Here are the last of the photos from our final day in Turkey:
city walls
atop the old city wall,
looking out over the new city
a plaque commemorating the breaching
of Constantinople’s wall
a side street near the Patriarchate
St. Stephen’s Bulgarian Orthodox Church;
it was cast in Vienna, floated down the Danube on barges,
and bolted together in Istanbul: an iron church.
After our visit to the Patriarchate, we grabbed a quick lunch and then took a cab to the Kariye Museum. I’ll will say, you don’t soon forget a ride in a Turkish ‘Taksi’. Kariye, like Hagia Sophia, was a church, then a mosque and now a museum. It’s much smaller than Hagia Sophia, but what she lacks in grandiose architecture, she more than makes up for in amazing iconography. The artwork at Kariye is simply breathtaking. Words won’t do it justice, and as such, I’ll shut up now.
(note: sorry for the delay in trip updates. I had two papers to work on and managed to complete them both within 24 hours of their due date. That’s just how I roll.)
Our last day in Istanbul was a Sunday, and so we made the trek to the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate. From the outside, the Church of St. George is small and unassuming, hardly noticeable outside its gates. Inside the church was packed with people moving around. There was no place to sit, but standing is just something you grow accustomed to after a year of Orthodox worship. As is learning to translate what I like to call “church Greek”; while there wasn’t a smidgen of English throughout the entire Liturgy I was still able to pick up pieces here and there. At the end of the service, Patriarch Bartholomew gave an address, and at that moment I really wished for a translator. Of course, I was exceedingly nervous when we filed forward to have a flower and cross pendant handed to us by the Patriarch, wondering if there was any possible way for me to mess up kissing his hand. I didn’t.
A combined post given that I didn’t take very many pictures on either day; on Friday (Day Seven) we once again ventured down to Ku?adas?, and Saturday (Day Eight) was our trip back to Istanbul.
from my journal:
We’re on a bus. On a ferry. It’s strange to look out the window of a vehicle and see waves.
I debate whether or not I should run up to the deck and do my best to capture the flight of the gulls. The wind is cold and wet, hence my hesitation. I also doubt that it would be possible to truly capture the beauty of these soaring birds. The arch of their wings, their streamlined bodies, perfectly adapted to riding the air. They are fantastic. And they seem to enjoy the breeze far more than I would.
