Konak Square

It was dusk when we stumbled by accident onto Konak Square, the very heart of the city of Izmir. What a serendipitous time to arrive. The sky was completely clear and the full moon was pushing above the skyline back towards the city. The square seemed to be glowing.

Konak Square

We approached the plaza from behind the tiny Konak Mosque (Konak Camii) snuggled off to one side of the square.

Konak Camii (Konak Mosque)

Octagonal in shape and encrusted with exquisite tiles from Kütahya, it’s adorable, if that can be said of a mosque. Built in 1755 in classic Ottoman architectural style, its entrance is actually sunken a couple of steps below the surface of the rest of the plaza.

Pretty tiles decorated its exterior

I noticed shoes resting outside the partly open door, and people (mostly men) wandered in and out.

Konak Square’s Clock Tower

Off to the left, in the middle of this expansive plaza, sits the Ottoman clock tower, given to the city in 1901 by Sultan Abdülhamit II. It is very striking and easy to see why this is the symbol of Izmir.

People milled all around it, drawn by its central location as well as by the four fountains surrounding its ornate base.

Gino and I walked up and down this park-like plaza, stopping to rest and people watch from a bench. Everyone was in a festive mood, but maybe it’s often like that here in this square.

We paused in front of a statue of Hasan Tahsin Pasha, an Ottoman military officer from the early 1900’s. A wreath rested at its base. As we travelled throughout Turkey, many times I learned of scuffles and wars between the Greeks and the Turks. Now I have a deeper understanding of the lingering animosity the Greeks feel towards the Turks, even though I have no such personal feelings myself.

After dinner on our own, we wandered awhile along the waterfront before moseying back to the hotel. It would an early morning rise. The bus was set to leave promptly at 6:45 a.m.  We were headed for Ephesus.

Kemaralti — Izmir’s Bazaar

Before we could go shopping, though, we had to take care of important business. There was still that battery charger to find.

By now, Gino had been drastically curtailing his usual rampant video-taking. Knowing he was running on battery fumes, he had become extremely picky about what he filmed. We still had Ephesus coming up, and at the end, Bodrum.

A block from our hotel we found an actual Sony store. In creative sign language we explained what we needed.  No, sorry, they didn’t sell parts like that. But there was another store that surely would —  the Sony repair store. Perfect!

The friendly clerk drew us a map, wrote down the address, and described how to get there on foot. “But wait,” we said. “Would you mind calling them first to make sure they have what we need?”

They called. And called. Finally, they were told that this particular store is closed on Saturdays. Today was Saturday. They wouldn’t be open tomorrow either. We were done.

We resigned ourselves to having little and no video for the remainder of the trip and accepting this sad reality, walked off towards the market. What better way to lose our frustration than in the colorful tangles of a Turkish bazaar?

One of the things you’ll notice in Turkey is the proliferance of evil eyes (stop for a moment and click here to read my page on these prolific Mediterranean symbols).

Not surprisingly, one of the first things we saw as we entered the Kemeralti, Izmir’s smaller version of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, was a small shop dedicated entirely to evil eyes. It was so small it was difficult to get inside to really look around so we lingered at the opening, looking at the different evil eye creations hanging there.

Before seriously devoting ourselves to Kemaralti, we stopped for lunch at a small cafe inside the market for a stuffed potato snack. The young fellow who waited on us was very sweet. He was quite intrigued when he learned we were from California.

“Very thank you!” he said, after I paid the bill.

I asked him where I might find the rice pudding I’d been searching for since the Galata Tower in Istanbul. He drew a little map showing us how to get to a pudding shop, then decided just to leave his post and lead us around the corner to point it out. The name of the shop was BHU, short for Bolulu Hasan Usta.

This rice pudding, called firinda sütlaç, was well worth the wait. A classic rice pudding from Ottoman cooking, it is moist and creamy and a bit burnt on the top, the same way that crème brûlée is. I ate every drop.

Now it was time to shop.  We admired the European style shoes in the windows, even trying some on. The ubiquitous carpet hawkers  tried to lure us into their shops. But by now, we were adept at avoiding them.

“Espanol!” they called out to Gino. “Australian!” they yelled. One queried, “Italian?” Not breaking my stride, I responded in Italian and was surprised when he answered back in perfect Italian. The man and I bantered back and forth for as long as we could hear each other’s words.

Gino and I came up with a giggly idea that would be a perfect come-back to the carpet hawkers. We would simply respond in a made-up language, gibberish, but spoken as though it were real. That would take them aback…at least for a second.

We passed a Turkish tea spot with characteristic low tables and chairs covered with carpets and colorful cloth. Tall narghiles sat next to the tea-making equipment. It all looked very enticing. We sat down.

What timing! Two musicians were seated at the table behind us, one playing a violin, and the other playing a doumbek and singing.  How much more Turkish could this get — sitting in a bazaar, having tea, with live music at the next table!

We continued exploring the bazaar which flowed outward into a warren of streets hiding swirls of treasures: brass and other metal items hanging from windows, clothing of every kind, jewelry, pottery, sparkly colored glass lamps, scarves, fabric, and food. It made me delightfully dizzy.

One food cart was filled with prickly pears. A man with a long knife was peeling off the spiky skin for passersby.

An old woman sat on the ground with a tarp spread with nuts for sale. On a corner, I spotted a mannequin of a young boy dressed in full regalia for his circumcision day, little king for a day.

At the outer edge of the market, we stumbled upon a bead store. It was filled with evil eyes of every size and metal findings of every design. I filled my hands with a mound of them, large and small, and when I paid, it amounted to practically nothing.

Finally, having had our fill of shopping, we wandered away from the market towards the seafront. Without even trying, we found ourselves in a huge open area which turned out to be Konak, the very heart of Izmir.

Introduction to Izmir

The day before Sardis, you may remember, we had arrived in Izmir, where we would spend the next two nights.

As we approached the outskirts, the bus had to slow to a crawl due to the crushing traffic. The city was in full swing. It was September 9th, an important holiday for Izmir: the 89th anniversary of its liberation, its day of independence from the Greeks, led by none other than the illustrious Ataturk.

As we slowly forged our way into the city, I noticed the flags. They were everywhere — huge flags draping equally huge buildings.

Izmir is the third largest and most western-leaning city in Turkey. The city, whose name used to be Smyrna, dates from 3000 BCE. Among its famous former citizens is the poet Homer, who lived here around 750 B.C.E. Izmir’s long history includes years of war and destruction. Today, it is a bustling port city buzzing with life.

Dramatically situated around a large bay and flanked by mountains, its wide, shady avenues lined by tall modern buildings, there is nothing “fishing village” about it. Despite its size, it was surprisingly easy to navigate, even on foot. I liked it here.

In addition to the liberation celebration, the International Fair was also happening. It was the 80th year of this event, the oldest trade show in Turkey, and our hotel wasn’t too far from the action. But before we let ourselves loose, we needed to settle into our rooms.

Our hotel was called the Ontur. Gino and I laughed at the name, an unintentional reference and nod to Deadheads “on tour,” something we were familiar with.

That night we all had dinner together at the Asude Restaurant. We all tried what looked like a sort of Turkish burrito.  The waiters brought out piles of square, naan-type bread along with plates of vegetables and meat (chicken and beef), which you could pile on and roll up.

After dinner, we walked together along the waterfront, following what seemed like miles of booming restaurants. People and cars were everywhere.  And all those flags.

Now, how about a bit of shopping?