Salty Lemons

interior of Murad Mosque (Murad Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive

interior of Yeni Mosque (Yeni Camii), commonly called New Mosque
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive

interior of Sultanahmet Mosque (Sultanahmet Camii), commonly called Blue Mosque
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive

interior of Nusretiye Mosque (Nusretiye Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive

interior of Süleymaniye Mosque (Süleymaniye Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive

interior of Beyazit Mosque (Beyazit Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive

November 9, 2011

Domes

I cannot say exactly when I first fell in love with architecture, whether it happened through pictures in a book or in real life. I can say that it happened at an early age. Somewhere in my late teens, I was convinced I would one day live in a medieval castle somewhere in England. Not a Cinderella type castle, nor a haunted castle, but a happy bright one. And one with a manageable yard. I realize now that castles come with land, not yards. How that fairy tale manifested, I cannot recall.

During college, my friend and I spend a summer in Europe, two months studying Environmental Design in Italy and one month backpacking around other countries on the continent. As we walked around Florence on our first night in town, we rounded the corner past the Uffizi Gallery and were instantly dwarfed by the Duomo. Never have I felt so small. And never have I been silenced in that way, I am the chatty type. I stood there with my head up, mouth open, and stared. We both did. We looked at each other, waiting for the other to say something but neither of us did. There was nothing to say. The Duomo spoke for itself.

I spent that summer straining my neck and experiencing architectural feats one after another. Since that summer, it has been hard to match the architectural wonders of Italy in my travels, until Istanbul.* There is something very unique and special about cities like Florence and Istanbul where the city's history announces itself at every turn.

When you look at the Istanbul skyline, your eye pans from mosque to mosque to mosque. At a quick glance they look fairly similar to one another, except for Hagia Sophia who holds her own among them. Deservingly so, she has more than 1,000 years on the next oldest mosque in the city. What surprised me most about the mosques is how different the interiors varied. Each has its own identity.

Inside the mosques, I once again found myself standing with my head up, mouth open, and staring. This time I was not at a loss of words but wandered around only able to verbalize, "wow, wow, wow." Occasionally, I brought my gaze down to its normal position, fearful that I would bump into someone else, or worse, get pickpocketed. Unfortunately, that once happened to my sister here in New York City. It was actually my fault. As we walked down Madison Avenue one evening, I gestured for her to look upwards at a beautiful church. She did, and it cost her her wallet.

*Three weeks, three days, and 8,549 photos later, The Swede and I are home. We have been home now for several weeks, but what happened to those days, I do not know. Somehow they have slipped by.

archives: Architecture, Travel