We decided to walk the length of Istanbul’s old land walls. These are the walls built by the Byzantines under good ole’ Emperor Theodosius (rough time period ~450AD). Together with the sea walls, they adequately protected Constantinople up until the time they started calling it Istanbul (1453). Note: the guidebooks here don’t leave it as just the business of the Turks, they explain that Istanbul comes from Islambul, which the conquering Mehmet decided to name his newly captured city.
The walls still stretch from the Sea of Marmara to the Golden Horn, a rough arc that stretches about four miles. If a marauding band of barbarians led by a modern day Attila came to them, however, they probably would not provide much protection. Much of the walls are in some state of decay. However intimidating they may seem to Kate and I, I’m sure a determined tribe of Huns could make their way through. The wise Turkish government has realized this grave error and started to rebuild the walls: sections now stand fresh and strong.
Side note: this rebuilding is somewhat controversial, as it covers up the original Byzantine stone work, in whatever state of decay it was in, traditionalists have decried it as Disney-esque.
There are very few places along the walls where intrepid children or 32 year olds are prevented from scrambling up crumbling stairs or piles of rubble and walking along the tops of the walls. This is especially true in the Yedikule fortress where we started our adventure. The fortress marked the Sea of Marmara end of the walls. For a reasonable entry fee (5TL) we gained entry to a veritable Tom Sawyer’s Island of ancient fortifications. As practically the only people there, we could climb, go into scary dark tunnels, almost fall into 50 foot pits, and in general, have a grand old time.
Yedikule up high
Yedikule down low
A fearless adventurer, standing, fearlessly, 4 feet from a precipitous edge
We came to a gate in the wall where our inside track was blocked. We moved through the gate and got a good look at how the walls are formed. There are really two structures: an outer wall, a section of land maybe 15 meters across, and then an inner wall. For much of this first section of walls, in between had been small farm plots. At this gate, however, in between was grass and trees, more than a fair share of litter, a little old chapel-looking building, and three old men sitting in the shade. They noticed us glance in and beckoned for us to come in. They were seated on small stools covered in newspaper around a low table. On the table was a bottle of some sort of goodness and a single glass (the same type that would be used for serving tea). They gestured for us to go to the chapel-looking building. We entered the small 10 foot square building, bending down to avoid a 15 century old marble slab from causing a horrific head ache, and when our eyes adjusted, realized we were staring at 2 ancient sarcophagi. The back wall had an engraved cross, and the two sarcophagi (or, at least, that’s what we think they are, there really isn’t any guidebook or signpostings about the details of the walls) had engravings of various religious scenes and people.
Entry to chapel-looking building
View of back wall
Side sarcophagus?
We took some pictures, carefully ducked our way back out, and started making our way back to the wall gate. As we passed the group of old men, we smiled, gave them a “teshekur” (thanks in Turkish) and would have kept moving on. However, one of the men got up from his stool and said “please”, and gestured towards it. Well, you can’t really pass that up. So I sat on the stool, and Kate sat next to the now stoolless man on the small ledge next to the table.
The man spoke a smattering of English. Neither of his friends spoke English. The man in the middle, opposite me at the table, started talking and looking at me expectantly. I shrugged. He said some more, gestured at himself and his friends. I shrugged. The man who spoke a little English said “name?”. “Oh, I’m Andrew”, “I’m Kate”. The man in the middle pointed at himself and said “Ahmet”, gestured at the man who had given up his stool, “Ali”, and to the other “U…t” (we never really caught his name). He gestured at the glass and the bottle and at me. I looked at Kate, she smiled at me. I smiled and said “Sure, thanks”. Some bad Turkish: “ever, teshekur”. He poured me a shot full. “Raki?” I ask? “No” he smiles, “shera”. OK, something I’ve never had, excellent. I take it and try it. They laugh at me not drinking the whole thing, so, as any good freshman would do, I tilted it back. I then realized that “shera” is most likely a cheap Turkish version of Sherry, but even though it’s not something that I would choose to drink straight-up with my friends, it certainly was better then some alternatives (thank god this adventure didn’t happen in China).
