From the Istanbul Notebook (1)

I've decided to organize comments thematically rather than chronologically. So here is instalation one, "Notes on being in a Muslim country," chosen on the basis of perceived interest to the readership.

First, it is necessary to say that Turkey is officially designated as secular, in no small part a result of the efforts of its modern founder Mustapha Kemal Ataturk (about whose life I'm currently reading a hagiographic but not uninteresting account), meaning, in the most narrow and technical sense, that its laws are not based in Sharia. And Istanbul, the most Western and cosmopolitan of its cities, the New York to Ankara's DC, is very much a European city. This means, most importantly, that drink, the bedrock of any civilization, is readily available in the dense network of bars, cafes, and nighclubs that proliferate like capilaries from Istiklal Caddesi, the city's nightlife artery. The national alcoholic beverage is raki, a strong anis-flavored liquor that, like absinthe, becomes milky when diluted with water (for good measure, the national non-alcoholic beverage is Turk Chay, a strong black tea that is served in glasses shaped like tulips, the symbol of the city of Istanbul). Also, if the small crowds of old men huddled around backgammon boards are any indication, gambling is also a popular activity. Most women, I noticed, did not wear headscarves, and I saw very few wearing the full Burqa. The women who wore the headscarves did so almost as a fashion accessory--I even saw one sport a headscarf in the plaid Burberry design. (Richard: as a dutiful member of the Wish They Could All Be California Survelliance Squad, I am happy to report that Istanbul is populated by a number of truly strikingly beautiful women. If I could describe them as a type--for the sake of expediency and not principle--I would say their most characteristic features were the chiarascuro contrast between the delicate features of their porcelain skin and their dark black hair, worn most often in bangs.) In fact, as I understand it the headscarf is disallowed at official government funcitons precipitating a similar if not more aggrivated conflict between the secular and the religious to the one in France.

That said, 99% of the population of Turkey is Muslim, and it is from this, that we derive not entirely inaccurate idea that Turkey is a Muslim country (in a similar way we might say that Italy is a Christian country). The skyline of Istanbul is dominated by the minarets of the mosques that seem to be on every other street. From the roof of our hotel room, we had a spectacular view--as I hope you'll see when I send pictures--of two of the most beautiful: the Blue Mosque (with its floating domes and semidomes, its thin minarettes and its ornate geometrical patters is perhaps one of the most beautiful buildigs I have ever seen) and the Aya Sophia (a Byzantine Church built by Emperor Justinian that was converted into a mosque after the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople that was in turn converted into a museum by Ataturk in order to diffuse tensions between Christians and Muslims about the rightful religious character of the building [an object lesson in settling sectarian conflicts?]).

During my time in Istanbul, I kept trying to imagine what it might be like if I were to have been walking through a city that was so densely populated with churches to see whether the sense of inexplicable disquiet I felt at having been surrounded by so many religious buildings was general or specific to their particular form as mosques. I confess that I do not remember feeling the same way in the most likely candidate for comparison, Rome. I think that this is due to the fact that I have become habituated to the sight of a church and consequently am able to allow the architectural structure to seep into the skyscape. The experience of strangeness (of alienness of otherness even) is compounded by a sonic one: the call to prayer, or Adhan, that, because of the sheer number of mosques, overwhelms the city five times a day. The call to prayer is not, in my opinion, a sonorous or beautiful sound, its already gutteral tone is made less melodious by the irregular amplification at the various mosques. Knowing what the words themselves mean does not in anyway regularize the experience, as not knowing the Arabic or Turkish languages (they are recited in both languages in Istanbul) I could not disambiguate the words themselves, nor could I connect the English translation to them. It is through the Adhan that Islam seems to make its most tangible appearance, to the untutored ear that is, in public life of Istanbul. A call to prayer cannot be privatized, literaly, within the walls of a religious building; it connects what a westerner thinks ought to be a matter of private practice to the public life of the city. I do not think I grew used to hearing it, even by the last day I was there: it always, if only for an ever shortening moment, managed to catch me off guard.

The Blue Mosque, the main house of worship, I believe, for the Ottoman Caliphate for over 400 years, is nonetheless secondary in holiness to the collection of Islamic relics kept at Topkapi Palace, the imperial residence of the Ottoman Sultan (Christian relics, for instance part of the scull and nearly the entire forearm of John the Baptist are kept in a different room). There I saw, among other things, Mohammad's sword. It's quite a sight, as you can imagine. It is an object, nearly fourteen hundred years old, to which one can trace the beginning of much of current global politics. Our lives would be utterly different without its existence, so to speak. I do not think that I have as yet been quite able to put into words the impression that seeing it has made me. I was unable to take a photograph, but I have included a link with a photo here.