We got back into our same room at the same hotel (Hotel Sultan Valide) for the final few days.
Our last few days consisted of buying souvenirs: evil eyes and lanterns, spices and textiles. We walked the city, stopping often for chai or coffee and photos. One night, we met the Israelis from Goreme at the James Joyce Irish Pub (there was no Guinness in the pub by the way!) Wandering the alleys with them, we discovered a neat little bar with candles and live music and a fireplace.
The ferry to Princes Islands was a nice ride. The Princes Islands are nine islands off the coast of Istanbul in the Sea of Marmara and used to be where people were exiled. Seagulls escorted us…flying alongside, close enough to catch any bread thrown over before it hit the water. The islands had beautiful architecture…and I wished I had not taken the carriage ride around Büyükada–but rather walked to see the sights. Mostly great old houses/yalis with the architecture that defines Turkey. Lots of cats out there. The seagulls floating in the air next to the moving ferry and the green track we left in the blue Bosphorus entertained me on the journey back. The seagulls kept looking in the windows at us. You could see their eyes very clearly. I imagined the flying monkeys in the land of Oz.
One morning having a tangerine, pastry, nescafe and a boiled egg for breakfast, Bilal–the waiter at our hotel–told me that a boiled egg is all a nervous Sultan would eat. 🙂
I saw a tree growing out of a grave in Corlulu Ali Pasa graveyard. Loads of carpets and evil eyes in a courtyard serving tea.
We also found the Kybele Hotel and Shop where there were hundreds of beautiful lanterns and textiles and tassels from Uzbekistan. What an amazing place. We spent hours there talking to the owner and got to go upstairs to where a party had happened the night before. THOUSANDS of tassels, fairy lights and just the beauty of seeing a thousand aged things all in one place.
On the final night, we ate again at Rumeli and wandered slowly past Aya Sofya to Mesale. The Whirling Dervish was there tonight. We were entranced by his spinning and the stringed music. The muezzins called, the seagulls floated between the Blue Mosque minarets, the backgammon pieces clicked, the tea glasses hit the saucers, the little spoons stirred. We smelled nargile pipes of apple and pistachios and baking flat bread….and on the walk home, again past Aya Sofya–I stood still to listen to her breathe… 🙂
