October 18
Arrived on the red-eye early Sunday morning to find it raining here in Istanbul. One of the things Monika most wanted to do before she left here was to visit the barracks where Florence Nightingale spent her time working during the Crimean War and for which she utimately became famous. We had heard that it was a bit of a challenge to get in, since her barracks are now part of one of the largest military bases in the world. One needs to write a letter and request permission to enter at least 48 hours ahead, provide passport photos, and await clearance. So, it seemed like a good thing to get started on all this as soon as we arrived back in the city. Once the letter was written, our hotel clerk kindly offered to fax it to the base. We didn’t expect anything to happen until Monday at least, but much to our suprise a short time later a phone-call came back with a request to fax copies of our passports. Then, a few hours later… a telephone call from Lieutenant Colonel Verdat Izmar! He said that it was odd for him to be in his office on a Sunday afternoon, but that we had his permission to visit Florence’s barracks and her personal quarters tomorrow at eleven o’clock! Too much!
That afternoon we spent along the shores of the Golden Horn, the inner harbour of Istanbul. The fisherman were selling their catch of the day, shouting to passers-by that theirs was indeed the freshest and that their prices were the best. We found a small restaurant on the water’s edge that had a sunny brick wall to sit against. The breeze off the Bosphorus is cool these days. Lunch was a fresh fried mackerel sandwich (which was actually half a baquette) and a beer which had to be wrapped in newspaper to hide the fact that we were drinking during Ramazan.
After lunch we walked back over the Galata Bridge past hundreds of men who each had a fishing pole hung over the side of the of the bridge patiently waiting for a bite. They were fishing for sea bream…they are about the size of a sardine or as big as a herring. At first we thought that the little buckets they were holding them in were actually bait until we saw a few being reeled in. Down to the Sirkeci train station, the beginning and the end of the Orient Express, the other end of which is in Paris. It’s a wonderful old train station with huge, gorgeous, round stained glass windows. The original restaurant is still there… the resting spot for the rich and famous…reminiscent of Agatha Christie.
Later in the evening we went to the city square…huge gathering place between the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofia (Church/Mosque/Museum). It was like Mecca! Thousands and thousands of people celebrating the end of today’s fast. Sellers of every type of Turkish food imaginable all dressed in traditional clothing…Turkish coffe and kebaps, corn, lamb…alll prepared over hot coals, colorful lollipops being made by hand on the spot…music, entertainment, the largest carnival you have ever seen! Everyone smiling, happy as can be! Many people stopped to talk with us and invite us to sit and enjoy the food with them. So Ramazan in as much as it is a time of fasting and reflection is also a time of huge celebration after sunset. You have to see it to believe it! We never planned for this, just a wonderful coincidence that we are here during this time. It goes on every evening during Ramazan!
Monika hardly slept all night, being so excited about going to see Florence’s place. The trip to the barracks meant a ride on yet another rusty ferryboat, this time across the Bosporhous. We arrived at the gatehouse of the Turkish Military Base just a few minutes early, having got lost in the surrounding streets. The ferry lands in the middle of container shipping area. You can imagine the words between us as the hands of the clock drew closer to eleven. There was some colorful language as we tried to decide which way to go! We wanted to be punctual. As usual, the locals set us straight and in the end we arrived right on time. We passed through a number of levels of security and finally we were assigned our personal soldier to escort us to the barracks.
We were met by the Lt. Col. Izmar himself, taken through more security and then on a private tour! First, of course, he related the history of the Turkish military and only then took us up to Florence’s area. The Turkish army has taken great effort to preserve her memory. Her surgery room is on the second level of a corner column of the huge barracks. From here she and 37 other volunteer nurses performed surgeries and because of her revolutionary theories and practice of simple hygeine managed to reduce the death rate from 20% to 2% in the two years that she practiced here! Much of the equipment that she used is still in place, even a simple chest tube. Two hundred soldiers were treated in the barracks at one time. She had little time for leisure, but she had a small room above her surgery for herself.
There is a desk, upon which stands her lamp and her candle. On the walls of the room are some of the letters that she had written to nurses back in England telling them about her experiences and teaching them about her techniques. As well, letters written to the British Government asking for financial support for the families of the soldiers who died there. There we were standing in the room of “The Lady with the Lamp”! It was a very moving moment. Then Randy drummed up the courage to ask the commander for permission for Monika to touch the lamp….He said yes! but normally it would not be allowed, but since no one was looking…okay. What a sweetheart! Another, even still more moving moment as Monika touches the lamp…she has not washed her hand since !!!
October 19
Having another bizarre time at Grand Bazzar…some serious shopping to do today and only 4200 shops to choose from and all of the shopkeepers so ready to help you part with your money, and ready to haggle over the price.
We went to the Hamam last night. The Turkish bath…another wonderful experience…will have to tell you all about it when we get back.
So, bye for now from Turkey. This fantastic history, sociology, archeaology, geography, political science lesson is drawing to a close. We will be so sad to leave, and doubtless we will be back one day. So much yet to explore. It has been great to be able to share this with everyone.
Love Mom and Dad
In a few short days, we have come to feel comfortable in Bangkok. My first thought was “get me out of here!” but that is probably the way it always starts. It’s rather like a never-ending carnival, lively and colorful and it seems people from all over the world are spending time here. I don’t believe I have yet heard more different languages in a single day or seen more dreadlocks, piercings, or tanned, tattooed families with babies in backpacks. There are quite a number of very interesting, though pale, older people too. The streets are teeming, yet they seem calm and they are well swept. The stream of traffic moves at a sane pace and unlike many busy cities there is not incessant horn honking going on. Taxi-cabs are hot pink and lime green.
The Thais themselves seem to be working hard while the rest of us are on holiday. Thai people love their food and they can cook it fantastically from scratch in simple kitchens on the street. Every waking hour in the length of just a few paces cooks are frying chicken and fresh seafood, stirring great steaming pots of broth for noodle soups while gathering up handfuls of fresh green vegetables and red, hot peppers to toss in. They are tending broad metal pans of coconut curries and slicing mangoes and pineapple and calling out to one another. In the midst of them all a tiny lady crouches on the sidewalk deftly wrapping little balls of sticky, sweetened nuts in a bit of leaf to offer for dessert. A fringe of lacey, dried fish is strung above her head. For a few dollars you can taste all of it!
Most of the time we eat standing up at streetside stall but by mid-afternoon after having started off on the day’s explorations early in the morning, it has become our easy habit to take up a stool just off the street to enjoy a cold beer with our curry and noodles and watch the carnival passing by.
The side streets are narrow and lined with more stalls and vendors of all kinds and diminish to still narrower alleyways which become small neighborhoods. Children play just inside the doorsill while elders on stools, deep in conversation, pull apart to let you pass through. The familiar routes through the winding alleyways to our hostel’s neighborhood feel comfortable even after dark. Just enough soft light spills from the doorways to show our path home.
