Fortunately fruit nectars were provided en route to Edirne. The drive there seemed a lot
shorter than it did in 2006. I tried napping unsuccessfully, and ended up talking with Peter, a youngster in our program. He was taking so many pictures of the nuclear power plant we passed on the way that I had to ask him if he was planning to blow it up. "No," he said, "I just want to prove to my friends that they have technology here." A running joke with his friends, apparently, and so we spent a good deal of time making up things about Turkey, like where their name for sunflower comes from: they call them moonflowers. Seriously. How cool is that? It makes very little sense. The road to Edirne is lined with endless fields of sunflowers, presumably to make either seeds or oil. It is sad to think that so many people devote their lives to producing something that ends up being spat all over the ground in Istanbul.
When we finally arrived in Edirne, it was clear that very little had changed in the three years since I was last there. It was weird being back. Edirne isn't the type of place you need to see twice in your lifetime, much less go to the exact same places twice. But hey, they paid for me. I am please to report, however, that the Heely craze has finally swept into the Balkans. They were on sale! Our first stop was Eski Camii, or Old Mosque, so called because afterwards they built a new mosque. Clever. It was still dark inside, and still orange-striped. I saw a guy snoring loudly next to one of the pillars inside, and decided to take his picture. After the Old Mosque, we hit up the old Bedestan, or indoor bazaar, where, I am again pleased to report, KENT's shop is still going strong. I saw a doll there that looked like it had a black eye, and it really creeped me out. Every shop still looked like a Chinese factory threw up it's extra nonsense into it. Plastic guns, cardboard shit, and socks that look like they were made of newsprint. I guess the one thing that changed was that they had a flat screen TV hanging on a wall in the center, playing Turkish news. Bam. Modernity, live and uncut!
We went to an old karavansaray, which was a kind of hotel for traders who would store things and feed their camels (seriously) here. Now, it is a hotel. An expensive one. While there, it started to rain. It was fantastic to see rain, because we almost never get it in the summer in Istanbul. Also there was lightning. Fact! Turkish has different words for lightning that hits the ground versus that which doesn't. After the fancy hotel, we checked out Üç Şerefeli Camii, or the Three Balconied Mosque. This mosque was considered fucking badass when it was built way back when because one of its minarets had not one, not two, but THREE FUCKING BALCONIES! HELL YES! TAKE. YOUR. PICK. Maybe you want to call your neighbors to prayer from 40 feet up? Maybe they live far away, across the mahalle, and you want to be 55 feet up. OR MAYBE THEY LIVE IN BULGARIA! In which case, you have your pick of the ULTIMATE THIRD BALCONY! Edirne is very close to Greece and Bulgaria. In fact, there are street signs with arrows that simply say "Greece" or "Bulgaria."
Perhaps the most interesting/sad/worth talking about experience of the day happened afterwards, at the Muradiye Camii, or Mosque of Murat. This mosque was closed for remodeling in 2006, so I never got to go inside. Saturday, though, it was finally open. The inside was gorgeous, blue mosaic tiles made by artisans imported from Iran. Some of them were missing, aka were stolen, which is upsetting, but to be expected in a really poor part of town. Also, the mosque had been there for hundreds of years, so the thieves have had plenty of time to get at them. But it was the scene outside the mosque that was most interesting. There was a group of about 10 Roma kids running around and playing in the mosque's graveyard and grounds. When they saw us coming, they all ran up to us and began following us and trying to impress us. One of the kids called me "havuç sakallı," which means "carrot beard." The last time I was there, a Kurdish kid from Batman, Turkey, called me "havuç kafısı," or "carrot head." It was great. These kids started doing gymnastics and breakdancing moves for us, trying to get us to pay close attention. The problem was that they were doing it on wet marble. We were all really nervous that one of them would crack their skull on it, so we tried to stop indulging them. One young girl, probably the caretaker, asked me if I spoke Turkish, and gave a satisfied nod when I said yes, and then walked away. The boys, all probably aged between 4 and 9, assuming they weren't all 40 years old and stunted by smoking cigarettes, were spinning on their heads, and flipping out, and wrestling with each other. There was a weird vibe, though, like we wanted to let the kids enjoy the presence of foreigners there, because they probably almost never see them in that part of town, and they seemed to like having us around, but at the same time, watching them was kind of objectifying. I think overall, though, it was a positive exchange for all of us. They asked us about where we came from, and said "no way, how did you get here?" And when we said "by plane," they were shocked and asked if we were scared. "Is it far?" "Yeah, 6000km." "Wow!!"
