Living Legends:
While Beyoglu is Istanbul’s infamous refuge for society’s misfits and outcasts, most of the personalities are your plain old run-of-the-mill bums, drunkards and idiots. But we found a couple of characters who have become famous by breaking the mold among already broken molds.
Is it a Bird? Is it a Plane? No, it’s…
…just a scrawny dork in a stupid costume. If you’ve ever joined the vacant-eyed hordes that yo-yo up and down Istiklal Avenue in Beyoglu without a care (or a job) in the world, then at some point you would’ve come across some guy walking around in a Superman outfit, as one might. Although his sallow cheeks, underdeveloped muscles and cigarette-stained fingers may belie his Man-of-Steel reputation at first sight, he nevertheless braves the street urchins tugging at his cape, the sarcastic smiles of youths, and the outraged looks of bourgeois passers-by with a lackadaisical dignity that could only be conjured by a super hero… or perhaps a deranged schizophrenic attention-seeker, take your pick. When I asked him whether he wasn’t pissed off that Spiderman was getting so much more attention than him – and whether he shouldn’t get back into shape as a result – he looked at me like I was hassling him, which I guess I was. I asked him why he wore his underwear over his pants, and whether anyone could recognize him when he wore eyeglasses, at which point he indignantly collected his cape and stomped off shaking his head and murmuring curse words under his breath… Pretty touchy for a guy who looks like he just did a gig at a seven year-old boy’s birthday party.
Well hello there, Dr. Meatballs!
On the same avenue where Superman secures the peace, you’ll find an amiable and polite old man dressed like a doctor, selling… wait for it… meatballs. That’s right, not slimming herbs or miracle ointments or holistic medicines, or even bogus aphrodisiacs… he sells good old greasy, fat, salty, cholesterol-packed meatballs. Oh yes, just what the doctor ordered. Needless to say, they’re delicious. Called Icli Kofte in Turkish, these meatballs are made with herbs, spices, rice and nuts, and coated with bulgur. The old man is known as “Doktor ötker” and has become somewhat of a legendary Beyoglu landmark. He sits behind his little stand called “Sabir Tasi” (Rock of Patience) just next to the street on which are found the SinePop and Emek Cinemas. Apparently he used to be a wealthy man who has since lost his money and is trying to pay off his debts by selling these meatballs. That would explain the name. Waiting to sell enough meatballs to both feed your family and pay off your debts would require the patience of a rock. So pass on by some day after 6 p.m. (around which time he usually sets up his stall) and help the old man out. Enjoy munching on those meatballs!
Legends of the Dead:
The ghosts of the dead who rise from their watery graves to wander the silent seabed of the Bosphorus; skeletons and skulls that inhabit the labyrinthine tunnels under the city… Now imagine all that read out loud by Vincent Price, and you’ve got yourself some ripping yarns.
Ghosts in the Depths Below
The fishermen don’t talk about it easily, but when the topic comes up, they have no dearth of spine-tingling stories of the ghosts they’ve seen out on – and under – the waters of the Bosphorus. Talk to a group of them and they’ll all corroborate (or perhaps just co-exaggerate) each other’s stories until you’re left stroking the goosebumps on the nape of your neck. They speak of a forlorn maiden with raven hair and a flowing white dress who floats amid the white mist that hangs over the still and silent waters as the first rays of the sun touch the surface of the sea. Some tell of the ghost of a janissary whose shining turban can be seen from the surface of the water as his lost soul wanders the melancholy sea floor below, endlessly searching for his massacred comrades. One of them even said he once talked to a ghost, late one night as he was on his way back to shore. He said it was the ghost of an old, powerfully-built man with completely white eyes who climbed aboard his little boat and proceeded to ask over and over if the fisherman had seen his beloved, Minure. He said the ghosts are not frightening, but pitiful, and that they are unfortunate souls who could never reconcile themselves to death, who were once either heroes (Ghazi’s), lovers (Ashik’s), or assassins and executioners (Jellat’s), and whose souls neither heaven nor hell would accept, nor the earth offer final rest. It was all very interesting… but I mean, come on guys, DRINK MORE COFFEE!
Tunnels, Skulls, Skeletons, and other icky things…
It sounds like a job for Indiana Jones: to discover the labyrinth of tunnels that are fabled to run beneath the surface of the city, containing the skeletons of hapless souls who were lost or banished to live in the dark, subterranean depths. The tunnels are thought to have been built over the centuries, secretly commissioned by Byzantine Emperors and Ottoman Sultans. Some of them thought to run beneath the Bosphorus, and even all the way out to the Prince’s Islands. Secret entrances are reputed to exist in the Cistern and also under the Grand Bazaar. Many believe these tunnels exist, and that there are even secret workshops belonging to various guilds (i.e. goldsmiths) who make all who work there or know about it to swear an oath of secrecy upon the Koran. Some say they’ve seen them and been in them, but that the entrances are sometimes changed to maintain the secrecy. There are legends of lost children who live beneath the city in these tunnels and who never see the light of day, of skeletons and skulls of those who’ve lived and died in the tunnels, or who were killed and whose bodies were hidden there (all of which apparently the government and municipality is aware of). Some say the tunnels are exaggerated, but do exist, albeit no more than 10 or 20 meters long – others say that they form a sprawling labyrinth which has been the death of many who have wandered in and been lost, and that it’s home to giant rats, enormous insects and poisonous snakes.
Legends of the Fall
No, Brad Pitt isn’t strutting around in the back streets with golden hair and unkempt stubble. We’re talking about the fall of the city to the Ottoman Turks under Mehmet II (the Conqueror) on May 29, 1453. Two of the most popular legends for Istanbulites have their origins in that most significant of days, and they both involve enough gold and riches to make your mouth water.
The Vanished Priest of Haghia Sophia
A legend that belongs exclusively to the Greek Orthodox community of Istanbul is that of the vanished priest of Haghia Sophia. According to legend, when the Turks had already breached the city’s walls and were crashing down the doors of the Haghia Sophia on the day of the conquest (May 29, 1453) the liturgy which was being given by a priest to the terrified worshippers inside was discontinued and the priest vanished through a door which miraculously appeared and closed behind him as he took with him the gifts and riches which were donated during the liturgy so as not to let them fall into the hands of the conquerors. It’s also believed he took with him the Holy Grail. According to a legend that is still believed by devout Orthodox Christians of the city today, the priest would return through the magic door to complete the unfinished liturgy on the day the city is reconquered and return the riches – and the putative Grail – back to those present on their auspicious day.
Gold, as in Golden Horn
Perhaps one of the most famous legends in Istanbul. Many Istanbulites believe that on the bottom of the Golden Horn is to be found a rich bed of gold, sunk into the silt and soil that has accumulated over the ages. It’s believed that as it became certain that the Turks would capture the city in 1453, the affluent nobles and other citizens decided to throw their gold and riches into the Golden Horn – including, apparently, the entire treasury of the Byzantine Empire! – rather than see it fall into the hands of the Turks. It’s believed the boat laden with the private riches of the emperor also sank as it was trying to flee. And as if that wasn’t enough gold to get you salivating like a chimpanzee at a fruit market, then there’s also the belief that the goldsmiths pour out the gold dust left over from their work into drains that empty out into the historic waterway (although it’s also believed that they have filters made of old carpets that collect the gold dust from those drains so they can use it again – it’s believed they have their own underground tunnels that run down to the shore for the purpose of collecting this gold dust). Before you grab your mask and snorkel there Shylock, try figuring out how you’re going to sift through a few tons of that earthly delight below.
