Turkey: History, Art, and Heart

For just a moment, the world stands still. I float in an otherworldly illusion as sunlight streams through the windows at the base of the dome – bright light reflects off golden mosaics and floating angels. It’s been my dream to visit Hagia Sophia, once the largest cathedral in the world, since an art history class piqued my interest in Byzantine art. Sophia’s exterior is equally as stunning with her pink hugeness. Like the city itself, she has survived fires, sieges and destruction, and time after time has risen out of the ashes.

After the Ottoman Conquest of Constantinople in 1453, as Istanbul was then called, Sophia was conveniently re-purposed into a mosque with the addition of minarets and a mihrab. In 1935, the Republic of Turkey’s first president, the revered Ataturk, transformed the building into a museum to preserve both dynasties.

The streets of Alcati. Photo by Kate Robertson.

This area is filled with ancient history. Down the street is the Hippodrome, the sporting and social centre where common folks and nobility mingled, cheering their chariots to victory. The racetrack was two metres below today’s pavement, but the current sidewalk delineates its path.

Around the corner is the 6th century Basilica Cistern, another architectural triumph that bears testimony to the Romans’ construction abilities. A 52-stone-steps descent takes you to the underground world that once held up to 80,000 cubic metres of water. There is even beauty here, as many of the 336 columns were salvaged from temple ruins. The ambiance is peaceful and creepy all at once, hence popular for movie scenes like the one in James Bond: From Russia With Love.

But Istanbul is not a city stuck in antiquity. Even here in this historical neighbourhood, the streets look European, lined with modern-day shops and patio cafés, inviting with their colourful awnings, unique Turkish tea sets, and tantalizing food smells.

Ataturk secularized Turkey in the 1920s, and in this bustling city of 20 million, many women no longer wear the traditional burqa or even a headscarf. Most Turks still identify as Muslim though, and the hauntingly beautiful call to prayer can be heard five times a day.

Kind couple in their cave house, Mustafapasa. Photo by Kate Robertson.

The modern is glaringly apparent at the Istanbul Modern Art Museum. Built only in 2005, it’s still the oldest in Turkey. During the Ottoman period, images were forbidden, so initially, painters were all foreign. Today, Turkish artists abound, and the genre tends to be figurative, rather than abstract.

An hour-flight to the centre of the country takes me somewhere completely different. Cappadocia has been a flat, desert farming region on the Anatolian steppes for centuries. Mixed in the middle of this farming landscape are magical rock formations and “fairy chimneys,” resulting from erosion over the centuries of soft lava (tuff) from millions of years’ old volcanic activity.

Civilization here dates back as far as the Hittite Empire in 1600 BC or so. There is evidence of 36 underground cities, sculpted into the tuff. At Kaymakli, one such troglodyte city, as I descend through the levels of tunnels, I try to imagine what it was like to live here, in the dark. Kaymakli dates back as far as 8-7 century BC, but when the Christians took over (hiding from persecution) they expanded the tunnels, adding chapels and inscriptions to the existing stables, kitchens, living quarters and wine cellars.

Modern day houses were also constructed around the tunnels. Our tour company pulls some strings, and we visit a traditional cave house in the village of Mustafapasa. The initial part of the house is above-ground, but the naturally-cool storage rooms and cellars, filled with homemade pickles and preserves, are tunneled into the adjacent hill.

The owners are gracious hosts, insisting that we try samples of their homemade wine and grape molasses (they swear a spoonful each morning in the winter keeps colds away), and pressing fruit into our hands to take with us. In this area, it’s not unusual for people to leave their homes open, so in case a neighbour comes by, they can come in and make themselves at home.

My final destination is the Izmir region on the shores of the Aegean, with one of the mildest climates in the country (called the California of Turkey). With settlements tracing back to 3,000 BC, it maintains its traditions as a wine, olive and fig growing region.

Celsus Library, Ephesus. Photo by Kate Robertson.

Despite its ancient roots, residents of modern-day Izmir take pride in the fact that it’s the most progressive city in Turkey. This is the perfect base to explore wind-surfing and beaches, wine-tasting vineyard tours, or Cesme Marina (just 30 minutes from the Greek Island of Chios), where there are yachts and sailboats as far as the eye can see.

My favourite, however, is charming Alacati. From my room in a restored mansion, I can look down on the narrow, cobble-stoned walking streets. The original white washed houses with their brightly painted shutters and doors, are now quaint shops, art galleries and cute bistros. This old part of the city looks like a Greek isle painting.

A trip to Izmir would not be complete without making the drive along the stunning Aegean coastline to the ancient Greek city, Ephesus. As I walk through the gigantic columns into the Library of Celsus, I wonder what it would have been like in AD 117 when it stored 12,000 scrolls, the third largest library in the world at that time. Equally as awe-inspiring is the amphitheatre, capable of holding 25,000 spectators, and amazingly intact today.

At Ephesus, like everywhere I’ve seen in Turkey, stray cats roam free, living off the kindness of locals who feed them. I’m not surprised at this generosity, as the Turks I meet are kind and friendly. They’re passionate about their country and upset at the current political problems (Turks love to discuss politics and soccer, as it turns out). All yearn for peaceful times.

I recall my visit to Galeri Nev art gallery in the Karakoy district in Istanbul, where I was mesmerized by Inci Eviner’s Ordinary Condition multi-media video, which depicts movement through violent destruction one moment and people carrying on with their daily lives the next. “Eviner wants to depict that the worst danger is getting used to all this,” says the young gallery attendant, “but this has been the history of Turkey for centuries, as civilizations have fought over the country. We’ve always had to pick up and move on. We know we will survive.” This is the heart of Turkey.