The last one

It had to come sooner or later....

After writing last night's blog we went down through Gulhane Park to the very tip of Europe, to watch the famous republic day fireworks. We had been told that this republic day was extra special because it's the republic of Turkey's 90th birthday, and also it was the grand opening of the the first Europe to Asia railway tunnel. All the public buildings, and many others, were covered in Turkish flag and pictures of Kemal Ataturk. As well as being the father of modern Turkey, Kiwis may be interested to know that he commanded the Turkish forces at Gallipoli.

As we approached, we could see searchlights arcing across the sky, in a lightshow coordinated between the Bosphorus Bridge, and two other points in the harbour. The bridge is 5km away from us but still it was lighting up the whole sky. We had read that the fireworks would start at 7pm so we found a good spot and waited for the fun to start. And waited, and waited. Finally the fireworks got going at 7.55 but wow, did they make up for lost time. The display started with a waterfall of red sparks all along the span of the bridge, followed by the biggest, most intense display I've ever seen, most of them continuing the red and white theme.

In the morning we renewed our acquaintance with the famous blue mosque. This is a functioning mosque, not a museum, so Ann covered her head with a scarf, and we took off our shoes to go inside. The Blue Mosque is a similar shape to the Aya Sofya, but a little smaller, much lighter, and much more photogenic. It's called 'blue' because of the 10,000 priceless Iznic tiles that line the walls.

Next we went down the hill a few hundred metres to look at "the little Aya Sofya", a little church built by the Emperor Justinian and his wife just to get them in the zone for building the big kahuna up the hill. It is now a mosque, so we crept in, shoes in hand. The imam was quite cross that we didn't make a donation, but all we had was a 50 lira note. Embarrassing...

After a sit down and a cuppa, we were off to the Istanbul Archeology Museum, where they have put all the portable loot from the Ottoman and Byzantine Empires. It also has a huge amount of Babylonian-type remains, from enormous statues of gods, down to the world's first recorded love poem, pressed into a clay tablet with the end of a reed. But most clay tablets they found were business letters, so I guess the world hasn't changed.

This sad Roman lady is carved on the side of a burial chamber.

And a mosaic museum

Determined to finish the holiday on a roll, the Basilica Cistern was next. Another relic of Byzantine times, this was built as water storage for the city. Having a secure water supply was as important as having a city wall or an army, so they didn't compromise. The vaulted roof of the cistern is held up by 336 stone columns salvaged from other buildings. As with so much we've seen on this holiday, it would be a remarkable achievement in modern times, but the Romans got there first.

So now we are at the airport, waiting for our flight back to Auckland, and thinking back on this amazing trip.

Thanks for reading.

Istanbul Part 2

Our first mission today was to reach the small Chora church (Kariye Museum) about 5km further up the Golden Horn. Feeling intrepid, we again took the public transport option, taking a ferry. The day was already starting to warm up, so we were glad of the breeze. 

Then it's a steep walk up narrow streets, passing the old Byzantine city walls. The church is no longer in use, but it has the most beautiful mosaics we've ever seen. They date from the 1300's, when the church was built by the treasurer to the Byzantine emperor. The faces are so serene, and the work is so detailed, it takes your breath away. The mosaic tiles vary in size, but the ones used for the facial detail are only about 2mm square, all hand placed, with a perfect eye for shade and texture.

We made our way back to our district on the ferry. While we were waiting, there was a steady stream of ferries going towards the celebrations in the centre of town for free. As today is the national day, these ferries were bedecked in flags, not of Turkey, as you might expect, but of Turkey's ruling AK party. Most of the passengers were carrying AK party flags too. Hmmmm.

By the time we got back on dry land it was lunchtime, so just the moment to try our next Istanbul delicacy: a fish sandwich.

It may not sound like much, but these are a real treat. You fight your way to the dockside where a wildly rolling boat is moored. The boat is crammed with guys frying mackerel as if their lives depended on it. You hand over your money and milliseconds later you are making your way back with two steaming paper parcels in your hand. The sandwiches are made using half a split loaf of fresh bread, a couple of mackerel fillets (no bones), lettuce, tomato, and lots of raw onion.

