|
The
Call of Istanbul
It was the afternoon of our first day in Istanbul. We
emerged from the cool comfort of the gleaming and glamorous Divan Hotel
into a high-end neighborhood of late 20th century buildings and crossed a
wide boulevard teeming with traffic. On the opposite side in a municipal
park the size of a large city block, rose bushes were abloom and the
fragrance of honeysuckle was so strong it was almost dizzying. As
were the crowds of pedestrians. Long-legged young women in mini skirts and
high-heeled shoes strode by ageless women, their heads covered with
babushkas, who shuffled along in black coats that reached down to their
ankles. A woman in a chador peered out from the secret interior of her
shapeless black garment. Serious looking men in business attire were
trailed by noisy shoe-shine boys. Vendors steamed ears of corn in big
pots, sold ice cream, proffered cherries from big wooden crates reclining
in wheelbarrows, hawked lottery tickets.
This is Taksim Park named for the city’s water
distribution system which used to be piped to various quarters from the
small stone building with an odd cone-shaped roof that stands adjacent to
Taksim Square at the head of the park. We stopped to admire an
imposing monument in the center of the square that commemorates Turkey’s
War of Independence. Beneath it, a boy of about twelve, wearing a cape and
feathered hat of “Three Musketeer” variety was posing for a
photographer while a woman standing alongside beamed with maternal pride.
What was the occasion, we asked our guide Hasan. The celebration of the
young man’s circumcision, he told us, an event that typically ushers in
puberty in this democratic, but largely Moslem land.
Taksim Square leads to Istiklal Street, a broad and
lively byway of shops, restaurants and cafes, offices and embassies housed
in an assortment of nineteenth century buildings that stand shoulder to
shoulder along an avenue closed to all traffic save a one-car trolley that
winds its way up and down the single track in its center. This is the
heart of Beyoglu, a neighborhood that a century ago had been the
mercantile center of European Istanbul where a multitude of nationalities
lived, conducted business, and frequented the area’s sophisticated
hotels, theaters, cafes and shops. To this day the diversity of the
region’s churches, synagogues and mosques cannot be equaled anywhere in
the world.
The smells of coffee and tobacco and a melding of
music wafted out from doorways. We heard the strains of “Tumbalalika,”
a Eastern-sounding lullaby a favorite uncle used to sing, blaring American
rock, Arabic and Greek songs all competing with street musicians playing
accordions and different kinds of pipes. Then suddenly in the midst of the
all the cacophony, a high, unaccompanied voice pierced the air with an
Oriental melody sung with great feeling and vibrato. Around us, people
continued about their business seemingly unmindful of the song that seemed
to be floating above the rooftops. Once again we turned to Hasan. “It is
the call to prayer,” he said, indicating the mosque at the end of the
street. Looking up to the minaret, we saw a man in a white robe surrounded
by four loud speakers into which he sang sequentially. “This happens
five times a day in every mosque,” he added. “But if you don’t hear
the call, you can find the prayer schedule in any newspaper.”
In the week that followed, the call to prayer would
accompany us, stopping us from whatever we were doing, compelling us to
listen. It punctuated our days with the reminder of how strong a current
of spirituality runs through the veins of this fascinating, many faceted
city.
The Moslem story is but a latter chapter in the
history of this part of the world where civilizations are layered like
strata of stone. From the terrace outside our eighth floor room in the
Divan Hotel we could see the Bosphorous, the strait that Jason and the
Argonauts had sailed in search of the Golden Fleece. Istanbul was
Byzantium then, named for Byzas, leader of the Megarians, who founded the
city in the seventh century B.C. some two hundred years before myths like
Jason’s had been incorporated into the standard Greek repertoire. Myth
and history blend artfully in any account of
Byzantium/Constantinople/Istanbul.
