In a Turkish Museum, an Epitaph for a Roman Warrior

10/19/2012

Prayer Wall/ Photo by George Vecsey

How could we have waited so long to visit Turkey?

My overall impression of Istanbul was of overlapping cultures and tastes, centuries of civilizations.

We were touched by amplified prayers wafting through this huge city, summoning worshippers to the mosques at mid-day.The windowsill in our hotel had a tiny sticker with an arrow pointing toward Mecca, making it easier for travelers to pray.

At the same time, life went on, with people dressing and apparently living their varied fashions.

We love cities. We took trams and ferries the way we take the subway or commuter train in New York. We found succulent small plates of appetizers -- mezze -- everywhere, but I have to say, our best meal was at the Istanbul Museum of Modern Art, a great airy space alongside the Bosphorus, with stimulating contemporary exhibitions. And I found a great bookstore near the ferry in Kadikoy, with soccer books by Franklin Foer and Simon Kuper, translated into Turkish.

One thing I did not do was take an anotated walk around the neighborhood featured in My Name Is Red, the compelling novel by Orhan Pamuk (please enjoy the Updike review from 2001), which takes place near the Galata Tower. Next time.

For sheer reading pleasure, please enjoy the current essay by Pamuk on the drying-up of the Bosphorus.
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We went to the Istanbul Archaeological Museum, expecting history and we encountered something close to literature.

One stele, or marker, contained a tribute to a Roman captain, Iulius Callineicos, from the third century, C.E.

“Greetings passerby! Callineicos, you have set sail to the limits of Lethe (the mythical river of forgetfulness), having survived many fierce tempests. Still the sea did not swallow you in its depths, [but] the earth has wiped you from the face of the earth, you who wanted to take after your brother Calligonos, who left long ago from the face of the earth. The decision of the Fates (Moirae) was thus: Here lies Iulius Callineicos, captain.”

Callineicos was sent by one great civilization; his service is still noted in the heart of another great civilization.

Stele of Callineicos in Archaeology Museum/ Photo by George Vecsey

Gene Palumbo

10/19/2012 08:34:37 am

Just wanted to alert you all to George's column in the N.Y. Times: "Yankees’ Old Ways Catch Up to Them" http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/20/sports/baseball/yankees-old-ways-catch-up-with-them.html

Brian Savin

10/19/2012 09:52:28 am

Just saw it...he's certainly back!

Brian Savin

10/20/2012 02:42:37 am

Plenty of time to get to the travelog stuff, but I just reread the Yankees piece again in today's Times and I think it is not only loaded with perspective stuff for us fans but real serious, practical stuff for management. I know the Steinbrenner boys will read it....I hope they REALLY read it (what our school teachers used to call "reading for comprehension")!

Here's my too long digression on why I have that hope: My wife and I saw the old movie Marley and Me (Owen Wilson, Anniston) last night. Although ostensibly about a dog, its overwhelming subplot is about a newspaper writer who goes through the years from being a reporter, to a columnist, to a reporter, to a.......

You start out with the 5 "w's" as a young reporter, then you weave yourself into entertainment pieces as a young columnist, then you want the meat of reporting again, and then you have an older perspective on what is important, and can do columns without the "I" stuff predominating. There is still the "I" part in the work of an older (sorry, "seasoned") columnist, but it is more the eye of a camera with focused perspective than of ego. The ancient Chinese respected the old for good reason, but there aren't too many of us in our culture who recognize the wisdom in growing old. When one does, it can make for great columns, like this one!

Altenir Silva

10/20/2012 03:29:42 am

Dear George,

Great travel. I like to know the best place to eat in Turkey is at Museum of Modern Art of Istanbul. The place is for feed the soul and the body.

Have a good weekend,

Altenir Silva (from Brazil)

George Vecsey

10/20/2012 04:52:34 am

Dear Altenir: Thanks so much. It sounds very touristy to say that, but the fact is they had a chef who prepared a large portion of salmon and potatoes and other vegetables, hot and seasoned, with a great view of the water.
We had terrific mezze at Ciya Sofrasi in Kadikoy
http://www.tripadvisor.it/Restaurant_Review-g293974-d776065-Reviews-Ciya_Sofrasi-Istanbul.html
and Karakoy Lokantesi, journalist hangout:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2011/sep/14/top-10-lokanta-restaurants-istanbul
and Cafe Rumist near the Sultanahmet Mosque:
http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g293974-d1460399-Reviews-Cafe_Rumist-Istanbul.html
Actually, the baked potato takeaway near the ferry on the farthest Prince's Island was very good too -- you had to be there. GV

Altenir Silva

10/20/2012 05:13:03 am

Dear George,

Wow! This seems to be very delicious. Thank you very much for the links.

