Into the City – Part 1

The name of the city of Istanbul comes from the Greek phrase eis ten polin, which means “into the city.” For centuries, it was simply The City. The emperor Constantine changed the name of Byzantium to “New Rome” when he made it the capital of the Roman Empire, but it was also known by his name, Constantinople. It later became the capital of the Ottoman Empire, until the empire ended in the early 1900s. A city with so many names, which has served as the capital of multiple empires, which spans two continents, which includes pagan, Christian, and Muslim history, which now has a population of 15 million, must be an interesting city. It was this city that was first on our list to explore.

My blog has been quite the last two weeks precisely because there has been so much to explore. Now that we are in Albania, our schedule is more settled and I am in another phase of the sabbatical, in which the point is contemplation. That gives me time to catch up on all that I wished I had time to say earlier. Expect more frequent posts over the next few weeks.

Day 1

Our first morning in Istanbul our five year old was awake at 4:00am. I was up with him at 5:45. Two of the other kids were up shortly after.

I drank a cup of tea on the balcony of our Airbnb apartment. Despite being in the middle of the city, the owner has managed to make it green. It also helps that the apartment looks out into a city park.

Our daughter said right off, “In the middle of the night, there was a guy, like, singing.” Yes, the Muslim call to prayer. That first night it mingled with my dreams. Half awake, I found myself thanking God for his beautiful grace. After a couple weeks I think I sleep right through it, as everyone else seems to ignore it as well. Only when we were outside a mosque have we seen anyone respond to the call to prayer in any way. And then it was a few people making their ablutions and entering the mosque for prayer. Of course people know that the call means it’s time to pray, but the fact that it’s in Arabic makes the words themselves unintelligible to Turks.

To let the sleepers continue to sleep, we walked over to the park behind the apartment. Then we walked down the street to a couple bakeries. They didn’t take credit cards. One bakery owner offered to give me bread. That was a good introduction to Turkey, although I turned him down. I tried withdrawing cash at three ATMs, but my own bank rejected the transaction at each one. I had called our bank specifically to let them know we would be travelling and using the card overseas, so this was a little irritating. Of course it is 10 hours later in Turkey, so the bank was closed. We would have to live the first day without cash. Fortunately our guide for day one, an acquaintance who has lived in Turkey for over 20 years, insisted on paying for everything.

It was so valuable to have a guide that first day. He took us down to the water, out to lunch (not too impressed by that first meal, unfortunately), and then on a ferry to the Prince’s Islands. On the ride over we saw just how large the city is. Istanbul spans two continents as it spreads out on either side of the Bosphorus (the channel of ocean connecting the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara, which connects to the Aegean and the Mediterranean farther south). Even though we spent a couple months in Mexico City, which is nearly twice the population of Istanbul, I still found myself wondering how a city could possibly be so big. The amount of city is overwhelming.

We arrived at the Big Island and took a horse drawn carriage part way across the island and up towards its high point. From there we walked up the hill to an Orthodox church and a restaurant. The menu included the option of “old cheese,” which amused us.

Our guide said that as a student in Canada they had four grades of cheddar: mild, medium, old, and nippy. You have to admit “nippy” is a more colorful casein description than “extra sharp.” But “old” doesn’t sound quite the same as “aged” or “sharp.”

On the way down we were planning a pleasant walk through the woods, but by the time we got to the horse carriages it was raining pretty hard, so we chose the carriages again. We ran through pouring rain at the ferry dock to get on the boat. Everyone else on the island seemed to have the same idea. We rode a ferry packed with soaking wet people. Rebecca and some of the kids sat on the floor, as all the seats were taken. A young man who was also on the floor handed a blanket to me for our kids to use. Another nice gesture.