View of the European side of Istanbul from
where the Bosphorous meets the Golden Horn |
In cleaving the land mass between the Black Sea to the north and
the Marmara Sea to the south, the Bosphorous separates Europe from
Asia. Istanbul is on its southern banks, and is itself divided
by a winding inlet called the Golden Horn -- after Keroessa, the
granddaughter of Zeus and mother of Byzas -- which flows into the
basin where the Bosphorous and Marmara meet. Our first night in
Istanbul, we stood on the terrace looking across the midnight blue
water to Asia and tried to position ourselves in this
complicated locale that stands at the crux of so many
civilizations. |
The next day we took a taxi from hilly Beyoglu down
to the waterfront neighborhood Galata and crossed the Golden Horn over a
long bridge lined with fishermen to Istanbul’s Old City. Beyoglu and
Galata, which have buildings dating back to Byzantine times, can hardly be
thought of as new communities. Still they belong to a more modern
social and economic order than the Old City which appears rooted in an
older kind of commercial world. At the foot of the bridge, an enormous
multi-domed mosque spreads out with masses of people circulating about it.
The waterfront is filled with peddlers, bands of blind musicians, boats
unloading fruits and vegetables. Shopkeepers set their good on stalls
outside the doorways; streets are labyrinths winding upwards, abruptly
turning and disappearing into sudden alleyways.
Spice Bazaar in the Old City |
Our taxi drove along the waterfront to the southeast tip, a
peninsula at the end of the Old City where Hasan was waiting
for us at Sultanahmet Square. This is Istanbul’s most ancient
section, the place where, legend has it, Byzas founded Byzantium.
History tells us Emperor Constantine ruled from this district after
he re-named the city for himself and proclaimed it capital of the
Eastern Roman Empire in the fourth century A.D. |
The Milion Stone that marked the “zero point” where all roads of the
world began was erected here; we were able to see its remains. After
Constantine adopted Christianity, the region became the spiritual and
administrative center of the new faith and then the Eastern Church until
the Ottoman conquest of 1454. Thereafter Sultanahmet was
headquarters for the ruling Turks, the site for palaces, mosques,
monuments, and the city’s largest bath. What better place, we thought,
to begin our exploration into Istanbul’s past.
“I have surpassed you, O Solomon,” declared
Emperor Justinian in 537 at the inauguration of the largest church in the
world. It has subsequently been surpassed in size by St. Paul’s in
London, St. Peter’s in Rome and the Duomo in Milan, but for sheer
grandeur and majesty it remains unsurpassable. Although the Ottomans
converted the church into a mosque, whitewashed its Christian paintings
and mosaics and removed its ikons and statues, the structure remained
undisturbed through the centuries. In 1935, it became the museum that to
this day visitors from all over the world throng to, exerting an appeal
that extends beyond any specific faith.
Interior of the Haghia Sophia |
Interior of the Haghia Sophia |
The morning of our visit, hundreds of people were
roaming through its vast interior, international tour groups, bands of
traditionally dressed Turkish women, crowds of families. Yet despite the
multitudes, the immensity of the place made it possible to feel alone.
Light filtered into the cool darkness through what seemed like hundreds of
arched windows rimmed with patterns of colorful stained glass. The
enormous central dome seemingly soars up to heaven from its rectangular
basilica, surrounded by pairs of semi domes and six smaller domes. Looking
up, we experienced an overwhelming sense of space. Later, having climbed
the massive stone steps to the upper galleries, we looked down on the nave
for an equally spectacular perspective.
One hundred seven columns brought from all parts of
the ancient world support the domes’ great weight; some came from the
Temple of Artemis at Ephesus. Their carved decorations, the church’s
great bronze doors, the painting and mosaics depicting Biblical scenes and
Byzantine royalty, including a tenth century mosaic panel of Constantine
and Justinian presenting Constantinople and the Haghia Sophia to Mary
holding the baby Jesus in her arms, represent Byzantine art at its most
exquisite.
Standing in the central nave, we had a sensation that
something was off kilter; the altar was not quite centered. Later we
learned an error in the original design was detected after it was too late
to do anything about it and resulted in the structure being slightly off.
