What’s a eunuch, mummy?

Back in 336, New Rome emerged on top of the small town of Byzantium. As befitting the new capital of the Roman Empire, the place that would become known as Constantinople, had to have the biggest and the best. The biggest of these things was the Hippodrome, a place for mad chariot races, where crowds would cheer their favourites and eat the occasional larks tongue. The place where riots broke out among the fans.

Today, the footprint of this magnificent hippodrome is obscured by tourists. The only evidence of its existence are three columns and a big open space. I said to John, if I could time travel, this is where I’d come in order to watch a few races.

We were walking along, what is now the Sultanahmet Square, searching for something we never found: The Stone of Million. It’s a Roman milestone which was used to measure distances from the city.

Not that it mattered, we were really there to visit the Topkapi Palace with about 600,000 other people.

The palace is huge. Looking at the map of the place, it appears to be the size of the Forbidden City but it’s not quite THAT big. Still, it is a very impressive place.

There are three courtyards, full of green spaces and trees with paths running through them. These paths are numerous and full of tourists of every type. The green spaces are lined with hedges to keep the tourists away from them. Except for one triangle outside the Haga Irene.

It was here that I stopped for a rest, along with a few other random people. I lay myself down beneath the trees, closed my eyes, and just listened to the chatter around me. It was where I met up with Lindy after a visit to the harem.

The group had separated at the museum shop and we drifted apart, exploring the complex layout at our own paces. I started with St Irene’s church which is now used for concerts and the storage of scaffolding. As John said later, it’s a shame about the scaffolding.

Mind you, the Ottomans used the church as a storehouse, so not a lot has changed.

It is the oldest known church in the city and is one of the few that was not converted into a mosque. And, while it is called St Irene, it’s actually dedicated to the ‘Holy (Divine) Peace’. And, given there are a few Saint Irenes, I can’t say which one the church relates to. So I’ll just stop there.

Most of my time at the palace complex was spent in the harem. Containing around 400 rooms, this twisty turny concatenation of higgledy-piggledy spaces was both fascinating and full. Full of tourists and fascinating history.

The harem was the personal place for the sultan and his family. It wasn’t just a place for his spare wives. Near the end of the wander, one comes to the imperial audience room for one thing. And then, of course, there are the spaces for the eunuchs.

It was while I was waiting for the Black Eunuch’s Hammam to empty so I could have a peek, that I overheard an American 11-12ish year old girl ask her mother, “What’s a eunuch, mummy?“. Mummy answered “It’s a fancy name for a servant.“

When I recounted this in the Cobbled Bar later, both Sarah and John reckoned the mother was giving a short answer which she’d elaborate on later in private. I agreed that this made more sense but it ruins a good story.

One thing I found really interesting was how, on the information boards, when they mention the prophet, they write ‘(p. b. u. h.)’ rather than write out the whole thing. (For those that do not know: A Muslim must say ‘Peace Be Upon Him‘ every time they say the prophet’s name.) It made me wonder at what point is this too far. For instance, couldn’t they just write ‘(P.H.)’? At what point does it become completely meaningless? Maybe they could just include the brackets.

I do wonder why they have to say it at all. Presumably the prophet is with his god and quite peaceful anyway. Mad thing, religion.

There were a million interesting things in the harem but, frankly, I felt a bit overwhelmed by it all, although a lot of that could have been the crowds. I almost raced through the final rooms, dodging the dawdling hordes as I went.

There was one funny thing. As I scanned my phone ticket, a young man with an official badge around his neck, raced through the turnstile ahead of me. The woman scanning people through called him back, insisting he give her his pass so she could scan it to allow me entrance.

As we parted ways the other side of the barrier, I told him he had to be me now. He smiled but the young woman with him wasn’t amused.

Possibly the most annoying thing about the harem were the small tour groups. Not only did they block entrances and talk in loud voices, they also ignored anyone else not of their groups. I understand that these groups need to operate given a lot of tourists have no idea how to see things for themselves, but I don’t see why they have to dominate spaces. Perhaps they should only be allowed to visit at certain times of the day so normal people can visit in relative peace.

Given the meandering nature of the harem, I emerged somewhat confused as to which way was up, down, left and right. I wandered lonely through the crowd until, finally, I found my way back to the small grassy triangle near St Irene. I laid down again and let the cool breeze reduce my temperature somewhat.

After a while, I heard a familiar voice. It was Lindy. She joined me on the grass and we compared experiences. The others were in a queue somewhere. It was around this time that the smiling security guard decided we’d had enough lying around and moved us on.

To be fair, he did it in the nicest possible way. He was so pleasant that neither us nor the other people there, were in any way aggrieved. We headed down to the Cobbled Bar for a much needed drink and waited for the others to join us.

After some required libation, Lindy and I left for the dockside at Eminönü while the other three popped back up to the Hagia Sophia to see if the reports were true. And, yes, the crowds and queues are much diminished at 5pm. This, it was decided, is when we’d be going to visit. Tomorrow.

For today, we all headed back to the house.

Of everything in Istanbul, one of the biggest things I’m going to miss is the amazing dock at Eminönü. It’s alive, frenetic and a delight.

While the day was excellent, dinner was not particularly nice. Especially Lindy’s so-called pizza. A shame really because all the food we’ve had otherwise has been lovely. Hopefully tomorrow’s visit to the Grand Bazaar will be much better, foodwise.