John and the shoe shine scam

In 2006, Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk won the Nobel Prize in Literature. In 2008, his next novel, The Museum of Innocence, was published. It tells the story of an Istanbul man, Kemal, who loves Füsun, his poorer cousin, someone he can never marry. Every time he visits her, he takes an object from her house, to remember the day. In 2012, the house where Füsun lived was turned into a museum.

The Museum of Innocence is full of the objects that Kemal stole, displayed in cabinets, each group catalogued by the chapter in the book. I visited it today and it was truly amazing. While it tells the story of unrequited love, it’s also a social history of Istanbul.

It took some finding, of course.

We’d left the accommodation and walked across the big Metro bridge that spans the Golden Horn and climbed the super narrow yet still somehow driveable, streets up to the Galata Tower.

On the way, we discovered the shoe shine grift.

A man, one hand gripping a wooden box in one hand, passed John in one of the narrow streets. As he walked, a brush fell out of the box, clattering on the cobbles. John retrieved the brush and handed it to the man who had turned back. He thanked John then fell to his knees, indicating he would give John’s shoes a shine. John, unlike the rest of us, was wearing shineable shoes. John said no thanks and we walked on.

While that could all seem quite innocent in isolation, Sarah said she saw the same guy perform the same trick, in the same spot, later on her way back down. Sounds like a grift to me.

Eventually, dodging bikes, cars, vans and trucks in a strange kind of uphill slalom, we arrived at Galata Tower.

It was originally built as a watchtower in one of the many walls of Constantinople. The original was destroyed by the very holy Crusaders in 1204, and a new one built in 1348. In 1453, most of the walls were destroyed but the tower remained and was used as a prison. It was the tallest building in the city for quite a while.

Over the years, it has had bits burned and the roof was blown off in a storm but, it remained standing. After lots of restoration work, it opened to the public in 2020. We visited it today.

The stairs that wind around the tower are narrow with no bannister. There is a lift almost to the top. It empties into a small pre-top floor, floor where a cut away model of a fishing boat is displayed. It is Yenikapi 12, a shipwreck from the 9th century CE.

But the boat isn’t what most people were there for. They climbed the stairs to the penultimate floor of the tower where the city lies spread out before them…safely behind windows. Of course, there’s another set of stairs that lead up to the observation deck where Anthea, Sarah and John eagerly headed for a turn around the narrow ledge.

Lindy and I stayed below, enjoying the more sedate view.

Sadly, my days of standing on narrow ledges high above cities have been removed with the advent of my wobbly legs. Lindy suffers from vertigo. So we kept each other company. Along with, among other people, a woman in a wheelchair. It’s only just occurred to me that she must have been carried up the stairs, along with the wheelchair.

Anyway, the views from behind the windows were still spectacular and took in the whole city.

As I headed back to the room with the boat, a group of Japanese girls, all dressed up for selfie opportunities, approached the security guard who stood by the lift. They started towards the opening doors but he held up a finger and wagged it.

“You must walk down,” He said sternly, changing the waggling to pointing, indicating the beginning of the narrow windy stairs.

With grumpy, sulky faces they slowly started down.

Once they’d vanished from view, I walked over to the guard brandishing my stick. He smiled and indicated I should get into the lift.

Once back on terra firma I met up with Lindy who was happily sipping away at a fresh, icy cold, cup of pomegranate juice made from six pomegranates, she proudly proclaimed. Though, in retrospect, this may have been her downfall.

Once the others had successfully wound their ways down to earth, we headed off for the main road to Taksim Square. We didn’t get too far when Lindy suddenly started feeling ill. We waited for her to feel a bit better before setting off again. Spotting the cool of an undercover shopping lane, they headed across the road while I continued on to the Museum of Innocence.

Once we met up again, I heard from the others that poor Lindy had not improved and was whisked away in a taxi, back to the safety of the house with proximity to plumbing, if nothing else.

In the meanwhilst, the rest of us spent a very short time in Taksim Square before heading for a lovely lunch just slightly away from the obvious tourist traps.

Apart from the museum and the tower, I wasn’t that keen on the area. The big main street could be in any European city, where known brands of up (and down) market chains dominate each side. It would be safe to say that it didn’t thrill me at all.

Except for the old tram. That certainly thrilled me.

Finally back at the house, and after a long chat with a local who recommended many places that we will never have time to visit, we were reunited with a feeling slightly better, Lindy who was happily reading the paper.

Then we set off for a fish sandwich. Well, Lindy didn’t want to tempt fate but the rest of us were keen to have one of these Istanbul delicacies.

I was told by Neil Cookson, commenter on this blog and descendent of the most excellent Captain Peacock, that he highly recommended them. Thank you, Neil, they were delicious.

Though it wasn’t just the sandwich, delicious as it was. No, the best thing was the hustle and bustle of mostly local people, coming in, buying a sandwich, sitting at the small stools, eating then leaving. There was an almost constant stream of people making the place come alive.

John and I tried the turnip juice but, as John said, it tasted like bad seawater.

Shortly after our sandwiches, we headed over to a cart selling tiny, sugar smeared balls of incredible delight. They were pots of small doughnuts which we stood and ate with predictable abandon.

We slowly walked back to the house as the day drew to a close.