Birthday Throwback Surprise Photo Thing*

*Working title

In 1981, my Grandma and Grandpa Steele went on a huge tour of Europe spanning nearly 10 countries.  A couple of years ago my grandpa gave me jpegs of all of the photos from their trip.  One of their stops was in Istanbul.

A view from the Bosphorus

It’s amazing to go through the pictures and see the huge developments made to the city in recent decades and how so many of the historical monuments look exactly the same.  Although I suppose thirty-three years is the blink of an eye for an obelisk that’s been around for over three millennia.  

Even though the pictures turned out a bit blurry, my grandparents had the luxury of seeing the Hagia Sophia sans scaffolding and were allowed to photograph inside Dolmabahçe Palace.

Soldiers marching into Dolmabahçe Palace.

My favorite picture is this one of my grandma on the Asian side of the city.  

After posting the photo on Facebook, my friend Aylin figured out that the picture was taken near Beylerbeyi Palace. I went to the approximate location last year and had to ask a stranger to help.  My abysmal Turkish translated to, “This photograph….my father mother....thirty years before...new photograph...I want.”  He took a few very bad pictures and then briskly walked away from the weird foreigner.

For my dad’s birthday, I thought it would be a nice surprise to recreate the picture.  Not wanting to repeat any of the mistakes from my previous attempt, I decided to bring my friend Erkin along with me. I even did some extra research online and took a few screenshots to make sure we got the location exactly right.  Technology is the best.

Coordinates saved in my iPod and a printed copy of Marilyn Steele in hand, we took the 30-minute Metrobus ride to Beylerbeyi.

“I don’t know.  This might not be the place”, Erkin said.

“It has to be.  I saw it online.  Look at the bridge.  It’s exactly the same.”

A millennial to the core, I was convinced that the internet would never lead us astray.

“I guess we could ask some old people if they were here thirty-three years ago.”

“Okay.  How about him?”

We approached an elderly man who was fishing with his son and grandson. He said that he wasn't from the area, but his son lived there. The son insisted that this couldn’t be the spot because it was a NATO zone. The grandson looked like he would rather be playing with his iPad. The elder generations said that we should try down by the ferry station.

5 in 1: Friend/Roomie/Photographer/Translator/Purse-holder

We took a few test photos anyway and as we were reviewing them a couple of ferries pulled up with a wedding party, completely obstructing the view of the bridge.

“Fine”, I said, “we can go to the ferry station".

The area was actually quite charming. The street to the pier was lined with fancy seafood restaurants. The pier itself was lined with people fishing with their friends in the crisp December weather.

I had to admit that the view from the pier did seem closer to what we were looking for. Keeping with our strategy of asking the 60+ crowd for help, we zeroed in on a particularly old man who was bundled up in a heavy jacket, wool scarf, and a knit hat that pointed straight up like the top of a Christmas tree. He was chatting with a couple friends and seemed to be the ringleader, so we approached him first.

I thought Erkin should have opened with, "tell us what it was really like when the Ottomans took Constantinople", but instead he explained the story behind the picture and politely asked if we were in the right place.

The man squinted and carefully examined the photo. He waved over different people calling everyone by their first name. “Arda”, he said,  “come look at this for a minute” or “Yavuz, do you remember this sign?” He had totally usurped our search and I was completely fine with it.

A small crowd of senior citizens gathered around the photograph.  Gnarled fingers would gently touch details in the photograph and then point in different directions.  My Turkish is awful, but I could make out some words like, stone, different, before, now, etc.

Our self-appointed guide insisted that the people at a nearby restaurant would know.  He lead us, very slowly, to the Villa Bosphorus Restaurant.  After talking to the maitre’d, we were led to the front door of a house that faced the water.  A middle-aged gentlemen opened the door and Erkin patiently told the story of the photograph. The homeowner retreated into the house and returned with an apron clad woman in her late seventies. She shyly poked her head through the door and said, “Could I see the photograph?”

The woman told us she had been living in the house for over 40 years and that she remembered the sign.  She explained that the area was once a popular tourist spot, bursting with souvenirs and Turkish nicknacks.  

“They took the sign down twenty years ago.”

“Where was it?”, Erkin asked.

“Here!”  She leaned her tiny body out of the door, unwilling to fully expose herself to the chilly breeze, and pointed to the edge of the water. “It was just over there.”

We smiled, thanked everyone, shook a couple of hands, and headed to the edge of the Bosphorus, a few yards away.

This was it.

I stood exactly where my Grandma stood 33 years ago.  Or near enough at least.   Of course it’s amazing to walk through the arches where Mehmet II marched and to view the Hagia Sophia from Empress Zoe's loge. But it’s even more incredible to stand where my grandparents stood before I was born and to see the things they saw with my own eyes. A mutual appreciation on a three decade delay.  

