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Thursday, October 17th - Istanbul (Sultanahmet Hippodrome and cisterns)
After my breakfast at Mario’s I take the bus back into the Sultanahmet District again, being more careful who I am standing beside. Secretly, I look for the tall dark stranger who fondled me yesterday, not really sure if I want to meet him or not, but he isn’t on this bus anyway.
I get off where I did yesterday. I am half an hour early for meeting Ilio at the Hippodrome so I locate the International Youth Hostel, two blocks from the bus loop, and book a four day stay beginning Saturday night. The youth hostel is large and looks quite clean. I have passed a few other hostels on my route yesterday, but they
seemed smaller and dirtier. This is the only IYH hostel in Turkey other than a new one that just opened in Marmaris on the south west coast.
I find Ilio sitting on the steps of the German Fountain in the Hippodrome. He is happy to see me, but when he agrees to let me take his picture, his expression changes to something more like pathos. I am sure this has become a habit of his by now. We wander around to see the various features of the historic park. He isn’t much of a guide for although he knows where things are he cannot remember or has never learned the historical details. Still, I enjoy his company and read aloud from my guide book so that he might learn more for future tour guide usefulness.
The hippodrome was the major sports facility and largest social meeting place in Constantinople for centuries. The bleachers where the 100,000 fans watched the renowned chariot races are long removed and the track where they raced for the emperors is now paved in asphalt. The guide says the actual track is buried a metre and a half below the one I see.
At the far end is an Egyptian obelisk of Thutmose III, plundered from the land of Pharaohs by the Roman Emperor Theodosius in 390 AD, or at least the top third of it as it was too big to transport whole. Gawd nose what happened to the other two-thirds, but it is a pity that it was butchered. The remaining section is in surprisingly good condition after 3500 years. At the other end of the track is the Walled Obelisk, built in the 10th century to honour athletes of the Hippodrome, an ancient Stanley Cup of sorts. It was built using stone blocks, a Lego totem pole that was once covered in brass plaques. The plaques were plundered during the Fourth Crusade, like much of Constantinople.
From here, Ilio takes me to the entrance of the Blue Mosque, properly known as the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, which has given its name to this neighbourhood. There is a stiff entrance fee which I cannot afford to fork out for both of us. Ilio diplomatically says he doesn’t want to see inside so I leave it for another day so I can spend more time with him. 
He takes me down into two ancient cisterns, the ancient drinking water reservoirs for the walled city. The first is called the Binbirdirek Cistern. It is dark and cave-like, like a great secret chamber full of ghosts, but it is also dry and dusty and other than the chamber itself there is nothing to see. It really wasn’t worth the admission price, so when Ilio suggests seeing a second one I am reluctant at first. I am glad I let him convince me. 
The second one, the Basilica Cistern, is larger and filled with water. The columns and ceiling reflect in the glassy surface. There are dozens of carp swimming here. The walkways lead deep into the shadowy extremities, which feel magical in a dark way. The mood is enhanced by large, squarish sculptures of the gorgon Medusa’s head with her hair of snakes which have been placed upside down and used as bases for a couple of the columns.
Perhaps it is the look of the place that puts Ilio in a somber mood. He is grateful for the lira I have paid him but as soon as we are outside again he begs me to ask Mario if he can help him get out of Istanbul. I promise to ask him. I feel for Ilio’s predicament but I am also reluctant to ask anything as awkward as this of Mario after his great generosity. I share a falafel sandwich dinner with Ilio at my expense, and then tell him I will look for him Saturday, when I move to the youth hostel in Sultanahmet. I make my way back to Besiktas on the bus wondering what could be done for him, but I have no insights. My focus shifts to my mother’s letter, which I have not yet read, and thoughts about what I should do next in my travels. I haven’t got any answers to that riddle yet either.
My mother’s letter has all the family news plus an unexpected bit concerning my time in Croatia at the outbreak of the war. A Croatian woman living in Toronto was near Split visiting her family when the war broke out. She read the article in the Split newspaper about me being from Toronto and trapped in the city. The next day she rushed down to find me just before the bombing started, but I had just cycled out of Split that morning (Day 202). She made it back to Toronto and looked me up in the phone book. She found my uncle whose name I share and he directed her to my business partner David who shares my house and phone number. He called my parents to see if I had made it out safely. This all happened before my letter saying that I was safe arrived. They knew nothing about me being in Croatia and so they were worried sick before my letter arrived. It is incredible and a bit disconcerting how small the world seems at times.
PHOTO 1: at the German Fountain in the Hippodrome
PHOTO 2: the Hippodrome
PHOTO 3: Egyptian obelisk at the Hippodrome
PHOTO 4: Snake Column at the other end of the Hippodrome
PHOTO 5: the waled obelisk
PHOTO 6: Sultanahmet, the "Blue Mosque"
PHOTO 7: Binbirdirek Cistern
PHOTO 8: entrance to the Basilica Cistern
PHOTO 9: Basilica Cistern columns
PHOTO 10: another look at the columns
PHOTO 11: peacock eye column, Basilica Cistern
PHOTO 12: Medusa head column, Basilica Cistern
PHOTO 13: Medusa head column base
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