Wandering: An Unharried Day in Istanbul

Start by sipping Turkish coffee in the Arasta Bazaar - behind the Blue Mosque.  This picture is inspiring me to get the percolator going right now.  Ahhhh.  Coffeeeeeee.  Arasta, though still a tourist trap (but who are we kidding? we're tourists!), is much quieter, smaller, and less frenzied than the Grand Bazaar, especially off season.

Wander around the smaller streets by the bazaar and you'll happen upon some bizarre display like this at Cocoon.  What in the...?  These are felted hats!  In fact, the store is full of felted lovelies, along with some beautiful textiles and handcrafts.

The Istanbul Handicrafts Market (Kabasakal Caddesi 23) showcases their artists' work in glass, pottery, silk painting, and weaving.  The different crafts are housed in small studios/shops surrounding a sunny, central courtyard.  Artists sometimes are at work in their studios.

If you're feeling peckish, try Çiğdem Pastanesi at Divan Yolu Caddesi 62A.  It serves delectable baklava, pastries, and cappuccinos worthy of Rome.

Or, if you're hungry enough for lunch, go to the Sultanahmet Fish House for super-fresh fish at very, very reasonable prices.  Their three course meals are fantastic.  Sit at a window and watch people and cats go by.

Here's Sappho: she's expecting your visit at the Istanbul Archaeology Museum - and behind her is the discus thrower, on loan from the British Museum (not sure how long that will last).  The museum really does have an impressive collection of ancient Near Eastern, Greek, and Roman art and artifacts, along with Ottoman tiles and art.  Beware, however: the museum guards will kick you out at 4PM!  So make sure you arrive with plenty of time.  Closed Mondays.

Walk across the Galata Bridge at sunset, then make your way to drinks and dinner on the modern strip of shops and restaurants on Istiklal Caddesi in Beyoğlu. Rest your feet and relax!

Whimsical felted rabbits, with each their own felt tote bag, at Cocoon.

Byzantium I Come Not From

No, I am quite happy to visit the magical place for only a short while - too long there and the whole fantastical world might lose its luster, or disappear like a mirage.




And here is Ray Bradbury's evocative poem, which has both magic and the sweet smells of home:

Byzantium, I come not from,
But from another time and place
Whose race was simple, tried and true;

As boy
I dropped me forth in Illinois.
A name with neither love nor grace
Was Waukegan, there I came from
And not, good friends, Byzantium.

And yet in looking back I see
From topmost part of farthest tree
A land as bright, beloved and blue
As any Yeats found to be true.

So we grew up with mythic dead
To spoon upon midwestern bread
And spread old gods' bright marmalade
To slake in peanut-butter shade,
Pretending there beneath our sky
That it was Aphrodite's thigh...
While by the porch-rail calm and bold
His words pure wisdom, stare pure gold
My grandfather, a myth indeed,
Did all of Plato supersede
While Grandmama in rockingchair
Sewed up the raveled sleeve of care
Crocheted cool snowflakes rare and bright
To winter us on summer night.
And uncles, gathered with their smokes
Emitted wisdoms masked as jokes,
And aunts as wise as Delphic maids
Dispensed prophetic lemonades
To boys knelt there as acolytes
To Grecian porch on summer nights;
Then went to bed, there to repent
The evils of the innocent;
The gnat-sins sizzling in their ears
Said, through the nights and through the years
Not Illinois nor Waukegan
But blither sky and blither sun.

Though mediocre all our Fates
And Mayor not as bright as Yeats
Yet still we knew ourselves. The sum?
Byzantium.
Byzantium.