Turkish delights

Happy New Year, everyone. I'm back from Istanbul after a week of history, hookah and holiday good times. It may have been a nontraditional New Year's destination, but our merry gang of five (me, Bhargavi, Yatin, Terence and Sujit) managed a pretty great trip, hitting all the tourist must-sees, underspending on food, overspending on alcohol, haggling with bazaar vendors, eating our weight in kebabs, staring slack-jawed at the mosques, grooving to bad Europop, getting sick, playing long-forgotten drinking games, partying at a swank club on New Year's Eve and even deflecting the half-baked advances of Istanbul's police. It was, in short, perfect.

 

We rented an apartment in Beyoglu, also known as the "new city" -- a relative term considering that much of "old city" dates to the sixth century. We were right off the main drag of Istiklal Caddesi, which could be Turkish for "consumerist revolution." One look at Istiklal and you'd think the Turks will have no problem shopping their way into EU membership, but the beauty of Istanbul is that, if you turn off onto a narrow side street, you could find yourself looking at a centuries-old mosque or byzantine set of alleyways, suddenly transported back in time. We were confronted with this old-meets-new paradox several times, most notably on New Year's Day, when the entire neighborhood went without water for nearly 24 hours due to a city shortage.

 

As a highlight, it's hard to argue with the Aya Sofya from a historical and architectural perspective, and there's something amazing about seeing depictions of the Virgin Mary share ceiling space with ornate etchings in Arabic. But I was most struck by the views from farther away -- like from the roof of our apartment, which gave a panorama of the city that encompassed the old mosques and their minarets alongside new apartment buildings built seemingly one on top of the other. Istanbul's might be the most beautiful skyline I've ever seen, especially at dusk when the mosques are bathed in light.

 

I've never been much of a New Year's Eve person; the pressure to have The Best Night Ever is usually too exhausting to contemplate. But this year we were in a partying mood, and bought our way into what must have been one of the nicer parties in town, at a club called Reina. For $100 a person, we had unlimited drinks and the privilege of being outdressed by Istanbul's beautiful people. But it was a good deal considering alcohol is so heavily taxed in the city that a simple cocktail can run $20. We staked out a spot outside, under a heatlamp, with a view of the Bosphorous on one side and some new acquaintances -- a group of similarly outdressed Sri Lankan tourists -- on the other.

 

On Monday, with everyone else gone, I had a few hours to kill and decided to try a Turkish bath. This went against a long personal history of bathing myself -- one of which I am very proud -- but it was one of those "When in Rome" moments. I selected a bath with a good reputation from the guidebooks and went in not knowing what to expect. I was led to a small personal changing room with a narrow bed and tiny chest of drawers, given a striped piece of cloth the size of a beach towel, and told to change. I was then taken to the steam room -- a huge marble room beneath a skylit dome -- and lay down on a hot, slippery slab of rock. For what felt like 20 minutes, I lay there on my back and entertained myself by watching drops of condensation fall from the domed ceiling to the marble next to me. It was so hot even the walls were sweating.

 

In walks a big, hairy Turkish guy who took me to the bathing area. For the next ten minutes he rubbed soap all over me and conducted the harshest massage I've ever had. In the most painful maneuver, he pressed his forearm into my back, leaned into me with all of his weight, and rubbed up and down my back for what felt like an eternity. I didn't exactly feel relaxed. After a long rinse with hot water from a small metal bowl, though, I felt better. The Turk stood me up and gave me the marching orders: "Good massage. Good tip. You. Give good tip. Five, ten Turkish lira. Is good." Yes, sir.

 

In all, I would say the bath itself was highly overrated -- not very relaxing, not particularly enjoyable, and in the end I could have done all that in the shower in about five minutes, plus a shampoo and a shave. The steam surrounded by marble was OK, but still felt somewhat seedy. So, future visitors to Istanbul, my suggestion is to save your money and bathe yourselves. Is good.