Having lasted for nearly a millennium and a half, however, the Haghia
Sophia must be on sure enough footing. To us, the less than perfect
balance only added to its majesty and charm.
A long plaza separates the Haghia Sophia from the
Blue Mosque named for its magnificent interior of blue and white Iznik
tiles. On both sides of the Bosphorous, the Istanbul skyline is dominated
by the graceful domes and pointed minarets of mosques. Each one we saw
beckoned as each call to prayer exerted its particular tug. But time would
allow us only a visit to this one built by Sultan Ahmet I in the early
seventeenth century. Positioned with its back to the shore of the Golden
Horn, the Blue Mosque’s exterior with its six minarets and multitude of
domes is an enchanting vision while its interior is a study in serenity.
Floors of the huge open space are covered with patterned rugs, domes are
painted red, white, blue and gold, the many arched windows have stained
glass panels of vivid blues and golds.
The long stretch of greenery that runs alongside the
Blue Mosque was once the Hippodrome where chariots raced in ancient times.
We stopped to admire its three remaining monuments: a tenth century stone
pillar, a bronze column from the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, and an
obelisk commemorating a Pharaoh’s victory in 1550 B.C. -- enough to
immerse anyone in the past.
Suddenly Hasan broke the spell by suggesting we stop
for lunch at a place on Sultanahmet Square directly across from the
Tourist Office. “It’s a favorite of ours,” he said. “The
proprietor, Mr. Colpan, is a wonderful man. We turn to him whenever a
tourist has problems, and he always helps us out.”
No sooner did we approach the bustling deep and
narrow restaurant with the leg of lamb roasting on a spit in the doorway
and took a look at the name: “The World Famous Pudding Shop” than the
proverbial bell went off. We’d heard of this place. In the
1960’s and 70’s, people we knew who backpacked across Europe and Asia
used Istanbul as a midpoint. They’d talked about a Pudding Shop where
they got together to drink Turkish coffee, sing along to guitar music,
collect mail, plan routes. They’d talked about the owners, a pair of
brothers who helped out kids embarking on the search for nirvana in India
and Tibet or crashing upstairs in the rough hostel on their way back. If
they were broke, the brothers loaned them money. If they had run away from
home, the brothers helped them establish contact with their families. If
they got into trouble, the brothers interceded on their behalf.
Hasan introduced us to the younger brother, Namik
Colpan, a warm and garrulous man who told us his brother IDRIS Idris had passed
away in the mid 1980’s. From Namik we learned how their father opened a
pastry shop on the site in 1957 whose specialty was the sweet soft
puddings that gave the place its name and is still served to this day.
Once the routes to the east became less safe and Istanbul ceased being a
transit point, the Pudding Shop ceased being a hippie-haven. But it
has since expanded into a self-service style restaurant serving all manner
of Turkish delights. Namik muses, “Sometimes middle aged Americans,
obviously successful, well dressed, come up to me and say ‘What did you
do to the place? It used to be such a nice café.’ They want to see it
the way it used to be. I tell them ‘You have moved on in life; so have
I.’”
Nakim Colpan (right) and his nephew at the
World Famous Pudding Shop |
Namik also has moved in the direction of hotel ownership. Forty
years after the Pudding Shop first opened for business, he purchased
the five-family apartment house where he had raised his family and
transformed it into a four-star twenty six-room boutique property,
named -- appropriately enough -- the Blue House Hotel. We visited
the Blue House Hotel that night and were shown around by Namik’s
son Faruk who as general manager is continuing the family tradition
of hospitality. |
A small garden restaurant is near the entrance, but
we chose to dine at the Blue House’s rooftop restaurant that had just
opened for the summer season and commands stunning views of the confluence
of the Golden Horn, Bosphorous and Marmara Sea. From our table on the
roof’s edge protected by a plexi-glass wall, one of us faced the Blue
Mosque, the other the Haghia Sophia. It was still light out when we
arrived, and from this enviable position we watched darkness fall, the
moon rise, the Blue Mosque become illuminated by blue and white lights in
turn, and the red stone of the Haghia Sophia become bathed in gold.