Next thing is to get the pickles to go with your sandwich. I had seen stalls selling what looked like a refreshing drink. Pink, and with things floating in it, it is in fact very strong, very salty vinegar full of slices of gherkin and big chunks of sauerkraut. You fish these out with a little plastic fork and jam them into your sandwich. I consider myself an aficionado of pickles, but I've never had anything quite this intense - in a good way. Best of all, it is normal practice to drink the juice!

In the afternoon it was time to reacquaint ourselves with the Aya Sofya. This is a truly enormous church built in 537 by the Romans/Byzantines. The dome is not quite as big as the Pantheon in Rome, but the building is much higher, so it feels as big as St. Peter's. A thousand years later, it was converted to a mosque by the invading Ottomans. The mosaics are lovely, but we agreed the ones in the Chora church were better.

Graffiti is scratched into some of the marble rails around the upper part of the building. It is in Greek, so probably nearly 2000 years old. Also some written in Viking.

 

Istanbul Part 1

Our flight from Rome touched down in Istanbul mid afternoon on Sunday, and we headed straight down to the metro station, feeling rather brave. You buy a token for 3 lira (1 GPB or 2 NZD) and you can go as far as you like. The metro, and then a tram, whisked us into the centre of town in smooth, air conditioned comfort.

After being able to speak English in the first 3 countries, and be able to speak/read a bit in the next two countries, it is a bit daunting to be somewhere you can't even pronounce the signs: "Which stop is next?" "It's ssssss......kkkk......chhhh... a long word, something starting with C!"

A Turkish hotel. The shower is wonky, and the window handle keeps falling off but it looks great.

After settling in to our hotel in the old part of the city, we went to look for some food. There are plenty of "Point and shoot" type restaurants where you go in, point at what you want. The chef dollops it onto your plate and gives it to you, and you sit down. I love it because I'm not very good at waiting - specially for food. The waiter gets your drinks and jots down what you chose.

Turkish food isn't known as one of the great cuisines, but we are loving it. It's about as close as we have been to home cooking on this trip. They use lots of fresh vegetables like aubergines, tomatoes, spinach, potato, and make spiced stews using just enough meat. The carbs are provided by rice, and beautiful, fresh, flatbreads. There are no butter-thickened sauces or wine reductions in sight.

One of the high points of our honeymoon in Istanbul was being woken by the call to prayer from the Aya Sofya nearby. Our hotel for this visit is right between the Aya Sofya and the Blue Mosque. Maybe it's the acoustics, maybe speaker technology has advanced in 25 years, but wow, when it started at 5:20 we practically fell put of bed. Or maybe our idea of romance has changed....

Once we had gorged on the breakfast buffet (when was the last time you had croissants, baked beans and olives in the same meal?) we walked over to the Topkapi Palace. The Topkapi Palace was the residence of the sultans of the Ottoman Empire, and the centre of government. Compared to the architecture of the Vatican and Paris, it is very low key, being never more than two stories high. The reason for this is that the one of the key tenets of the Islamic faith is to live modestly. Also the sultans were expected to have a "trade", so many of the beautiful panels of calligraphy you see inside the palace were created by the sultans themselves. The palace has amazing views out over the Golden Horn and is designed to allow a refreshing breeze to circulate even on the hottest days.

Inside the harem, the rooms are decorated with lovely blue patterned tiles and geometric designs. The harem sounds quite exciting until you learn that it wasn't there to give the sultan a good time. No siree, the whole place was a rigidly controlled hierarchy run by the mother of the heir to the throne and her team of eunuchs. It was just to preserve the succession of the "correct" heir. Princes with the wrong mum often got strangled. Never was so much bitchiness concentrated in one place. Never mind ruling over half the known world, the poor sultan was probably too scared to go inside.

