A Weekend Trip to Bursa

   Istanbul is a HUGE city, some estimate the population to be near 17 million people and a popular shopping and restaurant street near my house, called Istiklal, is said to host 1.5 million people a day. So you can understand how I might want a break from the hustle and bustle of Turkey's biggest city for a few days. Our trip to Bursa was exactly that.

   Bursa is the old capital of the Ottoman Empire. Today it's Turkey's 4th largest city but feels much quieter and maybe the Uludag mountains in the near distance have something to do with it. I've always felt things are put in perspective around mountains. The city sits near the Marmara Sea as well and so traveling back to Istanbul was done by ferry (quicker, but choppier than the bus). As for the inspiration of the trip, well -this weekend was Bayram or religious holiday for all of Turkey and any country following Islam.

   With me, on the road, I had my usual friends from Germany who are also studying here, along with a fellow American student, a Dutch student (from Netherlands), and a Swiss student as well. So we really were a varied group.

    A photo of me and the guys.

Myself in front of the mosque outside our hotel room window.

   Now the first day of our trip was a nice warmup evening. We walked around in search of the infamous Iskendar Kebap, thought up in the city of Bursa! Kebap is famous all around turkey and inspired the word we know in the states "shis kebab". So the Iskendar Kebap is this roasted and shaved meat over pita bread and a light tomato sauce over it with yogurt on the side (In Turkey plain yogurt is a common addition to any meal) and after your plate is placed they pour a butter sauce over the whole dish giving it a remarkable flavor...but I'm getting ahead of myself because on this evening, we could find no Iskendar Kebap, for all the places had closed due to Bayram.

   The journey, however, is where all the interesting things always happen. We were walking through a neighborhood in search of The Green Mosque when I noticed an interesting looking walled-in structure that smelled like a zoo. I was curious and well rewarded for it. We investigated and I'm so thankful we had Omer with us because his fluent Turkish made it comfortable to walk in and see the spectacle. Inside, we discovered this place to be an official sacrificial area. Lambs were hanging, two bulls lay dead, one already skinned with its stomach contents hanging out and the other with its throat cut and bleeding out. We also witnessed a lamb that was sacrificed and then bled and finally prepared. 

   To the uneducated or self righteous this may seem like a terrible thing, this may seem like a horrendous treatment of animals, when in fact it was quite the opposite. I discovered from Omer, who is a Muslim, that according to Islamic law the animals are neither allowed to see the blade nor see their brethren killed or the sacrifice is made invalid by God. The animal must be faced toward Mecca and then prayed over and calmed before it is victimized and if one should have another do the killing then the blade carrier must announce to God they are doing the sacrifice for "___" the son of "such and such" who are their mother and father. The whole experience was very unique and seeing that I eat meat nearly every day I thought it appropriate to know just exactly how the killing and cutting of the animal happens. The tradition's roots come from the story of Abraham in both the Bible and the Quran, who God had commanded to sacrifice his son, and when Abraham loyally pulled the knife across his son's throat there was a lamb in the boy's place, and so God had looked upon Abraham proudly for his loyalty and saved his son.

That night we were fortunate to see the homes on Uludag mountain illuminated at night.

   We were also fortunate to visit the mausoleum of the Sultan Mehmed I (5th Ottoman Sultan), and the Green Mosque or Yesil Camil in Turkish. Omer showed us how to clean ourselves in the Islamic fashion outside the mosque at the marble fountain. The reverence for this religion as well as the personal care each believer takes for themselves is respectable and with all religions should be viewed as openly as possible. 

This concludes Day 1. 

   Day two was an enjoyable experience through and through from hotel breakfast we made our way to a Turkish Hamam built in 1555 with a natural hot spring supplying earthly water to the pool inside. This was my second Hamam experience and the hot pool in the center was just terrific. Now,  a few notes for westerners who really have ill conceived notions about Turkish baths. It's not a bunch of naked men sitting around washing each other and there is no gay activity in traditional baths, you'd have to specifically look for a gay bath just like you would look for a gay club in a city. So, with that commonly raised eyebrow dealt with, I'll continue...

Notice the domes of the bath rooms.

   Upon entering the bath you are given a key to a changing room where you removed your clothes and don a towel. If you'd prefer to wear swimming wear into the bathing area you may do so, or if you aren't bashful you can just wear the towel. Turkish towels are not fluffy and soft like traditional towels but are a fine woven cotton that dries quickly, like a dish towel material. After walking through a shower to clean yourself of any filth you walk into the main chamber. Inside there is a huge pool with temperatures equal to a hot tub or jacuzzi, there is a stone lion's head with water pouring out of it's mouth attached to the wall and this water enters a 3x5 foot tub that fills and then over flows into the big pool. On every side of the octagonal shaped room there are hand crafted copper fixtures where you can rinse your body with cold or warm water and also scrub yourself if you choose not to pay for the cleaning service. 