With the combined power of CVS, the internet, and my mom, I was able to watch my dad open his present on Skype.

Success!

Of course (with the help of my mom and dad) I gave a copy of the two photos to my grandparents for Christmas.  

90-years-old and still looks great!

Recreating travel photos is pretty fun. Next stop: Geirangerfjord in Norway?  

A huge thank you to Aylin, Erkin, and the dozen senior citizens who helped me find the location.  I would never have been able to recreate the photo if it weren’t for the unyielding kindness of Turks.

Ankara Adventures With Clive

Last weekend, I went to visit my friend Clive in Ankara.

Clive and I were roommates and coworkers in Yalova and after months of systematically wearing him down, I coerced him into being my best friend in Turkey.  Clive moved to Ankara this fall to get his masters in English Literature at the very prestigious METU.  He’s been keeping a lot of his stuff at my apartment in Istanbul and recently put in a request for his winter clothes and (naturally) about 15 of his books.

So I decided to take the Yüksek Hızlı Tren, the new high-speed train in Turkey, to visit my Eastern Hemisphere BFF.

Having never been to Ankara, I was looking forward to seeing a new part of the country from the train. But when I sat down in my window seat with ample legroom, I saw that it was quickly getting dark. I had forgotten that the sun sets at 4:30 now. Fifteen-minutes into the journey all I could see was my squinting reflection in the black window punctuated by the occasional yellow city lights in the distance. Nevertheless, the journey was extremely comfortable and it was pretty cool to go 250 km/h. After four short hours, I was in Ankara.

Weeee!!

Clive met me at the train station and we set off for the hotel. As Clive lives in the dormitories and the campus is far from the city center, we decided an inexpensive hotel would be a better option. Having spent a year on the same modest salary, Clive and I are both extremely thrifty, especially when it comes to lodging.

Without much thought, I booked a twin room at the cheapest hotel in Ankara, Yavuz Otel. It had a lofty 6.3/10 rating on Booking.com. I skimmed the first couple of reviews and Muhammad from the US said, “I spent a good 13 days [there]. I really love the place, the people who work in the hotel are so nice, and a good breakfast. It was great.” 

We arrived at the hotel and the bellhop took us up to room 504. It was clear right away that we'd made a mistake. The room reeked of flatulence, feces, and fear. In lieu of the standard tacky artwork found it most hotels, the walls were covered in suspicious smudges. The derelict furniture was clearly taken from the side of the road. While the online listing stated that we had a private bathroom, it neglected to mention that the toilet would be shared...with the entire floor.The sheets were starchy, but mercifully clean.

We immediately went out to eat.

This is the best picture I could find.

After a late dinner, we headed back to the hotel.  As we sat on our respective beds, the horror of Yavuz Otel really started to set in.  

I started ranting to Clive saying, “This is the filthiest place I’ve ever stayed!  What were we thinking?  A hostel would’ve been a million times better than this!  What is that stain over there?  This is revolting!  I can’t tell anyone at work about this!  They’ll all laugh and say, “I told you so”.  We’ll probably be murdered here tonight, if the fumes don’t kill us!”

I ran out of breath and put my head in my hands.

It was quiet for a moment and then Clive said, “Cheer up.  At least we have a solid gold wardrobe.”

For the first time I noticed the synthetic wooden wardrobe to my left.  It was covered in uneven metallic spray paint and like everything else in our room, it looked like it should be incinerated.  I turned back to Clive and laughed hysterically for a full two minutes.

We spent the rest of the night watching a honey infomercial and breathing through our mouths.

I woke up in the middle of the night to hear Clive sighing in disgust and rustling his sheets across the room.  I say 'across the room', but it was more like 18-inches from my face.  

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.  Just bleeding all over my sheets.”

“What?”

“I’m fine!”

“Okay...goodnight.”

The next morning Clive explained that he had cut his hand accidentally on the jagged bedside table, resulting in blood speckled sheets.

“Well, if it’s any comfort, I think it’s the least of the room’s problems”, I told him.

Miraculously still breathing, we started our day at Ankara Castle.  I read aloud to Clive from a Turkey application on my phone, “Ankara Castle is a fortification from the ancient or medieval era.  The exact date of construction is unknown”.

“Ancient or Medieval!?  They couldn’t narrow it down??”

“Yeah, no kidding!”, I said as though I were equally outraged.

Clive studied ancient history for his undergraduate degree and can recount in great detail historical events from several millennia ago more readily than most people can recite their phone number.  I lived with him for a year and can say with authority that he spends about 80% of his waking hours reading.

If you don’t have access to Wikipedia, having Clive Campbell within arm’s reach is the next best thing.  Besides, I doubt Wikipedia can describe the Seljuq Turks with such fervor.   

