The Church of Theotokos Pammakaristos (All-Blessed Mother of God) was built in 1294 by Michael Doucat, nephew of the Byzantine Emperor, on a hill overlooking the Golden Horn. By the time of the Ottoman conquest, the Pammakaristos had become one of Constantinople’s most important Orthodox churches and, sensitive to the feelings of their new Greek citizens, the Ottomans initially left it alone. They even made it the temporary seat of the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate. But in 1592, the church was finally converted into the Fethiye Mosque, to celebrate of the Ottoman annexation of Georgia and Azerbaijan.

During renovations in the 1950s, some beautiful 14th-century mosaics where uncovered in the parekklesion, or side chapel, and these became the focus of a museum which opened in 2006. Under the dome, visitors can admire a beautiful depiction of Christ Pantokrator ringed by twelve prophets from the Old Testament. There’s also a large mosaic panel of Jesus’s baptism, and representations of various Biblical saints, including a deesis with Mary and John the Baptist.

The Fethiye Museum is a like a delicious Byzantine Mosaic hors d’oeuvre, before the more filling main course served up at the nearby Chora Museum. The mosaics in the Fethiye aren’t as breathtaking as those of the Chora, but the experience is perhaps more pleasant. We were the only ones inside the church on the Thursday afternoon we chose for our visit, and able to explore in peace.

Location on our Istanbul Map
Related Post: The Grand Palace Mosaic Museum in Istanbul

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We spent nearly three hours inside the Hagia Sophia. There’s a lot to see, all of it fascinating. This is the kind of place where even the floors, doors and walls have stories to tell. For example: the circular pattern in the floor marks the Omphalos, where Byzantine emperors were crowned. That massive wooden door is the Imperial Gate, reserved for the entrances of the emperor and his family, and rumored to have been made from the wood of Noah’s Ark. And there in the wall, you’ll see one of the church’s magnificent mosaics.

The Byzantine mosaics have survived the centuries in superb condition, thanks mainly to Muslim sensitivities. Human representations are disallowed in mosques, so the mosaics were covered up and protected during Ottoman rule. The mosaic above the Imperial Gate depicts Emperor Leo VI on his knees before Christ. There’s a wonderful Deesis mosaic in the upper gallery, showing Mary and John the Baptist imploring Christ to forgive humanity. And the mosaic of Mother Mary with baby Jesus in her lap in the dome of the apse, is marvelous. But our favorites were those of the four seraphim, God’s guardian angels, in the dome’s supporting pendentives. During restorations in 2009, one was discovered to have a face hiding underneath its protective golden shield.

Impressive as the mosaics are, they can’t compete with the church’s dome: a true architectural wonder. Measuring in at 55 meters in height and 32 meters in diameter, with 40 windows that allow in abundant light, this dome was by far the largest ever attempted when it was constructed. Especially with the two half-domes which exaggerate its size, the dome creates an illusion of immense space. Standing down at ground level, looking up, it’s hard not to feel insignificant.

Yes, standing in the center of this church, it’s very hard not to feel insignificant. Looking up at the massive dome and its seraphim, admiring the giant Arab calligraphy, considering the number of emperors and sultans who have passed through here, and who have probably stood exactly where you’re standing right now… it’s hard not to feel insignificant. Because, and it takes maybe hour inside the Hagia Sophia before you start to genuinely grasp this, you really are insignificant. Look up again at that dome. Think about how long ago it was built, and then try to say aloud “My life has worth”. Ridiculous. You’re a tiny drop in the ocean of human history. You, your silly problems, your proudest accomplishments… they mean absolutely nothing.

Wow. Thanks for ruining my day, Hagia Sophia. Still, despite the small existential crisis it provokes, our visit here was one of the highlights of our time in Istanbul.

