Today is my day to visit Sim Moda Evi, one of the world's haute couture costume designers and I'm too excited to sleep. It's not far from the hotel, and I have a little map but can't seem to find it. I know I'm in the right block but despite walking back and forth and asking numerous people for assistance, no luck. :-( I'm ready to give up when I approach a young woman who decides it's her mission to find Sim Moda for me. How nice! She's bi-lingual, but even she has trouble. Eventually we find it, and I climb the four floors to their showroom/sewing center. Wow! I'm in belly dancer heaven. Glittery beads, gigantic rhinestones and eye-popping costumes in every imaginable color. The fabrics are lush and beautiful; the designs scrumptious.
I've already me
t the seamstresses at the Festival and they introduce me to their head designer who looks me over an says 'try this one.' The guy is a genius. The costume looks like it was made just for me...except it's mauve. 'I don't know about the color,' I hesitate. 'It's color no good for you, he says, we'll make what color you like...and, that skirt..we'll add chiffon gussets..you know, better for your shape.' I think I'm in love. We play with different colors, different chiffons, matching and re-matching....and as I write, there is a Sim Moda being made especially for me. I head out to the ATM to deplete my bank account. When I return he's already cutting my material. What an experience. :-)))
My plan today is to enjoy the sights and sounds of Istanbul as I wander down Istiklar. The streets are very clean. Street sweepers like we have here in the US pass every hour or so. Shop keepers are washing and cleaning their windows and the streets in front of their shops. I had even noticed that my cabbie kept a cloth handy and he'd wipe mirrors etc. when he had the chance. The Turks are very fastidious.
In addition, Istanbul has been designated as the 2010 European Capital of Culture. Strolling along Istiklir I come upon groups of street musicians, then, other groups of student artists who are oil painting for all to marvel at and enjoy. One elderly man sitting on a box chants, never looking up. Perhaps Koranic verses? His young grandson holds a microphone to his mouth so all passerby's can hear. The sights and sounds are electric.
There are lots of colorfully decorated shops where ice cream is made as you watch. Turkish ice cream looks like a big wad of dough which the ice cream maker continuously kneads, then puts in in an ice cream tub and kneads some more with a big rod. I treat myself to a small cone of lemon and it's delicious. It tastes nothing like the ice cream we're familiar with. It's cold but a bit chewy and doesn't melt in the cone, at least not faster than I eat it. The ice cream maker is gaily dressed and when I ask to take his picture, he pokes the big rod into the ice cream tub, pulls the whole thing out and poses for me.
Next stop, music. People in shops, restaurants and even cabbies get excited when I ask what music I'm hearing, and are happy to write the song or artist's names in my journal. I pass a group of music stores, select on, and go in armed with my journal. I assume I'm dealing with the owner because he's so eager to play different CDs for me. As it turns out he's just a clerk. But a really nice one! Ah, he keep saying, I know what you like -- as it turns out, Classical Turkish -- and I leave with five beautiful new CDs.
Istiklar goes on and on and stores are grouped according to specialty. I pass through a section of beautifully displayed scarves, another has different types of 'evil eyes,' each bringing it's own special good luck. The ones with turtles are for students, turtles signifying the slow, steady progress that learning takes, others are for success in business, some are for parents. For 7 TL you can buy a lot of good luck. Other stores specialize in nuts and candy. Displayed everywhere is Turkish Delight, a jelly-like cube rolled in powdered sugar that is the national candy; it thrills my sweet tooth. Yum.
In a while I find myself on a smaller streets of shops specializing in musical instruments.
Doumbecs, ouds and other instruments hang in the windows; Istanbul cymbals are proudly displayed everywhere. Good for me! I'm looking for a nice set of Turkish zills. Sadly, there are none to be found, only cheap student ones. More shops, more shopping. I pass art stores and buy Bill a lovely watercolor of a sailboat with a mosque on the horizon and some old (looking) harem prints for me. I'm now in a part of town where the streets are of cobblestone and narrow and hilly; I even slip a couple of times when climbing a steep one, then realize I've been walking for hours and am very tired, sort of lost, and hungry.