After a cuppa we were off again, Ann navigating us through the Grand Bazaar and down to the Spice Market. The Republic Day national holiday had started, and everyone was out with their kids, taking the mother-in-law out to buy a new headscarf. Fathers-in-law were sitting in cafés, playing backgammon and drinking tea with their mates.

To us, backgammon is a quiet, relaxing pursuit. For them, it's a spectator sport involving passers-by shouting with laughter or commiseration, and giving unhelpful advice as the players abuse each other and slap the counters down on the board.

Both the bazaar and spice market are a riot of colour, texture, and aroma. There is a lot of tourist stuff there, but mostly it is locals stocking up before the holiday.

After the markets we got a doner kebab from a tiny shop packed with big moustachioed Turks in a tiny alley. This time there was nothing to point at, and the menu on the wall was entirely in Turkish. Gulp. Shouting "doner, two, doner!" while making the international gesture for "Please don't ask me anything, just give me what everyone else is having, except the glass of salted buttermilk" did the trick. A proper Turkish doner is a marvellous thing. Charcoal grilled lamb, folded into fresh bread, with some salad, and picked green chilli peppers.

We carried on down the hill to the Galata bridge, to scope out the ferries for tomorrow and look at the fishermen lining the bridge. They were doing pretty well, catching scores of little sprats about 10-15cm long. As always the seagulls were doing best of all, pouncing on any fish or bait that dropped back into the water.

Rome Part 3

A shorter blog today. Yesterday's was fuelled by a lovely, but very strong mid-afternoon coffee gelato.

Today was a day of ruins. Roman ruins, and ruined feet.

Ann was going to look at shoes while she was in the shoe capital of the world, but her feet are so swollen, there's no point!

Taking the Rough Guide book's advice, we started at the Palatine Hill, buying a ticket that gets you into the three ruined bits of the city. The Palatine Hill is the site of the Iron Age settlement that became Rome, and where the top people had their family compounds. The entrance is on a typical busy street, but as you start to climb the hill, the noise dies away and you find yourself on a hill dotted with picturesque ruins, pine trees, and gardens. It's worth the 12 Euros just to get away from the city for a bit.

The ruins don't mean much on their own, and the internet says you should get a guide, but we weren't feeling very intellectual today.

An old ruin

We descended down the other side into the forum. The day was getting very hot - high 20's C even at the end of October, and lunch was already calling. I'm sorry to say that the forum got a fairly cursory look: "Shall we just do some photos for the blog, and go?" "Yep, already done, let's go". The Colosseum was next, and we wanted to conserve our energy.

We were so glad that we already had our ticket, as we swanned past the enormous queue, and went straight inside.

As before, it's amazing to think you are standing in an actual Roman building. Beyond that, it's pretty much as you'd expect, having seen it on tv etc. It is very similar to modern, computer designed stadiums, so those old guys could certainly do their sums.

Writing this while chomping takeaway pizza and slurping cheap chianti in our hotel room. Do pizza toppings count towards your five veggies a day?

Taxi to the the airport in the morning, and then Istanbul. TTFN.

Rome Part 2

Gosh I wish I'd bought a pedometer for this trip. We have walked, or been on our feet for at least 6 hours each day, so I reckon some days we will have done 20km. Given the amount of rich food we have been eating, that's probably a good thing!

We are starting to crave home cooked food, and Ann is missing cooking. She has lovely soft hands though! We have been choosing more and more healthy food off the menus, not because we think we should, just because that's what we want. 

Today was another big day of walking. We started with the Spanish Steps. Apparently this is where artist's models (ahem) used to sit waiting for artists to come along. Artists don't get up very early, so I hope they had cushions. Maybe that's why the ladies in old paintings had big bums? All the skinny ones had got uncomfortable on the stone steps and gone home. I digress.

Next was Bernini's sculpture of the Ecstasy of St Theresa, in one of the churches. The two things to look at here are the way he has captured the folds of her gown, and the expression on her face. St Theresa's expression is not one you normally see in a church, but when you read her description of her vision, you can see that Bernini knew what he was about.

