Picture Dictionary: Sublime Porte

Sublime Porte [səˈblʌɪm pɔːt]

noun

From the French 'Sublime Porte', translation of the Turkish Bab-i-Ali, 'grand door'.  Refers to the ceremonial gate to the palace of the Grand Vizier in Istanbul; also used to refer to the government/seat of government of the Ottoman Empire.Eithne's favourite example of metonymy (qv).

Metonymy [məˈtänəmē]
noun
Metaphorical device where one object is substituted for another, related object.  Cf 'crown' for monarch, 'bench' for judiciary.


The Sublime Porte.  Where did my obsession come from?  I think it's probably related to the fact that I explored the delights of metonymy (and its close relation, synecdoche) in my first term at university, around the same time I was writing essays about competing Imperial interests in the run up to WWI.  The Sublime Porte seemed to me a glorious shorthand for the Ottoman Empire, much more exotic and interesting than the Court of St James, say.  (Or the more prosaic 'Berlin', 'Washington' and 'Brussels' we get today.)

So I was determined to track down the original, actual gate from which the term derived.  Easier said than done.  The gate now leads to the provincial governor's HQ and is not particularly on the Istanbul tourist trail - though it is in the Sultanahmet district, along with the Topkapi Palace.  In fact, we discovered the gate through sheer serendipity.  We were walking along Ankara Caddesi looking for a restaurant and I looked up - and recognised the distinctive canopy over the gate.

I went back to see it the next day: to the passers by, the trucks and cars and taxis, it's clearly just another gate in a city that's chockablock full of interesting sites.

But I know (and it knows) that it is the very definition of a Sublime Porte.  

Istanbul (and Constantinople and Byzantium too)

I've just come back from a glorious weekend in Istanbul (well, I say 'just' - this post is slightly delayed owing to my having to dash to Amsterdam as soon as I got back.)  So many people had raved about the city that I was a little bit worried I would be disappointed.  I wasn't.  It's every bit as beautiful and interesting as I had imagined: the sense of being at the crossroads of East and West is palpable.  Not just that, but the convergence of so many cultural ideas - Islamic, Christian, European, Middle Eastern, Central Asian, Ottoman, Turk, Byzantine, secular, religious - is fascinating.  

I wished, oh how I wished, I could have arrived on the Orient Express, alighting at Sirkeci Station, taken in a litter to the Pera Palace Hotel (where we had drinks and admired aforementioned litter).  I wished to jump back in time to the pre-Ataturk city (before he banned the wearing of the fez) and also to the heyday of the Ottoman Empire and the Byzantine Empire before that (especially I would like to have met the Empress Theodora, former showgirl, daughter of a bear-tamer).  But then, much of the charm of Istanbul today lies in the glimpses of all of these times and people that are still there, layered into the fabric of the city.

And if I settled for transportation via Turkish Airlines, rather than the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons Lits (I do love that name), our trip across to the Asian side of the city on Sunday afternoon meant that we did experience arriving in Istanbul by sea, having crossed the Bosphorus and watched the crescent moon rise over the city.

Overseen: Kensington Palace

Overseen, London, January 2014

Queen Victoria's wedding dress:

Queen Victoria's mourning dress:

Can You Visit the Same Place Twice?

Retracing my steps has been a theme of the blog this week, so I thought it appropriate to tie in a hint.  It’s one I came up with last year, when I was in Marseille for a conference. 

I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Marseille over the past five years since my sister moved nearby (along with husband and Adorable Nephews) and I love it – I think it’s one of the most interesting and beautiful cities in Europe.  But I notice in myself a tendency to want to do the same things when I’m in Marseille: I want to have lunch in LesArsenaux, admire the ex-votos and the stunning views at Notre Dame de la Gardeand – if time allows – have a drink at the bar at Le Corbusier’s CiteRadieuse. 

So here’s my new rule (slash hint): for every familiar thing I do when revisiting a place, I’ll do something new as well.  It’s an excellent balance, if I say so myself.

Roof of the Cite Radieuse, Marseille

Overseen: Kommetjie Lighthouse

Overseen, Cape Town, November 2013

We stayed in the beautiful Monkey Valley Resort just outside Cape Town.  Every night I was lulled to sleep by the magical combination of the sound of the waves and the rhythmic flashing of Kommetjie lighthouse, at the other end of Long Beach.

Roads Taken, Not Taken, Retaken

Boardwalk leading to Long Beach, Noordoek, Cape Town

I went back to Cape Town at the end of November last year.  It was the first time I’d been back since I lived there for a few months at the end of 2009/beginning of 2010.  Cape Town was really where this blog bloomed: so much to absorb, so much colour and life and music to take in, so many new cultures to consider, so many stories to hear and share.  Back in those days I blogged EVERY DAY (I know, hard to believe!) and my blog became a scrapbook for everything I was seeing and doing and, looking back, my posts are permeated with the sheer joy that I felt at that time (I do generally feel a sense of joie de vivre, but Cape Town is a city that seems to externalise its energy and it’s catching.)

