When we landed in Istanbul, Tante Trude stared out of the little window, waiting for the wonders of the Orient to unfold before her eyes. What she got was a busy international airport. After we’d passed through emigration, where my aunt proudly presented her brand-new passport, and after we’d collected our baggage, we were free to go, or rather to be picked up by Cevded, my friend’s driver. The Atatürk Airport is on the European side and it is quite a long drive, through chronically congested streets to where my friend Celal lives. We passed the ruins of the Byzantine sea-walls, built in layers of red brick and white limestone. They must have looked amazing when they stood right by the sea, towering up to 12 meters, with watchtowers, gates and battlements. A true demonstration of power.
During the drive, Tante Trude noted the many minarets everywhere, tall and graceful. “You’ll never find that many churches at home, dear boy”, she said, “not in a large city like this, at least”. Tante Trude lives in Bonn (pop. 300,000) and thinks of Cologne, just down the Rhine (pop. 1,000,000) as a large city. Istanbul has roughly 14,000,000 inhabitants.
We crossed the Bosphorus and Tante Trude marvelled at the ocean-going ships far below us. She also loved the sign saying “Welcome to Asia” at the end of the bridge. I told her she was an intercontinental traveller now and she nodded and looked a little proud.
We finally arrived in Anadolu Hisari, where my friend lives. It is part of the sprawling city now, but has retained a lot of its charm, with many old wooden buildings in the traditional Ottoman style. There is an old castle, built in 1393 by Sultan Bayezid during his siege of Constantinople. And here are, of course, the “Sweet waters of Asia”, which figure at the very end of “Candide”. Tante Trude had heard of the book, but thought it might be a bit risqué, probably because it was written by a Frenchman.
We finally arrived at Celal’s house and were given the traditional warm-hearted Turkish welcome: Hos geldeniz. After we’d unpacked, Tante Trude confided to me that she’d thought Istanbul was rather warmer than this. I told her that may people make that mistake. There is practically no mountain range of any height between Siberia and the town, and in winter the icy winds sweep over the Russian plains, then gather moisture over the Black Sea and unload it all on Istanbul. But I consoled her that she could buy all the pullovers and scarves she wanted in the bazaar, because:
“What you can’t buy in Istanbul is not worth having.”
“We’ll do our shopping when the time comes. But first I want to see everything!”
Here Celal interrupted and said: “Esteemed lady! I have lived here all my life, and I haven’t seen the half of it!”
To Tante Trude this is just shilly-shallying. She is determined to see ALL of Istanbul.
Coming soon: Tante Trude sees the sights and comments on shoes.
(The picture shows Frank Werner and his friend Celal Sengör. It was taken by Tante Trude.)
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