We talk for a while, Ali spent most of his life, 50 years, in Germany, where we believe his children still live. The men pantomime death while pointing at the chapel-thing, this helped firm up the idea of sarcophagi in our minds. Ahmet talked for a while, Ali just smiled without translating, so we smiled too. Eventually we got up to go. Without decent language skills I couldn’t politely offer to help pay for the liquor. I figured I’d be insulting if I just handed them money. Ahmet says something, I say “thanks, goodbye”. Ahmet says something else, I shrug. Kate is trying to interpret their body language. By doing this she often figures out what people are trying to say long before I can (even when I think I kinda know the language, like French, or English). Ahmet says something to Ali, Ali says “consume”. Ahmet says: “Turkomen consume… here. American” (pointing at me) “consume… here…” I smile, say thanks, shrug. He says it a few more times. Kate finally realizes that they want some money. I say “how much?” U…t says “ten thousand“. Luckily we had previously learned of the restructuring of the lira that took place not too long ago, where the three zeros that used to be appended to every price got removed. I offer five coins, the most I could do without pulling out the wad of cash that would have been inappropriate to flash. Everyone smiles, thanks are offered, we are eternal friends forever.
Side-note: as I got up, I noticed the picture of the lingerie clad model on the piece of newspaper I was sitting on. For a muslim nation there are some risqué pictures in their newspapers; Rupert would be very proud.
Farm plots along the outside of the wall
We continued on the outside of the walls. There’s another row of farming plots, a nice wide sidewalk, and then a 2 lane highway. This made for easy-going quick walking. We made our way to the next gate and moved back inside the walls, where the walking may be a little slower, but it is much more interesting. We picked our way through a bit of a shanty town (small structures with tin roofs and the ever present satellite-TV dishes) and then found a wall-side park with a café for lunch. This section of the walls were rebuilt and used for functions (weddings, etc). Just outside the WC, Kate found a one-eyed kitten. We decided that since I couldn’t take the giant Turkish knife from cooking class, she couldn’t take the one-eyed kitten home, no matter how cute it was.
We continue along. Inside the walls is often a quieter side of Istanbul: neighborhoods of playing children, small workshops, and usually not too many cars. This is punctuated at the gates with large streets full of traffic and mayhem. The walls are not an official tourist attraction. There are not always sidewalks alongside the walls. When something is in the way: a construction site, a building, etc, there are no signs to help guide you around and back to the walls. We spent a fair amount of time walking in the road, dodging traffic.
At about the 3/4 point, we ask for directions from a dolmus(mini-bus) driver and turn a bit into the city to find the Kariye museum. This is an old Byzantine church turned mosque turned museum that has what are said to be the best, most intact set of Byzantine mosaics and murals. They are fabulous. Amazingly meticulous, detailed mosaics covering the vaulting of the outer halls (the narthex?). We sit when our necks hurt from staring upwards and appreciate the art. The Byzantines seem to go for a less bloody form of art than the Catholics. It’s nice. They also usually show an emperor presenting a tiny version of the building you’re standing in to Jesus on a throne. The engineer in me asks: is there a mosaic inside that tiny building that shows another emperor presenting a yet smaller version of the building to another enthroned Jesus and so on? Kate doesn’t always appreciate my humor.
Jesus and Mary doing their thing
Mural of Jesus and a bunch of other folk
Back to the walls. We’re in a lower class neighborhood. The kids are playing in the streets, again: the run-with-sticks game. Women, mothers, grandmothers, are watching from doorways and windows. We’re happy, we smile, wave and say hello in English and Turkish. The women often flash smiles back. The kids love it. Every now and then the dour old lady just wants to be a dour old lady and doesn’t smile. She can’t bring us down, though. We keep smiling and waving.
Happy, smiley, walkers
It’s getting towards sunset, we’ve meandered away from the walls since the buildings built into the side of the walls have obstructed us. We’re navigating through small poor streets going down hills and trying to wrap our way back towards the wall. We’re thwarted. We give up, go back to the last gate, and walk along the outside of the walls on a narrow strip of sidewalk stretched out on the highway as it splits into cloverleaves and other weed shapes to join other highways and the bridge over the upper Golden Horn. We get to the bottom of the hill, to the end of the walls, cross the huge roadway and find our ferry pier. A few more waves and smiles at the men in their little boats and then we’re on a boat heading home.
Crazy roadway outside of walls
The last little bit of walls, climbing down the hill to the Golden Horn
"The engineer in me asks..."
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