Probably my last post about Istanbul. Not just because there aren't that many other good names to call it, but because we are coming to the end of my pictures. And other things are happening that deserve to be written up here. And today's to-do list is as long as my arm. So:
Me with pistachio and raspberry ice cream at the islands. I asked for a small cone, and this is what I got. Like pretty much everyone else in the world, Turks are extraordinarily proud of their ice cream, which is a little like gelatto, but tastes basically like lots of sugar and not much else. I frankly can't understand why they would bother with ice cream when there are so many other things there worth eating....
This is a lighthouse and a ferry/railroad station on the Asian side which we passed on our way back from the islands. The station was built by the Germans back in the late 1800s. It is pretty.
Ayse and her mother at the largest meal we ate while I was there. We went over to Elif's house, where she and her mother made spreads and dips and sandwiches and this kind of noodley-cheesy dish called borek which I love, and served it all with various olives, cucumbers, tomatoes, simit, french bread, jams, honeys, and cheeses. And tea (always tea). We ate in a little gazebo they have out in their garden, which is a rare commodity even on the outskirts of town. It very much resembled a scene from French Kiss, or one of those mafia films where the family eats out in the rustic, Sicilian garden: too much food, scraggly fruit trees, birds and butterflies and daisies and little kids chasing kittens through the grass, except there was no wine and many of the women were wearing headscarves. While we ate, Elif's extended family came by to meet us and show us their babies (a favorite pastime of the Turkish housewife). Lovely.
After this marathon brunch, I thought we were headed home, but we (obviously) went to visit some other family somehow related to Ayse. Her maternal aunt, I believe. They live in a different compound than the one where I stayed (which was paternal aunts and uncles). This family had a plot of land with one stumpy little apartment building and one tiny house, with a mostly paved courtyard between them. Ayse's aunt lived in the "big house," along with some of her five sons, their wives, and their kids, and the rest of them lived in the "little house." They all seemed to spend most of their time in the courtyard (above and below), though, wherever there was some shade. Aye's cousins-in-law (or whatever you call the wives of her cousins) were funny and very curious about me; luckily, this visit was near the end of my week, so my Turkish was much improved and I managed to actually converse with them without too much trouble. They gave me a couple of recipes which I intend to try sometime soon, along with lots of dubious advice about babies and married life.
After a lunch of pizza, cake, fruit, and tea, we moved on to a dinner of meat, salad, bread, and tea. The men were really excited to grill for us; it was the only food prep I saw any men do (outside of restaurants), and it was probably because they don't do it much that it was so (unnecessarily) complicated. They had a tiny metal table/box thing, about the size of a laptop, where they put some charcoal and wood, and put that on top of a big oil drum thing. After about two hours of fanning and dancing around and feeding the tiny fire with little sticks and paper, they got impatient (or their wives did) for the coals to reach just the right temperature and broke out the HAIR DRYER, and sprayed sparks all over everyone, putting little burn marks in the headscarves of several people. Eventually, the meat cooked, and it was lovely, but probably not worth the trouble.
This is Ayse's youngest brother, Furkhan, holding some Ottoman candy. Like most other male member's of Ayse's family, he is extremely shy, and only started speaking to me after I lived in his house for four days. He is also pretty into Ottoman history, from what I can tell, and tried to explain to me the importance of this taffy thing in the grand scheme of Turkish history. I didn't really get it. 
On my last day in Istanbul, I extracted from Ayse a promise to help me buy the things I wanted to take home. We discussed our plan in great detail the night before, and agreed to leave the house by 10am to drive into the city; the next morning, obviously, we didn't hit the road until 11:30. I was so annoyed by this, and by the fact I hadn't had breakfast, that I wasn't really paying attention where we were going until Ayse rang the bell of a very heavy, ornate door in the fancy-schmancy shopping district of Nisantasi (not the place to buy Turkish teacups, which is what I wanted to shop for). No, we weren't there for teacups, we were there TO VISIT MORE FAMILY. I know, I know, cultural differences and all that. So here is Ayse with her "most charismatic" uncle, who, like most of her uncles, run some kind of textile company. She works for one of them, but not this one (I think). We visited three more uncles that day, as well as Ayse's tailor, and did make one cursory stop for a teakettle. We didn't have time to buy teacups like I wanted, so Ayse's mother gave me some. 
This is Ayse's mother on my last night. She was a lovely woman, kept calling me her second daughter and making sure I had enough cold water, even though she herself doesn't really drink water. Unlike the Turkish hospitality I encountered elsewhere, she was not imposing or demanding; she was never offended when I declared myself unable to eat another bite, and, in addition to the teacups, she only gave me a hand-embroidered towel and a scarf with lace which she also made herself. This was much easier to transport than the pants, skirts, blouses, and jacket which Ayse's textile relatives insisted I take with me, or the book on the life of the prophet her more pious aunts gave me....
