Istanbul may be Turkey’s most populous city and the cultural and economic centre of the country, but to a young man like me it was a city of wonders. We’d dressed ship as Bulwark had approached her anchorage and I’d had the most wonderful view of the shoreline. The tightly packed buildings. The minaret towers, which stood high above the cityscape indicating a very different culture. The spectacular Blue Mosque. I could hardly wait to get ashore and explore!
We came to a stop and were nudged by two tugs into the berth prepared in advance to receive Bulwark’s bulk. Filing off the flight deck and returning to normal duties, the talk was all about the anticipated run ashore. What could we expect? What’s the city like? Have you been here before? Yes. Don’t drink the water, watch out for the raki and make sure you visit the Grand Bazaar.
The day dragged on until eventually all off-watch lower deck ratings were mustered in the main hanger. We received strict instructions about going ashore and advice about what we should, or shouldn’t do with the natives: fraternisation of the horizontal kind, we were told, was not recommended under any circumstances. Bartering was expected and an essential part of the culture. Religious observances were strict and we should make allowances.
They set us free and off we went. Eager to get off the ship and ashore, the dash for the messdecks and showers was akin to a stampede. Amazingly it is possible to fit 40 men into a bathroom designed for 20 without any problem, when a run ashore is in the offing!
From the harbour side the choice was either to walk or take one of the many Mercedes taxis waiting in line; no contest, half a dozen of us piled into a cab and told the driver to take us to the city centre. He didn’t understand and looked blankly at our eager faces. “Take us into town. To the city.” Still nothing. “Hilton Hotel” someone suggested and light dawned, but I didn’t want to spend my day boozing and Allan, a particular friend of mine, said “Grand Bazaar. Take us to the Grand Bazaar.”
The taxi shot off at a hundred miles an hour, the driver keeping one hand on the horn and the other out the window, waving at all and sundry. He also kept up a constant stream of high volume verbal outpouring, which was completely unintelligible.
We screeched past an armed policeman directing traffic from a small podium in the centre of a junction. I remember feeling slightly shocked; I’d never experienced armed police before and hadn’t expected to see them here.
There was a screech of brakes and a waft of burning rubber as the taxi suddenly stopped mid-journey. It wasn’t just our driver who’d pulled up however as the road was littered with stopped vehicles. The driver reached under his seat, pulled out a prayer mat and got out of the car; I became aware for the first time that a wailing sound was assailing my ears and that an Imam was calling the faithful to prayer.
“What the fuck’s happening?” Wiggy wanted to know, but it was no use protesting, our driver was deep in his devotions. “He’d better not have left the meter running that’s all.”
Prayer-break over we go underway once more and a few minutes later were deposited in the heart of the city. Obviously it wouldn’t be too far to walk, but the taxi fare was so cheap I couldn’t see any of us walking far.
Our intrepid band parted company; I headed into the Grand Bazaar with Allan, while the others stopped into a café for a beer before doing whatever. My first impression of Grand Bazaar was what’s all the fuss about? The frontage, though quite impressive and interesting wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined. Once inside though I was simply blown away by the number and variety of shops and stalls. I’d heard it said you could get anything your heart desired in this wonderful market and am inclined to the belief that may well be true.
There were glass boutiques, brass stalls, wood, onyx and marble vendors. You could buy clothing, perfumes and jewellery. Cottons, silks, furs and skins. Tobacconists and cafes were dotted here and there and I was tempted by the aromatic scent of the thick sweet coffee preferred by the locals. The bazaar is deceptively huge and even after a couple of hours, we still hadn’t seen all of it. We had made purchases though and being in need of sustenance, stopped into one of the cafes for food and drink.
As we ate we watched. The whole world seemed to strolling past, judging by the faces we observed, so many different nationalities being present. What an amazing place and what fantastic things to see, touch and buy.
I repaired back onboard mid-evening with a deerskin jacket for myself, some onyx for both Lesley and Mother, a hookah for my Dad, and an intricate gold necklace for Lesley. All of these items would be stored away until we reached home waters. I’d also purchased a large box of Turkish Delight, which I was going to ship home since the delicacy was one of my mother’s favourites and I knew she’d appreciate it. All in all, I’d had an excellent day and had returned aboard sober for a change!
