Fernweh und Heimweh: An Interlude

The weather was wretchedly hot and the sun unnecessarily oppressive. Even though my apartment was cool and shady, I was bored and itched to get out. The monotone buzzing of a solitary black fly that had gotten trapped in my abode exascerbated this feeling - the hopeless boredom of a hoplessly hot day. I grabbed my camera because, as you know dear readers, I have pathetically little photographic evidence to show for the amount of time I have been here, and stepped out into my sunny alley.

I walked down to the pedestrian bridge that overpasses the tram station and the highway to see if I could get a decent photo; on some clear days, you can see the Asian side from the bridge, but since it was hot and hazy, and the trees had acquired significantly more foliage since the last time I admired the view, Asia was now nothing more than a blurry hump in the distance.

Anatolia, in the distance

Fındıkzade

The sun was hot and bright, and I thought it to be a good day to have a walk down by the water.

Cerrapaşa

Now the interesting thing is that my apartment in quite close to the Marmara, but it takes a bit of effort to get there. You have to cross a busy street, then walk down a steep hill, cross another busy street, walk through an underpass under the railway, and finally cross a dusty, dangerous highway before you are near the water. The walk is worth it however, because there is a lovely seaside park which begins at the ruins of the old city walls and stretches east along the shore towards the Bosphorous. On Sundays, there are countless picnicking families, tea-sellers, and simitçi enjoying the green park and the sunshine.

On a similar trip about a month ago to this park with Christine, I saw people on top of these old city walls, playing on them, drinking beer, loafing. I wanted to have a little adventure and explore the wall ruins, which are remarkably intact, and unrestricted to the public.

The ruins of Constantinople

What once protected Constantinople is now a stomping ground for gypsys, hobos, naughty teenage boys, and any other soceital tripe that washes up from the Marmara or down the hill from Cerrahpaşa. One is met with wholly unsavory odors and sights when venturing into the ruins of the old city walls. The walls inside the arches are charred black from countless drunken hobo fires, and the ground is littered with all types of filth and trash - broken bottles, beer cans, plastic wrappers, old rotting clothes, seed shells, and crumpled cigarette packages. The stench was unbearable; the whole place reeked of dead animals and the foul, steamy odor of its continual use as an open toilet - the stench of countless people shitting and pissing there for who knows how many years. A walkthrough made one retch.

Gypsy paradise

Yet despite all of the filth and trash, there was a certain beauty about these ruins from a faded past. Outside, they evoked the romantic nostalgia of another age, and pretty little yellow and white and purple flowers sprang from the cracks and seams in the stones. A gnarly tree's red berries beautifully contrasted its deep green leaves and the faded siena of the old wall.

A shortcut to the sea

Curious to get to the top of this heap of ruins, I found an ancient severed stairway that led up to the ramparts. I managed to scale the wall a bit up to the bottom stair and pulled myself up the crumbling wall and onto the marble stairs. I walked up to the top and was met by a stiff, cool sea breeze - it caressed my moist skin and cooled my sweat-beaded brow, and I breathed the refreshing air into my lungs. The Marmara lay wide open before me, made impossibly vast and small at the same time by the hulking mountains in the distance. Moored ships drifted lazily with the tide. I sat down on the crumbly, dusty stones of the wall and absorbed the sun and the sea. On the sea wall slightly offshore, a couple wandered aimlessly about, hand in hand. On the jetty behind the sea wall, an old man had moored his boat and was stretched out shirtless on the rocks while children played around him. Nature and life, sparkling and shining. Even the beer cans and cigarette packages up here couldn't ruin the view.

A good way to spend the day

As I returned to the stairs to descend, I saw a police officer across the highway pacing aimlessly and flushed momentarily; however, I quickly remembered that I wasn't in America anymore. The police here aren't nosy and killers of fun like they are back home - no "Hey, get down off that cultural monument!" here. They could care less. This fact was indeed confirmed as I climbed off the bottom of the stairs and jumped to the ground; as soon as I had come off the wall, I heard a broad, flat crunch and looked up to the highway to see that two cars had smacked hard into each other. As the two drivers got out and argued angrily, the traffic policemen sauntered over ambivalently, unhurriedly. I feel you man - too hot to hurry.

I decided to head back up the hill at this point to seek some shade. I was sticky and soaked by the time I got back up the hill, and decided to seek the cool shade and fountains of cold water from the neighborhood mosque courtyard.

The Ali Paşa Hekimoğlu mosque

Of all the mosques I have seen here, this mosque, the Ali Paşa Hekimoğlu mosque, is by far my favorite and in my opinion the most beautiful. The courtyard, shaded by tall broad pine trees,
is wide and extremely well kept, with pretty colorful flowers bordering the impossibly green grass. It also houses some small cemetaries as well as the tomb of Ali Paşa Hekimoğlu (whom I admittedly know nothing about, but the marble plaque on the wall of his tomb says he was an awesome man). There is also a large marble cistern filled with clean, clear water for ablutions, and a vined trellis under which tired old men pass their days. The most incredible thing about this courtyard is that it is so quiet and peaceful despite it being olny a few yards away from a busy street and intersection.

Glorious shade

A good way to cool off

Now when I first moved to Fındıkzade I - unsurprisingly, since there are over 3,000 in this city - didn't think much of this mosque, that it was just another of many. However, while looking in a book at the book bazaar a few weeks earlier, I saw a picture of this particular mosque and was taken aback by its beauty. Luckily it was open, so I took off my shoes and stepped inside. The book - and Chrissy - were right. The high white ceilings of the domes were beautifully embellished by hand-painted flowery Quranic excerpts. Hairline cracks in the plaster testified to the mosque's age. The windows were decorated in the most beautiful fashion with blue, red, and green stained glass, and brilliantly transformed the sunlight shining through. Unfortunately, I only had a few moments to absorb the architectural beauty inside, and a man was locking the mosque up until the next prayer time. As I put my shoes on and meandered in the courtyard, I admired the intricacy of the carved marble. Funny, I thought, that when someone put these stones here, our homes were still wilderness. Along the side of the mosques, some students were also studying the architecture, but in a more profane way. As I walked through the courtyard arches to leave, I noticed the stone turbans and epitaphs of broken headstones lined along the low wall of the cemetary. Staring at the Ottoman script on the stones, I wondered who these people were, or even if this final legacy of theirs could even be understood, as Ottoman Turkish is no longer spoken and is on its way to being a dead language.