Me with pistachio and raspberry ice cream at the islands. I asked for a small cone, and this is what I got. Like pretty much everyone else in the world, Turks are extraordinarily proud of their ice cream, which is a little like gelatto, but tastes basically like lots of sugar and not much else. I frankly can't understand why they would bother with ice cream when there are so many other things there worth eating....
This is a lighthouse and a ferry/railroad station on the Asian side which we passed on our way back from the islands. The station was built by the Germans back in the late 1800s. It is pretty.
Ayse and her mother at the largest meal we ate while I was there. We went over to Elif's house, where she and her mother made spreads and dips and sandwiches and this kind of noodley-cheesy dish called borek which I love, and served it all with various olives, cucumbers, tomatoes, simit, french bread, jams, honeys, and cheeses. And tea (always tea). We ate in a little gazebo they have out in their garden, which is a rare commodity even on the outskirts of town. It very much resembled a scene from French Kiss, or one of those mafia films where the family eats out in the rustic, Sicilian garden: too much food, scraggly fruit trees, birds and butterflies and daisies and little kids chasing kittens through the grass, except there was no wine and many of the women were wearing headscarves. While we ate, Elif's extended family came by to meet us and show us their babies (a favorite pastime of the Turkish housewife). Lovely.
After this marathon brunch, I thought we were headed home, but we (obviously) went to visit some other family somehow related to Ayse. Her maternal aunt, I believe. They live in a different compound than the one where I stayed (which was paternal aunts and uncles). This family had a plot of land with one stumpy little apartment building and one tiny house, with a mostly paved courtyard between them. Ayse's aunt lived in the "big house," along with some of her five sons, their wives, and their kids, and the rest of them lived in the "little house." They all seemed to spend most of their time in the courtyard (above and below), though, wherever there was some shade. Aye's cousins-in-law (or whatever you call the wives of her cousins) were funny and very curious about me; luckily, this visit was near the end of my week, so my Turkish was much improved and I managed to actually converse with them without too much trouble. They gave me a couple of recipes which I intend to try sometime soon, along with lots of dubious advice about babies and married life.
After a lunch of pizza, cake, fruit, and tea, we moved on to a dinner of meat, salad, bread, and tea. The men were really excited to grill for us; it was the only food prep I saw any men do (outside of restaurants), and it was probably because they don't do it much that it was so (unnecessarily) complicated. They had a tiny metal table/box thing, about the size of a laptop, where they put some charcoal and wood, and put that on top of a big oil drum thing. After about two hours of fanning and dancing around and feeding the tiny fire with little sticks and paper, they got impatient (or their wives did) for the coals to reach just the right temperature and broke out the HAIR DRYER, and sprayed sparks all over everyone, putting little burn marks in the headscarves of several people. Eventually, the meat cooked, and it was lovely, but probably not worth the trouble.
This is Ayse's youngest brother, Furkhan, holding some Ottoman candy. Like most other male member's of Ayse's family, he is extremely shy, and only started speaking to me after I lived in his house for four days. He is also pretty into Ottoman history, from what I can tell, and tried to explain to me the importance of this taffy thing in the grand scheme of Turkish history. I didn't really get it. 
On my last day in Istanbul, I extracted from Ayse a promise to help me buy the things I wanted to take home. We discussed our plan in great detail the night before, and agreed to leave the house by 10am to drive into the city; the next morning, obviously, we didn't hit the road until 11:30. I was so annoyed by this, and by the fact I hadn't had breakfast, that I wasn't really paying attention where we were going until Ayse rang the bell of a very heavy, ornate door in the fancy-schmancy shopping district of Nisantasi (not the place to buy Turkish teacups, which is what I wanted to shop for). No, we weren't there for teacups, we were there TO VISIT MORE FAMILY. I know, I know, cultural differences and all that. So here is Ayse with her "most charismatic" uncle, who, like most of her uncles, run some kind of textile company. She works for one of them, but not this one (I think). We visited three more uncles that day, as well as Ayse's tailor, and did make one cursory stop for a teakettle. We didn't have time to buy teacups like I wanted, so Ayse's mother gave me some. 
This is Ayse's mother on my last night. She was a lovely woman, kept calling me her second daughter and making sure I had enough cold water, even though she herself doesn't really drink water. Unlike the Turkish hospitality I encountered elsewhere, she was not imposing or demanding; she was never offended when I declared myself unable to eat another bite, and, in addition to the teacups, she only gave me a hand-embroidered towel and a scarf with lace which she also made herself. This was much easier to transport than the pants, skirts, blouses, and jacket which Ayse's textile relatives insisted I take with me, or the book on the life of the prophet her more pious aunts gave me....
1 comment:
Thanks forall the details of your trip. Have loved reading each one. Hope to call you tonight....
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