Best - Altenir (from Brazil)

Tom Mitchell link

10/22/2012 06:22:13 am

George, thanks for impressions of Turkey. The news focuses on the Syrian situation, seldom mentioning this multicultural country that represents so many religions in relative peace.

Your side trips to Ephesus and Cappadocia were enligthening. I am amazed who much we learn and enjoy the smaller towns. During our summer river boat cruise down and up the Danube, towns like Melk and Durnsteing Asustria, Passau, Germany, Bratislava Slovakia with a side trip to Prague were most memorable while Budapest and Vienna could have been any western city.

Alan Rubin link

10/31/2012 04:22:49 am

George

Turkey is a most remarkable country to visit. We still talk about our November 2003 trip. Our first day in Istanbul was most unusual as it was census day. All residents had to remain at home to be counted. Our guide was thrilled since there was no traffic and we saw much more than usual during the day.

I do not remember the names of where we ate, but you said it all. One street was lined with rows of tables where you ate with strangers. When we purchased a delicacy from a roving vendor, the Turkish man sitting next to us negotiated the price down. He said that it was not right to take advantage of guests. This type of hospitality continued throughout the remainder of our trip.

Also, it was rare to see women in the restaurants.

It is not surprising that Istanbul is a mixture of many cultures. It was the link between Europe and Asia that was on the path of the traders and the crusaders. City of Fortune: How Venice Ruled the Seas by Roger Crowley is a wonderful book about both. It covers the rise and fall of Venetian power and its rivalry with Genoa.

There is a fascinating description of the attack and sacking of Constantinople during the forth crusade in about 1200 AD. Politics, deceit and corruption are not recent phenomena. Whenever I read about the history of the region, I picture the underground crusader cities that George described.

Did you ever get to the 1000 year old Turkish bath in Istanbul?

your garden thanks to epsom salt link

1/28/2013 02:46:38 pm

I like the way you explained the difficult topic with such details. This is something I have been exploring about for a long time and you really provided all details of this topic.

Comments are closed.

QUOTES
More and More, I Talk to the Dead--Margaret Renkl

NASHVILLE — After my mother died so suddenly — laughing at a rerun of “JAG” at 10 p.m., dying of a hemorrhagic stroke by dawn — I dreamed about her night after night. In every dream she was willfully, outrageously alive, unaware of the grief her death had caused. In every dream relief poured through me like a flash flood. Oh, thank God!
Then I would wake into keening grief all over again.
Years earlier, when my father learned he had advanced esophageal cancer, his doctor told him he had perhaps six months to live. He lived far longer than that, though I never thought of it as “living” once I learned how little time he really had. For six months my father was dying, and then he kept dying for two years more. I was still working and raising a family, but running beneath the thin soil of my own life was a river of death. My father’s dying governed my days.
After he died, I wept and kept weeping, but I rarely dreamed about my father the way I would dream about my mother nearly a decade later. Even in the midst of calamitous grief, I understood the difference: My father’s long illness had given me time to work death into the daily patterns of my life. My mother’s sudden death had obliterated any illusion that daily patterns are trustworthy.
Years have passed now, and it’s the ordinariness of grief itself that governs my days. The very air around me thrums with absence. I grieve the beloved high-school teacher I lost the summer after graduation and the beloved college professor who was my friend for more than two decades. I grieve the father I lost nearly 20 years ago and the father-in-law I lost during the pandemic. I grieve the great-grandmother who died my junior year of college and the grandmother who lived until I was deep into my 40s.
Some of those I grieve are people I didn’t even know. How can John Prine be gone? I hear his haunting last song, “I Remember Everything,” and I still can’t quite believe that John Prine is gone.
-----
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/01/30/opinion/death-grief-memory.html
Jan. 30, 2023

In a Turkish Museum, an Epitaph for a Roman Warrior

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