Sultanahmet, Istanbul

Wednesday, January 28^th,  6 a.m., Istanbul, Turkey. (Tuesday, January 27th, 8 p.m., Bozeman time.)

I am awakened by the muezzin. One hour before day break or daybreak?  I don’t recall. The voice of the imam is clear and melodic.  I don’t think it’s a recording.  If it is a real live imam this is the first in my memory of the muezzin not crackling like a candy wrapper.

The girls awake. Anna reads to Layla from her book, 13 and a Half Lives of Captain Bluebear. Anna’s voice fills our suite atop the Empress Zoe Hotel.  I arise. I pull open the gold, silk curtain from the window before me and gaze at the water to the south linking the Bosphorus Srait to the Sea of Marmara. The Alaturks Restaurant and Café Open Roof Terrace Sign stares directly at me from across the cobblestone street below. A narrow minaret to the left tops an ancient brick mosque.

The bricks are narrow and crumbling, white metal megaphones indicating the year is 2015. Atop the tear drop metal adornment at its peak sits a crow. “Good morning crow,” I say silently just in case he is a relative or friend of Moses, my favorite literary bird (Mink River). He just stood taller as if he knows I am watching and writing about him. A seagull brings flight to the scene and then another.

We arrived a the Empress Zoe in Sultanahmet, Istanbul last night in steady rain. Sultanahmet is the ancient city of Istanbul, once Byzantium (667 B.C.), August Antoninia (284) and Constantinople (324). We drove past decaying stone walls about twenty meters wide and more meters tall. The streets went from paved to cobblestone and narrowed. The Empress Zoe is as old as the cobbled streets. We have let the “penthouse” for five nights, the top cozy room, the only accommodation to hold a family of four. Our host leads us up a metal circular staircase out of the ground floor lobby, then four more flights up marble narrow stairs to our rooms. I won’t detail the subsequent trek of the eight duffels up the same route.

     Lovely Layla who finally broke down the Sunday before our departure, “Why Mom? Why do we have to go to Africa?” now embraces me hard and filled with gratitude, “this is the most beautiful hotel I have ever seen.” I press back the silk curtains to reveal views of tankers and fishing boats on the water, minarets and finally from our puddle patio, the Sultanahmet Mosque (1605-17) also known as the Blue Mosque because of its Blue Iznik tiles that adorn the interior. I can barely take in where I am. Finally. I am in ancient Istanbul, a place that has called to me since my days as a graduate student focusing on the details of the wars, spoils and magnificent architecture, literature and art of Osman and his sons and followers beginning in the early 1300’s.

         Our hotel porter tries desperately to teach us how to say “thank you” in Turkish after carrying each bag one-by-one up the five flights to our room. At this moment, I cannot recall the word. Turkish pronunciation – not easy.

Our stomachs lead us back down the five flights to the gal who checked us in. She directs us to Albura for dinner. We wander 50 meters in the rain on cobblestone streets lined with shops and restaurants lit with bejeweled gourds and other fixtures reminiscent of details of Byzantine times.

We sit a table just inside, against a glass wall. Water periodically drips on my arm. We agree to dress more warmly tomorrow so that we could sit outside under the canopy and the heat lamps. But here we sat and ate lamb chops, meze plate, and giant puffy bread. Here we sit between Europe and Asia. The street scene reminiscent of Florence, Italy; the lighting and and seat cushions of kilim, symbols of the Turks and their artistry.  We stand to leave and our waiter asks, “Have you been here before?  Please come see our palace.”  He leads us to the rear of the restaurant through a locked wrought iron gate, down a few steps into the hallways and rooms of Sultanahmet’s 1,800 year old palace.  The restaurant’s owners discovered this treasure and excavated it in 1996.  We stare.  We touch.  We wander aimlessly through the labyrinth.

Our short walk home takes us by hooka bars, pubs, soccer games, and even a slalom ski race on t.v. We waved off vendors with “tomorrow.” We all smile and with full bellies tuck into our beds and say, “goodnight.”