August 8 and 9: Further Explorations of the Covered Bazaar

Friday, August 8: Covered Bazaar Part II and a Heavy Downpour

I waited till after noon for the rain to come to Küzgüncük, but finally could not let the day pass without some kind of adventure, feeling my departure date looming over me a week away. So I returned on Thursday to the Sultanahmet district, despite the threatening rain clouds and heavy humidity. I stopped in to see Tansel in her little boutique across from Nükte's house, and she suggested I take the ferry boat to Eminönü instead of the metro to Sirkeci. That way, she explained, I could explore the Spice Bazaar first, and then head up the hill to the Covered Bazaar. The Spice Bazaar did not interest me much, but I took her advice anyway. I'd already learned to always heed a Turk's advice when it comes to navigating Istanbul.

I took my time in the Spice Bazaar, wandering in to a store to taste their locum (Turkish Delight) and dut (called toot in Persian, these are a kind of dried berry) purchasing some and taking my time to speak with the salesperson. I relaxed in to it this time and enjoyed myself. By the time I reached the Covered Bazaar, I was primed for a better experience than the one I'd had before.

This time, with my map in hand, I went in search of each Han: Bodrum Han, Rabici Han, Zincirli Han, Cebeci Han, Imam Ali Han and on and on. Each one was a treasure, a quiet oasis away from the more crowded alleys and thoroughfares. I'd find one and look for the narrow stairway, usually worn marble hundreds of years old, up to the second floor of the Han, where I might find a chair sitting off to the side that might have been occupied by a shopkeeper smoking a cigarette just a few minutes before. From there I'd sit, and just watch the comings and goings down below. A few middle-aged shopkeepers with a slender glass of tea in their hands, a man tending to his ablutions before prayer. A young boy running to fetch more merchandise from a storage closet.



In one Han I found a fellow making gold thread. The sound of his spool machines drew me to his doorstep, and he motioned me in. I took this video for you to see.

When I tired of the quiet spaces, I swam in to the surge of the center, feeling the magnetic pull of hustling carpet and ceramics sellers luring me in to their shops. Arab families moved in packs, women in head to toe burkas with their trailing husband and tiny sons in matching outfits licking ice cream cones. The women peered at me with heavily lined eyes framed by black, black, black. They fingered linens, and haggled over cashmere. French, Italians and Brits mostly walked in pairs. Occasionally I'd catch the familiar slang of an American and found my eyes glued to them as they disappeared around a corner. "Excuse me, welcome!" a shopkeeper shouted out to me. "Comment allez vous? French? Italian? Parla Italiano?" They seemed to be playing a game to guess the nationality of those walking by. Most often they thought I was Italian.

I stopped for lunch and was a bit disappointed by my doner sandwich, but the quiet spot in the Bursa Han was lovely nonetheless. Just as I was sipping my after-lunch tea, the clouds became ominous overhead. It became dark like night except for the sharp spear of lightening overhead. Then the thunder roared and rain fell in buckets overhead. We all: errand boys, shopkeepers, and tea sellers included, ran for cover. Everyone began trying to button down their storefronts. I took cover in the main hall of the bazaar and everywhere people were peering through the tiny windows along the ceiling to see the black clouds and rain battering against the glass. I returned to the Tiğcilar Sokak gate where I had started my excursion into the bazaar two days before, to behold the rain pouring down.

A few minutes later it was me stepping out in to this rain, very carefully since I found the cobblestones slippery and I had no raincoat. I held a plastic bag over my head and made my way back to the ferry port.

Saturday, August 9, 2014: The Covered Bazaar III

Today was my third, and I think last day in the Covered Bazaar. I methodically moved through the bazaar spaces, trying to avoid walking the same row twice, but invariably I did. One shopkeeper spoke Italian with me, and upon seeing me again said, "Ah, ancora in giro?" Still walking around?
I walked in to the Bursa Han three times in an effort to find my way away from it. Sigh.

Murat was a shy ceramics seller who begged to give me "information" about his plates. So I entered his small store, overheated by the bright lights designed to show off the brilliant colored designs of his wares. He ordered us tea, and we talked about traveling, and languages. He spoke Italian well and had only the nicest things to say about people he'd met from all over the world. He has never stepped foot outside of Turkey, but instead watches the world walk by his shop everyday. I got the sense that the visit was more a way to break the boredom of his day than it was to ensure a sale.

Next I wandered in to a carpet store, again so that the shopkeeper could give me "information." This must be a commonly used tactic, I deduced. But what a lovely conversation I had with Muhammad, another young bright Turk with shining eyes and a generous manner. He didn't spend much time talking about carpet designs, but instead wanted to practice his English and ask me questions about myself. He told me about the carpet he'd just sold to a family gifting a kilim as a wedding gift to a family member back in California. He offered me tea but I declined, still full from Murat's offering. I kept my stay brief, but was deeply impressed by these young men.

The Ceiling of the Cevahir Bedestani
(Antique Bazaar)

At the center of the Covered Bazaar, and its oldest section, is the Cavahir Bedestani (meaning gem-vault). A similar Byzantine market once occupied this site, but it was replaced by this building erected by Mehmet the Conqueror in the mid 15th century. One mostly finds gold and old metal objects in this area. It feels sleepy when compared to the bustling areas surrounding it. A couple of older men were sitting around drinking tea and stopped to ask me where I was from. They asked me about my guidebook and seemed amused when I handed it over to them to see it.

My feet were aching at this point, and I was desperately hungry. It was time for another mediocre köfte meal and a tram ride back to the ferry port. I have 6 days left before I leave. It's time to take account of the must-sees so that I make time to see them all.