A jaunt called Istanbul

Sultans

I approach the Sultanhamet area where the Topkahpi Palace is

located. Generations of Ottoman sultans had lived, ruled and

even mysteriously died here. In their privacy they enjoyed the

company of numerous wives, astronomers, former-day feng shui

masters, eunuches and slaves, not to mention huge emeralds.

The gardens inside were playgrounds where they would breed

and enjoy their trophy animals and exotic botanics. They were

mad about tulips! The sultans had volumes of botanical

drawings of this species and had them replicated in a vast

majority of tilework and embroidery. There are ancient cedars

with figs grafted into their trunks. Other trees with trunks so

wide and hollow I spy on one being used currently as a broom

closet! In one of the galleries I notice an armoire chockful of

18th-century Limoges plates. There are about five dozens of

them. Each one is hand-painted, depicting fantastic forest

scenes of faraway lands like North America and New Zealand. I

strain in the dark to study all these plates and discover one lush

and tropical looking piece painted and marked ''a forest scene in

Luzon''! This came replete with ''natives'' dressed appropriately

in salakot and g-strings! Maybe herein lies the connection I've

been seeking all along?

Outside the Palace grounds are a couple of interesting

addresses. They are Pashas villas now converted into

restaurant. Even the former jailhouse is now a yellow five-star

hotel. Historic preservation is at its height here, the creators of

which have lent themselves to innovation and eclecticism that

resemble so much fun!

The day is getting on. I have coffee indoors only because I

have been lured by some tempting experience of c. 1900 luxury.

Which I regret later on, so I have another, this time al fresco!

What a redeeming cup! Considering how tight Istanbul has

become, there has been no forgiving the lack of imagination

when I realize that coffee and the rest of the menu is actually

being prepared in a shop across the street. The sheer lack of

space irreverently emphasized by seats hung on the cafi's

walls! I can go on about the watering holes, cafis, the cuisine

and art, and the people that create these, but that will take

another day! I grow tired of all this walking and head back to the

hotel where I await the arrival of my traveling companion. I pore

through pages of scribbles I learned to imitate from my editor

and notice the glass and sterling candelabra of a table I am

working on... Indeed Ottoman, indeed time for my drink.