After Muradiye, we returned to my favorite hilarious attraction in Edirne, the Medical Madrassa Museum. This time, though, the place was festooned with plaques declaring it a cultural museum award winner. I don't know if the committees that decided all these awards actually saw the place. It's not a museum. It is a building with mannequins. Historically, it is significant as the first location where institutionalized medicine incorporated musical treatment for the mentally ill. They were quick to point out every chance they could that in Europe, at the same time, the mentally ill were tortured and burned. Here, though, they are forever immortalized by some of the most terrifying mannequin displays the world has ever seen.
The rest of the facility featured photos of other museums' objects. The display showing the old Ottoman band that played different types of music to treat different ailments was of course hilarious, but I damn near shit my pants when I walked past it and one of them moved. Turns out, there was a REAL HUMAN among them playing the reed flute.
We went to the mosque on site, and it was nice enough. Still being renovated after at least three, possibly three million years. On the way out, there were three older men doing their ablutions at the fountain in the courtyard, and I overheard their conversation. The words "İğrenç," "türistler'" and "yabancılar" all came up. Disgusting foreigners and tourists. Not very nice. I mean, I can see how we would bother people, being a group of 30 Americans (and two Japanese, two Israelis, and three Greeks, and a Kazakh!) with cameras, but still. Disgusting? Not nice.
Next stop: Selimiye Camii, which was the self-proclaimed masterpiece of Mimar Sinan, the most famous Ottoman architect, and perhaps, one of the most famous architects in world history. It is an enormous mosque, with its design centered around the unification of space in a large, open area. Its dome's diameter is 20cm bigger than that of the Hagia Sophia. The place is enormous and gorgeous. Pictures can describe it better. The youngster, Peter, got surrounded by very friendly older men with white beards and skull caps who were asking him all about himself. One of them passed me on the way to join the others, and awkwardly almost said something, but then didn't. So instead, I smiled and raised my hand in greeting. It was hilarious. Like seven old Muslim men fascinated by this 18 year old American kid with curly blonde hair. When we told him we were going to the balcony level to hear our guide talk about the mosque, the guys were like "it's okay, he can stay here a bit longer." Mimar Sinan, I always thought, sounded like a pretty cool dude. He modeled a lot of his mosques off of Byzantine structures like the Hagia Sophia, and redefined mosque architecture as it was known at the time. His buildings and bridges remain some of the most beautiful in the world, and I always thought he represented a kind of cosmopolitan worldview among architects.
Turns out, he was a pompous asshole. In Selimiye, there is a tulip mosaic that is inverted. Why? Because Mimar Sinan said that his building was SO perfect in every way, that there must be something wrong with it, so he deliberately screwed up that tulip. What a dick! Also, he made his dome the size he did simply so that he could say he bested the pagan Byzantines and to prove the superiority of Islamic architecture. So basically, arguably one of the most beautiful buildings in the world was the end result of a centuries old dick measuring contest. Great.
Our last two stops were the burned out remains of the last synagogue in Edirne, which, our guide mentioned briefly, was attached in the nineteen teens and again in the 1980s. WTF. Really? That's all you can tell us? The way we got there this time was fucked up. We parked our bus in a clearly abandoned bus terminal occupied only by a beat up car blasting techno music and a picnic table with three leering Turks drinking tea and slobbering over the girls in the group. I swear to God, it was like a level from every first-person shooter video game ever. And there was a disgusting mattress, and guard dogs, and lumber yards. And broken glass, and someone stepped on a sewing needle. Why she was wearing flip flops, I can only guess.
The last stop on the whirlwind tour of a city that almost always sleeps was the old train station that is now Trakya Üniversitesi, or the University of Thrace. It was, of course, closed. Apparently the Turkish president, Abdullah Gül, was coming the next day to attend the closing ceremonies of the oil wrestling festival. Yes. Oil wrestling. Men do it here, in capri pants. There is a photo exhibition in Istanbul, overlooking Istiklal Caddesi, and it is one of the most homoerotic things I have ever seen. I wonder if Turkish men realize that.
Anyway, we headed back around 9:00pm. On the way, we stopped at a gas station/rest stop to eat. That's right. To eat. There were dozens of Turkish families napping and picnicking in the parking lot, feeding street dogs and driving gocarts. Inside, the cafeteria was super expensive, and I only ate half my meal, remembering halfway through it that it was gas station food. In Turkey.
Fortunately, I didn't get a rare disease from it (I think). We got home at MIDNIGHT. So much for the Fourth of July. We got some beers and watched "Eastern Promises" rather than go out. Some people went out and stayed out until 6:00am. Unbelievable.
I will get all caught up tomorrow. Not much besides a great Sunday...
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