I loved Cape Town, but the time came to leave and I did (I cried when they stamped my passport at the airport) and went, first, back to Ireland and then on to Australia – where a six month stay turned into a three year plus Melbourne-Dublin commute.  Not long after I had agreed to extend the initial six month stay, I got a message from a friend in Cape Town – a message and a job offer.  Although it caused me some pangs, I turned down the job.  Absorbed in my Melbourne life, I mentally packed my Cape Town memories away and got on with other things. 

Four years passed.  

Then a suggestion came for a group of friends to gather in South Africa.  I booked my holiday without thinking very much about it beyond looking forward to a week renewing friendships in the sunshine.  I certainly didn’t think about what it would be like to revisit a place that had captured my heart.  I don’t think it ever occurred to me to wonder what would have happened if I had accepted that job offer, four years previously. Until I was sitting with a Cape Town friend, drinking tea in beautiful Tamboerskloof.  And drinking coffee in Woodstock – which is now hipster central and I can hardly believe I was cool enough to have lived there once upon a time.  And running up to Chapman’s Peak at sunset – remembering that the last time I was there we drank champagne on the cliff.  All week I wondered – what would my life be now if I had stayed in Cape Town?  Would the shine have worn off, or would I still be riding that wave of joy and energy?

I have a tendency to fall in love with places.  On any given day I’ll feel homesick for somewhere.  As a result there’s a constant tension between my thirst to visit somewhere new and my longing to revisit somewhere already beloved.  If I traced my journeys on the map, there’d be an interesting pattern: ever lengthening arcs out from my native island, but always this tendency to circle back.  Of course, one of the main reasons for revisiting places is to spend time with family and friends scattered around the world.  But my trip back to Cape Town made me wonder if there isn’t another reason. 

I have always had a passion for stories (hence the day job) – principally because they are the best way I know of leading another life: trying on another existence, in a different place, in a different time.  I’m wondering now if, when I retrace my steps, I’m trying to catch a glimpse of myself – another self – leading the life that followed from taking a road I didn’t take. 

Postscript
Item #49 on my Life List is to visit a new country every year.  In 2014 I have three new countries lined up: Turkey, Estonia and Lesotho – via Cape Town …

Hints to Lady Diners

View from Skybar at the Radisson Blu Plaza, Oslo, December 2013

I don’t think I’ve posted this hint before, but I was reminded of it because I was thinking about my erstwhile Melbourne landlady, the unutterably chic Bernie.  (Among other delights she introduced me to chocolate panettone, this amazing perfume - and confirmed my love of polished concrete floors.)  We often discussed travel and we had one particularly interesting discussion that has stuck in my mind about lady travellers eating out on their own.

I regularly eat out by myself of an evening when travelling.  And it’s – fine.  I assure you, the other people in the restaurant are not all wondering if you’ve been a) stood up b) have no friends.  Walk in confidently, ask for a table for one, take it as an opportunity to people watch and order EXACTLY what you want with no one to judge or steal bites from your plate.  Books, magazines, phones are all useful distractions if you tire of people watching and/or your own company.  Eating alone is a much better alternative than not eating or eating crappy takeaway or staring at your hotel room walls.

But – and this is a point Bernie and I agreed on: eating alone in the evening is not always the most comfortable option for a solo lady traveller.  (A lot of our debate was around whether it was easier for male travellers on their own – she thought yes, I’m undecided.  What do you think?)  It’s true that sometimes I feel a bit exposed if I’m by myself – particularly in a more formal restaurant.  Bernie argued that it exposed you to unwanted attention.  We both agreed that not all restaurants are welcoming to women dining alone – or, for all I know, to men dining alone.

So, here’s the hint.  Lady travellers on your own: save your pennies and your appetite for LUNCH.  Lunchtime tends to be more relaxed, even at more formal dining establishments.  For some reason, it’s more culturally acceptable for a woman to dine alone at lunchtime.  (And although I’d say absolutely flout the cultural norms if that’s what works for you, I know it does’t work for everyone.)  In the evening, I’ll more often go to a café or snack place (for gyros, say, or falafel) or – one of my favourite things – visit a market during the day and have a picnic back at my hotel.

Oh, and as a postscript – if looking for a good option to have a drink by oneself in the evening, hotel bars are usually a pretty comfortable bet, and often places you’d want to go anyway.  Three great examples: Housebar at Hotel DeBrett in Auckland, the Skybar at the top of the Radisson Blu Plaza in Oslo and the inimitable Duke's in London.