I saw this from my friend's balcony and I sucked my breath in, suddenly reminded of all the things I have always loved about Istanbul and the people who live there, things that can get lost in the day to day business of living when you forget about the majesty. Views like this -- they always make want to try harder, reach farther and and sing louder.
After spending the morning at the Sumela Monastery in Trabzon, we then headed over to the Atatürk Pavilion, an early 20th-century summer house originally built on the hills of Trabzon by a wealthy banker.
I don't really go for Atatürk paraphernalia, which is what the former house is now dedicated to, but I'm kind of obsessed with 20-century architecture, particularly when it comes to houses, furniture and design, so I definitely wanted to see it.
It was only when we got there that I realized I had seen it, 12 years ago on a trip with Rotary. Duh. My long-term memory is pretty bad, but still. You'd think I'd remember something like this.
The house was built by a Pontic Greek living in Trabzon who ran a prosperous bank and used in the summer time. Surrounded with well-manicured gardens, the house would have been a lovely place to spend summers, I imagine, though I didn't see any place for swimming and think that would have been necessary for me at least.
After the forced population exchange between Turkey and Greece, however, the family who owned the house was forced to give it up, along with their lives in Trabzon, and move to Greece. The house was then given as a "gift" to Atatürk in 1924. He stayed in the house three times during his trips to Trabzon.
But as I mentioned, I'm far more interested in design and layout, and this gorgeous entryway coat rack immediately caught my eye.
They don't make them like that anymore, do they? Except maybe in Turkey.
The house was designed in a very clever way, grounded by a spacious circular central room which other rooms extended from, like spokes on a wheel. It made the house feel expansive and, I'm sure, with all the windows open, the cross breeze in the summer heat would have been lovely.
Also, isn't that pool table awesome? And those floor tiles?!
One of the handful of rooms on the ground floor is where Ataturk wrote his will. My apologies for the dark photo.
And immediately next to that is this awesome waiting room, situated to the immediate right of the entrance. I'd love to have one of these. "Wait there please, I'll be with you in a moment."
It was at this point, however, that the museum steward asked me to stop taking pictures as photography was forbidden. I attempted to steathily grab a few more shots -- particularly upstairs -- but he had one eye on me and one eye on his tour group so olmaz. That just means you'll have something to look forward to when you go see it for yourself!
As I mentioned in my Sumela Monastery post, we hired a car and driver for the day, so getting there for us was easy. It should be relatively simple to get there by bus from the city centre, however. The entry cost to the house was 2 TL.
I scanned the rows of park benches and one by one ruled out all those I couldn’t sit on. Family of tourists, no room for me anyway; young Turkish man who might get the wrong idea; elderly couple having a romantic moment in the dwindling sunlight.
A middle-aged woman sitting alone at the edge of one bench caught my eye and I approached her.
“May I sit here?” I asked in Turkish.
“Of course, of course,” she said, moving an eighth of an inch closer to the edge of the bench, the way polite people do when there is no need to make room but want to appear welcoming.
I sat and put my bags next to me, clutching the straps through my arm. It was still touristy, I told myself, you never know who might try to take your bag.
From my bench, I had the most beautiful view of the Sultanahmet Mosque, lit up by the setting sun, sparkling behind the water fountain’s mist. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been here in so long. I hadn’t ever noticed how many locals were doing the same thing I was, just sitting, staring, contemplating, maybe a wee bit in awe of how strikingly beautiful the view was.
I remarked as such to the woman next to me.
“It is gorgeous, isn’t it?” she nodded in affirmation. “I love coming here.”
She asked me what I was doing in Turkey, and I told her I lived here.
In Istanbul? No, I said. Izmir.
“I hate Izmir,” she said, vehemently. “I went there last year and hated it.”
I was surprised and said so. I’ve met very few Turkish people who don’t like Izmir. I asked her why she didn’t like the city.
“There’s nothing there, nothing at all. It has no soul.” Here she nodded knowingly, as if imparting some kind of sacred information.
“Now, Istanbul, Istanbul is something else, isn’t it?” she said, and it wasn’t really a question the way she said it.
We sat in silence for a moment, watching the seagulls swooping wide and low over the mosque.
“I’d offer you some tea, but I don’t imagine you carry a teacup with you,” she said with a smile, gesturing with her own hour-glass teacup, which she had produced from a canvas bag carrying a thermos filled with tea.
I laughed. No, I said, I don’t have a teacup in my purse, but thank you for the offer.
We sat in silence for a while longer, and then I stood up to go.
It's been a bit heavy on words around here lately, what with all the talk of what we'd do in the event of a disaster in Turkey and nostalgic trips down memory lane in Istanbul. Today, because it's Monday, the first day of the work week, because I'm tired and you probably are too, I'm doing away with the words and sharing instead some photos I took of my friend's gorgeous flat.
I trekked over to Sultanahmet, where she lives, and fell in love with the abundance of textures and colors and wanted to share them with you. I'm not a professional photographer, but I did my best to capture just how pretty this space was. Enjoy!
We're wrapping up a week of people's favorite things about Turkey with a guest post from long-time Turkish Muse reader Dion Good.
