Yesterday was about food, today was about shopping.
My original plan was to go to the Mosaic Museum. Then I’d walk to the nearby hop-on-hop-off bus stop and enjoy a scenic trip around the city. I’d get off at the spice market, have lunch and walk around for a bit.
Making plans is inviting trouble. The museum’s website indicated they opened at 9 am. I arrived a bit early, had coffee and walked through the nearby shopping arcade. I searched for the museum entrance to no avail. After searching and searching, I asked a shopkeeper. “It’s closed for restoration,” he told me.
So much for that idea. I walked past the Hagia Sophia, but with a $35 entrance fee and a lengthy line at 9:15 I decided to skip it (I’d been there before). The hop-on-hop-off bus was ready to depart when I arrived at the stop. “How long does the full circuit take?” I asked. “Without traffic, two-and-a-half hours.” With a wry smile, he went on to say there is always traffic.
Because it was early, I got a prime seat—on top, under a covered area at a window. I chatted with people around me, learning they were from Bahrain, Canada, Mexico, Portugal, and Argentina. They were not from the countries I expected. For the next three hours I enjoyed the view, the shade, and finally understood where the different neighborhoods are relative to each other.
The scent of the spice market reached me before I got off the bus, a luscious blend of exotic spices mingling with the sweet fragrance of dried fruits, herbal teas and rose petals. Also known as the Egyptian Market, the main building has been in operation since 1664.
Vendors passed out samples. “Try, try,” they say, not taking no for an answer. Unable to refuse, it would have been rude, I tried four different types of Turkish Delight, a traditional confection. These are soft, chewy cubes with a distinctive, delicate texture. I also tasted thin slivers of baklava and some other sweets I can’t identify. Shockingly, I managed to taste all this and not buy a thing.
But when a tea vendor handed me a warm cup of tea, I was hooked. The scent and taste of cherries was luscious. In all, I tried five different teas but only bought the cherry tea. It was unusual and something I’ve never seen at home. He vacuum packed the loose tea and carefully wrapped it.
Exiting the spice market I headed towards the Grand Bazaar, one of the largest and oldest covered markets in the world, dating back to the 15th century. Established shortly after the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople, it has grown into a sprawling maze of over four thousand shops.
The way to the indoor market passes through a maze of shop-filled streets where the locals do their buying. I wasn’t in the market for wedding dresses, evening gowns, underwear, kids’ clothing, shoes, or any of the other goods for sale. But the displays and people watching kept me enthralled as I slowly made my way to the indoor market. That’s where most tourists head.
On my last visit I’d spent a lot of time there and had been enthralled with the colorful displays, exotic wares, and persistence of the shopkeepers. I hadn’t been in the building for five minutes when I was stopped by a rug salesman. Despite my protestations that I absolutely, positively, definitely would NOT be buying a rug, we got into a conversation. He was a charming young man who seeing I was in pain (I’d done too much walking on uneven surfaces), invited me in. I was grateful to sit, chat, and be shown gorgeous carpets and sip a glass of lemonade. When potential customers entered, I made my escape.
Two minutes later, I was looking at pillow coverings. I’d hoped to replace two of them that my dog Pookah had chewed the corners off. That shop didn’t have what I wanted, but the owner said, “I know where you can find them,” and led me to a friend’s shop. He had hundreds of them, and the shop owner seemed determined to have me look at them all. I drank more lemonade. While I looked, we chatted about how the market and life in Türkiye had changed. “Be careful here,” he warned. “A lot of what is in the market now is made in China.” After some friendly bargaining, I bought a few of the pillow covers.
“What else would you like to buy?” he asked. “Lunch first, then more shopping,” I told him. “Yes, but to buy?” “Scarves,” I said. “My cousin sells high quality scarves. First you visit him, then he will take you to where we eat kebab.”
I drank even more lemonade. The beverage of choice is normally apple tea, but on hot days, lemonade is the beverage offered. The scarves were handwoven silk, indescribably soft and gorgeous. I could not resist.
Finally I was led out of the bazaar to a small kebab shop. By that point I was ravenous, and everything looked wonderful. For next to nothing, I ate a massive and delicious lunch of lamb kebab, shepherds’ salad, meze of hummus, baba ghanoush, and mixed vegetables, accompanied by the lightest, softest pita-like bread I’ve ever eaten.
By that point it was late afternoon and time to return to the hotel. I was given directions to a place where I could find a taxi. With all my packages I must have looked like a mark. The first driver wanted an absurd amount. The same with the second and third. Finally, a taxi pulled up and quoted a reasonable price. After I’d gotten in and we’d set off he told me, “I can only take credit cards.” “Oh. Every other driver wants cash.” “But I am a government driver, so can only accept credit card.”
That sounded fishy to me, but we were already on our way, and I knew if I got out, I’d have difficulty getting another taxi. When we arrived, I handed him my card. He couldn’t get it to work. “You have another card?” he asked. I told him no. He kept trying to get the card to work. I handed him cash and got out, leaving him looking very unhappy. When I got back to my room, I had a message from my bank that a transaction had been declined. The taxi driver had been trying to charge the card $425 for my ride