I'd heard of the Trevi fountain, and assumed it was just another fountain in a square, so I was a bit iffy about walking there, even though it was kind of on the way home. It is actually rather cool. First of all it is huge, taking up one side of a big building. Also there is a sort of amphitheatre built around it in a semicircle, so you can just step down from the street and chill for a bit, watching all the water gushing around. Very nice on a hot day.

The legend goes that if you toss a coin in, it guarantees that you will return to Rome one day. Despite Ann's excellent budget-keeping instincts I insisted that we should invest in a coin each, not risking a two-for-one combo deal. I'm not normally superstitious but when in Rome....sorry.

Another church holds three religious paintings by Caravaggio. Caravaggio pioneered a painting technique called "Chiaroscuro" where his subjects are brightly lit from one angle against a dark background, making them very bold and dramatic. That, and the very "low-life" settings he used, made his work extremely controversial in his day. Sadly he had to rework the pictures several times before the church authorities accepted them. Even so, they  could not be more different from the other art of the time.

The Calling of St Matthew is my favourite. Matthew was a tax collector. Tax collectors were seen as collaborators with the Roman occupation, were often corrupt and were hated by everyone. Matthew, on the far left, has his head down, counting out the money with his cronies in a dark room. Everyone else is looking shocked. Jesus is almost hidden on the far right of the frame, pointing at Matthew. A shaft of light cuts across the scene from above Jesus' head. The figure next to Jesus is saying "Woah there boss, we don't want someone like that on the team!". For me it has the immediacy of a press photo.

Ann's favourite was the child in The Martyrdom of St Matthew. He is recoiling, horror-struck from the murder about to take place next to him.

The paintings are quite hard to see, for two reasons. One is that they are on three sides of an alcove. The other is that the alcove's lighting is coin operated. When the lights go out there is an awkward moment until someone stumps up a Euro to put in the little slot.

After coffee and a sit down, it was time to see the Pantheon. I'd always thought it was in Greece, but that is the Parthenon. The Pantheon looks basically the same from the front, but that is all. What you have is a complete Roman building, built by the actual Romans nearly two thousand years ago. Inside the entrance you enter a perfectly round space, with a truly enormous dome made of concrete. It is still the world's largest unreinforced concrete dome. The power and simplicity of the architecture overwhelm the senses. None of our photos could do it justice, so here are the wiki images.

After all that excitement it was time to sit down and have some lunch. Anyone who thinks the T-S family is too organised hasn't been to a restaurant with us: "Are we having starters?" "I don't know, are we having puddings?" "I don't know, which starter would you have?" "I don't know, is there something we could share?" "I thought you said you weren't going to have a pudding?" "I thought you said you weren't going to drink" etc. After all that, the waitress brought me the wrong main course, which is karma I guess. Naturally I didn't complain, because I'm English.

In Italy the starters are often bigger than the main course. They fill up on pasta, then have a smaller, posher main course.

Two tiny, elderly Italian ladies were sitting next to us. For lunch they had a bottle of wine and a bottle of San Pellegrino. For dessert they had a glass of limoncello liqueur. No food at all. When they left, we saw that one of them was in a wheelchair, pushed by the other, who had a stick. Classic.

We went back to the hotel room to wash our feet in the bidet, and have a rest, before going back later in the afternoon to try and get into St Peter's cathedral. There was a longish queue, but it moved along quite well. I again got into a barney with a queue jumper but then a nun pushed past us. I couldn't believe my eyes. Ann grabbed my arm. I contented myself with "Oi, it's not the queue for heaven you know, this time you have to wait in line with everyone else!". I think my comment was wasted, because if she was English, she wouldn't have been queue jumping in the first place.

Michaelangelo's sculpture of Mary mourning Jesus is one of the first things you come across. This time there are no angels, no halos, no apostles, no gold leaf. His head has fallen back, obscuring his face, so you focus on her expression and posture. One hand is supporting his shoulder, the other outstretched in disbelief. A heartbroken mother holding her dead son.

