First things first: Sore shoulders from the rock, er, I mean, pillow. But a marvelous breakfast: tomatoes, black and green olives, salty cheese, squooshy bread, chocolate hazelnut spread, butter, jam, cherry juice, tea, freshly hard boiled eggs. An excellent way to start the day. And included in the price of the room, which, as I said, amounted to 22 bucks a day.
We walked up pthe hill and to the entrance of the Blue Mosque on the Hippodrome. As we entered the gates, we were approached by a nice-looking, persistent Turkish man who greeted us with the typical “You are here to see the blue mosque?” “Well…yes.” Obviously. He proceeded to accompany us to the entrance, instructing us to remove our shoes and put them in the plastic bags provided there, to cover our heads, and we tried to tactfully get rid of him by insisting that, no, thank you, we really don’t need a guide, but we are grateful for the offer. (I have been burned-financially-with the uninvited guide before, at the Muhammed Ali mosque in Cairo. Once burned, twice shy.) “I don’t want you to pay me!” he insisted. Turned out that all he wanted was us to visit his shop after our stop at the mosque. Hmm. “I’ll meet you at the exit!” he proclaimed.We pulled the thick curtain back and stepped in.
It was incredible. Pictures don’t do it justice, but here you go:
View from the courtyard:
Views of the courtyard:
The interior domes:
The women's section:
Vacuuming:
Sure enough, at the exit, our friend was waiting for us. After we put on our shoes, he gave us a guide to the courtyard. “You know why the mosque, it has 6 minarets?” We look at each other blankly. “No…we don’t know…” Well, the Sultan, he wanted one gold minaret, but the architect, he misheard and built 6 minarets. When the sultan saw the completed mosque, he said, ‘why did you put six minarets?” and the architect (apparently a very quick thinker) said, “My Sultan, there is no other mosque that has six minarets. Two, yes. Four, yes. But this is the only one with six minarets!’ and the Sultan was pleased with this. You know, the word for gold in Turkish is altın, and the word for six…” Lisa and I perked up: we had memorized our numbers 1 through 10 on the plane. “Six! altı! Hahaha!” We were quite pleased that we understood the joke.
Our friend accompanied us to his cousin’s shop, and his shop, but we declined the offer to be the “first customers of the day” and made our way across the street to the Hagia Sophia, which, thanks to the highly efficient Turkish ministry of culture, cost 15 lira. Or ten dollars. Or whatever. The exchange rate is sort of … flexible.
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