Cistern and seaside

At one of the cafes in the alley below my window, a large party of men shouted and chanted and sang drinking songs into the late late hours last night. I couldn't really begrudge such a rousing good time, but it did make it hard to sleep. Early this morning, a man passed in the alley below pushing an empty moving dolly before him and calling out his cartage services. He circles the block all day long everyday, returning at such short intervals that it seems he doesn't get much custom.

I watched television for a bit after breakfast, though I'm tiring of the news triumvirate of CNN (British), the BBC, and Euronews, each of whom loops the same few stories over and over. Yes, I know the oil leak (an unsatisfying term) in the Gulf of Mexico has not yet been capped, yes, I know the two Koreas are having words, yes, I get it, the World Cup is starting soon, the Brazilians and Australians have already arrived in South Africa, and the excitement is becoming nearly unbearable. The hotel cable does also offer two movie channels--True Movies and True Movies 2--but both show nothing but terrible 80s and 90s American tv movies, with stars like Craig T. Nelson, Tony Danza, and the Bionic Woman. Unwatchable, I'm afraid, and my tv standards when traveling are not high.

I set off midday after checking out and leaving my backpack at the front desk. Tourist crowds, mostly in large tour groups and mostly European, filled the streets and parks around Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, spilling into the Hippodrome, a long and thin and handsome park. I got in line nearby to see the Basilica Cistern, a great cool and wet underground cavern. The cistern was first built in 532 under the reign of Justinian; it has been lost and found again several times over the centuries, restored at least three times. A thousand years ago the locals didn't know about the big cistern, but they did know they could lower their buckets through holes in their basement floors and get water, and sometimes catch fish.

The cistern was most recently rebuilt in the 1980s, when fifty tons of mud was removed and walking platforms were installed. One pays 10 TL and descends slippery steps into the dark. The cistern is 65 meters wide and 143 meters long, its walls 5 meters thick; the brick, vaulted ceilings are supported by 336 marble columns arranged in 12 rows. Orangey lights have been installed near the base of some of the columns, near the surface of the shallow water, and in these eerily lit spots goldfish and carp congregate, hoping people will throw them snacks. On the far side of the cistern two columns are set on huge Medusa heads, one upside down, one on its side, both Roman art brought in from somewhere else, no one knows where. In another corner women can dress up in harem costumes and have their photograph taken for 10 TL (and many were partaking).

Back outside in the hot sun I walked through twisty lanes for sometime until I ended up down along the Sea of Marmara, on the other side of the peninsula from Galata Bridge. A park strip runs along the coast, the sparse grass glittery with thousands, maybe millions of thin strings of clear plastic wrap, the sort one pulls free when opening a pack of cigarettes. Here I ambled along for a mile or so, on a concrete walkway separated from the water only by a strip of big grey breakwater boulders. A few people sat sunning themselves on the rocks, gazing out over the sea where dozens of big freighters rode at anchor a few miles offshore. Close in, an unbroken line of trash bobbed in the rough, sparkling green water.

The few other walkers and sunbathers about were outnumbered by the men hoping to sell them something, water or juice or jewelry; these men sat back in the shade of nearby small trees, looking less than hopeful. At one spot something more fun was for sale: target practice. Two rusty poles had been set twenty feet apart in the rocks, with a couple lines of balloons tied between. Resting on a box on the edge of the concrete walk were four pellet guns, two of them long guns, two of them handguns. On the rocks below and around the balloons, numerous empty liquor bottles and tall beer cans served as alternative targets. The rocks and crevices all around were littered with brightly colored balloon bits and shards of glass. I walked past without taking up a weapon, and soon after passed two more such opportunities.

Eventually I came to a fish market and the end of the concrete walk. I turned back into the city and climbed a long hill through the Kadirga neighborhood, then passed through the Grand Bazaar again. The men stood before their stalls waiting and I wondered that they didn't get bored.

Before returning to the hotel, I bought a couple of the sesame bread rings from a cart. A young man started to help me, but then an older man with grizzled beard elbowed him out of the way and put the two rings in a plastic bag. I asked the young man the price, and he charged me less than I'd been charged previously (and I've known I've been overcharged, it seems for nearly everything I've bought, unless there's a listed price which there usually isn't). I asked the young man the name of the bread, and it sounded like he said "sweet," but after a couple repetitions I think it's "si-meet" (simit).

I got the bread for my bus ride tonight, and then a few bananas from a produce stand, and then a large bottle of water from a heavy-set man at a tiny store I've patronized each day. Now I'm back in the lobby of the Erboy Hotel on one of their two computers; it probably won't often be this easy to use the internet, but I do still hope to post regularly.

I have a couple hours before I need to leave for the bus station, and as there are no parks nearby, I plan to sit in the bright lobby and read a bit of Dickens, or maybe Emma (I bought a copy of the latter at a bookstore yesterday, a Turkish edition though of course in English). Emma Woodhouse might annoy me with her misguided matchmaking attempts, but at least I know that in the end Mr. Knightley will bring her to heel.