The Haghia Sophia from the rooftop of the Blue
Villa |
The Blue Mosque from the rooftop of the Blue
House |
| Directly below us some five stories down, we saw people at tables
in what looked like an outdoor café. Later we learned it was a
smoke shop where visitors smoked water pipes and drank Turkish tea.
A trio composed of a kind of tom-tom drum and two long and flat
string instruments was playing traditional Turkish music. Suddenly
three men dressed in white caftans with cone-shaped head coverings
stepped onto a little patio, crossed their arms, placing each hand
on the opposite shoulder, and began to slowly spin around. |
Looking down at the whirling dervishes |
As the music’s tempo quickened, they raised their arms above their heads
and twirled faster and faster until they looked like spinning tops. When
it seemed they could go no faster, the tempo began to decrease as did
their rate of spinning until both came to a halt. Unexpectedly we had
witnessed the dance of the whirling dervishes.
Faruk Colpan at the Blue House’s rooftop
restaurant |
Between the spectacular view and the equally spectacular whirling
dervishes, we thought it might be difficult to concentrate on food,
but the Blue House’s traditional Turkish offerings proved to be
their own attention-getters. Faruk suggested a full bodied red wine
called Yakut to accompany an excellent dinner of thyme seasoned
grilled chicken and eggplant baked with cheese. Produced by
Kavaklidere, it was one of several Turkish wines we sampled during
our stay, all of which led us to believe in the great promise of the
nation’s fledgling wine industry. |
The
next morning prompted by memories of the movie where Melina Mecouri plans
and nearly succeeds in a fantastic jewel heist, we returned to Sultanahmet
to see the actual dagger and jeweled treasures of Topkapi Palace only to
discover the Treasury Room was among those sections closed for
renovations. But we did get to see enough of Topkapi to understand
why so many consider it one of the wonders of the world.
| Set amidst gardens on the top of gently sloping hills surrounded
by Byzantine sea walls on one side and Ottoman land walls on the
other, this complex of pavilions, apartments, courtyards, and kiosks
served as royal residence, seat of government, and symbol of the
Ottoman Empire for four hundred years. Its construction began in
1472 during the reign of the conqueror Sultan Mehmet with additions
and alterations made by successive sultans through the mid
nineteenth century. |
The imposing entrance to Topkapi Palace. |
Accompanied
by Hasan and, for the second time on this trip, the intoxicating aroma of
honeysuckle, we wandered through a setting unlike any European palace or
castle. Arranged around a vast open space are a multitude of buildings
that lead into courtyards, domed pavilions framed by arched pillars, and
octagon-shaped kiosks – all of great detail and beauty. Each had its own
purpose from the rooms displaying the sultans’ collections of Chinese
porcelain, to the kiosks reserved for doctors and pharmacists, to the
kiosk holding the relics of the prophet Mohammad where a man in a small
glass booth ceaselessly chants passages from the Koran.
The
largest crowds lined up to tour Topkapi’s harem although only a small
portion of the labyrinth where the sultan, his mother, wives, children and
all their attendants lived is open to the public. Here are perhaps the
most beautiful and elaborate examples of sixteenth and seventeenth century
Turkish craftsmanship: walls of Iznik tiles, doors and cupboards inlaid
with mother of pearl, floors covered with exquisite rugs, domes painted in
elaborate design, arched windows outlined with vivid stained glass panels,
deep sofas laden with cushions of luxuriously embroidered textiles.
The
knowledgeable and efficient guide who addressed her remarks in English and
Turkish to a group of about 100 people, prompted us to move along. But how
we longed to linger, to absorb the moods of mystery and intrigue, to
speculate on what went on in these rooms.
“Oh
to be a sultan,” one of us said.
