Tags
Binaries, Bosphorus River, Dolmabahce Palace, Feminism, Hospitality, Islam, Istanbul, Journals, Mosques, Niagara Foundation, Sulyman, Travel, Turkey, World Religions
March 2, 2014: Istanbul, Day 2
I feel giggly, like a caffeinated six year old. Today was a long day (as I’m learning such days may be), but it was a lovely one.
–Dolmabahçe Palace—
We started off the day with a tour of Dolmabahçe palace—a location that, as my L. M. Montgomery travel companion might say, certainly has much scope for the imagination.
Built in the 19th century, Dolmabahçe is one of Turkey’s younger palaces. Hearing the 19th century referred to as “new” continually unsettles my American disposition. I suppose a synthesis of eras can only be reached when ancient and modern places intersect as nonchalantly as they do in Turkey—where historic locales share the street with present-day coffee shops.
Katie and I decided that, like sultans and visiting dignitaries throughout history, we, too, were princesses returning to our summer home. And then we frolicked in the garden.
Though photographs weren’t allowed inside the palace, the interior was far more stunning than even the lovely exterior.
Dolmabahçe houses the world’s largest chandelier, which weighs approximately 4 ½ tons and is sparklier than anything even Anne’s aesthetic imagination could desire.
I love thinking about museums in both their present and past forms; picturing the lives and histories of the visitors who currently tour the rooms gives me an overwhelming sense for the variety of journeys that have brought people to this location.
At the same time, though, I love to think of such palaces as the homes they once were. Did a child ever throw up on that beautiful Turkish rug? How many long hours did an inquisitive mind spend reading in the sultan’s library? Who fought, fell in love, smashed up museum-worthy items here?
Lives were lived, in all of their peaks and ebbs, in the same places we walk now, and just like the present, the past tells stories that carry the same extraordinary potential for variety.
–Bosphorus Boat Tour—
After Dolmabahçe, we took a boat tour along the Bosphorus River. As we looked overboard, we realized that the Bosphorus is home to scores of jellyfish…an extra incentive not to fall into the water from our perch on top of the boat.
The weather was nice enough today that, though windy as we departed, it was still pleasant enough to stay above deck the entire time.
While gazing out over the bridge between Istanbul’s Asian and European sides, thinking deep thoughts and shallowly breathing in the cigar smoke of the men at the table upwind of us, Katie and I made some new friends.
A group of Middle Easterners was taking pictures next to us, and after a moment, one of the women motioned to me. Miming, she pointed at me and then made the universal sign for “camera.”
Thinking she wanted someone to take a family shot, I stood up to take her camera, but she shook her head and waved me closer to one of the men who was already posed. Though uncomfortable with photographs even under the best of circumstances, I obliged, and Katie, fortunately, joined me.
Together, we sat for several pictures with the man and his companions, alternating through cameras, as Allyson, Caleb, and Beth laughed and watched the situation unfold from the opposite side of the boat.
What can I say? Beautiful princesses have to get used to paparazzi begging them for photographs.
–Midtown Istanbul—
After lunch, we had the opportunity to explore Midtown Istanbul. Vendors in the East, I’ve noticed, have a commerce atmosphere that has no good U.S. equivalent. The closest we come is having garage sales or farmer’s markets, but it’s very different to have bustling shopping districts that are largely comprised of small, individually owned shops.
The foot traffic is incredible (and when crossing streets, I must always bear in mind that pedestrians DO NOT have the right of way!), but this busy, communal atmosphere brings a unique vibrancy to the large city.
–Sülyman mosque—
Our final tourist-y stop for the day was at the Sülyman mosque. This mosque is part of a complex that has schools and other buildings also attached, and construction is perpetually in progress. Dr. Barton estimated that there are upwards of 200 domes across the entire structure.
I always leave our mosque visits with mixed feelings, though my struggle is not exclusively with Islam.
Though I believe the whole “look-how-Islam-represses-women” rhetoric is no more than fear mongering, I’m still concerned over the placement of women’s sections in most mosques.
While I understand the logic behind separating the sexes during prayer—people feeling comfortable with their surroundings should be key—and while this separation is not Islamic—Jews in Orthodox and some Conservative branches practice it as well—I don’t like the subordinate placement of women at the back of some mosques.
I must remember that these thoughts have arisen only because of our recent tours of several mosques. I know prayer arrangement varies by location, and man, if you have a free hour, ask me my feelings on the women’s section of the Western Wall (the phrase “My nose in Bubbe’s armpit” comes up a lot), but I suppose I might as well make sense of what I can.
Binaries are only oppressive if one side is actively favored; if a binary can be switched with little connotative difference, it’s probably not a big deal. (Ex. “Prince/Princess” are two sides of the same coin, but saying “female doctor” is absurd because “male doctor” is never used. To gender the title in the former case, then, implies it is an exceptional occurrence within a wider pool of presumably male doctors.)
While men standing at the front of mosques and women at the back is not inherently wrong, I wonder what resistance it might be met with should the locations be the other way around. Or, if anything, I wonder why the rooms are not simply divided vertically.
Certainly, women should not feel ogled nor men compelled to stare as they pray, but using this excuse to expel one sex to lesser quarters seems weak. Men are not always lustful and women are not always temptresses.
To take gender differences in stride without using them to the detriment of either group seems ideal…but I don’t see this concept enacted well in any religion or in secular culture.
And, of course, in this particular case, I’m an outsider drawing conclusions about a religion with which I’ve had only a smattering of interactions. But even though my experience is limited, I have learned to be hesitant about ever calling Islam “oppressive.”
Some Islamic women whom I’ve met view outward signs of modesty and gender separating practices to be empowering, so I’m unauthorized to guess at their feelings about their positions in a mosque.
I figured I’d write about my feelings anyways, though, and I welcome enlightenment from those who are better informed than I.
–Friendship Dinner—
Finally, we had our first host family dinner tonight, and I now understand why the Niagara Foundation bills these interactions as the highlight of their friendship trips.
We met in the apartment of Hakam and Ezra, a Muslim newlywed couple who have been married eight months. (Ezra showed us their wedding photo album at dinner tonight; she looked radiant in the pictures and was proud to show them, but Hakam cringed and said that he hated looking at pictures in which he felt placed and posed like an actor.)
After a filling and hospitable meal, we exchanged gifts and (finally) got to try Turkish coffee. Hakam and Ezra gave us all beautiful journals with artwork of Old Istanbul on the cover, and we gave them paraphernalia from Rochester and our Kibo Corner coffee shop. (American coffee mugs are enormous compared to the tiny Turkish ones; however, Hakam believed us when we mentioned that American mugs could be even larger…he’d seen them in American movies.)
Turkish coffee is potent stuff; even with sugar added, some people hated it and had to force smiles as they choked down their drinks.
Since this coffee was the first caffeine I’d had in three days, though, I quite enjoyed it. Though Turkish coffee has a stronger flavor than I’m used to, I still maintain that I haven’t met a coffee I didn’t like.
Overall, it was wonderful getting to connect with such a sweet, generous, and loving couple. Hakam remarked at the end of the evening that all humans share the same heart, and I do believe he’s right.
The affectionate glances Hakam and Ezra exchanged, their hospitality, and the banter they shared (“She does want me to tell you this, but Ezra said, ‘These Americans are so cute, I just want to eat them.’”) are all universal parts of a human experience I dearly want to believe is good at its core.