Through the Straits to Constantinople
After Ephesus, we spent a full day at sea getting to the cruise's final destination. We sailed north along Turkey's eastern coast, then entered the Dardanelles, sailed through the Sea of Marmara, and then through the Bosphorus to the Golden Horn. The geography geek in me thrilled at the itinerary -- I'd known all these names for so long, and even though I'd been to Istanbul with Kendell once before, in 2000, I hadn't seen the Dardanelles or the Sea of Marmara.
Geographical lifelists aside, there wasn't all that much to see. Which was fine: a day of just sitting on deck and reading was very welcome.
There was one interesting landmark, however: soon after we entered the Dardanelles, we saw on the northwestern shore the battlefield of Gallipoli. Or, rather, we saw the enormous grey arch commemorating Turkey's war dead. As we passed slowly by it, one of the cruise directors read a quotation from a speech Atatürk once delivered at that battlefield. It was so beautifully written that I have to share it here:Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives, you are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore, rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons, as well.
The next morning when we woke up, we were in Istanbul. Mark Twain had a similar experience:
We dropped anchor in the mouth of the Golden Horn at daylight in the morning. Only three or four of us were up to see the great Ottoman capital of Constantinople. The passengers do not turn out at unseasonable hours, as they used to, to get the earliest possible glimpse of strange foreign cities. They are well over that. If we were lying in sight of the Pyramids of Egypt, they would not come on deck until after breakfast, now-a-days.
I have to admit it was tempting to be one of these layabouts, but we had to get off the ship by 8 AM, I think; and anyway, how often does one get to see Istanbul at dawn? So we dragged ourselves abovedeck in the six o'clock hour, and were well rewarded with a view of the minarets of the Hagia Sophia, the Sultanahmet Mosque, and the Topkapı palace bathed in rosy light.
I later recalled how in his history of Venice, John Julius Norwich says that the only proper way to approach Venice is by sea, given that the city was wholly dedicated to overseas commerce. I still haven't approached Venice by sea (only train, alas), but I can definitely say that entering Istanbul by water at dawn is an awesome way to go about it.
That said, our previous entry of Istanbul was also pretty picturesque. We'd ridden a train all day from Thessaloniki and arrived in Istanbul well past dark. As we were getting off the train, the station's speakers began blaring out the call to prayer. Hollywood couldn't ask for a better establishing scene.
Anyway, after we got off the boat, bid our cruise farewell, and checked into our hotel, we took Kendell's mother on a whirlwind tour of the main sights. We only had that day in which to hit the highlights, whereas when Kendell and I went in 2000, we'd had four solid days.
Still, we managed to take in the Hagia Sophia, the Sultanahmet Mosque (a.k.a. the Blue Mosque), the Cistern Basilica (a.k.a the Sunken Palace), the Grand Bazaar (a.k.a. the Covered Market), and the Topkapı Palace (a.k.a. the Seraglio). (Yes, everything in Istanbul has two names.)
It was a little strange visiting the same sites we'd visited nine years previously, when we'd just graduated from college. Nothing about the palace of the Ottoman Sultans had changed, but of course we had. I have to admit that there are things that I wish I'd managed to achieve in the last nine years. On the other hand, there have been some interesting twists and turns in the road that I would never have foreseen, and which I'm happy about. So it's a mixed bag.
I'll leave you with some photos.
First, the Cistern Basilica, an immense underground chamber with over 300 ancient Greco-Roman columns (including a Medusa head in the second photo that was recycled as a plinth). The floor was covered in all directions in a few inches of water, as was the original intention: the cistern supplied Constantinople with drinking water during the many sieges it endured.
These last three are of the Blue Mosque, the Grand Bazaar, and the Topkapı Palace (the palace of the Sultans).
Geographical lifelists aside, there wasn't all that much to see. Which was fine: a day of just sitting on deck and reading was very welcome.
There was one interesting landmark, however: soon after we entered the Dardanelles, we saw on the northwestern shore the battlefield of Gallipoli. Or, rather, we saw the enormous grey arch commemorating Turkey's war dead. As we passed slowly by it, one of the cruise directors read a quotation from a speech Atatürk once delivered at that battlefield. It was so beautifully written that I have to share it here:Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives, you are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore, rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons, as well.
The next morning when we woke up, we were in Istanbul. Mark Twain had a similar experience:
We dropped anchor in the mouth of the Golden Horn at daylight in the morning. Only three or four of us were up to see the great Ottoman capital of Constantinople. The passengers do not turn out at unseasonable hours, as they used to, to get the earliest possible glimpse of strange foreign cities. They are well over that. If we were lying in sight of the Pyramids of Egypt, they would not come on deck until after breakfast, now-a-days.
I have to admit it was tempting to be one of these layabouts, but we had to get off the ship by 8 AM, I think; and anyway, how often does one get to see Istanbul at dawn? So we dragged ourselves abovedeck in the six o'clock hour, and were well rewarded with a view of the minarets of the Hagia Sophia, the Sultanahmet Mosque, and the Topkapı palace bathed in rosy light.
I later recalled how in his history of Venice, John Julius Norwich says that the only proper way to approach Venice is by sea, given that the city was wholly dedicated to overseas commerce. I still haven't approached Venice by sea (only train, alas), but I can definitely say that entering Istanbul by water at dawn is an awesome way to go about it.
That said, our previous entry of Istanbul was also pretty picturesque. We'd ridden a train all day from Thessaloniki and arrived in Istanbul well past dark. As we were getting off the train, the station's speakers began blaring out the call to prayer. Hollywood couldn't ask for a better establishing scene.
Anyway, after we got off the boat, bid our cruise farewell, and checked into our hotel, we took Kendell's mother on a whirlwind tour of the main sights. We only had that day in which to hit the highlights, whereas when Kendell and I went in 2000, we'd had four solid days.
Still, we managed to take in the Hagia Sophia, the Sultanahmet Mosque (a.k.a. the Blue Mosque), the Cistern Basilica (a.k.a the Sunken Palace), the Grand Bazaar (a.k.a. the Covered Market), and the Topkapı Palace (a.k.a. the Seraglio). (Yes, everything in Istanbul has two names.)
It was a little strange visiting the same sites we'd visited nine years previously, when we'd just graduated from college. Nothing about the palace of the Ottoman Sultans had changed, but of course we had. I have to admit that there are things that I wish I'd managed to achieve in the last nine years. On the other hand, there have been some interesting twists and turns in the road that I would never have foreseen, and which I'm happy about. So it's a mixed bag.
I'll leave you with some photos.
First, the Cistern Basilica, an immense underground chamber with over 300 ancient Greco-Roman columns (including a Medusa head in the second photo that was recycled as a plinth). The floor was covered in all directions in a few inches of water, as was the original intention: the cistern supplied Constantinople with drinking water during the many sieges it endured.
These last three are of the Blue Mosque, the Grand Bazaar, and the Topkapı Palace (the palace of the Sultans).