A Blustery Day on the Bosphorous

I woke up to the faint sound of a light rain pattering on my window. Usually I would be disappointed by this type of weather, but its exoticism appealed to me. I don't even remember the last time I felt rain on my skin or temperatures lower than seventy degrees.
After a filling breakfast, I decided to enjoy this cool October day by walking back to the bustling part of the city to change money. The rain had stopped, and a quiet sunlight edged through the thick clouds. There was a damp wind gusting in from the sea, and I thought I was in heaven.
Then it started to rain again: it was a torrential downpour of epic proportions. I took refuge in a mall, but knew I had to get back to my hotel for a tour, so I bought a cheap umbrella and headed back, making it just in time for my tour guide to pick me up.
My excursion today was a guided cruise on the Bosphorous, the channel between the Black and Marmara Seas. It is also the point at which Asia meets Europe. Joining me on the tour was a forty-something American man who lives and works in Saudi Arabia, a British soft butch and her Indian girlfriend, and then our Turkish tour guide. I liked that our group was more cosmopolitan and international than the many large and sheeplike American tour groups that I had seen milling around the city- the suburban men wearing their short pants with socks and sandals (oh the humanity) and their wives who screeched across crowded marketplaces something along the lines of, "Hey Herald, they have goat cheese and sheep skins for sale here!". Face palm.
Even though the weather was not ideal for a cruise, we had a jolly time. The scenery was beautiful, making me want to stay here even longer. Most of the city beyond the center is forested, and many wealthy Turks build cottages and lodges along the Bosphorous. There were also mansions, the sultan's palace, mosques, churches, and a Byzantine fortress that was overtaken by the Ottomans in the 15th century.

The sultan's palace.
The fortress.

The group was so small, and the cruise so long that we were able to hold a decent conversation. The man told us that Saudi Arabia basically sucks, and that as soon as possible he would try and leave. Originally from Houston, he has been living in the Kingdom for two years as an accountant for Aramco and resides in an expat compound in a smaller city of Khafji. When I told him I was studying in Egypt, he remarked (without any prompts) that Cairo was horribly dirty, but that Saudi Arabia is not much better. The worst parts about it, he explained are the lack of natural beauty, dirtiness, and the extreme and unparalleled gender segregation. He remarked that his office building does not even have a womens' bathroom. And I thought Egypt was bad . . .
After the cruise was over, we went to two mosques that were built approximately five hundred years ago. The first one looked exactly like the mosque of Mohammed Ali in Cairo (who was an Ottoman), but the second one was charming and small with special Turkish tiles throughout. I neglected to bring a headscarf, so I had to borrow one. Thankfully, it was clean and pressed, and the loan scarves came in many colors so I got to choose one that best fit my outfit. Some people have asked if I am bothered by veiling, but in reality, I feel that (at least in religious spaces) it is a sign of cultural respect. Veils were mandatory in catholic churches until Vatican II, and most other Abrahamic religions require headcoverings for men and women. The veil has become so politicized (for good reason in many cases where it is forced upon women in some fundamentalist countries), but I feel that a woman should have the choice whether to veil or not. For many women, the choice to veil is empowering.
The first mosque.

The second mosque.
Me.

After the tour I planned to go and see a Sufi music concert and whirling dervish performance in the downtown Sultanahmet area. When I walked there, however, I learned that the show was sold out. I was disappointed, but I had a backup plan. When I visited the bazaar down the street from my hotel, there was a large open air cafe with billboards advertising live music and a dervish performance. I was skeptical about its quality, but decided to go, thinking that at the very least I would have a satisfying meal. When I got there, the place was packed with Turks, and the music had already started. Then the dirvish man appeared. His twirling was hypnotic, and his eyes were half-open in a trance-like gaze. He moved rhythmically to the drumbeats as he alternately raised and lowered his hands, experiencing the intoxication of God.

The music continued for two and half hours, during which I ordered a "pancake" that was really a spinach crepe, some tea, and an apple-flavored water pipe. (Yes, for you Austin Powers fans: I had a smoke and a pancake).
The experience was amazing. I smoked (something that will not become a habit) to stave away the bone-chilling cold, and read a book that I had brought from home. A few older American couples at the cafe were charmed by my smoking hookah and took pictures of me on their cameras (and mine) to tell their friends about the little girl who picked up the waterpipe for the first time just to have the experience.




Did I also mention, that I didn't know how to use it, which tickled the waiters immensely."You haven't smoked before?", they asked amused at my naivete.
When the music ended, and the embers were dying in my pipe, I decided to call it a night, saying a brief goodbye to a cafe that provided me with an unforgettable evening.