Day 186: Istanbul or Constantinople? (02/08/2011)

The eastern end of the Mediterranean packs parts of Africa, Asia and Europe into a tiny space and this may be why it is often a flash point for trouble.

We left Egypt just before the Revolution burst back into life, and while Jordan had some wonders, they were thin on the ground. Travelling to Turkey was something that Clare was happy to do but which was a must for me. That we had crammed it into the itinerary was a triumph, but only at the cost of an extra week in India.

The further east you go, the more strange and exotic the airport destinations begin to sound. New possibilities for future travel seemed to open up  as every new flight was announced, beckoning us to Tehran, Baku and a host of other seemingly mystical cities that felt like they had been lifted bodily from the pages of a nineteenth century fantasy.

The flight to Istanbul was excellent as usual. Arabs are inveterate queue jumpers and Jordanians are no exception, merely taking the brazen pushing to a whole new level when compared to their Egyptian cousins.

We passed over a massive anti-cyclone, rotating over Famagusta in Cyprus. Convoys of freighters plied the Mediterranean seven miles below us and when we finally arrived, the sun reflected brightly off the Sea of Maramara, the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn that has defined the city for nearly two thousand years since it was founded following the split of the Roman Empire in about 300AD.

Knowing we were there was not, however, the same as knowing where we needed to be. Our hotel fulsomely admitted on itrs website to being almost impossible find and sure enough, with the meter running, our taxi driver circled the old town of Sultanamhet, stopping from time to time to ask for directions. Eventually we arrived at the almost invisible Medussa hotel and were deposited into the arms of the famously hospitable staff. The rooms were small as they had promised and the walls were thin but the beds were comfy and we were there at last, in the heart of what some regard as the greatest city the world has ever known.

Time was marching on when we had finished lunch and so there was little we could do. A twenty minute dash around the Mosaic museum behind the Blue Mosque which was closed for prayers, was far more rewarding than the dry name suggested. Housing the mosaic floor of the long since demolished fifth century Grand Imperial Palace of the emperor Justinian, which was unearthed in the 1930’s. Incredibly artistic and life-like depictions of hunting scenes and pastoral life stretch over the 70m surface of the mosaic. The conservation has been painstaking but quite aside from the quality of the 1,500 year old workmanship, is the fact that the most powerful men in the world walked on this surface – actually touched it. I felt connected to the history of the Byzantium Empire in a way that I have never felt before.

When prayer time was over, we marvelled at the cascading domes of the Blue Mosque built by Sultan Mehmet following the fall of Constantinople. Big as it is, it pales into insignificance when compared to its neighbour, the Aya Sophia for whom superlatives are simply not enough to convey the statistics, let alone the majesty of the place.

Originally built to consecrate the new city of Byzantium in around 330AD, it remained the largest building in the world for over 1,000 years and the largest church for a good deal longer. It has collected some of the world’s finest treasures and boasts bronze gates from ancient Thebes and pillars from Sidon. The domed roof is 38m across and was not surpassed until the nineteenth century. Mehmet converted the church into a mosque in 1453 following his conquest. It houses graffiti from the Viking bodyguards of the emperor, the original marble door frame through which the church synod walked since the city's inception and the tomb of Enrico Dandolo, the blind Venitian Doge who brought the city low in 1202 and handed it over to the Franks, from which it never recovered before the final Turkish conquests in 1453. The treasures of Aya Sophia and the city of Constantinople have long since been pillaged but the Church, now a giant museum, remains perhaps the greatest and best preserved building of antiquity.

Close by is the Cistern Basilica, another architectural marvel commissioned by Justinian in the 6^th century. Known as the Vanishing Palace, it is a subterranean water-tank whose roof is supported by 384 columns, storing 100,000 tonnes of water for the city.

In the grounds of the Topkapi Palace is the Archaeological Museum where a host of ancient treasures rests. The highlights for me were the perfectly preserved busts of the Byzantium emperors and the chain slung across the Golden horn since time immemorial to keep enemy fleets away from the city walls. With this is the warning bell from the Galatta tower, rung when an attacking fleet was sighted.

Later we walked to Taksim square and climbed the tower. The views of the three bodies of water that define the city are fantastic but the crush at the top was ridiculous.

We meandered down cobbled streets lined with wooden houses with projecting casement windows in the Ottoman style and back across the Golden Horn via the Galatta bridge whose underside is lined with shops and restauants.

Fearless kids jumped from the bridge amongst the jostling ferries and fishermen ignored the prohibition signs and dangled rods into the water.

We ambled through the Egyptian market full of everything from puppys to buckets and sadly took a taxi over Bosphorus to airport, past the strategic castle and the roadside ravines with houses tumbling down slopes.

Istanbul was magnificent.

Now it is precious.