Istanbul: Of Bizarre Bazaars

 Hanging out at the Grand Bazaar.

The truth is, there's nothing very grand about Istanbul's Grand Bazaar these days, unless it's grand larceny. You'll read about it, hear about it and see it unfold in any documentary in any media about the city. That's mostly because by 1461, it had become the world's most bodacious shopping mall, complete with ornate domes and intricate architectural details. Today, it covers 60 streets and 5,000 shops and hawks carpets, ceramics, lamps, copper and bronze trinkets, textiles, less prolific souvenirs, and everything that can be exchanged for liras. (Just imagine if Black Friday was celebrated in Turkey - everyday.) But it has also outlived its splendor - the paint that often flakes off the ceiling in forlorn flutters is common and reveals faded alabaster - and the locals have outgrown it. In fact, they've forsaken the world's first finest mega mall for the lively fun in the streets emanating downhill from the Grand Bazaar, where the true shopping in Istanbul's Old City is, and most prefer the contemporary Istiklal Caddesi stretch uptown across the Galata Bridge. The Grand Bazaar, sadly, is the Hotel California of souvenir peddling - you enter through one of the 16 gates, get lost in the complex myriad of streets - yes, each lane actually has its own name and various sections are devoted to different product categories - and if the vendors have their way, you can check out anytime you like but you can never leave.

Bowl game.

Upon my escape, I made my way to Zeyrek, a neighborhood that lies in the shadow of the fantastic Aqueduct of Valens, a feat of Roman engineering constructed in the late fourth century. The surviving section is only 50 meters less than the original length, and this district has every drop of Istanbul flavor intact. My main reason for this journey, I must admit, was Sur Ocakbasi, one of the best grills in town. Make no bones about it - it's a greasy spoon (yes, Bourdain has come by, although that's not how I heard of it), the bathrooms are abysmal, and you might be wiping someone else's drips and crumbs off the table before you'll put your elbows down. But when the only way to decipher the menu is by looking at pictures, the excitement mounts. There is something sick and sadistic about not knowing what might show up, but I went the way of where most fingers have pointed, which is the mixed grill platter, because I wanted a taste of everything. You know, it's the kind of place where the waiter whips out his cell phone to punch out the ocakbasi's WiFi password for you because he doesn't know how to say it in English, but the WiFi doesn't work anyway.

Grilled.

I made it through a large mound of meat - grilled lamb, minced lamb, chicken - only to realize it was a preliminary layer because a sausage waited patiently under a pile of bulgur pilaf. Then there was the beetroot slaw, tomato salsa and fresh onion slices and grilled vegetables. Happily, I strolled the local square after lunch, full of old timers playing backgammon, gossiping, sipping tea after Friday prayers at the mosque.

I stepped into a butcher's shop and hit my head against a slab of something cold, sagging, and swaying. It was the carcass of a lamb's rump hanging from above, but specifically, the top of me had connected with its very bottom - its testicles. I wouldn't say it necessarily knocked some sense into me, although it very well should have, but it definitely reminded me of all the things I enjoy about traveling, my way.

Ballocks!