Istanbul welcomed us with another sunny day. Hagia Sofia Church was our first stop; audio tour and all. Paul and I were in such a daze that we managed to spend nearly 2.5hours in there. That's more than I think I've spent at any such 'attraction;' particularly one so overrun with tourists, no less. Certainly worth seeing; but next time we'll remember to use one audio guide between the two of us. Hagia Sofia was first built around 360, but through war and revolt has been rebuilt two times and has served as both a Christian and Muslim place of worship; it has been in its current form- a museum- since 1935.
I can't quite remember what this particular "hole" is called, shown in the photo below, but legend has it that a saint or angle lives inside the column, and your wish will come true if you stick your thumb in the whole and rotate your hand.
Right. I'll stick with pennies over my shoulder.
Oddly enough, upon entry to the museum you are given both a paper ticket but also a little packet containing a hand wipe with the picture of the Hagia Sofia on it.
(Costas-perhaps there is historic relevance to your hand gel obsession!) Perhaps it's for post-thumb rotating.... or a surprisingly progressive public/tourism health strategy... or just weird marketing.
We were sure to wander off the beaten path from there and find a cheap lunch option- what appeared to be a fashion district of sorts served us well. Dining on the patch of road in front of a shop on tiny wooden stools, we were exceptionally well taken care of with three servers doting on us, followed by free tea to end a tasty meal of kabab and salad. Passing around us were endless streams of men carrying carpets, pretzels, furs,...and one even selling calculators, progressing from shop to shop.
The midday sun took us to the shade of the grand bazaar- a maze of, well, everything.
Paul stopped at the insole shop while I snapped photos in the zipper shop. They sat squashed between two button shops. No word of a lie. I meandered back to the hostel late in the afternoon to do some next steps planning while Paul ventured down to the sea. While sitting here scouting out hiking trails, kite centres, and camping, an older Turkish man sitting at a table nearby has been enjoying a meze meal with a small pint of beer while working on his laptop. As I sit here writing, one of the staff come by and slide a plate next to me; on it sit 8 little fish, fried up. He passes over a basket of bread.
"Oh?" I ask...not really sure what is going on.
"Turkish fish," says the server, "try."
The man at the table nearby has a heaping plate of these fish- and has sent some over for me to try. He doesn't so much as glance in my direction.
These little fish are 2 inches long, still looking like fish but lightly breaded. I inspect them, without looking too skeptical so not to offend, wanting to make sure they're not some sort of shellfish. They flop around, and I can see the fins, so yes, they are fish. Now to try them. I pick up the whole thing and tilt my head back, dropping it into my mouth as if I know exactly what I'm eating- and how one eats it.
And goodness me, they are spectacular. The bread soaks up the oils perfectly- and the fish themselves are rich and decadent. Strangers.... aren't they lovely.
No comments:
Post a Comment