The Turkish Letters

Covering my head and removing my shoes, I took refuge from the driving rains (once again) under the grandiose ceiling of the silently majestic Blue Mosque of Sultan Ahmed. Though awe-inspired as I approached the pious sanctuary by the exterior onion domes and lofty minarets rising into the somberly grey sky, the interior left me, if possible, more amazed. One large room stretched the entirety of the building, covered by an immense red carpet of intricately woven geometric shapes. The overpowering candle chandelier hung low to the ground, creating an intimate atmosphere for prayer despite its humbling size, and devout Muslims kneeled with bowed heads just below it’s arched metal arms as if it were shielding them from what lay beyond the tiled walls. Every surface of the mosque was embellished with brilliantly dramatic mosaics of blues, whites, and turquoise (which comes from the word ‘Turk’ for those who didn’t know). Though the decorations lacked any human or animal attributes, the swirls and flourishes of the mosaic came to life in one spectacular show projected onto white glazed tiles.

Like the colorful glass plates at the Blue Mosque, Turkey is a mosaic comprised of pieces from Europe and Asia, Christianity and Islam, Modern western skyscrapers and ancient civilization ruins. From porting at Kudasadai to my departure on a night bus from Istanbul my week exploring the diversely opulent palate of this montage has been one filled with some of the most aesthetically inspiring masterpieces and culturally astounding experiences I have encountered since my departure from New York in January. I began my orient adventure in the small city of Selcuk in southeastern Turkey drinking far too much apple tea with Persian carpet salesmen and trying rubbery Turkish ice cream in a hidden mountain village nearby. Almost immediately I was struck by how friendly and opened Turks were; looking past the abhorrent calls from merchants about low prices and the best quality, locals truly enjoy taking the time to sit down over a cup of complimentary tea or sweets to tell you about their brother in LA or their thoughts about the Korean tour group that passed through last week.  Leaving the gregarious waterpipe smoker behind in his dimly lit shop, I made my way to Ephesus, an ancient Greek and then Roman city on the port of the Agean Sea. At one point of the Roman Empire, Ephesus was the second largest city behind Rome in the world and included dozens of luxurious homes, a library, commercial center and the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Although only one column still stands testament to this long destroyed ancient wonder, the Ephesus complex is perhaps the largest and most intact excavation site that I have meandered through thus far. Facing the still-standing façade of the Library of Celsus or crouching through the tunnels leading to the baths of Hadrian made me feel as if I were moments away from exploring 12,000 scrolls of classic literature or joining the city elite for a relaxing afternoon in the caldarium (thank you Roman Archeology class for recently proving your worth).  Before heading to the airport for a short ride north to Istanbul, I visited the Tomb of the Seven Sleepers- an ancient tomb where it is said seven young Christian men hid sleeping for 200 years to escape Roman persecution- and the ancient ruins of St. John’s church- who spent the last years of his life in Ephesus with the Virgin Mary after Christ’s crucifixion.

Leaving the warm weather in the south, I embraced the winding streets of my first Islamic capital with wide eyes and an open mind. Istanbul is an incredible city. Minarets and domed sanctuaries jut up above the old wooden buildings in the old part of town and dozens of Imams call prayer five times a day in one melodious orchestra of Allah. The streets hum with a constant hustle of veiled women and young boys carrying Turkish tea on wobbly treys. Merchants call out their products, doing, and saying, quite possibly anything to get you to pause a moment for their commercial attack. The streets twist and turn upwards, pausing for a patch of blooming red tulips or an entrance to another one of its jewels. Every turn seems to lead to a lesson of this once grand empire’s history through breathtaking architecture and monuments. The remainder of the city’s neighborhoods, and its 13 million inhabitants, follow the flow of the Bosporus River, which mimics the bustle of the streets as a watery highway.

My first day was spent jumping to and from mosques and churches seemingly more superlative than the last. The Mosque of Suleymaniye the Magnificent conceived by the most revered Ottoman architect Mimar Sinan, whose designs can be seen from Damascus to Baghdad, was an architectural masterpiece of massive arches and columns; the buttresses, usually flying or piers exposed in western churches, are hidden from view both on the exterior and interior through elaborate colonnaded galleries. The New Mosque (Yeni Camii) built in the 17^th Century, is topped with sixty-six domes, preceded by a courtyard, and flanked with the other expected buildings of an imperial mosque- madrese, public baths, a hospital, and a market. The Aya Sofia was, perchance expectedly, my favorite; the red-bricked exterior weathered from centuries beckons visitors into its splendors of Byzantium architecture- the inspiration for all those mosques and churches that would be erected for the next millennium. The church converted mosque converted museum is littered with innovative engineering feats, massive marble and granite columns, golden mosaics, and still vibrant frescos. Large black medallions with golden Arabic hang heavy on its four corners surrounded by golden encrusted frescos of archangels, epitomizing the vast and profound history of Byzantium Constantinople and Ottoman Istanbul.

Leaving crosses and half moons behind I ventured to two of the three imperial palaces of Ottoman rule. The first, Topkapi Palace, sits in the heart of the old city on the Golden Horn and stretches on for kilometers with velvety green grass and vibrant spring flowers dotted with kitchens, treasuries, mosques, thrown rooms, private chambers, and all else in between that is required by an Sultan ruling over three continents. This fortress, with its ornate woodwork and meandering tile designs seemed reminiscent of my visit to the Alhambra in Moorish Spain many years ago, while the latter Palace, the Dolmabahce Palace in use from 1856 until the final days of Ataturk and the birth of Modern Turkey, seemed more evocative of my memories of the Palace of Versailles with European Rococo styled crystal chandeliers, overly plush armchairs, and putti covered ceiling murals. Pulling myself away from the enchantment of the years years ago, I explored the halls of the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum where I marveled at illuminated Korans, Persian carpets, and calligraphic Arabic, cruised the shores of the Bosporus to see the restored wooden homes and stone fortresses further along its shores, attended a play in Turkish about modern relationships, got lost in the labyrinth of the Grand Bazaar, and feasted on far too much baklava, Alinazik Kebabs, and kofte.

As many of you know, rather than staying in hotels or hostels as I skip across countries I am lodging on local’s couches, which has afforded me the opportunity to see a side of these countries most tourists miss; it has also provided some of the most interesting and thought-provoking conversations covering everything from Keynesian economic policy in Bulgaria to the relationship between Israel and Turkey in an era of Islamic democratic revolution. One conversation with my host in Istanbul lingered a bit longer than the others in my mind, one about the individualism of the West in contrast to the communalism of the East. Though I have studied this observation from World Humanities my freshman year in high school to the trade policies of America and Japan in International Political Economy, I had never seen first hand what it meant to compare my individualistic, capitalist lifestyle with a way of life based on trust and community. Traveling for half a year alone certainly emphasizes my individualism, but it has also highlighted those communities that, though thousands of miles away, still play an integral role in my life. My videochats with family on a weekly basis, my e-mails to Green Action about solar panel petitions and legislation on water in Delaware, and my phone calls to friends talking about the latest episode of Glee have made me more conscious my own communities. Many of the people I meet from cultures rather different than ours in America comment negatively about the aspect of individualism, but perhaps we are not as self-focused as I once thought. Perhaps we are more like the magnificent mosaics of the Blue Mosque- each tile’s design independent of one another’s, able to stand as a self-sufficient work of art, but the true beauty lies in the pattern of the grand design when all of the singular tiles come together.