   Back to this lion's mouth. The water coming from the lion's mouth is HOT spring water, and when I say hot I mean think of your grandmothers scolding dish water in the sink. This water was so hot that when you put your feet into it you feel pain. As if you are being cooked alive, your skin tells your body this is not normal and it's probably not good. I was able to stand in the water up to my knees for about fifteen minutes and none of the other guys in our group could, so I felt proud of myself. There were older men who would sink their entire bodies into this bath up to their necks and sit for five or ten minutes. I later found out this is a natural remedy to back pains including rubbing discs in the spinal cord.

   

   There is also a sauna off to the side of the main room where natural hot water fills a stone basin to create the steam. All of the walls and all of the floors in this entire building where there's water, are marble. After a few times back and forth between sauna and pool it was time for a massage and scrub. The best part is this whole package only cost me 57 lira plus a ten lira tip at the end so about $30, and this is why I recommend traveling to Turkey. So in the massage room you take a seat on a stone bench and a man washes you limb by limb with what looks like an oven mitt but has a thick fiber that pulls all of your dead skin off of your body. You will actually see your skin roll up in tubes of a greenish grey color depending on how dirty you are. The first time I did this it was much dirtier and gross looking.

   

    After the scrub I was to lie face down with my towel over my waist and face on a normal towel that I'm used to. The massage begins with the masseuse taking a pillow case filled with soap suds and plopping it down on my back releasing soapy suds all over my body. Then he begins massaging, chopping, kneading and stretching my limbs, back, and head, and finally pouring a bucket of water over me many times to rinse all of the suds. The guy who massaged me was from Russia and his name was Can Polat pronounced "Jon". I went for a cold shower and then met with a grinning man eager to speak what English he knew, who wrapped a towel on my head, over my shoulders and over my waist, letting me know that regardless of where we are from we are all of the same mother and father. I finished with a glass of homemade Ayran to replenish my minerals: it's a salty liquid yogurt drink that looks like milk. 

   While we were hanging outisde "Jon" came outside to say thank you and ask if we needed a cab or anything since we were foreign, then made a hand gesture touching his heart, kissing his hand, and then touching his forehead and waving it over his head. Omer explained this is an old Ottoman gesture that means you are in my heart, I give you my love, and you are on my mind and over my head if you need anything. Basically this means that you have priority in my mind before anything (over my head) if you need help. This is the classic example of Turkish hospitality.

A picture of the guys after the bath. Ha Ha Ha!

   To cap the trip off we tried Iskendar Kebap at the place where it was originally thought up. We ate under a trellace with old grapevines and cobblestones below, where the servers wore white collard shirts and black ties. Here is the dish in all it's glory, the atmosphere very peaceful and classy.

 

   After a great relaxing morning, and delicious meal it was time to climb Uludag mountain and this was definitely the most exciting part of the entire trip. We took a cab to the cable car lift and from there took this cable car up to a height thousands of kilometers high. Fog swept over us as we were literally in the clouds and cold air forced us to bundle up and purchase hats. The excitement took a few leaps higher when we rented ATV's on top of the mountain. This was so fun and we were able to see the natural area around the mountain top in a relatively quick amount of time, all the while tearing through mud, tall grass, and even a stream! Afterwards I tried some Salep -a Turkish hot drink made from herbs and milk. It was delicious and the trip was complete! Back down the mountain for a cab to our ferry to take us home to Istanbul. A remarkable journey with great stories to tell. My travel advice: if you have the money, do things you would normally pass up because it's being spontaneous that will get you into the best situations!

Collections

   I finally visited the Museum of Innocence. Titled Masumiyet Muzesi in Turkish, this is the visual compendium of the novel with same name. Orhan Pamuk is a nobel prized Turkish author who has received backlash in his home country for writing stories that sometimes cast a questionable light on Istanbul society. However, the museum he's installed in an old house in Beyoglu stands as testament to the charm and talent of his writing, where inside, guests quietly admire the collections with dove's smiles, as the visual satisfaction lends completion to their experience of the book.
   Inside the old house there are wooden boxes for every chapter of the book. The first floor holds a case enclosing the four thousand or so cigarette butts the narrator of the novel has saved to remember his beloved. On many of them, lipstick stains kiss the browned ends, all of them catalogued by year in which the beautiful Fusun would have taken them to her lips. It's a story of love; and obsession; and when the main character Kemal Bey describes his enduring sublimity the reader is given a chilled glass of empathy to enjoy with the many glasses of Raki (a popular Turkish spirit) Kemal Bey drinks to calm his nerves and sedate his love pangs.
   When one finishes the book in the last parts of the last chapter there is found a ticket to the museum printed into the book. Upon arriving at the museum, the reader may pull out their book and have their ticket stamped for free admission into the museum. This (as those can imagine) brings a great deal of joy to the reader who feels as if they've just been awarded a badge for paying loyalty to the book and its following.
 