Looking up in one of Topkapi’s harem rooms |
A tour of Topkapi Palace provides an interesting insight into the
direction of the Ottoman Empire over time, how as the centuries
passed, the sultans became more enamored of European tastes, how
Arabic design gave way to western arts and artifacts –
particularly in the latter-day affection for crystal chandeliers.
Surely this shift had something to do with the decision to
ultimately abandon Topkapi and relocate the imperial residence and
offices to the other side of the city, the more modern, more European
part of Istanbul. Coincidentally or not, the move coincided with the
beginning of the end of the Ottoman Empire. |
In step with the imperial chronology, we taxied back
across the Golden Horn and followed the shoreline north to the site of
Dolmabahce Palace, which was completed in 1854 at a cost of five million
gold pieces. Unlike Topkapi, this structure so obviously belongs in the
tradition of upper-end European palaces, it is often compared to
Versailles. The chandelier hanging in its great reception hall, a gift
from Queen Victoria to Sultan Abdulmecit, is the largest in the world,
weighing 4.5 tons. And it is but one of 36 fabulous fixtures of Baccarat,
Bohemian, and Murano design in this palace of 285 rooms and 43
reception halls whose interior décor was, in large measure, the work of
the man who designed the Paris Opera.
The entrance to Dolmabahce Palace |
A series of interlocking white stone buildings stretching along
the Bosphorous shore, Dolmabahce combines classical, Baroque and
Rococo themes although in the intricacies of design, it reminded us
of the Manueline structures we had seen in Lisbon. After
passing through a great wedding cake-like gate, we strolled through
beautifully tended gardens adorned with fountains and statues before
joining up with a tour led by an earnest young man whose voice was
giving out as a result of lecturing to so many visitors. |
He led our group down hallways decorated with paintings of Istanbul
scenes by Italian artists and through state offices into a great meeting
hall with entrances on either end: on the European side it led off a
roadway; on the Bosphorous off a pier where boats arriving from the Asian
side docked.
We climbed the famed stairway with crystal spindles
that divides in two at a midpoint landing. “People tell us it’s like
the staircase in the movie ‘Titanic,’” our guide joked as he
escorted us into the Ambassadorial Hall illuminated by a one-ton Baccarat
chandelier. In this gold-plated hall where the sultan received visitors
from other lands, the floor is three types of wood laid in a star pattern.
Its central portion is covered by a large Herkimer carpet and, in stark
contrast,
two bear rugs -- gifts from Czar Nicholas II.
Gardens of Dolmabahce face the Bosphorous |
Furnishings in this palace are largely European – chairs,
tables, cabinets in the style of Napoleon and Louis XV. But the
carpets and textiles are made by Turkish artisans, and the prayer
rooms which face in the direction of Mecca have only carpets, low
stools and sofas. |
Again, the biggest crowds lined up to see the harem.
Here the apartments of the black eunuchs, the only men permitted in
the complex where according to our guide “not even male flies were
allowed,” were open to the public. Like the rest of Dolmabahce, the
harem’s opulent furnishings and arrangements were far more European than
Topkapi’s with canopied beds and dressing tables in rooms of private
apartments.
In 1922, the last of the Ottomans was installed in
the palace as caliph but with the end of the caliphate, he was removed and
ordered to leave the country. Two years later, Ataturk, the founder of the
modern Turkish republic, directed the passage of a law that declared
Dolmabahce and all the imperial palaces, mansions, and lodges property of
the nation. Ataturk himself resided in the white marble palace
towards the end of his life and died there 1938.
The gate to Dolmabahce Palace |
From the Dolmabahce, it is a ten minute drive up along the
Bosphorous shore to Ciragan Palace which at the time the National
Palaces Trust was formed was a neglected ruin. In its long but
checkered history that began in the late sixteenth century, it had
been a waterside villa for members of the royal family which over
the centuries was successively torn down and rebuilt before finally
succumbing to fire in 1910. |
Some seventy five years later, the Kempinski Hotel
Group from Germany decided to lease and refurbish the palace, build a five
star luxury hotel on adjoining property, and out of the two create the
extraordinary Ciragan Palace Hotel Kempinski
We walked with the young and enthusiastic public
relations manager Evren Kaya through the sparkling lobby of the modern
hotel into the gardens at the rear that leveled off before an immense
swimming pool whose waters seemed to flow right into the Bosphorous.
