Magic carpet ride
Julie and I have been discovering Istanbul and just stopped for a few minutes to send email between breakfast on the terrace (olives, cheese, cucumber...) and a visit to the Topkapi Palace.
Breakfast!
Yesterday we went to the three Istanbul establishments that best seem to represent the crazy history of this country - a mosque, a church, and the bazaars. This email's about the latter, so the seemingly unsupported dome, beautiful tilework and my first mihrab get short shrift for now. Americans and their malls have nothing on the Turks. The old silk road and its associated caravans have arrived in Istanbul with evil eye pendants, hookahs, brassieres dripping with gold coins, designer bags, knock-off bags, tea sets, tapestries and the obligatory rug. The only thing more overwhelming than the selection are the hawkers who can pick a tourist from a crowd 100 yards away and use enough English for these now-familiar phrases: "You want to buy a rug?" "I will help you spend money." "You are my lover in my dreams." "Where are you from?" "Have you bought a rug yet?" Don't be fooled, these people want to make a deal, but they're also pretty serious about their craft. Julie was inspecting a painted tile and innocently remarked to me that she was interested in finding some coasters. She was subsequently treated to a 5 minute lecture about how terribly inappropriate it would be to use the tile for that purpose and how appreciating a tile does not involve placing beverages on them.
Julie's developed quite a posse here in Istanbul in the two days she was here before me (someone actually shouted "hey Minnesota" as we were walking down the street), which includes some very helpful folks at a travel agency. Yesterday while we were making arrangements for our next leg, one of the travel agents offered to take us to the "best rug expert in Istanbul" for a lecture. We returned at the designated time and were led to an upper room in a hotel (you enter via the rug shop by ducking up a stairway that's hidden by a hanging rug) which looked exactly like I imagined a harem to be. Hundreds of tassels hung from the ceiling, there were mounds of carpets surrounding us and curtains draped strategically around the room as we sat at a low table, drank beer, and learned how to appreciate a quality rug. The rug expert knew his stuff and shared some valuable tips about how to pick out a good rug. His advice included trying to light the rug on fire to check the material (wool and silk don't burn - "the house can burn down, but the carpets will remain"), picking out simple patterns ("you see that rug? It looks like aliens are landing on it. If you hate someone you don't have to hire a killer, you could give them that rug and their life would be ruined"), and finding rugs that only use natural dyes ("that color doesn't exist in nature. Yuck. It makes me sick. This rug, you see this blue? This green? These are real colors"). He also warned us not to be fooled by a pretty design (good material, good color first) or by the number or type of knots used ("fuck the knots"). And then he lit up a joint. If you had asked me to describe what I expected Turkey to be like before I left Seattle, I might have come close to our rug excursion last night. We left knowing a little bit more about rugs, a lot about Turkish hospitality, and a real desire to buy rugs.
Breakfast!
Yesterday we went to the three Istanbul establishments that best seem to represent the crazy history of this country - a mosque, a church, and the bazaars. This email's about the latter, so the seemingly unsupported dome, beautiful tilework and my first mihrab get short shrift for now. Americans and their malls have nothing on the Turks. The old silk road and its associated caravans have arrived in Istanbul with evil eye pendants, hookahs, brassieres dripping with gold coins, designer bags, knock-off bags, tea sets, tapestries and the obligatory rug. The only thing more overwhelming than the selection are the hawkers who can pick a tourist from a crowd 100 yards away and use enough English for these now-familiar phrases: "You want to buy a rug?" "I will help you spend money." "You are my lover in my dreams." "Where are you from?" "Have you bought a rug yet?" Don't be fooled, these people want to make a deal, but they're also pretty serious about their craft. Julie was inspecting a painted tile and innocently remarked to me that she was interested in finding some coasters. She was subsequently treated to a 5 minute lecture about how terribly inappropriate it would be to use the tile for that purpose and how appreciating a tile does not involve placing beverages on them.
Julie's developed quite a posse here in Istanbul in the two days she was here before me (someone actually shouted "hey Minnesota" as we were walking down the street), which includes some very helpful folks at a travel agency. Yesterday while we were making arrangements for our next leg, one of the travel agents offered to take us to the "best rug expert in Istanbul" for a lecture. We returned at the designated time and were led to an upper room in a hotel (you enter via the rug shop by ducking up a stairway that's hidden by a hanging rug) which looked exactly like I imagined a harem to be. Hundreds of tassels hung from the ceiling, there were mounds of carpets surrounding us and curtains draped strategically around the room as we sat at a low table, drank beer, and learned how to appreciate a quality rug. The rug expert knew his stuff and shared some valuable tips about how to pick out a good rug. His advice included trying to light the rug on fire to check the material (wool and silk don't burn - "the house can burn down, but the carpets will remain"), picking out simple patterns ("you see that rug? It looks like aliens are landing on it. If you hate someone you don't have to hire a killer, you could give them that rug and their life would be ruined"), and finding rugs that only use natural dyes ("that color doesn't exist in nature. Yuck. It makes me sick. This rug, you see this blue? This green? These are real colors"). He also warned us not to be fooled by a pretty design (good material, good color first) or by the number or type of knots used ("fuck the knots"). And then he lit up a joint. If you had asked me to describe what I expected Turkey to be like before I left Seattle, I might have come close to our rug excursion last night. We left knowing a little bit more about rugs, a lot about Turkish hospitality, and a real desire to buy rugs.
posted by Imle at 5:04 PM
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