 After exiting the museum, I was in a mood both contemplative and calm. It were as if I'd closed a chapter in my life upon exiting the Museum of Innocence, and feeling a bit curious and renewed I carried my mood up a cobblestone street, finding myself among antique shops. "Follow your feet" many wise people have said, and so, my feet led me into a small shop with all sorts of interesting things and a short man with gray hair, glasses which magnified the size of his eyes just enough for tinkering, rings on his fingers, a sweater to keep in the coziness of his shop, and a thin cigarette always resting between his lips to be replaced every seven minutes or so. I asked for a photo of him in his shop but he was not comfortable with this idea so you'll have to imagine or come to Istanbul and visit him.
   After I'd grown comfortable in his shop and began to ask questions he'd offered me a cup of coffee and idle conversation. I'd soon discover he's an Armenian (few of which are left in Istanbul he says) and that he also holds  the only certificate in Istanbul proving he can fix old phonographs and vinyl players -which is what he was tinkering with. I sat and talked, asked what this and that were in his shop, drew a sketch, and then finalized my stay with a purchase.
    I had discovered on the floor, a box of old keys, and always looking for unique curiosities from my travels I thought I ought purchase one...well maybe two. You will find in the below picture one key with german inscription. I had a German friend translate and discovered it was a hotel locker key (very simple); the other key is more unique and truly what I desired, as it was the only one of its kind in the box and I'd also find out from Tom that it was the only key like this he'd ever seen and probably was a house key of a Christian family. On the price, he said the nicer key would be 50 lira and the lesser 30 lira but since I had stayed for awhile to chat, he gave me the second key for free (score!).

The 4 Lira Shave

   These Turks are enterprising -they've embraced a capitalist mind and they live it on every occasion of public affair. Last night, on Tuesday, September 9th, I went out with my friends Hannes and Omer; two Germans, one a tall blonde at about 6'5'' and the other a half Turkish fellow with the Ottoman nose to prove it.
   They'd just moved into a flat rented out by a rather mysterious young man in his late twenties who promptly and seemingly truthfully described to us his awkward situation that allowed him to offer the flat. Summed up: he had found a place in a high rent neighborhood, illegally built walls to create more rooms in the place and is now renting the spot for his own personal gain of about four-fold the original rent. Why he felt the need to describe (in detail) his arrangement can be understood by the following: that should the old grocer on the first floor inquire about him or the place, that he is a roommate in the flat as well and in no way rents the place out. It is also known by the end of his story that they know the true and rightful landlord and he doesn't want to lose the sweet deal he's managed to protect for three years.
    As I type this on the 9th of September, here in Istanbul, the reflection of my face in the window nudging my desk reveals my cheeks to be swollen and rosy. Fear not reader, I haven't been crying. I owe this affliction to the recommendation of this just-described landlord. For you see, Omer asked him a place for us to have a cheap beard trim.
   My friends' newly acquired landlord who I am sure will continue to offer us ancillary suggestions in the future described to Omer a place not far from the main square, Taksim, just off the main shopping road 'Istiklal'. Omer, being half Turkish, was easily able to navigate us accordingly and I owe the newfound condition of my cheeks and forehead to the barber recommended us. At the cheap price of 4₤ I should have guessed something awry.
   As the warm, green, molasses-like gel was dolloped onto my cheekbones and drawn upward, to surround my brow I had my guesses this was not what I had asked for and neither was it part of the standard beard trim regardless of what country we're in. Curiosity, however, withdrew any complaints about this style of trim that might have found me. My ears were filled and the aqua gel was left to cool.
   While this Turkish barber began to peel my ear from this waxing gel and not the other way around realization occurred. Too deep into the process and still curious what could be next, I allowed this mock barber to continue his methods of cash extraction. Next, a blue mask was applied and to my left and right I could glimpse entertained smiles on my German comrades faces. I asked Hannes, "How ridiculous do you find this to be right now?" he replied "Very!" and asked me to take his picture, his experience obviously not tainted by the clever sales trick.
   Leaving the space we ended up paying 40 lira a piece instead of the intended 4 lira. The consensus among us being: the experience was worth it but not to be repeated, and also that the barber wasn't so good at much more than a shave and pampering treatment because I had to clean up my beard with a pair of small scissors when I got home.

