Among the Faithful

Mosque Central Worship Area

Ceiling Architecture

"The chicken soup is finished," says the waiter to me.
"Excellent!" I say, "I am ready for the soup."
"It is finished."
"Great, bring it on." I tell him.
He looks at me. I look at Makaila.
"Oh! I get it! You are out of chicken soup!" (the light finally dawns on me.) "I'll have some lentil soup instead. "
"Good choice, sir."

Yes, it's great to see the savvy traveler that I have become. Like any foreign country that one negotiates, you quickly learn the line between comprehension and being clueless. We cross that line into the latter territory every hour or so. The key here is that we know no Turkish and the people of Istanbul have a pretty good comprehension of English, so we are continually at the mercy of their graciousness and limits of our language.

We have begun to eat in the smaller, non-tourist restaurants. Several reasons for that. The food is good and the food is much less expensive. It's the difference between local eateries in any neighborhood in the States and that in the restaurants crowded around the shopping malls.

If you can point to the item on the menu here in Istanbul, it will appear on your table. Usually some sort of beans, rice, stew or lentils or whatever. Bread with cheese or meat is popular. Sweets are sweet with a capital "S"" and Turkish tea is ubiquitous. Turkish coffee is thick as molasses and our hotel serves Nescafe instant. Figure that one out, so do lots of restaurants. Yes, there are the Starbucks and Starbucks-like coffee shops...just the same as elsewhere.

Yesterday we came out of the Suleymaniye Mosque and it was windy, rainy and cold. We had been in the mosque for over an hour. (By the way, all due respect to the mosques of our Turkish friends...but they, like us, have a few difficulties with the upkeep of their buildings....doors won't stay shut and the wind blows them open. Carpets often need stretching. Even noted a leak or two in some of the roofs. Aging structures and upkeep are universal.)

We exited on one side of the mosque. I needed to sit on a chair...just spent the past hour on a carpeted floor and something warm would be nice. Across the courtyard were various small restaurants that cater to the faithful and locals (one and the same I imagine). The wind and rain were quite strong, we lingered for a half second on one menu posted outside....and suddenly a waiter appeared...."come inside." he beckoned. We did, we got a modest table and chair....they slapped a bowl of bread on the table. We ordered Turkish tea and apple tea only. They brought the tea and removed the bread.

OK....the bread is for the diners. We were tea totalers, I suppose. But as we sat and warmed ourselves with tea I noticed the locals eating a type of beans and rice with a thick sauce. No idea what it was. Few were speaking English (no one, actually). I caught the attention of the bus boy and pointed to the bean and rice dish at the next table...."One" I said.

Suddenly the bread reappears and a waiter with a heaping bowl of beans and rice. It was quite good.

On the wall was (in English) a "restaurant review" of an "Anatolian" dish for which this restaurant was famous. We couldn't read it because it was framed and posted behind the chef who was doing the cooking. I suppose if he needed a picker-upper about his work, he could just turn and gaze at it during the day, though the patrons could not.The meal was done...the waiter writes out something....then prints the cost 10 and circles the 10 indicating that we owe 10 TL Turkish Lira....about $7. I think he was also saying that I could include his tip over and above the 10. What he did not know for sure was that I am an American and so habitually overtip for anything that I don't understand. Anyway, everyone left the exchange happy and Makaila and I walked out into the rain.

The afternoon began when I said I wanted to visit this big mosque over in a part of town that we were sort of familiar with. ("Familiar" is a relative term....we were "familiar" with it.....in the sense that we could find it on the map quickly and even negotiate the streets fairly well. After that, we were basically, babes in the woods.)

I'll leave you to Google the Suleymanye Mosque. It's over near the University and just up from the small Rustem Pasa Mosque we visited yesterday.

We found it, and entered the grounds from the backstreet and walked along the side court to the main entrance. It's tricky with the rain to take off ones shoes by sitting along the "porch" and thus getting ones socks soaked and/or not stepping over the line where shoes are totally forbidden and it is dry. So, there is a sort of hedging as you sit in the wet marble stones, and keep your feet dry, but take off your shoes and try to look like you do this everyday. In any case, I took off my shoes, placed them in the convenient plastic bags provided (like a supermarket plastic bag). I then took my new shoes and handcuffed them to my wrist like a federal marshall would do to a prisoner and walked in to the magnificent mosque.

We were there before the call to prayer and so walked around the sides gazing at the arches, stained glass and awe-inspiring structure. The faithful were up on the "stage" area (my term, as are all of the following technical terms for the various areas in the mosque). Makaila has her scarf around her head. Various Muslim women are praying behind screens in the back. Tourists just wander about and no one seems too concerned about it all. There seems to be a gated off area for the faithful, but some of us tourists wander in there too. We men may not be so noticeable, but the women are...yet everyone is respectful, both tourists and the faithful.

There are huge carved wooden doors, thick wall to wall carpeting (having spent a summer laying carpet for Sears back in my college days, I glance at the stitching and how the lengths are put together. My practiced and professional eye, quickly realizes that the Suleymaniye Mosque in downtown Istanbul did not buy their carpet at Sears, but no doubt at a competitor. I don't recall laying any carpet in mosques in NW Ohio back in the late 1960's either. Did a couple Truck Stops though....but I digress.)

We take photos. Touch the huge pillars of marble and admire their etchings and the huge scale of everything in the place. From the outside we can hear the "Call to prayer" and I figure we tourists would be asked to leave. Nope. The faithful pour in. Men carry their shoes and walk across the carpets to the "stage"....I suppose when there are huge gatherings, all the faithful cannot pray right at the front area, but today they can. Unlike Christian churches, the faithful flock to the front. I must make a mental note to ask the Imam "how do you get the congregation to hurry up front?!" A few perform their intitial prayers in the semi-back area and then hurry to the front lines. One little boy is there with his father and like kids everywhere he just wanders and dances and bips around the mosque. No one is particularly concerned about his running around.

The chant begins in the mosque. Prayers are said. Stand. Kneel. Pray. Do so again and again. We tourists are in the middle-back sitting on the floor. Somewhere among the faithful a cell phone rings (good to know that somethings are the same the world over). It then seems like the chanting is done and the Imam is now reading in a chanting sort of way. A few men scurry out when the reading begins (same as in Christian churches)....most stay thru the readings. In 25 minutes it is done. The faithful grab their shoes and walk across the carpets of the huge domed mosque, chatting and turning on their cell phones. A few men begin their cell phone conversations as they stroll through the main area heading for the door. Off they go back into the city.

Are the men dressed like you see them in the great places of Mecca when they come for a Haj? No. The men are dressed like any big city resident. Granted, few are wearing red Land's End jackets, but they are dressed for winter weather in Istanbul. Prayer is a part of their daily life...and they rush back to work or home or the tea shop across the street where some cold, silver-haired tourist is sipping Turkish Tea with his blond daughter and pointing at the next table's food and smiling all the while.

We continue on through the crowded streets of the busy city and head for another look at the Spice Market. A wonderful place of spice, bright lights and entertaining shop owners. Some of the stores are a bit pricey....apparantly there are cruise ships that anchor nearby in the Summer and Fall....but mostly it is spice, spice and more spice. The sellers ask where we are from. We are offered pieces of Turkish Delight a wonderful sweet candy which supplies all the sugar you would need for a week in one mouthful. We sample. We smell the tea. We compare the prices of Saffron from Turkey with that from Iran or India. (Iranian is most expensive, Turkish the least).

A man calls out to us, "Where are you from?"

"Chicago!" we shout.

"People from Chicago love my spices!"

No doubt they do. And we love Istanbul.

Peace, Bob