Past the Blue Mosque, down the hill beyond the end of the old Hippodrome toward the Marmara shore, away from the tourist crowds, is a sleepy neighborhood clustered around one of the oldest structures in İstanbul, Kuçuk Aya Sofya (Little St. Sophia).
The mosque itself is nestled right up against the old city wall. Enter the compound and make an immediate right and you will find yourself in one of the loveliest çay bahçeler (tea gardens) in all of Turkey. It occupies one side of a courtyard complex that was once part of a church cloister (the mosque was originally a Byzantine church, and you can still see Latin inscriptions on the walls inside). It now houses a cultural center and a couple of book shops in addition to the çay bahçe. In the center of the courtyard is a garden with a fountain, and shade trees.
Surrounded by cool stone walls in the shadow of the mosque, the past is present here, more so than in more famous places thronged with tourists. It is a dreamy place, where, for a few hours, you can read a book and forget which century you are from. Ottoman tombstones dot the mosque’s yard and a rear gate opens onto an ancient cobbled street which leads away along the original sea wall.
The mosque has been renovated recently and some of the decrepit buildings around it have been torn down. It is almost a pity; some of its character has been lost. Yet I will continue to come here each time I am in İstanbul, because it is a place where the past still feels accessible, where one can feel connected to the river of life which is history.
About the Author: Dion Good is a cartographer living in San Francisco. He has worked for Lonely Planet, Affordable Travel Press, Art-Sites Press, and The Intrepid Traveler.
Paris! Anniversary! Wine! Cheese! Until I come back, more guest posts on what other people have to say about their favorite thing about Turkey. Today's post is from Wendi.
Living in Turkey has presented incredible opportunities. It has coupled with it unique challenges. There are many things I wish were different. There are a variety of things I miss about my “home” in the USA. I complain. I reflect. But one thing that I know I will always be able to look back on and be thankful for is the opportunity to see history up close and personal.In 2010 my husband and I moved to the Adana area of Turkey. We have spent the year that follows attempting to take in as much of the past that this country can offer us. Living in the USA, you can't get more than a few hundred years old. Here in Turkey, a few hundred years old is usually your baseline.
A few highlights:
If you are a Bible reader, you will be amazed at how vividly the pages of the Bible will come alive to you in this country. We were able to see the place that Mary spent the last days of her life. We have been able to run on the shores of the Mediterranean. We have climbed castles that were built before Christopher Columbus ever sailed the ocean blue.
All because we had the great opportunity to spend a few years living in Turkey.
Wendi and her family in Ephesus
About the Author: Wendi and her husband JB have lived in Adana, Turkey since the summer of 2010 with their 2.5 children and dog. A retired English teacher by trade, she has spent the last six years editing and writing from home while taking care of their growing family. You can visit her life at Life in The ...
The Turkey lovefest continues today! Today's guest post is brought to you by Phyllis Nobles.
I’ve been in Istanbul teaching English for 14 months now. And while I’ve studied successful blogs and started up a half dozen of my own, there’s always the morning that I wake up and take everything down. I even blogged from Venice in February, but once back in Istanbul felt I sounded so Elizabeth Gilbert [editor's note: EG is an American writer best known for her 2006 memoir "Eat, Pray, Love") that I deleted 26 of the most beautifully photographed posts you will never see.
You have to know that I am no Elizabeth Gilbert. Meaning, I’ve tried. And trying to be EG has to date cost me about $30,000. A long story from 2008 involving a Molotov Cocktail of an already desperate financial situation, a Doubleday editor who helped acquire "Eat, Pray, Love" who asked to see my unfinished manuscript, Credit Cards R Us, oh, and a recession. Ah, 48. Such a naïve and complicated age. Back when I thought I needed to model my life after someone else’s.
Which brings me up to Barbara, and her gracious offer to let me post while she’s in Paris. Barbara so wisely said about my blog crisis, I’m sure that as you continue writing you will find your writing niche and your blog will feel more like home to you. Which brings me to my favorite thing about Istanbul: the kindness of strangers.
People who don’t even know you and need nothing from you who hold out their hands. The guy at the bakery who offers you a bite of something sweet. Or the olive and the pistachio men at the grocery. The bus driver who spots you — the crazy American walking on the edge of a dangerous highway — and gives you a ride back to the city. The family out in the country whose garden you admire who invites you in for tea.
And these guys whose photograph I wanted to take who made me sit down first to talk — even though they don’t really speak English and I don’t really speak Turkish.
I’ve found something very retro American, circa late 1960s about Istanbul. Back when we cared more about people than about money. And happiness. Which brings me up to one morning last week when — thanks to Barbara’s advice that I thought about all evening — I woke up a million miles from home at home inside my own skin. Something that has miraculously solved all my blogger problems. And, I suspect, my Elizabeth Gilbert Complex.
About the Author: Phyllis Nobles is from Oxford, Mississippi, USA and is editing "Cowgirl Up: How to Write a Best-Seller in a Chick-Lit Market", "totally 20☮ how i spent my economic crisis" and a new blog at The Sweet Life of Phyllis Nobles.
