Cuisine in Istanbul

Cuisine in Istanbul is as much ceremony as taste. Women, always in white, kneed flat bread (pide), rolling and firing the dough in front windows, before your eyes, never looking up. Ice cream vendors stand in their kiosks wielding a long steel paddle – delicious dondurma is springier, chewier, than the Italian-style gelato favoured in the West. But pounding, mixing and serving it with his paddle, the vendor creates attention by striking a bell with its other end as he sings, or shouts. Batik ekmek (fried fish) sizzling on gold encrusted boats, crazily bobbing in the harbour, makes a delicious sandwich served from a counter on the dock…

Dondurma Vendor

A favourite for lunch is kumpir – a huge creamy baked potato stuffed with your choice of ingredients, although the vendor is willing to help. Carol was hungry but recovering from feeling ill. “I just fancy a potato with just butter and cheese,” she said. The guy swept his hand across twenty or more ingredients: chopped turkey, sausages, hot sauce, chillies, tomato, onion, and various mystery vegetables; “Is that all?” he said, in disbelief. I took mine with butter, cheese, tomato, onion, sausage and hot sauce, in the hope of saving face.

Serving Water Jug Stew

There were two trees set in the sidewalk close to our hotel, and jammed into the fence that surrounded each one were broken clay pots; mounds of them dotted the city and I’d often wondered about them. Turns out they are used in the preparation and serving of a water jug stew. Vegetables, broth, and meat, most often lamb, are cooked then sealed in the clay pot. It’s heated over an open flame at the table before the pot is cracked open and the dish served.

Fancy Pitcher of Beer

We were always on a mission. Day after day we ignored the invitation to eat at the restaurant beside those trees; maybe it was the lack of alcohol that failed to click. Most hotel restaurants serve liquor but street side cafes often don’t. Not all establishments are alcohol-free; I managed to snap two guys on International Street sharing a beer from the Turkish equivalent of a pitcher – complete with its own tap.

Then one lovely, tiring day the waiter held a fresh pide loaf out to us as we passed: a flatbread inflated like a balloon. We sat and within seconds a meze plate of hummus, peppers, baba ghanoush, tabouleh and feta sat beside it.

By then, we’d learned to drink the Turkish way (I had Turkish tea, black with sugar; Carol had Turkish apple or ginger tea). We also had alcohol in our room for a digestif, of course… We ate delicious roast fish and souvlaki.

Our waiter, Rakim, had us laughing as he turned his charm on every passer-by. He’d spoken to us every day since we’d arrived, walking down the street beside us, asking about our day and talking up his wares. ‘Come and join me; you look tired; we have the best waiters in town, etc., etc.’ I’d tried to ignore him but it had seemed rude and gradually he’d become an acquaintance. As we ate, he sat with us and as we finished our meal he made Carol a carnation, from a napkin – she still has it!

Boats cooking Batik Ekmek on the Golden Horn, Istanbul

The Prince’s Islands

The Juicer Man

“It’s Show Time!” A captive audience; we were crammed on the open, upper deck of a ferry, about 100 of us: we’d sailed out of Kabatas at 8:30 on a cool, sunny morning, when our performer appeared with a bag of brightly coloured objects.

It turns out they were small plastic cylinders that you screwed into an orange to help you squeeze out the juice. No one was interested and they turned their heads away. But he was a large man, full of life, and with a well practiced spiel. He swept across the deck, picking unsuspecting patrons to try his device, exaggerating its magic. Gradually, people started to chuckle, then laugh, then shift to face him. By the end, as he made sales, the audience was clapping and cheering; the day felt a little warmer.

Friendly Phaeton Driver

We were heading to Heybeli (Saddlebag), one of the nine Prince’s Islands, a lazy haven from the crush of the big city. Motorized traffic is forbidden on these islands, once a retreat of the elite, so it’s walk, cycle, or take a phaeton (horse and carriage). Only a handful of us got off the ferry and there was a long line of waiting phaetons, so we clambered in one and headed off around the island. The wagon meandered up to the cliffs, through the woods and back to the town, stopping here and there to smell the flowers, or the horse… It was a delight.

Stopping for lunch at the Deniz (Sea) Café, the owner lavished us with food and tales of the sea. As Carol tucked into her fish a motley collection of cats, dogs and seagulls moved in, jostling for position. I was glad I’d chosen the grilled cheese…

It was hard not to stop and take in the afternoon sun as we ambled around the town. Built on a gentle rise up from the docks, the narrow streets boast wooden colonial-style houses; like sad dowagers, their cracked walls sprouting bougainvillea and an occasional lush garden of tulips and crocuses. And, always a cat or two draped nearby. Despite the silence of the island you couldn’t hear them purr.