Mmmm, food. Turkish food is delicious and healthy. Many small restaurants have their dishes displayed so just pointing to something that looks good can result in a satisfying meal. I choose something, maybe a stuffed zucchini in some kind of red sauce? Don't know. The chef offers fresh yogurt and rice with it. Sounds good...and it is. Delicious and I (again) clean my plate.
As I leave the chefs are delighted to pose in front of their foods and insist I send them their photo once I return to the states.
Well, I'm still lost and tired and it takes about an hour to find my way back to Hotel Londra and a sound nap.
I awake in time for, what else, dinner, and leave the hotel again. Each time I think that my trip can't get any better, it does. I'm wandering up an alley when I find a small restaurant and hear live music. The waiter invites me in and from what I can understand, it's a prix fixe dinner for 60TL. I'm only one person, I say, not too hungry. No problem, we'll work it out he indicates. We do all this through sign language and I have no idea what I'm agreeing to, but the music is realllly good. Four older musicians are playing some songs that sound familiar but many I've never heard. My waiter brings a mezza plate...'small one'...he says. It's enough for a complete dinner. Chicken, meat or fish, he asks. Chicken. Who knows what's next?
One of the musicians appears to speak a little English, so I decide to request a song. Do you know Shenaz Longa or Nehavet Longa? He looks incredulous. He translates to his friends and they
become very animated. 'How you know this??? Shenaz Longa!!' I like Turkish music, I say, figuring I'll leave it at that. Suddenly, everyone is my best friend. My waiter begins speaking halting English, tells me about his children and writes the names of the mezza and the ingredients in my journal. A group having a party gets up to dance and the musicians motion for me to join them. Then they play Sultanyieh...do you know this one they ask? Wine arrives, compliments of my waiter and later, a mezza of dessert arrives 'on the house.' An extraordinary last night in Istanbul. I'm teary thinking of it.
Morning comes and time to say good-bye. It's my last hour in Istanbul and I'm on the 6th floor terrace of the Hotel Londra enjoying the view. Like Istanbul itself, the terrace is lovely, with trellised roses and lush plants and a view of both the ancient and modern. Noisy bumper to bumper streets run alongside the Mamara Sea. On the other side lies the Old city of Istanbul with it's many mosque spires reaching toward the heavens and beyond that the Bosphorous and a few of the hundreds of immense cargo ships that pass through it each day.
My bags are packed, the cab has arrived and I'm off to the airport for my 15 hour flight back home.
I've already me
t the seamstresses at the Festival and they introduce me to their head designer who looks me over an says 'try this one.' The guy is a genius. The costume looks like it was made just for me...except it's mauve. 'I don't know about the color,' I hesitate. 'It's color no good for you, he says, we'll make what color you like...and, that skirt..we'll add chiffon gussets..you know, better for your shape.' I think I'm in love. We play with different colors, different chiffons, matching and re-matching....and as I write, there is a Sim Moda being made especially for me. I head out to the ATM to deplete my bank account. When I return he's already cutting my material. What an experience. :-)))My plan today is to enjoy the sights and sounds of Istanbul as I wander down Istiklar. The streets are very clean. Street sweepers like we have here in the US pass every hour or so. Shop keepers are washing and cleaning their windows and the streets in front of their shops. I had even noticed that my cabbie kept a cloth handy and he'd wipe mirrors etc. when he had the chance. The Turks are very fastidious.
In addition, Istanbul has been designated as the 2010 European Capital of Culture. Strolling along Istiklir I come upon groups of street musicians, then, other groups of student artists who are oil painting for all to marvel at and enjoy. One elderly man sitting on a box chants, never looking up. Perhaps Koranic verses? His young grandson holds a microphone to his mouth so all passerby's can hear. The sights and sounds are electric.