Two tired kids slept on the ferry ride home. Our guide left us where he lives in Kadikoy, the ancient city of Chalcedon, where the early church’s understanding of Christology was hammered out. We had a short ferry ride to the Eurpoean side of the city, and a tram ride after that. We thought we could make it home from there. We chose to take the funicular (a train or subway for steep slopes) up the hill to Taksim Square, a bustling hub of activity in Istanbul. We headed down the main street, Istiklal Caddesi, back towards our apartment, marveling at the endless stream of humanity heading both directions.

We arrived home rather late and fell into bed exhausted.

Day 2

On our second day in Istanbul we were blessed to have as our guides a good friend from seminary and his wife. We spent a little more time holed up in our apartment than planned due to rain, but enjoyed the conversation. 

Then we went out walking and bus riding to lunch (nice to try some new foods) and the grand bazaar and the spice bazaar.

The kids enjoyed looking at all the animals for sale, especially the large containers of leeches.

I’m pretty sure I got ripped off by one of the vendors at the spice bazaar when I bought a few varieties of dried fruit and candies. But I had also had a baker hand me back a 50 lira bill and take a 5 instead. I hadn’t understood that he meant 5.50, and I wasn’t even doing the conversion in my head. 50 lira is about 17 dollars, a bit expensive for a few pieces of bread. I appreciated his honesty and friendliness.

Our friends told us we had to try cigkofte, a Turkish snack or wrap. The word means raw meatballs, which was traditionally exactly what it was, but squeezed in the palm of the hand so that the indents of the fingers were left in the finished product. Somehow the dish has transformed itself into a vegetarian affair, with bulgur wheat, parsley, onion, and possibly even some pomegranate juice. If you think it sounds strange, just consider the “food” known as a hotdog. Does it get any weirder than a tube of textureless processed meat?

Well, yes, actually it does. Because with this snack of raw meatballs wrapped in lavash bread our friends also ordered a couple servings of turnip juice. Yep. The kids all bravely tried a sip. So did I. It was terrible. Like drinking spicy pickle juice. But my friend loves it.

He and his wife, by the way, train people who are coming to do ministry in turkey and Central Asia. Unfortunately it didn’t work out for us to visit their home and check out their work. I am interested in the influence of the gospel in this historic city.

My friend’s fitness gadget told him he had walked eight miles at the end of our time together, and estimated that he had done six miles with us. Our kids had walked all that too. Lots of walking would become common.

Day 3

Our third day in Istanbul was, as we tell our children, a church day. We attended a service at an international church in the morning and enjoyed fellowship over lunch in the church’s courtyard. We talked with a British couple who in one year had had their first baby, sold their house, and moved to Turkey to support the fledgling Christian church. They are currently in language school and considering where they will live and serve. They made it all seem so doable. When I mentioned that they responded, “Yes, but sometimes we also wonder what in the world we have done.”

During the service a Turkish woman was commissioned for work in Central Asia. The man next to me (the friend of my guide from day 2, it turned out) whispered to me that she was probably the first full time Christian worker to be sent out from Turkey. In the last few centuries, I think he meant, as Turkey was a major part of the Apostle Paul’s missionary travels, and played a major role in early Christianity. It was wonderful to hear this woman say, “This is what I was born to do.”

I had an opportunity to preach at a trilingual afternoon service, with English/Turkish translation done up front and translation into Farsi (for those from Iran) by earpiece. It reminded me of our own services: genuine, friendly, and unpolished. The translator for the sermon was the woman who was being commissioned for ministry in Central Asia. It turned out that it was the last Sunday for their Farsi translator too, as he was heading to the United States for a 3 month internship. How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity, says the Psalm. Good and pleasant and beautiful when the people come from the corners of the globe.

After the services, we found a place for ice cream as a reward for our children’s display of patience. I thought I was ordering three types of berries, but got lemon and an unknown flavor. It was quite good. We walked down to the Galata Tower, built by the settlers from Genoa, Italy around 1450, but the line was too long to be worth the wait. We found a tiny eatery with three things on the menu. We ordered and loved all three vegetarian items.

So far so good in The City.