It was an optical illusion of sorts. Nearing, we saw there was a terrace
on the far side of the pool; umbrellas that appeared to be bobbing
in the water actually shaded lounge chairs.
“When the Ciragan Palace opened in 1991 after four
years of renovation, it was one of the first of the luxury hotels in
Istanbul,” Evren told us. “ The owners saw the city’s potential
before others did.” We were walking across the gardens now in the
direction of the palace past a cobblestone deck on the water’s edge
furnished with small tables and white deck chairs where a jazz combo
performs nightly.
Ciragan Palace (left) and the new hotel
forming the Ciragan Palace Hotel Kempinski |
Just beyond stood the palace in all its architectural grandeur, a
white marble structure lined with classical pillars and great arched
windows. The interior repeats the nineteenth century Ottoman
palatial themes like crystal spindles in stairways, a wealth of huge
chandeliers, inlaid wooden floors and Turkish rugs, extensive use of
blue and white Iznik tiles. But the color scheme takes leave of the
traditional warm hues in favor of riotous sherbet shades of
apricot, shocking pink, and chartreuse. The look is altogether
festive. |
The Hamam (Turkish Bath) in the Ciragan Palace
often used for cocktail parties |
Evren showed us the vast ballrooms, the Blue Room where a
performance of “Sultan’s Night” features exotic belly dancing,
and the hamam (Turkish bath) that has been carefully restored to its
very bathroom fittings and is a unique and favored setting for
cocktail parties with its tiled and marbled alcoves and star-shaped
skylights. |
Waiters in formation beneath the balustrade of
the Tugra Restaurant, Ciragan Palace |
But our ultimate destination was the Tugra Restaurant which
specializes in Classical Ottoman and Nouvelle Turkish cuisine. Here
Evren took her leave and put us in the hands of the gracious maitre
d’ Malhud Bakmakci who suggested a table on the balcony this
beautiful evening overlooking the grand balustrade that led to a
terrace fronting the Bosphorous. |
Malhud started us off with a perky aperitif of orange
and lemon juice, a mango flavored liqueur and Baccardi to prepare us for
the overwhelming menu of manifold selections organized into tasting,
modern Turkish, and traditional Ottoman menus.
White contemplating the options, we were presented
with labas, small pitas with white and dark sesame seeds, and a pair of
amuse bouches: a cone of bulgar stuffed with cardoman-seasoned chopped
beef and an exceptional chicken pate with nuts and spices.
After some deliberation we made our decisions:
(echoes of choosing one from Column A, one from Column B, one from Column
C in the Chinese restaurants of our childhood): a yogurt soup with mint; a
salad of grapefruit, shredded cabbage and mint; a sour soup with red
lentil, chickpeas and eggplant; red mullet; spinach ravioli; grilled
turbot with carrot sauce served with saffron-flavored bulgar and to
accompany this range of dishes the aromatic and fruity Chardonnay Serafin
we had enjoyed several times during our Istanbul stay. Dessert was quince,
pumpkin, figs and walnuts in a goat cream, baklava. Each dish was
delicious, novel in its seasonings and combinations of flavors,
meticulously served.
Night fell. Lights came up along the edge of
the Bosphorus and on the pleasure boats, ferries, and steamers plying the
strait. In the distance, just before Bogazici Koprusu, the bridge
that spans the continents and looks a lot like the Golden Gate, an
illuminated cruise shop twinkled like a palace’s crystal chandelier.