There are lots of colorfully decorated shops where ice cream is made as you watch. Turkish ice cream looks like a big wad of dough which the ice cream maker continuously kneads, then puts in in an ice cream tub and kneads some more with a big rod. I treat myself to a small cone of lemon and it's delicious. It tastes nothing like the ice cream we're familiar with. It's cold but a bit chewy and doesn't melt in the cone, at least not faster than I eat it. The ice cream maker is gaily dressed and when I ask to take his picture, he pokes the big rod into the ice cream tub, pulls the whole thing out and poses for me.Next stop, music. People in shops, restaurants and even cabbies get excited when I ask what music I'm hearing, and are happy to write the song or artist's names in my journal. I pass a group of music stores, select on, and go in armed with my journal. I assume I'm dealing with the owner because he's so eager to play different CDs for me. As it turns out he's just a clerk. But a really nice one! Ah, he keep saying, I know what you like -- as it turns out, Classical Turkish -- and I leave with five beautiful new CDs.
Istiklar goes on and on and stores are grouped according to specialty. I pass through a section of beautifully displayed scarves, another has different types of 'evil eyes,' each bringing it's own special good luck. The ones with turtles are for students, turtles signifying the slow, steady progress that learning takes, others are for success in business, some are for parents. For 7 TL you can buy a lot of good luck. Other stores specialize in nuts and candy. Displayed everywhere is Turkish Delight, a jelly-like cube rolled in powdered sugar that is the national candy; it thrills my sweet tooth. Yum.
In a while I find myself on a smaller streets of shops specializing in musical instruments.
Doumbecs, ouds and other instruments hang in the windows; Istanbul cymbals are proudly displayed everywhere. Good for me! I'm looking for a nice set of Turkish zills. Sadly, there are none to be found, only cheap student ones. More shops, more shopping. I pass art stores and buy Bill a lovely watercolor of a sailboat with a mosque on the horizon and some old (looking) harem prints for me. I'm now in a part of town where the streets are of cobblestone and narrow and hilly; I even slip a couple of times when climbing a steep one, then realize I've been walking for hours and am very tired, sort of lost, and hungry.
Mmmm, food. Turkish food is delicious and healthy. Many small restaurants have their dishes displayed so just pointing to something that looks good can result in a satisfying meal. I choose something, maybe a stuffed zucchini in some kind of red sauce? Don't know. The chef offers fresh yogurt and rice with it. Sounds good...and it is. Delicious and I (again) clean my plate.As I leave the chefs are delighted to pose in front of their foods and insist I send them their photo once I return to the states.
Well, I'm still lost and tired and it takes about an hour to find my way back to Hotel Londra and a sound nap.
I awake in time for, what else, dinner, and leave the hotel again. Each time I think that my trip can't get any better, it does. I'm wandering up an alley when I find a small restaurant and hear live music. The waiter invites me in and from what I can understand, it's a prix fixe dinner for 60TL. I'm only one person, I say, not too hungry. No problem, we'll work it out he indicates. We do all this through sign language and I have no idea what I'm agreeing to, but the music is realllly good. Four older musicians are playing some songs that sound familiar but many I've never heard. My waiter brings a mezza plate...'small one'...he says. It's enough for a complete dinner. Chicken, meat or fish, he asks. Chicken. Who knows what's next?
One of the musicians appears to speak a little English, so I decide to request a song. Do you know Shenaz Longa or Nehavet Longa? He looks incredulous. He translates to his friends and they
become very animated. 'How you know this??? Shenaz Longa!!' I like Turkish music, I say, figuring I'll leave it at that. Suddenly, everyone is my best friend. My waiter begins speaking halting English, tells me about his children and writes the names of the mezza and the ingredients in my journal. A group having a party gets up to dance and the musicians motion for me to join them. Then they play Sultanyieh...do you know this one they ask? Wine arrives, compliments of my waiter and later, a mezza of dessert arrives 'on the house.' An extraordinary last night in Istanbul. I'm teary thinking of it.Morning comes and time to say good-bye. It's my last hour in Istanbul and I'm on the 6th floor terrace of the Hotel Londra enjoying the view. Like Istanbul itself, the terrace is lovely, with trellised roses and lush plants and a view of both the ancient and modern. Noisy bumper to bumper streets run alongside the Mamara Sea. On the other side lies the Old city of Istanbul with it's many mosque spires reaching toward the heavens and beyond that the Bosphorous and a few of the hundreds of immense cargo ships that pass through it each day.
My bags are packed, the cab has arrived and I'm off to the airport for my 15 hour flight back home.
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