Food Feature: Pampered Turkey
Experience extravagance through the ages in the ancient palaces and modern boroughs of Istanbul
Romance drips from just about every corner of Istanbul. The Eurasian town is edged in water and filled with stunning architecture, its extraordinary medieval features traced by narrow curving streets. The city is a deluge of Turkish delights.
My first rendezvous with the City of Seven Hills was on a sunset cruise down the Bosporous. (The strait flows from the Sea of Marmara to the Black Sea, creating a natural fissure in Istanbul — European Istanbul to the west, and Asian Istanbul to the east.) I was sitting on the upper deck with a glass of red from the Villa Doluca vineyard, wrapped in a wool shawl against the autumn chill when I fell deeply in love. Our cruise wove back and forth between the banks of the strait, passing bridges and ferries that link the two sides of the port city, skimming close to beautiful palaces and waterside villas, stately schools, elegant mosques and minarets.
In the days that followed, 3,000 years of passion came to life as I toured the city. I spent hours wandering through the Hagia Sophia (meaning Divine Wisdom) completed in 537 by order of Emperor Justinian. The vast domed basilica is adorned with crumbling Biblical mosaics and gilded Islamic shields that echo layers of Byzantine and Ottoman history. Sultan Ahmet Cami’i, or the Blue Mosque, beckoned me to contemplate the spiritual — from the six slender minarets outside, to the blue domed inner sanctum.
I came upon the same splendor inside Topkapi Palace. The Ottoman palace built in 1462 holds a maze of courtyards, vaulted buildings, long porticos, gates, mosques, treasure rooms and a harem. Surrounded with such extravagance, one could almost imagine the pleasure in becoming the object of a rich sultan’s desire. Dolmabahce Palace, too, mirrors a decadent past. Bear rugs, a grand piano and gleaming chandeliers embellish fading imperial interiors that mingle Baroque, rococo and Empire styles. The crystal balustrade lacing the central staircase looked as if it came straight from the ballroom of the Titanic.
Less stately paths were even more appealing. I was taken to the Yerebatan Sarayi, or Basilica Cistern, a quirky underground waterway. Commanded by Justinian, the shadowy subterranean reservoir is a Byzantine wonder. In recent times, the Yerebatan Sarayi played a part in the James Bond film From Russia With Love (the secret agent spied on the Russian embassy via a rubber dinghy). Now falling into ruin, the Pera Palace manages to keep a romantic aura from days when the hotel housed the first travelers on the Orient Express, among them Agatha Christie, Ernest Hemingway and Sara Bernhardt. I toasted their spirits with a cocktail in the Pera’s Orient Bar.
Other exotic temptations awaited in the Grand Bazaar. Like Ali Baba’s cave, the 4,000 shops of the Kapali Çarsi overflow with gold, Turkish carpets and silks, mosaic boxes, tea sets and mounds of ubiquitous nazar boncugu, a blue-eyed bead that wards off the “evil eye.” I gathered beads, earrings, shawls and tapestry pillows, mosaic boxes and silver pressed into Byzantine coins, pages from old Islamic books, miniature paintings and vintage photographs. I collected chewy sweet lokum (the candy we know as Turkish Delight), saffron, pistachios and henna.
Seductive, delicious Istanbul. Everything that touched my lips was drawn from the well of Turkey, every sweet and savory taste made with local nuts, fruits and vegetables, fresh fish and meats. I was told, as I wantonly indulged, that anything made with an intensity of nuts, honey, dried fruits and spices might inspire amorous impulses.
Those urges were easy to appease in a city constantly shifting from ancient to modern and back again. Nowhere did I find the contrasts more enchanting than in Beyoglu. The quarter that began as a 13th century Genoese colony peopled with international tradesmen and bohemians is now a mix of contemporary chic and tradition. At Beyoglu’s heart lies Istiklal Caddesi, a long street of bistros and shops.
In a tiny restaurant, nomadic women kneel to roll out and bake flat bread on hot round metal plates. Around the corner, college kids hang at the hip Dulcinea, a bar with a contemporary art gallery downstairs. Pedestrians alter their courses for teenage performers with accordions and violins. A bright turbaned ice cream vendor from Anatolia stands tweaking his enormous waxed black moustache. The scent of hot chocolate wafts from a small cafe where chefs scoop thick syrup onto cream-filled profiteroles.
Only steps from that animated scene, I slipped into the strange public intimacy of a Turkish bath, joining a harem of naked foreign women on a bed of steaming hot marble. My body scrubbed, rinsed and massaged, I sat on a low step for a bucket hair washing that drenched me in childhood memories. Out in the street an hour later, I was surprised at the lingering daylight and charmed by the Muslim call to prayer undulating in the air.
Nocturnal Istanbul evaded my pursuit — at first. The incredibly popular music club Gode is now only open to members. Weeknight performances end early. Arriving at midnight on a Wednesday, I was too late to hear live jazz at Babylon. But I got lucky the evening I ventured to Ortaköy.
The artsy district on the European coast is recognizable for its exquisite white mosque. You can always find people eating and drinking al fresco on Ortaköy’s quayside square or strolling streets lined with cafes and street vendors. We chanced into Christina’s Restaurant Bar where two young Turkish men performed pop tunes for local regulars.
Before leaving Istanbul, I took one last excursion. A friend and I boarded a ferry heading north up the Bosporous to Anadolu Kavagi, a remote fishing village at the mouth of the Black Sea. Just past the landing, vendors with fresh grilled fish, ice cream and waffles tried to distract us from our intended climb to the ruins of a Genoese fortress on the hill above.
Reaching the top, we were suspended in a misty panorama that swept from the dark water beyond to the city we’d left behind. I felt dizzy from countless sensations. Irrepressible Istanbul had gone to my head and would never stop luring me back.