Once again on this Istanbul journey, we were struck by unexpected music,
this time coming from the dining room inside. We followed the melody to
three beautiful young women playing traditional Turkish music on a piano,
zither, and miniature cello. A thought crossed our minds: maybe this is
the kind of music the “Iliad” was recited to – how easily it could
produce the kind of trance the ancient poets aimed at.
Maitre d’ Malhud Bakmakci (left) and chef
Fabrice Zanelle at the Tugra Restaurant, Ciragan Palace |
Our reverie was broken by the appearance of chef
Fabrice Zanelle who joined us for coffee. We had no problem paying
our compliments to a chef who has clearly mastered the intricacies
of Turkish cuisine both new and old. Fabrice demurred. The Parisian
native who came to Istanbul by way of the Russian Tea Room in New
York gives credit to the local products. |
“Importation here is rough; I think it is
political,” he said. “But I have wonderful foods to work with. The
grapes are beautiful here. In the next ten years, Turkish wines will be as
good as Californian. The spice market is fantastic; the fish are plentiful
– I go to the fish and vegetables markets every morning. We have the
best dates I’ve ever seen, gorgeous melons, beautiful grapes and
cherries. And I can find small farmers who will make the cheeses that I
want.
“Everyone says Turkish cuisine is similar to Greek,
but it is also like Lebanese,” he added. “The Moroccan influence is
there, the mixture of Arabia and Europe. I’ve been here for nine months,
and one thing I’ve learned for certain is there is so much to discover
in Turkey.”
Indeed. We had yet so much to
discover in Istanbul alone. In a single week, we had seen many of its
famed sites, traveled the legendary Bosphorous on a ferry boat crossing
from points on the European to Asian sides, attempted to navigate the
world famous Golden Bazaar, partook of the excellent cuisine, and in the
process developed some sense of how this city is so much a product of its
many layered past. More importantly, we think, we had gotten to know a
people we’d had little contact with before who were warm, hospitable,
gracious to strangers, anxious to share the wealth of their history and
culture. But all this was just the beginning. The call to prayer we heard
our first afternoon in Istanbul lingers – having become a call to
return.
Turkish Tourist Office
821 United Nations Plaza (Ground Floor)
New York, NY 10022
Phone: 212-687-2194
Web: http://www.Tourismturkey.org
Turkish Airlines
Flies non-stop to Istanbul from New York, Miami,
and Chicago
(The planes are Airbus 340’s with extra leg room
and are immaculately maintained for the duration of the flight)
Phone: 800-874-8875
Web: http://www.www.thy.com
The Divan Hotel
Cumhuriyet Cad. No: 2 Taksim
Istanbul, Turkey
Phone: 212-231-4100
Email: Divan@Divanoteli.com.tr
Ciragan Palace Hotel Kempinski
Ciragan Caddesi 84, Besiktas 80700
Istanbul, Turkey
Phone: 90 212 258 33 77
Email: Reserve@Ciraganpalace.com.tr
Blue House
Dalbasti Sk. No:14 Sultanahmet
Istanbul Turkey
Phone: 90 212 638 90 10
Email: Bluehouse@Bluehouse.com.tr
Photos by Harvey Frommer
# # #
About the
Authors: Myrna Katz Frommer and Harvey Frommer are a wife and husband team who
successfully bridge the worlds of popular culture and traditional scholarship.
Co-authors of the critically acclaimed interactive oral histories It Happened in
the Catskills, It Happened in Brooklyn, Growing Up Jewish in America, It
Happened on Broadway, and It Happened in Manhattan, they teach what they
practice as professors at Dartmouth College.
They are also travel writers who specialize in luxury properties and fine dining
as well as cultural history and Jewish history and heritage in the United
States, Europe, and the Caribbean. (More
about these authors.)
You can contact the Frommers at:
Email: myrna.frommer@Dartmouth.EDU
(myrna frommer)
Email: harvey.frommer@dartmouth.edu
Web:
http://www.dartmouth.edu/~frommer/travel.htm.
This Article is Copyright © 1995 - 2010 by Harvey and Myrna Frommer. All rights
reserved worldwide.
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