Into the past…
The train magically wrapped in a foreign tongue,
Thin hallways filled with mystic music sung.
Baggage packed high in compartments so small,
Inside now is the air for all.
The pace is slow with numerous stops
All the peasants crowd in with most of their crops.
Some are thieves, some villains, this cannot be right,
And to take a chance is to turn out the light.
Originally thought I’d be traveling with Kings & Queens,
Now it seems that was only in my dreams.
No more winding roads or unpaved streets,
Only train tracks to lead me to my life’s complete.
Does adventure await, can I live to see another day’s explore?
And when I think I just can’t take any more,
Bells clang, whistles ring,
Doors slam fast, steam shoots out, up with the mast.
The Orient Express is now sailing East
Into the past…
Written April 15, while stopped in Belgrade, Yugoslav
4.
“English…maybe you want a Kalashnikov?”
11:55 AM, April 18, 1970
It was late morning when we arrived in Istanbul and, of course, it was pouring rain. After asking around on the train we had gotten a lead on a place to stay, the Pera Palas Hotel. It wasn’t a short hike from the Sirkeci Train Station, but the rain did stop for a brief while as we made our way through some of the most crowded but interesting streets I had ever walked. We had crossed from West to East, geographically and culturally. At the hotel we arranged for our baggage, left at the station, to be picked up the next morning.
Istanbul was a world away from American everyday life, with the sounds, smells and landscape utterly foreign. I had made some progress in Paris with the French language, but there was no way to begin to get comfortable with Turkish. But the people were friendly, and there were certainly a lot of them.
Doug and I explored from morning until night. We saw the amazing Hagia Sophia, which once was one of the most significant mosques of Islam but was now a museum. The Hagia Sophia was the largest church in the world until Michelangelo built Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome.
We were also able to go into the Blue Mosque, one of the largest and most prestigious mosques in the Middle East. It is almost impossible to visit when the call for prayers is not going on. But we lucked out and were transported to another world, amazed by the design and architecture of a Muslim mosque, so different than a Western church. Nonbelievers, as we were, were only permitted to enter through one special door, our shoes deposited at the entrance. (I did worry that we would ever be able to find them again, and it took a while to search through all the shoes, but we did eventually retrieve them.)
Upon leaving, we went to the Topkapi Palace, home to the Ottoman sultans for hundreds of years. The Palace was not far away, and as we began to walk, a sign informed us that we were walking on the same bricks and stones that Roman soldiers did a millennium ago. The Crusaders had also trod this road, using Istanbul as a jumping-off point in their bloody campaign to take back Jerusalem, a city that has changed hands half a dozen times over the last 1000 years.
As we walked along some of the old streets of this city, with its exotic smells and sensuous music everywhere, we came to one of the largest, most confusing and mysterious covered markets in the world, the world-famous Grand Bazaar. Almost 400,000 visitors a day passed through the market’s almost one hundred covered streets with over 3000 shops. We were completely fascinated. Some of the shops were no bigger than a closet, with everyone trying to negotiate price with us before we even showed interest. It felt like we could have bought anything in the world somewhere in that huge and colorful place. I imagine it is the same way today—you can buy anything, even if you may need to go to a secret backroom for privacy. We often saw suspicious characters ducking into dark corners as we explored.
The Grand Bazaar houses two mosques, four fountains, two Turkish baths, and several cafés and restaurants. In the center is the high-domed hall of the Cevahir Bedesten, a jewelry market, where the most valuable items and antiques could be found during our visit and still are today: furniture, copperware, amber prayer beads, inlaid weapons, icons, mother-of-pearl mirrors, water pipes, watches and clocks, candlesticks, old coins, and silver and gold jewelry set with coral and turquoise. The Bazaar has always been known for its hand-painted ceramics, carpets, embroideries, spices and antique and clothing shops. Many of the stalls in the Bazaar were grouped by type of goods, which ran the gamut from simple necessities to priceless jewels. The Bazaar has been an important trading center since 1461, and its maze-like vaults feature two domed buildings, the first constructed between 1455 and 1461 by order of Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror. The Bazaar was vastly enlarged in the 16th century, during the reign of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, and in 1894 underwent a major restoration following an earthquake.
Doug and I spent a spent most of the day exploring the Bazaar and sitting in one of the cafés. We bargained with shop owners and watched the crowds pass, savoring the romantic ancient atmosphere of old Istanbul. Doug lingered over hashish pipes, some of the most ornate I have ever seen. While he was negotiating, I wandered the streets nearby, where I came upon a very young Turk, maybe thirteen years old, with a medium-sized live elephant.
He greeted me: “As-salamu alaykum.” Then he bowed.
Proud of myself, I nodded my head and replied, “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.”
He looked surprised for a second but continued in very good English, “Only $25, this elephant is for you. You can ride it out of here today.” I have to say I thought about it for a minute; it would be cheaper than the trains I had been taking. I was tempted, just to be able to say I’d bought an elephant in Istanbul for less than a pair of good boots would have been worth it. And I would have liked to have experienced riding one, but reality got the better of me and I declined, even after I got him down to $19. We had been told to watch out for black market items, and it was obvious the elephant was black market—and could I really ride this elephant in the streets of Istanbul? The young man, Emre I believe he was called, did give me a lead on where to buy black market American cigarettes, which I desperately needed.
He also described a restaurant shop I should go to. He said a lot of golden-hairs like me hung out there. Emir indicated that if I was a traveler, I needed to talk to some of the other travelers who gathered there daily. Doug was still set on buying pipes and wanted to see if another store might offer better wares or prices, so he took off in one direction as I left the Bazaar to look for this “meetings” shop.
It wasn’t far. Though small and with few patrons, Tale Pastanesi, just as Amir had said, did have some European patrons. The funny little shop turned out to be the historic and iconic starting point of the famous “Hippie Trail,” the travel route taken by young European and American travelers, eventually called “hippies,” from the mid-1950s to the late 1970s between Europe and South Asia, through Iran, Afghanistan, Kashmir, India and Nepal.
In later years, this place would change its name for a most unforeseen reason. It seems many travelers could never remember the restaurant’s foreign name, but because many of them remembered and liked the various puddings offered, they started calling it “That pudding shop in Istanbul.” Finally, the ownership gave in and put up a sign: The Pudding Shop.
Although their puddings played a large role in the recognition of the spot, it also became known as a place for travelers to get information. There was a large bulletin board with news about the comings and goings on the hippie trail, with information about destinations including Afghanistan, Pakistan, Kathmandu, India, and even farther east to Thailand and beyond. Many, if not most, who ventured east