Breaking and Entering on Burgazada - Part I: The Ascent

Last week, I was caught up on my work at the office, so I decided to check out one of the Princes Islands I’d missed for the app.  The Princes Islands can be found just off the coast of Istanbul and are technically part of the city. The islands were used by the Byzantines for hundreds of years to exile,  you guessed it, princes, along with other members of the royal family and high ranking officials.  Today, they’re known simply as Adalar (Islands) and the four largest islands are popular summer getaways for Turks and foreigners alike.  

My home is the yellow star in the top center. Burgazada is the second large island from the left.

So on a cloudy Tuesday, I took a 45-minute ferry ride from a city of over 14 million to Burgazada, an island of a 1500 people.  In the summer months, the island’s population swells to nearly 20,000, but after August, most of the houses are boarded up and vacationers return to the mainland.

I was greeted by this statue of Sait Faik Abasıyanık, a famous writer who grew up on the island.

The island was practically deserted when I arrived, with only one cafe open.  I decided to do what any person on a strict low-carb diet would do and had a latte with real sugar and a freshly baked zeytinli açma.

I took that time to finalize my itinerary for the day.  Before visiting a location for the app, I always do some research on the area.  As it’s not a tourist hotspot, there was little information to be found regarding Burgazada.  Nevertheless, I had a list of four attractions I needed to visit while exploring the island.  From what I could find online, the island’s main attraction was Christ’s Hill, whose peak was home to the Byzantine Monastery of Theokoryphotos.

 So worth it.

When I went to pay, I asked the cafe owner for directions to Christ Hill.

“Hristos Tepesi nerede?”

“Bilmiyorum.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, sorry.”

In its entirety, the island measures 0.57 square miles (1.5 km sq).  I found it worrisome that a person, who apparently lived there, didn’t know where the island’s biggest attraction was located.  I thought maybe he didn’t understand my thick accent, so I pointed to the Turkish text I’d written in my notebook.

He read it slowly out loud, insisted that he didn’t know, and then waved over his employee.  It seemed like the barista had at least heard of it, but he couldn’t tell me how to go there.  So he excused himself and asked the guy running the market next door. The shopkeep, also clueless, consulted a customer who was able to tell me roughly how to get there.  Her directions were a long and varied combination of ‘walk left’, ‘turn right’, ‘continue straight’, and ‘go up’.  

I nodded and said, “Tamam, anladım”, Okay I understood.  After thanking my group of helpers, I turned to leave and promptly forgot the directions.

I wandered a bit and took some pictures of the charming Ottoman era houses.  It seemed like everyone on the island had a proclivity for gardening.  Even though it was mid-October, there were flower blossoms and lush greenery in every garden.

While walking up and down the streets, I became aware that the island’s cat population outnumbered its two-legged inhabitants three to one.  They were everywhere.  Street cats are prevalent in Istanbul, but this was something else.  

Burgazada Kitty is not amused.

After running into dead ends for about half an hour, I met some new locals who pointed me in the right direction.  It was midmorning by then and the day was starting to get warm.  Five minutes into my uphill trek, I decided to embrace 1995 fashion and tied my pleather jacket around my waist and let the hood hang between my legs like a sagging diaper.  A few minutes later, convinced that I wouldn’t be meeting the future Mr. Laurel Steele on the island, I pulled my increasingly poofy hair into a ponytail.

The climb was excruciating.

I had to stop often and every time I turned around the red roofs were smaller and more plentiful.  I could see the skyscrapers of Istanbul in the distance and imagined that my coworkers were sitting comfortably in their swivel chairs.  The higher I went, the narrower and rougher the path became.  Evidently, smarter climbers had turned back when they realized how awful the ascent was.

Robert Frost clearly never climbed to the top of Burgazada.

It was a little creepy getting further and further from civilization and I became aware of how alone I was.  I kept expecting a grubby troll clad in animal pelts and human bones to jump out and demand my first-born child in exchange for safe passage.  I heard nothing, except for the occasional critter scurrying away in the underbrush at my approach, undoubtedly to alert the troll of my arrival.  

I was a little relieved to be alone though, because it meant that there was no one to hear my absurdly labored breathing or notice my frequent breaks.  

I used taking pictures as an excuse for stopping. This is Heybeliada with Buyukada behind it.

Feeling miserable, I began asking myself important life questions.  

Why are they called “skinny jeans”, if they only make you feel fat?  

Why not call them what they are? Sausage casings.*

Why don’t they print a “melting point” on makeup?

Why do we wear makeup?

Why didn’t I use the bathroom before this?

Why did the Byzantines insist on putting holy buildings at the tops of hills?

Why do people pretend to enjoy hiking? WHY?

*This brilliant observation was first made the hilarious Chelsey Caswell.

After forty-five agonizing minutes, the path led me to a small opening in some shrubbery.  I walked through to find the hill's summit blanketed in pine needles and dotted with dandelions and sparse patches of grass.   Apart from a dozen trees, a pair of loose horses, and an abandoned trailer, the place was deserted.  

I was tempted to approach one of the horses, but wasn’t about to test my equestrian skills acquired at a week of horse camp in 1999.  I decided that I needed a picture of myself and with no one but my equine companions around, I had to take a selfie.

This is me smiling.  

I was so exhausted that I had to use both my hands to hold up my tiny camera.  When I started the ascent, I had a full face of makeup, but it melted off.  I only took this one picture of myself and unfortunately didn’t look at it until it was too late for a retake.

Pathetic.

After checking for ants, I sat on a log in the clearing.  Once my wheezing subsided and I stopped raining sweat, I listened.  Apart from an occasional bird chirping and the barely audible grazing horses, I heard absolutely nothing.

I tried to remember the last time I’d experienced a complete absence of artificial noise.  Certainly before moving to Istanbul.  Even my parents’ house in the Pennsylvanian countryside is next to a busy road, frequented by semis and motorcycles.  I realized that in my entire life, I had never been completely alone in such silence.

I don't have a good picture of the clearing, but this is the view from the summit.

My whole life, I’ve felt pretty apathetic about the environment. Trees are nice and flowers are beautiful. Camping is fine, if it’s less than three days and there’s modern plumbing within walking distance.  I’ve seen a handful of pretty okay sunsets.   But I’ve always rolled my eyes at people who talked about “oneness with nature”.  I never got it.

Maybe it was the contrast to the chaos of Istanbul.

Maybe it was the colossal 558 foot altitude.

Maybe it was my relief at reaching the summit relatively unscathed.

But on that day, at that moment, I was in complete awe of nature.  

I had a serious moment, guys!

I sat there for about 15-minutes, contentedly absorbing the silence.  Later, I got up and strolled around for a bit and took some pictures. Upon seeing a lone vertebra from an unidentified animal, I thought it might be time to move along.  

Anyone know what this is, or was, rather?

After all, I still needed to see the monastery.  I walked for a few minutes and found a big house with a small church next to it. The property seemed to be unoccupied.

Looks slightly ominous, right?

At the front gate there was a sign in Turkish, which read, “Church closed!  Beware of dog!”  Extremely disappointed, I started to leave and began my descent.  I got a few years from the house, when I stopped and turned around.  

“No”, I thought, “I didn’t come all this way for nothing”.

Click here for the riveting conclusion!