Istanbul is a wonderful attack on the senses. Touch, sights, sounds, smells and tastes; Istanbul offers it all. And, when in search of some new discovery, I head to the marketplace. I don't always know what I am looking at, and frequently I can't speak to the people who capture my attention, but you don't need to speak to let someone know you are hungry. Your mama might have taught you that pointing is rude, but it works just fine when you can't speak the language.
So much is done by hand when cooking in Turkey. Women in the marketplace sit at low tables and roll out their bread on wooden table tops. The bread may be rolled in sesame seeds, deep-fried, stuffed, baked and served up as rolls, pide (a traditional Turkish bread with cheese, parsley and lamb) and lavaş (a puffy hollow bread great for holding cheese, unsalted butter, spicy tomatoes and pepper). Seriously, is there ever a bad carbohydrate? Certainly not in Turkey.
I missed out on the dish I most wanted to eat in Istanbul; it was a dish for two. But, if you are ever traveling with someone in Istanbul, seek out the traditional Ottoman meal prepared in a ceramic bottle. It's cooked in a fire and delivered to your table still in flames. The dish (beef, chicken or vegetables) sizzles while you salivate. And, no fears about the flames, your waiter breaks open the ceramic bottle for you. As for me, I had eggplant with cheese, lamb cubes, no flames and a little regret. Perhaps I should have eaten for two?
Cafer, ready for conversation, service and a Turkish surprise. As someone from the US, I tend to want supper around five or six in the afternoon. That's not how it's done in Istanbul (or the rest of Europe). But, it has its advantages. When you are the only cone eating, you tend to get good service. I don't care about service so much because I’ve learned that waiters, hotel staff and carpet merchants often are simply the most valuable sources of information. At the Pascha Restaurant, my waiter Cafer wanted to use his English, and since I was the only client, we had time to talk.
He recommended some places to see in Istanbul. Of course, I had no idea where any of them were. But then, I asked him about Turkish baths. They’re famous all over the world, but do Turks really go to them? Cafer said, "Some yes, some no, him never." But, if I wanted to go to one, he’d take me. That was a Turkish experience I decided I didn’t want to miss.
I wouldn’t have gone to a Turkish sauna alone because I had no idea what to do. Cafer wasn't any more of an expert than me – but at least he knew the language, could get directions, and ask any necessary questions. Nobody appeared to speak a word of English. But, with my personal guide, all was in order.
The Cemberlitas Hamam, a wonderful old building near the Grand Bazaar, was built in 1584. Everything centered on a room with an elevated marble slab floor and a beautiful domed ceiling. The marble floor was heated and you were to lie down on it and sweat. Around the slab were sinks for getting bathing water. If you wanted scrubbed and massaged by a professional, that also took place on the slab. I knew better than to have that done after visiting a Moroccan hamam. I am quite sure I am the only American that masseuse ever was allowed to torture, and he took full advantage of the opportunity. Muscles were pulled, twisted and yanked in all kinds of ways that were never intended for the human body. Once was certainly enough. I hurt for days. But on this visit to a hamam, I savored a unique Turkish experience that most tourists never get, steamed in an ancient sauna, and went home feeling very, very clean.
He recommended some places to see in Istanbul. Of course, I had no idea where any of them were. But then, I asked him about Turkish baths. They’re famous all over the world, but do Turks really go to them? Cafer said, "Some yes, some no, him never." But, if I wanted to go to one, he’d take me. That was a Turkish experience I decided I didn’t want to miss.
I wouldn’t have gone to a Turkish sauna alone because I had no idea what to do. Cafer wasn't any more of an expert than me – but at least he knew the language, could get directions, and ask any necessary questions. Nobody appeared to speak a word of English. But, with my personal guide, all was in order.
The Cemberlitas Hamam, a wonderful old building near the Grand Bazaar, was built in 1584. Everything centered on a room with an elevated marble slab floor and a beautiful domed ceiling. The marble floor was heated and you were to lie down on it and sweat. Around the slab were sinks for getting bathing water. If you wanted scrubbed and massaged by a professional, that also took place on the slab. I knew better than to have that done after visiting a Moroccan hamam. I am quite sure I am the only American that masseuse ever was allowed to torture, and he took full advantage of the opportunity. Muscles were pulled, twisted and yanked in all kinds of ways that were never intended for the human body. Once was certainly enough. I hurt for days. But on this visit to a hamam, I savored a unique Turkish experience that most tourists never get, steamed in an ancient sauna, and went home feeling very, very clean.
Interior of Turkish bath, photo from http://howtoistanbul.com
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