert will last all night. Perhaps it is because the next morning some overtired faces look at me as I stroll through the big bazaar. He too is one of the city’s celebrities. But the goods are monotonous and embody the logical appearance of tourism-related market evolution: carpets, T-shirts, leather jackets, shoes and kitschy odds and ends. A local will rarely get lost here. After the tenth carpet shop, I’ve had enough too. At most the gold dealers give the long corridors a touch of old splendor. It only becomes interesting when one of the corridors ends as a dead end and I suddenly find myself in a workshop, a frighteningly narrow room, the walls of which are blackened by fine metal dust. Two sweaty men run gray metal plates through a hammering press until the sheet is thin enough to be rolled into small vessels on a lathe next door. A gas burner is then only used to refine the surface before the cups are offered for sale in the bazaar. Much of the display comes from the simplest workshops around the bazaar. Outside again, I leave the Honda and drive myself through the alleys from the crowds. Suddenly someone grabs my arm and pulls me back. Probably again someone who really wants to show me his shop. But this time I am not offered a carpet, but a great photo tip. In a crumbling building, on the upper floor of which stone-old looms are clattering loudly at work, a staircase leads along soot-blackened walls to the roof. It’s like being lifted out of the narrowness of the street canyons into the open sky. The golden horn and the Bosporus are far below me. The minarets tower up between the roofs, and the two Bosporus bridges stretch far across the sea, as if they had to hold the two continents together. I can hardly tear myself away from the sight. When I come back to life, the streets are already empty. The last dealers let the padlocks click and rattle down the blinds of their shops. From the turbulent day there are only piles of garbage left on the roadsides, which the street sweepers sweep up. Back at the Blue Mosque, I enjoy the impressive light show again, which makes the minarets and domes shine in crazy colors against the dark night sky. When the headlights go out, it becomes completely silent. The dragon Istanbul seems to be falling asleep. For a few hours at least.
Info
In the metropolis on the Bosporus, not only two continents collide, but also tradition and modernity. In hardly any other metropolis has the eventful history been preserved so tangibly.
Arrival: If you want to go to Turkey by land, you have to cross Austria, Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria and unwind almost 2200 kilometers from Munich. A route that can be quite stretching because of the sometimes bad roads in Romania and Bulgaria. The route via Italy and there by night ferry from Ancona to Igoumenitsa is much more pleasant and 400 kilometers shorter. From there it continues by axis through northern Greece to the Turkish border and to Istanbul. Papers: For entry with your own vehicle, a passport is required in which the vehicle is entered at the border crossing. If you do not have a vehicle, your identity card is sufficient. Austrians need a visa, which is issued at the border. Travel time and climate: The most pleasant months are April to June and September / October, the rainiest in winter. Midsummer is stiflingly hot and therefore rather unsuitable for extended sightseeing. Accommodation: There are overnight stays in all price ranges around the most important sights in the Eminonu (Sultanahmet) district. Rooms without breakfast start at $ 25. Two blocks east of Hagia Sofia is the Green Hotel, Akbiyik Caddesi No. 5, Sultanahmet, Telephone 90/212 458 19 57. It is an ideal starting point for visiting the old town and the sights. The Ayasofya Pansiyon is an expensive but stylish place to stay. The old-style house is also very suitable as a starting point and costs 120 US dollars per night. Worth seeing: Topkapi Palace; Yerebatan Saray, one of the largest former cisterns from Byzantine times; Hagia Sofia was first a church, then became a mosque and is now a museum; Sultanahmet Mosque (Blue Mosque); Dolmabaçe Sarayi (Palace on the European Bosphorus Bank) and the Grand Bazaar. The mentioned are only the most important sights, the list could be extended almost indefinitely. Attention: mosques should be entered in “modest” clothing and without shoes. Information: Turkish Consulate General, Baseler Str. 37, 60329 Frankfurt, Tel. 069/233 081-82, Fax 069/232 751 Time required: At least four days
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