1.05.2001 - Making Sense of Istanbul

Cass writes...

Created from a medley of Christian and Islamic empires, Istanbul is a city entrenched in history. Magnificent mosques, built by a reign of Ottoman sultans, preside from every hilltop. In the dusty last light of the day, a golden haze silhouettes this wonderfully domed skyline. And as the sun drops, the air is punctuated both by slender minarets and the melancholic soundtrack of wailing azans, prompting the faithful to prayer.

That's the romantic side. The other is a vast, sprawlingly polluted city, a criss-cross of highways spreading like tentacles through Europe and Asia. Fast cars blatantly rule supreme over pedestrians, let alone cyclists, racing from one boutique to the next, from one traffic jam to another. Sharing the city's flash malls and affluent suburbia, there's potholed streets and broken cobbles, darkened alley ways, open sewers and putrid smells. Yet far from eroding its historic presence, it's this fascinating meld of elegance and seediness, of modern boulevards and narrow back streets, of East and West, that makes Istanbul such a vibrant and fascinating city.

It's my seond visit here. Settling back quicky into the traveller mentality, we feast on bread, cheese and olives at Aleaf's Konya Pansiyon. It's comforting to revisit a city, steering our way around with ease, making new discoveries that only time allows. Istanbul is huge. It's simply vast. A few days of exploring can only tap into the first few layers of this confusing city. Yet for all it's hustle and bustle, the ancient ferries that cruise from one part of town to another are the perfect way to avoid its grating modern day traffic and escape into a timeless past. Only then do you really appreciate the sheer number and diversity of ancient buildings nestled along its shores, tucked amongst the concrete sprawl of this century.

Shops in Asia are often conveniently bunched together by type - a few streets might specialize in ball bearings, others in shoes, others in lampshades. Shelving cultural intrigue, Rosal and I hone in on the bike shop quarter, trawling for bargains and decorations for the tandem. Again, it's a winner. At every stop, a small crowd gravitates in our direction, squeezing tyres and inspecting brakes. 'Choc guzel, choc guzel!' Very nice, is the verdict.

Irish/Turkish Frank and Iranian Mehmet, both bicycle roadies to the fingertips, take us on a tour of Kadikoy, on Asian shores. Cumbersomely negotiating its manic streets, our tandem is likened to a limousine by our new-found friends. And so it is. The Limo - a perfect name for the steed. Cycle touring includes immediate membership into bicycle clubs the world over and the instant friendship this common interest creates, whatever the background or culture. Indeed, we need only wander through this knot of bicycle shops to be offered rounds of tea, the classic hallmark of Turkish hospitality. Searching for a pair of bicycle shoes, I track down one particularly charismatic and ramshackle shop, overseen by two ageing but enthusiastic brothers - Bahir and Hakki. Like an Aladdin's Cave of bicycle parts, an eclectic range of bike gear lie layered in dust and stacked precariously high. Chatting over a few obligatory rounds of chai, they tell me a little about the changes to Istanbul and the current economic climate. Times are hard in Turkey. The economic crisis has left the Lira battered by devaluation - the Pound is half as strong again as my last visit. Inflation is soaring and the future looks bleak. These last few years have seen a flurry of cars purchased on credit, leaving many bankrupt or in dire financial straits. 'Perhaps people will once again buy bicycles' muses Bahir.

Back in Old Istanbul, Rosal and I embark on quests for new gastronomic experiences. We gorge on an array of food - the pizza-like Lamajun, chewy dollops of Turkish ice cream and Kokorec, deliciously rich until we unearth its meaning - offal sandwich. We pause to rest on bridges stretching over the Golden Horn, home to small armies of fishermen who stand vigil from dawn to dusk. Heaving bazaars of dried fruit and spices spill into the streets and male dominated bars serve chai through a haze of smoke. Sandwich sellers patrol with their travelling kitchens, handicapped beggars hold out a hand, shoe shine boys nip between crowds, ferry touts loudly beckon a stream of tourists, piling yet more passengers aboard their boats: 'Bospherus! Bospherus!' Mingling amongst this cacophany of sights and sounds, veiled women hurry about their chores, old men squat before a set of scales and country folk display small piles of fruits and vegetables on the pavement floor.

A hellish highway, an eight lane free for all, leads us to the Otogar - a multi-docking station of luxury buses shuttling passengers day and night to every corner of Turkey. Stowing The Limo, we pile on board and gratefully escape the city. When we next awake, we'll be in the wind-etched rockscape of Cappadocia, Central Anatolia. We'll spend a few days there before moving on to Erzurum, East Turkey. There, our journey truly begins, just a few hunded kilometres from the border with Iran.