Istanbul

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Please do not sit here

Thursday, June 7, 2012 in Istanbul, Turkey

That’s me. Sitting on the steps of the Blue Mosque. You probably think I did this on purpose. I didn’t. The thing is, when you come outside of the Blue Mosque, you have to put your shoes on. And there’s only this tiny little area with two small benches where you can sit. And they were jammed. So I walked in my stocking feet down a few steps of the mosque and sat down. And as I finished, Sidar, who was at the bottom of the steps told me to look up so he could take my picture. Which he did.

“Must you always break the rules?” he said with a grin, showing me the picture on the back of my camera.

I guess so. Even when I don’t mean to.

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Istanbul: The Blue Mosque

Wednesday, June 6, 2012 in Istanbul, Turkey

Photo by David Lansing.

It is still early in Istanbul. So early that Sidar and I, with nothing else to do, decide to take a walk around the Blue Mosque, just a few blocks away. There is no one there except a solitary man washing his feet at one of the outside taps on the side of the courtyard. There is something vulnerable and personal about this man washing his feet. To me it feels like watching someone unbutton a shirt and remove it. The light, the solitude, the vulnerability—I want to take a photo of the scene, even though it feels so voyeuristic.

I ask Sidar if I should go up to the man and ask if it’s okay to take his photo.

“No,” says Sidar. “Just take the photo from a distance so you don’t disturb him.”

And this is what I do.

The Blue Mosque isn’t officially open yet, but Sidar leads me to a door marked “Exit Only” and, after slipping off our shoes, we slip past the curtains into the interior of the prayer hall. The only other person inside is an old man pushing an ancient standup vacuum cleaner slowly over the dusty red carpet. The old man either doesn’t notice us or chooses to ignore us, it’s hard to say which.

“This is very rare,” Sidar whispers. “Just wait. We will come back here this afternoon and you will see. There will be thousands of people in here. So many that we will have to wait half an hour or longer just to get inside.”

But for now, the Blue Mosque is all but empty. Just us and the old man with his vacuum.

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Raki: The lion’s milk of Turkey

Tuesday, May 29, 2012 in Istanbul, Turkey

Photo by David Lansing.

I have been in Istanbul for only a few hours when my good friend Sidar spirits me away from my hotel to “the best kebab place in the city.” No sooner have we been seated in a quiet outdoor garden area than a young waiter in a tuxedo shirt comes up and pours us each a glass of raki. “Just one,” I firmly tell Sidar.

“Yes, of course. Just one,” he says, laughing.

Raki: The lion’s milk of turkey. They say you never forget where, when, and with whom you sipped your first glass of raki. I’ll vouch for that (just as I’ll never forget the where, when, and with whom I shared my first glass of pastis in Paris).

There is a certain etiquette to drinking raki. First, it should be chilled in the bottle, like a white wine, before serving. Secondly, it must be sipped from a straight cylindrical glass, never a rocks glass or a shot. Then you might add just two or three ice cubes and mix it with a little soda water (although Sidar prefers still water).

That’s it. Although you would also be wise, at this point, to order a meze or two—before the raki goes to your head.

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