These were some of the pseudo-surreal light fixtures happening. Unexpected and fantastic. We sat gabbing for a good twenty minutes before we were told to plow on for "pre-lunch" at a pide place. Pide is often said to be Turkish pizza and that's a pretty fair comparison. You got your sometimes bubbly, sometimes cardboard dough plus cheese plus whatever else you want - usually vegetables, almost always some kind of cured meat. It's a great drunk snack or sober dinner if you're teaching English at night and need something quick. On this occasion, Uğur ordered one cheese pide with slices of tomato on top (hmm..) and something meaty for the others, along with three or four fiery roasted peppers I was too chicken to even sniff.
When we convinced him we could eat no more, Uğur walked us through more of the real bazaar - one of countless wedged between the touristy Grand Bazaar and the equally touristy but delicious Spice Bazaar. Scuttling down this alley and that, he pointed out legit dowry trunks, round wood fired stoves used to bake börek and baklava (or anything else in a giant round pan), the unwieldy skewers that give "shish kebab" its name (şiş in Turkish), and all kinds of other unusual cooking accoutrement.
Yep, Anya. That's your future in a box right there. (Joking. Maybe.)
These were alleys I've never been down but could probably navigate out of - eventually. And then we went further. And further. And the neighborhood began to change. The streets, if possible, became slightly more feral and the prices advertised dropped. (Five lira for men's haircuts - isn't that basically stealing?) Women were wearing headscarves (literally "closed" in Turkish, by the way) and eyes became a little more curious as our strange and very Western party made its way down the cobblestones. My mom gave a little tug on my elbow and whispered that she wouldn't feel great coming here alone.
It took me many months of in-your-face-Turkishness to realize that conservatism does not always equate stranger danger in this city. Your discomfort, even in big doses, does not ensure something terrible will happen. Put on your big girl face and carry forth. And we did - past bundles of garlic and vegetables and nuts and gentlemen shoe-shiners chatting and old ladies gossiping about their grandchildren's love lives. Always the mind reader, Uğur somehow knew I needed to use the facilities and guided us down a lovely quiet street with crumbling old wooden Ottoman houses. We ducked through a stone archway past two shadowy figures into a decaying courtyard filled with kittens sunning themselves on a blue tarp.
He explained, pulling plastic chairs to a plastic chair in the middle of the yard, that this building was old as dirt and currently being renovated by a theater group. Phrasing it oh so delicately, he told us that this group wanted to provide the largely poor and originally rural demographic in the area a place to come - a place free from the conservative and religion-driven politics they're usually exposed to. Showing our colors now, Uğur, aren't we. He also told us that this place, dilapidated and ancient as it might look, was from Byzantine times and happened to have the cleanest bathroom in the place.
That was a surprise. He pulled a wedge of helva / halva from his jacket and opened it up for us to nibble while waiting to go to the bathroom. Damn he was good. I took the time to question him about where in the city he lived and what he thought about apartment prices. And then we were back to wandering the streets in search of loot. We didn't have far to go before we got to the most old school candy shop I've ever seen. In the windows were gingerbread-esque houses made out of gum drops and sugar and everything spicy and sweet.
We were beckoned inside to taste their wares and hopefully, buy something.
I'm guessing Uğur takes all his foreign friends here because they had no problem with him hanging out behind the counter and literally sticking his hand in the candy jar to dole out samples. I was given a cinnamon-flavored hunk of sugar which made my mouth burn. From here, we waddled along for another fifteen or so minutes before reaching a main attraction for most: lamb kebab. Despite the line probably 10 people deep, Uğur made his way to the kebab chef himself and somehow scored five half-sandwiches for everyone. Instantly. He got me a cup of freshly squeezed pomegranate juice and a few orange slices since we weren't allowed to go ten minutes without putting food of some kind in our pie holes. The others oohed and aahed over their kebab. It did smell fucking awesome.
