"Promise me this bazaar will be a lot warmer than what this morning has had to offer?" I ask my guide, Mr Necmi Özdemir. "Yes, yes, it will be nice and warm and we will get some hot sherbet!" he replies in English, just one of the five languages that he knows. Regretting not wearing a warmer jacket, I pray that Necmi will stay true to his words. I had spent the last two hours shivering through the cruise down the Bosphorous. As we went down the strait used ever since trade was basically invented, I was at a complete loss of words. Not because I was willing my body to miraculously stay warm through the drizzle of a 8 degree morning, but because of what lay, or rather was built, on either side of the strait. The juxtaposition of the new world with the centuries old produced an absolutely mesmerising view.
As we settled ourselves in the passenger lounge of the cruise, we tried to not let the damp morning get to our touristy spirits. I must admit I kept zoning in and out of focus as Necmi religiously opened his map and set out to explain the vivid geography of the Bosphorous. "So as you can see, this narrow waterway connects the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara. It also does the job of dividing Istanbul into its Asian and European half..." Necmi's Turkish-accented stoccato seemed to blur with the monotonous whirring of the mini-cruise as I gazed out of the window.
Every two minutes seemed to produce a different scene in front of us. Amongst the structures there were palaces that owed the inspiration of their graceful facades to their Greek and Roman neighbours. With their characteristic pale pillars, French windows and marble statues adorning the sea-facing lawns, the influence of the European culture to this city was obvious. Every now and then, one would sight the beautiful Ottoman dome shaped mosques, replete with their set of overarching towers.
This view seemed to have pleased Moulika as she finally woke up from her jet-lagged reverie. Breaking her, rather worrisome, silence she approved the partly man-made landscape as "Very pretty!". Then declaring that she was going to get something to defrost her numb fingers, she hoisted herself and set out to get a hot cup of strong, granular Turkish coffee.
When she returned, she was back to her chatty self. As she finished half of the coffee from the beautifully designed white and blue porcelain cup, she came across what seemed to be some stalks. "Must be some fibrous strands from the ground beans" I suddenly assumed the airs of a (pretentious) coffee connoisseur and dismissed the matter. With that, we went back to marvelling at the strokes of colours that the red tiles, white marble and green flora created against the steel-grey sky.
As our cruise passed one of the bridges, a very comical sight greeted us. This ancient bridge had two storeys. On the top one, the pedestrian lane had avid fishers who had braved the cold, wet weather and pitched their fishing lines down into the sea. These, interestingly formed the view of the cafes that lined the bottom storey. Now, imagine sipping on your hot morning coffee, enjoying the view of the Bosphorous. Suddenly, you come face-to-face with a dumbfounded fish being pulled out of the sea. Not to mention, the drops of saline water being splashed into your coffee as the fish stared at you in desperation with his big glassy eyes. Food for thought, eh?
By now, Moulika was slowly finishing her cup. The "strands" were giving way to something bigger. It seemed to be stuck to the deposit of the ground beans at the bottom of the cup. As she tilted it, it revealed itself to be a dead bug! As I let out a muffled squeal, she sighed, "Well not the kind of fibre I wanted to add to my carb-heavy diet, but I guess I had to start from somewhere."