"Wow.  We almost look like friends in this picture", I told Clive.

"Hmmm", he said in a tone that could only mean "that's a problem".

We spent most of the time debating whether or not the fortress could withstand the zombie apocalypse. Although our zombie survival knowledge was based entirely on the first three season of ‘Walking Dead’ and a few blockbuster movies, we agreed that if we were dealing with AMC zombies, we might stand a chance. A couple of the entrances would need to be sealed off, but it should hold. There were a few well-stocked corner stores that could supply enough food for months. However, if it were “28 Days Later” or “World War Z” flesh eating monsters, they would make short work of our fortress and our brains.

"Okay, now take a picture of me.  Hey, the sun is really bright, so count to three and I'll open my eyes."

"One...two...*Click*...three".
"Did you get it?"
"Yeah. It's a good one."

We went to the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations and it was freaking awesome!

Looking good, Clive-O!

Ankara itself has Hittite, Phrygian, Hellenistic, Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman archaeological sites.  (Thank you, Clive/Wikipedia.)  I hadn’t even heard of the first two before my visit.  As I walked around the museum, I realized that Istanbul’s long and eventful history is very apparent; expansive mosques, ancient churches, and imposing obelisks are all in plain sight. Ankara’s history largely had to be excavated and now resides in the immaculate glass cases of the museum.

An exact likeness of yours truly.

In the US, I'm pretty sure we import the majority of our artifacts. In Turkey, they unearth a fascinating ritual vessel every time they lay down the foundation for a new building (which is often). It was pretty cool to know that almost everything in the museum was acquired within driving distance.

Clive described this as "the first human hamburger".

Best marketing ever!

After a long day of sightseeing and location scouting for the impending zombie apocalypse, we headed back to the hotel.

The smell in our room was significantly worse.  I realized that Muhammad’s Booking.com review was probably written under the pseudonym of an escaped convict who was using Yuvuz Otel as a hideout with the understanding that he would give the hotel a rave review in exchange for refuge.

We sat down for about 20-minutes before I said, "I can't take it.  I'm going to ask for a different room.  This is unbearable."

"No, don't.  It's fine."

"Are you freaking kidding me?  Clive, we will suffocate and someone will come to harvest our organs if we don't leave.  I'm sure they'll let us switch rooms."

"It's okay, really."

“Do you not want me to say anything because of blood on the sheets?”

“Yes.”

I told Clive that every single woman in the history of bedsheets had been in his situation, which seemed to comfort him.   We flipped his linens and I went down to talk to reception.  

They didn't seem surprised when I told them in broken Turkish, "Our room in many bad smell there is". The guy behind the desk obligingly offered to show me another room. The first one was too dirty. The second one was too smelly. I felt like Goldilocks debating which circle of hell would be the most palatable. The third one was just right. It even had its own toilet.

A private toilet, tacky artwork, and a glass of tea.  Clive is happy.

On Sunday we went to Anıtkabir, the mausoleum of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the first president of Turkey. It's definitely the most important and arguably most impressive monument in Ankara.

Entrance was free, and the grounds also included an interesting museum housing some of Atatürk's personal belongings and chronicling his accomplishments. Over the past couple of years, I've learned a lot about Atatürk and, for the most part, I admire him quite a bit.

We were lucky enough to see the changing of the guards.

After the Turkish War of Independence and the founding of the Republic of Turkey, Ankara became the new capital in 1923. At the time, the city only had about 35,000 residents. Today, Ankara is Turkey’s second biggest city with 4.5 million people. Wowee!

This soldier had his march down!

This soldier had his march down!

I don't know why I pose like this in every picture. I'm open to suggestions for a new signature pose. (My mom says no rude hand gestures.)

After leaving Anıtkabir, Clive and I enjoyed our respective tea and coffee and talked about our near death experiences at Yavuz Otel. As the sun started to set, I headed towards the Ankara Garı.

I said farewell to my friend and boarded the train home to Istanbul.  It was great seeing Clive and I'll see him again soon.  I know this, because I explicitly told him that if he didn't come to my house for Christmas, I would be incredibly upset and in the market for a replacement best friend.

A Day in Europe in 15 Photos

Last week, my boss Erol came over to my desk and asked if I had a minute.  Whenever he says this, I always assume I'm about to get fired, but I got lucky this time.  He sat down and said, "The weather is getting colder and I thought we might need some new photos for social media.  What do you think about going to visit some of the major tourist attractions on a sunny day and taking lots of photos?"

I stared at him for a moment.

"So you're saying that when the weather is really nice, instead of coming to the office, you want me to visit beautiful historical places and take pictures?"

"Yeah.  What do you think?"

I paused before saying, "This is a sacrifice I'm willing to make for the good of the company."

