Monday, our first day in Istanbul, was very cold and very rainy. But, as the locals said to us again and again, “This is winter, and it is Allah’s wisdom to give us this weather so that we may appreciate spring.”
So: coats on, umbrellas up, and off we went to see a panoramic view of the Golden Horn from Pierre Lotti Hill, the small but serene Eyup Mosque, the Byzantine frescos in the Church of St. Savior, and the heights of the Galata Tower.
Istanbul proved to be a heady blend of the familiar and the exotic. Here, a crowd of friendly cats; there, seventeen barefooted men washing their heads, hands, and feet in the icy ablution pool outside their neighborhood mosque. Here, a Starbucks and a burger King; there, a man selling spicy kebabs from a streetside grill. Here, the sound of teenagers giggling in a local department store; there, the haunting and plaintive wailing of the morning call to prayer.
In Turkey, the modern and the mystical exist side by side, with contemporary cafes butted up against 14th Century city walls, and it is not unusual to see a mosque next to a temple next to a church. Whether this is responsible for the city’s moderate temperament and relative tolerance, or just a sign of it I cannot say.
For too much of our first day, I was too cold and too wet to lose myself in the experience of walking the streets of Istanbul. But even in these conditions, I’m delighted to be here — and I’m grateful for the little moments (the stark serenity of the mosque, the razzle-dazzle of an aggressive carpet salesman, the savory aroma of a lamb kebab, the sight of white seabirds wheeling in the inky blackness above the minarets of the Blue Mosque at night) that make the day unforgettable.
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