 We took a short ferry ride across to the much busier Buyukada (Big) Island. The town crowds the dock here with cafés and gift shops vying for attention - we grabbed an ice cream and another phaeton ride as we escaped the tourists.

We ended our visit boarding the ferry home. A large throng waited to embark, surging forward when the gate opened waving their tickets, as if this was the last boat home. We were carried along to the deck where we managed to find seats. The sense of community continued; the guy next to me cracked open a pack of chocolate cookies and immediately offered me one – we hadn’t even spoken. Two young guys next to Carol bought three packs of chips, handing one to her.

I waited for the show to start but there were no juicers this time, only the waiter with cups of coffee and tea… So, I grabbed a tea and stood out on the deck to watch the late afternoon sun over Istanbul.

Entering Istanbul Harbour with Blue Mosque (left) and Hagia Sophia silhouetted

The Orient Express

Orient Express Terminus street entrance

Our first introduction to the Orient Express was lunch in its old Eastern Terminus. Sat at a table of four in the converted Waiting Room, we laughed as the waiter served drinks from a trolley shaped like a railway engine. It was the first time we’d laughed that morning: we were on a day tour of Istanbul and frankly disappointed – we’d understood it was to be a cruise on the Bosphorus and it had only been a quick jaunt. Our woes paled in comparison to our table companions though; they’d booked a German-language tour.   We’d managed to communicate with hand signals and broken sentences but there were no smiles until the waiter beeped his horn!

 

After lunch we stepped out onto the platform straight into a movie set. I hadn’t realized it at first, although the battered cases and dated woollen clothing of the passengers standing around seemed a bit odd. It was when they waved at us laughing, that I realized they were extras in a 1950’s plot. I know what you’re thinking but, no, we didn’t fit in.

The Orient Express ran from Paris to Istanbul, commencing its luxurious service in 1883. This Eastern Terminus was built in 1890 and it still operates as a railway station, although the famed train service ended its run in 1977. The 3,100-kilometre (almost 2,000 mile) journey used to take 80 hours.

Platform Movie Set

One of the reasons it has remained in our psyche is probably because it was the setting for one of Agatha Christie’s most iconic stories; Murder on the Orient Express. Even so, I was surprised to learn that Ms Christie had a fascination with Istanbul and visited many times, writing the story while here.

Today’s Istanbul transit system is an impressive mix of modern technology and nostalgia. After finding itself choked by fumes Istanbul systematically reintroduced trams. Starting with the pedestrianization of Independence Avenue (Istiklal Caddesi) in 1990, the Takzim-Tunel Nostaljic Tramway, was reinstalled running its length. A favourite with tourists, this uses refurbished trams first built in 1915. Tourists and adult locals pay with their Istanbulkart (transit smart card), young boys travel for free jumping on and hanging off the back for much of its 1-mile (1.6-km) length – their laughter providing a warm backdrop to the journey. The tram clanks from Taksim Square to the Tunel, another nostalgic railway that’s worth a trip.

Taksim Nostaljic Tramway

Opened in 1875, the Tunel is one of the oldest railways in the world. It’s a funicular and runs uphill between two stations for a total of almost 600 metres (1/3 mile) but this is one hill you need a leg up for. Istanbul is very hilly and this line runs from the waterfront beside the Galata Bridge past the Genoan-built Galata Tower and up to Independence Avenue.

The main public transport trains in Istanbul are new, comfy and high tech. We were able to jump on board at the Sultanahmet station beside the Blue Mosque. Paying the fare was easy once you knew how; two English ladies explained it to me on the first day. They had me trapped in a ferry terminal trying to escape pouring rain. Buy an Istanbulkart ($3 or £1.50) at a streetside cigarette/candy kiosk, then charge it with cash at a machine found at most stations, then swipe it as you board. One card was good for the two of us and a 20 lire top up ($10/£5) seemed to last us a few days of travel on trains, buses and ferries. Once, when I went to top up my card, a tall Chinese man pushed me a handful of bills and pointed at my card; he didn’t speak English and I couldn’t get through to him that he needed to buy a card from a kiosk first… I could have sold that card 10 times over.

The local people you meet on public transport are lovely. Every time I got on Transit, someone would get up and offer me their seat if it was crowded. Or, maybe I just look that old and decrepit.

One evening, we were back in a different Waiting Room of the Orient Express Station for a performance by Whirling Dervishes, and I needed to use the bathroom. I rushed in from the platform and used the facility – on the way out I noticed a man sat in a cubicle at the entrance. Shortly after, I had to go again. As I rushed past him, the man scowled and started from his seat. It was then that I realized I should have paid him. I had no change, so I sneaked out when there were others at his window and grabbed some change from Carol, went back, and handed him some coins. He smiled.

Istanbul skyline showing Galata Tower