It's Sunday, we awake from a deep, restful sleep, well deserved after yesterday’s rush. Istanbul is already awakened and full of life, with all the locals and tourists in the streets. There’s a feeling of a tourist town.
We take a traditional Turkish breakfast: eggs, cheese, tomatoes and tea, the omnipresent Turkish tea. We check the horses, collect some of the luggage and start walking through the city.
Topkapi Castle, sitting boldly on the banks of the Bosphorus, looks over the city, appearing proud and superior. The former residence of the sultans, now the castle receives his visitors with the air of a wise, old man, tired of the same old story, told and repeated over and over again.
Near the castle stands Hagia Sophia, bold, colourful and a little “strange” with a mixture of Byzantine and Ottoman architecture.
Over the small park with a market, Sultanahmet, with a beautiful garden and splendid fountain, guarded by a fairytale Turkish guy, guards the Blue Mosque, called like this because of the blue mosaic interior.
One thing should be noted about Istanbul, cats and tulips feel like home in this city. The cats are bored and lethargic, almost indifferent to the bustle of the city, and the tulips ... just tulips, the most beautiful flowers.
We don’t get around with English, there seems to be a language not accepted by the Turks, but to our surprise, Romanian seems to be spoken by more and more merchants trying to sell us everything. And they have a way to convince you, that they could sell you also something you do not need and afterwards you’d be convinced you've made a good deal. I'm not good at negotiating, but something that works most often is "take it or leave it." I weight in at that price, I calculate a fair price, I offer the amount, if he accepts I buy, if not I say goodbye, the bazaar is filled with other products. So far, this strategy has worked, but by the quick acceptance of the traders, I think that I still offer too much. However, we both seem to be satisfied with the deal.
We finish Sunday with a ride on the Bosphorus, taking a boat that shows us both parts of the city, separated by the Bosphorus, by traveling on the border between the two continents. Sun fades away over the golden waters of the Golden Horn, proving us hence its name.
It's Monday already and we have to face a new day.
The Turks, although aggressive in attracting the customers, are friendly, smile, make conversation, as they possibly can. I practiced so much the gymnastic language, that I may not make one sound and I still make myself understood by the Turks.
Turkish tea is surely the city emblem. Everywhere we went, patrons, whether they had a small boutique or a large carpet department store, are dressed in a suit, smoking "like a Turk" and staying with the habitual tea in hand.
In the bazaar, a huge congestion of small shops where you can get lost very easily, people swarm in all directions, like in a beehive, each of them worried and rushed as if they have to solve the most important mission. Only the two of us walk slowly, looking here and there, avoiding eye contact with sellers, in whose eyes - if you looked at once - would be able to follow you all day to convince you that you need that rug, scarf or whatever they are selling.
We observe something interesting and pleasant at the same time: Turks like Romanians, especially Romanian riders. Many people in the bazaar, and not only, chat with us, hoping we would show them our engines, because the motorcycle jackets prove what we are.
We must admit that in Istanbul, like the rest of Turkey, motorcycling is fashionable, albeit on a smaller scale, a technical scale in cc, and a poor level of safety. You can see everywhere 125cc bikes, mostly CBF 125 and CBR 125, the helmet is an optional instrument, and when available, it is held on the arm, sort of an armrest.
Also in the bazaar, while buying one small Turkish costume for my swet Smurf, I negociate the price with the seller, because negociations got into my blood. The guy, let’s call him Farhad, because, he should forgive me, I forgot his name, accepts the price I offered, not before admitting that he accepted this price only because I am a biker. He himself was a kite in the past, he explain us in poor English, while using few verbs, but he quit riding after an accident that cost him two teeth. He confesses that he would ride again, although he does it nowadays, but very slowly and regularly because his fiancee, let’s call her Farhaza, doe not agree with him riding. I make jokes, with a little nostalgia, because of his passion for motorcycle and his fiancée, whom he cannot reconcile, and then we say goodbye, after he gives us a card with his phone number in case we need something, says Farhad. We thank you Farhad and we wish you good luck with your motorcycle and your fiancée.
Upon leaving the bazaar, we notice a gold selling shop where we hear people speaking Romanian. We find out that the store's owners are Romanians and the store is Romanian. Very interesting, we came to sell gold to the Turks.
After we finish buying souvenirs and other presents, we eat boiled corn, and then we go to a cafe-tearoom-hookah smoking place to satisfy a dwarf, (dancing in my head): I want to sit cross-legged, drink tea and smoke nargileh. And yes, I did it. We felt so good that we were laying on the sofa like pashas, steaming slowly and dreaming. We were awakened to the reality by a "Turk" who said that we are not in a hotel, here we only drink and leave. We get up and leave reluctantly, however this stop was been a wonderful recreation, we felt Turkish indeed.
Turkish food is tasty and well made, well seasoned and looks appetizing. After having visited a technical museum and the water tank of 'Stamboul from Ottoman times, we stop at the terrace of the friend we made during the first evening, who proved to be the best English speaker so far in Turkey. He explains some aspects of Istanbul, luxury taxes, the high price of gasoline, electronics 'Made in Syria', the neighborhood where the Turks drink, although religion forbids it, urban congestion, different driving styles in town, and many more stuff that he thinks we might be interested as tourists.
In the evening, we walk slowly through the streets of the old town. At one corner, an Ottoman dressed Turkish and selling sorbet syrup, is calling us to take pictures with him. The Ottoman is so compelling that we take the photos and we imediatly wake up with two cups of syrup poured from an old vessel which he is carried in the back, with a swan or dragon neck. After we thank him and before we leave, it crosses my mind to leave him a tip. I notice, stupefied, that he refuses the two pounds, he asks for 14. Mr Ottoman, you may be Turkish, well dressed, talkative and apparently nice, but you either take the two pounds or nothing. Seeing that we are serious and start leaving, he takes the money, claiming that he made a discount because we are Romanian. It is true that in Turkey, everything is negotiable, but that's plain robbery. We continue our journey, forgetting the episode "automatisk Ottoman Antik", then we go to the hostel where we accommodated in 'Stanbul, because in the morning we start again, on the Turkish conquest.
Good night, for the last time, 'Stanbul, capital city of civilizations, thank you for hosting!
