Today we had a second bite of the Archaeological Museum, and we had organised to meet Kemal, the son of Besime Teyze, who we had stayed with in April in Antakya, sometime in the afternoon.
We started with the Tile Pavilion, which was a gorgeous two-storey building, ornately decorated with tiles, that the Sultans could relax in or watch sports from. It overlooks park lands which were once sporting grounds. Currently it houses a fascinating exhibition on the history of tiles and ceramics. It was interesting to see the development to the finest skills and glazes in the 16th and 17th century and the obvious decline in quality after that. Some items from the 19th century looked very amateurish compared to earlier ones.
The print of a painting by former museum director, Osman Hamdy Bey, showed him, in historic costume, at the fountain in this pavilion. The sultans called these elaborate (but relatively small) buildings kiosks, but they in no way resemble the run down sea side ice-cream sale booth that that word conjures up for us.A trip to the toilet (a different one to yesterday) led us past statues and reliefs that had been relegated to nowhere, but each one of which was a treasure. Imagine the wealth of items not on display here and relegated to some dungeon-like storage tombs beneath the buildings, lining the corridor to the WC!
Highlights of today’s trip to the museum were:The fascinating exhibition of the items found at Troy and the history of the digs there. The original excavator, Schliemann, discovered six layers of settlements but destroyed many of them as he worked on lower levels. Archaeology at that time was just beginning to become a fashionable interest for wealthy amateurs, who used local untrained labour. At least *** had studied archaeology in Paris and had knowledge to guide him, if not an understanding of the techniques of conservation of a site that would be developed over time. Schliemann also did the dirty by removing treasures and giving them to others, including museums in Berlin and Athens. Sued by the Ottoman state, he had to pay a fine, but only managed to return a few of the items in contention. Later digs were more sensitive, with more levels of settlements being discovered, and subtleties documented within some of the layers. Now I can’t wait to go to Troy.
An exhibition of finds from Thrace – full of interesting information about civilisations that were only names to me – eg Nicomedia (Izmit), Bythinia, Nicaea (Iznik). There was a heroic horseman cult, so many of the reliefs and statues featured horses, particularly those for cemeteries.
The rest of the Byzantine exhibition – many people just used a decorated slab as a kind of door to a tomb in a mass cemetery, which would have been a great saving in time and space compared to the sarcophagus days. Many depicted biblical scenes, with one showing Jonah being consumed by a whale, sculpted by someone using only their imagination for guidance.
The scultptures – absolutely amazing, with a later one of Tyche, the goddess of good fortune in over-the-top style, which would have been painted originally.
Once again we saw the development of skills over time and marvelled at the naturalistic poses and expressions on some of the faces. It was clear that, in a time before our style of media, statues of gods and emperors would have ensured familiarity with those who ruled your life.
At this stage we heard from Kemal and set off to have lunch of a hot potato before crossing the bridge and climbing up the road to Taksim Square to meet him.Kemal is a photo journalist and has travelled widely, both with his work and for pleasure. He is friendly, lively and full of interesting observations about Istanbul and Turkey in general. He took us on a tour of the district called Beyoğlu, downhill from the square, into lanes and streets that we would never have learnt so much about if we had walked them alone. Each street is the street of something or other – of fish dinners, of tea sellers, of cheap and dirty hotels, of transvestites, of Turkish live bands, of gays, of reasonably priced clothing, of sweet sellers, of silk items, of hardware needs, of canned music but good cheap food, of vegetarian restaurants, of anything you could imagine or desire. We took tea in the street of tea sellers – a long lane, where you weave in and out of little tables with tiny stools around them (kindergarten size to us but very comfortable) and where the vendors only recognise their own customers by the type of table they are sitting at. The tea men and boys (no girls that we have seen) appear from buildings lining the lane, take your order, disappear and return with the tea tray a few minutes later. We passed a political party office with a big flag out the front, representing the workers (maybe 1%) who support it. The tall sky scraper of the National TV broadcaster rose above the other buildings, and framed one side of a magnificent view over Istanbul.
Finally we had dinner together in a restaurant beside the Galata Tower.
It was part of the Genoese fortifications and is the only part that survived earthquakes, and demolition in the 19th century. We noted the high round window indicating where Kemal, complete with tourist guide pass, has been to the toilet in the past. There were dogs and cats lounging around in many areas and here, at the base of the tower, four docile large dogs in varying condition acted as rugs. An elderly and poorly dressed man appeared with a bag, called over the best looking dog, and drew out and enormous hunk of meat which he placed on the road for him. When the others approached, the man shooed them away and they sat passively in a circle around the favoured one. Perhaps their condition reflected their position in the pack and in the man’s favour.It was easy and enjoyable talking to Kemal. We told him of our trouble with our phone being disabled after a month, in line with the government’s support for local phone companies by restricting the number of phones that can be imported. He told us an interesting story of the effects of one bit of apparently well-meaning bureaucracy related to registering. To stem the tide of mobile phone theft, it was decreed that phones would be registered officially and then, when they were lost, the officials could trace your phone for you, with thieves being found out and penalised. Kemal’s phone, registered as required, was stolen and such was his belief in the system that he rang his own number and left a message for the thief to the effect that the system would get him so just give it back, no hard feelings. He went through a long convoluted process in reporting the theft, in an office with signs up about this being the place to do it, and eventually received a letter saying that they do not trace phones. An equally strange situation exists in that you could only register one phone in a calendar year and now, in two calendar years. If not registered, a phone is disabled and won’t work in Turkey. People, whose phones are stolen or lost within their used registering time, have to make an arrangement with a friend to register it for them. An additional phone can be registered if a person is within a month of the return from an overseas trip. I hope I have explained this correctly – it is complex. Equally complex are the arrangements for who has registered for whom and remembering when the new registration period for someone starts. We envisaged people promising tracts of land or a daughter’s hand in marriage if only someone would register a phone.
Before we parted, we had some fruit juice and fruit at one of the many tropical fruit and juice vendors that have recently popped up as the newest fad in street sales. Our blood orange juice, which Kemal jokingly checked that we could drink, was delicious. Keith’s mango lacked the essential mangoness of ‘real’ mango. This reminded us of the mulberries we had eaten a few weeks ago that tasted very bland, without that highly distinctive mulberry flavour we are used to.Today’s walk over the bridge was in the dark but it was still busy enough to feel that we were in the middle of the city. A few fishermen still tried their luck amongst the deserted little piles of rubbish the street cleaner was dealing with. We stopped to take night time photos, with the stench of urine at the corner of the staircase contrasting with the beauty around us.
People were still out selling food and bric-a-brac near the ferry terminals, since a whole new wave of freshly washed and dressed up people were heading out for a night of fun. A grey headed man, dressed in layers, slept uncomfortably angled against the stone of the steps, passed by thousands. Tireless touts greeted us with energy and promises of "very good food, yum, yum," or silently by twirling ice-cream on metal sticks. Eventually we reached our hotel and, after a short chat with the friendly people there, and a turn on their computer to use the internet for a while, we once again neglected the blog and fell into bed. 
Alexander the Great
Goddess Artemis
Istanbul is full of surprises.
Christine goes to the aid of a kitten that has been arrested by the Istanbul police.
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