So on the next sunny day, I made the 20-minute intercontinental commute from Asia to Europe and started my day at the Spice Bazaar.  

I'm normally opposed to taking pictures of people without their permission, partly because I think it's exploitative, but mostly because I'm afraid they'll get angry and say mean things to me.  However after chatting with this guy a bit and asking if I could take a photo of the spices, he seemed agreeable as long as he was in the shot.

This is at Süleymaniye Mosque, which was completed in 1558 for Süleyman the Magnificent, by Mimar Sinan (basically the greatest architect to ever live). It's the biggest mosque in the city, which makes me feel pretty bad for the guy vacuuming.

Although I'd already visited these places, I didn't have many nice photos that could be used for social media.  When I visited them a year ago for the app, my pictures were a form of note-taking. I photographed attractions like they were crime scenes, focusing on details and quantity over aesthetics.  It didn't matter if there was a German tourist picking his nose in the foreground of the shot, as long as I could see the number of minarets the mosque had.

Here are some Ottoman graves outside of Süleymaniye Mosque.

I couldn't resist taking a picture of these two guys randomly perched on this building.  Plus, I was about 100 meters away, so I figured that they wouldn't see me.

They saw me.

The combination of these three cards guarantees that I can see and do whatever the hell I want in the city with complete impunity.  Not really.  But it does mean that I can see and do things a lot cheaper than the average tourist, which is pretty cool.

Seriously though, the homely passport photo of 18-year-old me could be anyone.

I broke my rule against photographing strangers yet again at the Rüstem Pasha Mosque.  I couldn't help it.  

Opened in 1563, this mosque has the best Iznik tiles in the whole city.  It's often overlooked by tourists, but is absolutely worth visiting!

Between visits from my dad and Kayla and working on the app, I've been fortunate to see most of these places several times already.  Even so, there were a few new things.  While the New Mosque was closed when I arrived, I got to see people preparing for the midmorning Call to Prayer.  Neat-o!

This is the Obelisk of Theodosius located in the former Hippodrome.  Don't get me started on how cool the Hippodrome's history is or we'll be here all day.  First erected in the 15th century BCE, the obelisk was brought to Constantinople in the 4th century and has sat in the Hippodrome ever since...even after the magnificent racetrack fell into ruins.  

Not bad for being 3,500 years old, eh?

Over the past two years, I've visited the Hagia Sophia five times and the same scaffolding has stood resolutely in place, making symmetrical photographs a challenge.  It's always a bit disappointing to find an attraction undergoing renovations when you visit, but it is a reminder of how old a place is and how impressive it is to be still standing.

This particular building has been around since 535 AD.  Wowee!  It was a church until 1453 and a mosque until 1935, when it was changed into a museum by the first president of Turkey Mustafa Kemal Atatürk.  After the Hippodrome it's my favorite historical tourist attraction in the city.

When Constantinople fell to the Ottomans, the Hagia Sophia was immediately converted into a mosque.  As representational imagery is prohibited in Islam, the 9th-13th century mosaics were removed or covered in plaster.  Hidden for hundreds of years,  much of the artwork was only uncovered in the 20th century.  The plaster actually preserved the mosaics, which would otherwise be severely damaged or completely lost today.  

11th century mosaic of Constantine IX Monomachus, Christ, and Empress Zoe

By mid-fall, the monsoon season of tourists slows to a trickle of tour groups for affluent European retirees and Turkish schoolchildren on field trips.  This makes areas like Sultanahmet a lot less overwhelming.

A lovely stroll through Gülhane Park

After taking a few hundred photos in Sultanahmet (most of them blurry) I made my way across the Golden Horn to the Beyoğlu district.

I'd been dying to see the new exhibit at the Pera Museum, 'Orientalism in Polish Art' and I wasn't disappointed.  I'm finally at an age where I can (mostly) look at nude art without blushing.  I was especially looking forward to seeing this piece, which I  had only seen as a small image on the museum's website.  

I eyed the security guard seated opposite the painting and wondered if the staff drew straws to see who got to stare at this lady's derriere all day.

I didn't realize until I saw the painting up close that the woman was actually dead and presumably strangled.  I felt pretty weird about loving this painting, but it didn't stop me from buying a postcard of it.

"At the Order of the Padishah" by Franciszek Żmurko (1888)

I stumbled upon ARTER, a free art gallery on İstiklal Avenue that currently has a temporary exhibit called The Roving Eye, which features artists from South East Asia.  Very cool.

I'm so artsy-fartsy, I'm even wearing a black turtle neck.

That's all for now, party people.  I encourage my fellow Istanbulites to visit these places and my friends and family to come visit me so I can show them to you!  

Take a look at the Discover Istanbul Instagram account or get more info on what I'm doing in the city.