Apart from that I can't describe the inside of St Peters. You'll just have to see it for yourself. But it's worth it.

Rome Part I

**News Flash**

Regular readers will know how pleased we to be mistaken for locals in Amsterdam. We really are that shallow. Today our shallowness plumbs new depths: Ann was taken for a local by some Italian girls who were looking for the station. High fives all round!

Just for the other fashionistas out there, the outfit is penny loafers, skinny black jeans, a 1985 English Eccentrics scarf, and a short trench coat. Oh and having an extremely handsome man in tow must have had something to do with it...

We arrived in Rome late last night, so we didn't see anything until we ventured out this morning. As usual, Ann had done her homework so a plan was in place.

First up was the Vatican museums. I didn't know much about these, except they are big. I imagined that they might be a bit tacky, and full of old Roman Catholic regalia.

A decent queue to get in, with lots of hawkers etc, but only half an hour, compared with two and a half for the Orangerie in Paris.

The Orangerie Queue: small, but slow.

The Vatican Queue: big, but fast.

I was right about them being big, but boy was I wrong about everything else. Imagine seven or eight world class museums stuffed full of priceless art and artefacts from 5000 BC to the present day. Employ thousands of the best artists and craftsmen, for hundreds of years, to hand-paint, gild, and carve every square inch of the interior, then join them all together. The phrase "Nothing but the best" takes on a whole new meaning. There are quite a few paintings of old popes doing something clever, and everyone saying "Ooh you are fantastic your holiness!".

The Sistine Chapel was a bit smaller than we were expecting, but the frescoes are awesome. We all know the centrepiece of God and Adam's fingers touching, and there are a fair few clouds and cherubs (meh), but many of the pictures are showing very human stories and emotions.

Lunch was "Arancias" from a little takeout place Ann had found in a book. In Italian "Arancia" means an orange, so I wasn't sure what I was expecting. These are orange-sized, and they are even orange-coloured, but they are balls of rice, with assorted delicious fillings, that have been rolled in breadcrumbs and deep fried. The four different ones we tried were spinach and ricotta, ragu (like bolognese), mozzarella and ham, and seafood. The seafood one was a surprise as the rice had been flavoured with squid ink, so was totally black. We ate these sitting in a little piazza next to a fountain.

Next was St Peter's square and basilica. Even as a devout non-believer there is quite a thrill emerging onto the square, just the sheer size of it, and the feeling of being at the epicentre of a whole religion. We were planning to go inside St Peters (the only free thing in Rome) but the pope was holding a service. We were quite indignant that the bishop of Rome was holding a service in his own church, just when we wanted to gawp at the dome, but well, what can you do?

So we took a walk down to the river Tiber, and the very impressive Castel Sant'Angelo. It started life as a tomb that the roman emperor Hadrian built for himself. Later popes chose it as a bolt-hole for when things got a bit dicey, and gradually turned it into a formidable fortress. In those days the pope would maintain a considerable army of bloodthirsty mercenaries. I have visions of jet fighters in gorgeous white and gold livery, their pilots wearing little red slippers....

The Italians have fantastic dress sense, but when it comes to buying a couch, not so much.

Paris?

Why did we include Paris in our trip? This is the question we were asking ourselves on the train from Amsterdam.

Come to that, why leave Amsterdam at all?

Before I answer that question I've got to rave about the train journey. Let's just compare it to a flight. You have to be on the platform 2 whole minutes before the train leaves. There are no security checks. You keep your luggage with you. You don't have to wear a seatbelt. The windows are big. The cabin is light and airy. It's quiet. You have loads of leg room. There is always a view of the countryside. But trains are slow, right? This train went at three HUNDRED kph!

For all the differences, one thing was the same. As we walked down the platform a rather badly-behaved black labrador came along and was jumping up at this bloke beside us. It was a real nuisance. Thankfully the dog's owner came along: a large policeman from the drug squad. Europe may be more liberal, but it's not all as liberal as Amsterdam.

So back to the question. Why Paris?

It took us about an hour to remember why.