 The waxing gel

 This was in my ear. NASTAY

 Hannes

Omer

Lets Talk About Text Baby

Let's talk irony  We would expect that my cell phone service in the United States would be better with my American carrier T-Mobile. What we wouldn't expect, is that my American service provider T-Mobile would give me better service in another country...well folks, this is the case. In Turkey my coverage switches over to a carrier called AVEA and I haven't had any trouble whatsoever with texts, data, or calling. This, my friends, is irony.

Because I have global coverage what I'll do is maintain my cellphone plan from the States because I have access to unlimited data as well as unlimited text. Great for facetiming and snapchatting my fellows back home. However when I want to text a Turkish number or give a friend here in Turkey my American number we have to mention international text codes. I'll explain:

First, we always add '+' at the very beginning...


There are international dial codes
                                    (the numbers you must enter to "enter" the country's service zone)


There are international exit codes
                                    (the numbers you must enter to "exit" your own country's service zone)


So here are the United states entry and exit codes.

1 : entry code (for foreign dialers)
011 : exit code (for U.S. outbound dialers)

And the Turkish entry and exit codes.

90 : entry code (for foreign dialers)
00 : exit code (for Turkish outbound dialers)


now lets put it into action. I have an American number but I want to dial my Turkish friends cell phone...

+011 90 #### ######

I have a Turkish friend who wants to dial my American number from Turkey.
+001 ### ### ####



So there you have it friends.

It's called the Grand Bazaar for a reason.

   Stepping into the Grand Bazaar at first feels like any other flea market I've shopped through. Weird goods and items all over the place, people weaving in and out from each other, smells of old collectibles and fresh food. However -it is MUCH more impressive...obviously, it's the Grand Bazaar for a reason. This place is gigantic, I mean, this place is HUGE. I didn't feel like I was walking around some flea market barn; I felt like I was walking around a small town. It's like an entire village of shopping with tucked away courtyards where 200 year old grapevines drop presents into your lap (this actually happened while having tea), more Turkish china and rug vendors than you could remember and of course the necessary slogan t-shirt shops with one's like "I'd google it but my wife already has an answer". The ceilings as you can see are adorned with decorative painting and wide arches only adding to the surreality of the environment.

   Below you find Turkish lamps. These are quite common in the bazaar and I'd really like to bring one home to hang in my bathroom. I stayed in a hostel that had some in the sleeping quarters and the light coming from them was really impressive. 

    The famed Turkish spices in this picture below! I was sure quick to waft the scent from some jasmine tea before the shop keeper tried to sell me some. Which leads me to my next point about shopping in the bazaar -Turkish shop keeps (and restaurateurs) are aggressive sales people and can be very persuasive if you are a timid person. Humor and smiles are a great way to deflect their advances as well as haggle prices with them.

    Below we are introduced to the renowned Turkish Rugs. Ever since I was young I have been enthralled by the woven artistry of these impressive textiles. It is my distinguished goal to leave with one or more of these as they are said to last a respectful 200 years therefore making them family heirlooms. BOOM BABY.

    Please, take a moment to admire the patterns. This picture shows you the colors that attract me but ohhh there are many many many more options. The dealer first will invite you in with friendly conversation and charming English which he speaks very well. This particular dealer goes by the nickname "George Clooney" because he looks like the star and "it's much easier to pronounce than his Turkish name". He was a great character and even better salesman, I bought five rugs and blew my entire first two months budget!! Ha just kidding. He was good though and I'll be sure to be back.                                                  

   So after the conversation begins and the guests have taken a seat, classic turkish tea is brought out and then the show begins. Rugs are pulled from walls, and the floor, and here and there, and all of a sudden your mind is reeling after design and design, and color, and type, and all this information is overwhelmingly brought to you from this savvy Turk. Needless to say, it was quite impressive. I wish I could shop like this more often, although, it takes over an hour -so maybe not.

                                             
 This Turkish Rug Experience is over and we continue moving along. The bazaar opens to an outdoor market and now I'm not even sure if I'm still in the bazaar but then boom here I am, as I exit the alley, back in the bazaar. Not sure what happened there but below is a glimpse of the outdoor alley market.

    Oh -and what Grand Bazaar would be complete without the opportunity to let leeches suck the bad juju out of your blood. Didn't try that one...wtf.

Finally the Grand Bazaar tour is over and I have this great photo taken of me in front of the Nuruosmaniye Mosque. Profile Pic.

I'd like to give a huge thanks to the University of Cincinnati, their International Department, and also the School of Planning within DAAP for making this trip happen. It truly is a life changing experience and I recommend the opportunity to travel abroad to anyone. All you have to do is ask your University Faculty how to make it happen and they will help TREMENDOUSLY to get you visiting and studying where ever it is that you want to be. Stay tuned for more of...