Then started the actual walking portion of our walking food tour. As with much of Istanbul, there was a massive hill involved, along with a demolition crew taking a bulldozer to buildings that should probably be lovingly restored and then earthquake-proofed instead. (Thanks, Erdoğan. You're a gem.) We paused to admire a beautifully intact Byzantine church turned mosque and the forested cemetery across from it where a puppy snored quietly in the afternoon sunlight. We passed little çay (tea) houses with old men playing backgammon inside them and twirling their prayer beads. Soon the headscarf-ed ladies were replaced with curious students smiling at us, gossiping with cigarettes in hand and law textbooks open. A university, ahoy!
But before the university, boza. What is boza?
Yeah. I'm still not sure, except that it was cold, over-cinnamon'ed for my tastes, grainy, and unexpectedly a little fizzy? I was told it was made from fermented millet, so I guess that explains the fizz. Uğur told us we absolutely had to top our boza with roasted garbanzo beans and I just went with it, as you can see. I made it through about two spoonfulls before I thought - nay - knew that if I ingested anything further I would actually throw up. Legit. And who wanted that? I politely asked my compadres if they'd enjoy a little more boza, but no one had any room left. So I did what I usually do, and tried to casually observe my surroundings and not offend anyone. After noticing an antique silver boza cup in a glass case on the wall (Atatürk's boza cup, apparently, from when he visited this famous spot), I spotted this mustachioed fellow doing what he does best: hamming shit up for the camera. I had barely pulled out my camera when this feat of boza pyrotechnics began. He clearly does this for all the ladies. Jokes aside, this was a remarkably beautiful shop as you can see from the photo. One of my smart as a whip students (in law school now) informed me later that it is *the* boza joint in the city.
There wasn't much time to linger, of course. Unbeknownst to us, we still had LUNCH to eat. At a restaurant. So off we went again, cutting through the garden and courtyard of a beautiful mosque near Istanbul University and back into the heart of uber-conservative neighborhood Fatih. I mostly know Fatih from my tram rides, but I also had to come here two times to apply and then pick up my residency visa at the central police station. I can assure you it was as charming as it might sound. One great thing about Fatih, though: it's home to an ancient and very much still standing Roman aqueduct. The first time I saw this gorgeous piece of architecture was at night in a speeding vehicle and even then, I squealed. I love this city. Here's the aqueduct up close and personal. Note the chaps splitting a cup o' tea, gov'na:
With great aplomb, Uğur told us this part of Fatih is inhabited mostly by people originally from Siirt, an area of southeastern Turkey just north of where Syria and Iraq meet. Native Istanbulis (another technical term, mind you) tend to consider country folk from the southeast as... uncouth? Vulgar? I've heard less polite descriptions. Uğur mostly wanted to tell us that they have their own specialties in Siirt, like dehydrated meringues of yogurt. He also wanted to tell us that Erdoğan's wife is from Siirt and we should expect some conservative folk around. Fair enough. Those are pomegranates:
Our "lunch" was a sit down affair which my mom and I sadly couldn't partake in largely, but I again have to say - it looked top notch. Uğur asked me what he could order me and this may creep you out guys, but I asked for a bowl of fucking yogurt. The yogurt. THE YOGURT. And of course, because I was in Turkey, no one batted an eye and I was brought a giant bowl of mysteriously textured / chunky stuff. I plunged a spoon in the heap and gave it a go.
Buffalo milk yogurt, friends. This is the answer. I don't know the question, but this is surely the answer. Transcendently tart, thick, and just chock full of fat, I'm sure of it. They also threw some rice my way, which was fine. But the YOGURT.
After our 12th cup of tea, a plate of künefe (hairy baklava with cheese in it - yes) and some story times, it was finally the moment to part ways. One of the best days of my life was coming to a delicious close and I can honestly say I've never experienced this city, or any city, in such a unique and fun way. I vowed that I wouldn't eat or drink again for the duration of our trip, of course, and a few hours later met up with a gentleman friend for a night of intense drinking and flirting. Somehow the stomach finds a way.
Istanbul Eats, will you be mine?
p.s. a book of these places was published by the guy who founded the company and we were all given a copy, so, uh, if you weren't sure you wanted to visit me, you best be now, friends! (You especially, KD.)
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