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Related: History of the Hagia Sofia

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The Omphalos: where emperors were crowned

Graffiti left by Vikings. Yes: Vikings

A Wishing Column

Ever since arriving in Istanbul, I’d been eagerly anticipating our visit to the Hagia Sophia. Scratch that: I’d been eagerly anticipating a visit ever since 1984 when, as a knowledge-hungry seven-year-old, I came across its entry in the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Finally, the long-awaited day arrived, and it was every bit as amazing as I’d hoped. The instant I stepped inside the Hagia Sofia, the Church of Divine Wisdom, I felt transported into another world.

The building we see today is actually the third church built on the site. The first, completed in 360, was destroyed during a riot in 404, and no trace remains. And the second church was burnt to the ground in 513 during the infamous Nika Riots. One of worst recorded riots in history, this popular outburst of rage resulted in tens of thousands of deaths and the destruction of half of Constantinople’s buildings. The Byzantine Emperor Justinian, though, emerged unscathed and more powerful than ever. With a free rein to rebuild the city as he liked, he started with the Hagia Sophia.

Completed in 537, Justinian’s new church was immediately hailed as an unprecedented architectural achievement. The empire’s greatest mathematicians and physicists were brought in to supervise and consult on the construction, nothing on the scale of which had ever been attempted. The Hagia Sophia was by far the biggest church in the world, and would remain so for nearly a thousand years. It’s almost unthinkable. Try to imagine how otherworldly and groundbreaking a modern-day skyscraper would have to be, to remain unsurpassed for the next millennium. I don’t actually think it’s possible.

Despite its preeminence, the Hagia Sophia hasn’t been immune to the passage of history. It exists, after all, in one of the most tumultuous capitals on earth, and has had as many masters as Istanbul has had names. First and foremost, it was a Byzantine church and the center of the Orthodox world. For a brief interlude, from 1204 to 1261, it was converted into a Roman Catholic church, following the Fourth Crusade which crippled Byzantine. The marauding crusaders even installed a prostitute on the patriarch’s throne, in mockery of the Eastern faith.

Luckily, the next masters of Constantinople would treat the church with more respect. After sacking the city in 1453, the Ottoman forces under Mehmet II the Conqueror enjoyed three days of pillaging, but the Hagia Sophia was mostly spared. The church had been as famous in the Arab world as in the Christian, and it had been Mehmet’s lifelong ambition to see it converted into a mosque. During the long eclipse of the Byzantine Empire, the church had fallen into a deplorable state, but the Turks restored it to its former glory. For the next 500 years, it served as the most important mosque in the Ottoman Empire.

In 1935, the nascent Turkish Republic recognized that the Hagia Sophia was more important as a monument of our shared cultural heritage, than as yet another mosque… which Istanbul already had in ridiculous abundance. On the orders of Atatürk, it was converted into a museum. A good move, in my opinion. Today, it’s one of the most popular tourist attractions in the world, and certainly among the most impressive we’ve ever visited.

Location on our Istanbul Map

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The line to enter the church… on a slow day

Remnants of the 2nd church, destroyed in 513

Zeyrek is one of the four spots designated by UNESCO as “Historic Areas of Istanbul” (the others are Sultanahmet’s Archaeology Park, the Suleymaniye Complex and the Theodosian Walls). This ancient neighborhood still conserves some original wooden housing, and its mosque has a wonderful location overlooking the Golden Horn. Unfortunately, though, the Zeyrek Mosque has been added to UNESCO’s list of “endangered monuments”.

Which perhaps explains why it was closed for restoration during our visit. Originally built in the 12th century as the Church of Christ Pantokrator, this is the second-largest Byzantine-era religious complex in the city, after the Hagia Sophia. It was frustrating to be locked out, but that gave us more time to lounge on the terrace of Zeyrekhane: an upscale restaurant in the shadow of the mosque, which boasts a fantastic view over the neighborhood.

Walking from the mosque to the Roman aqueduct, you enter the heart of the neighborhood. Life in Zeyrek seems to be lived on the streets, with markets opened out onto the sidewalks and locals going busily about their days. This is a boisterous place, where there’s no such thing as a “simple walk” through the city. One minute we’re passing a meat shop, and the next thing I know, I’m on my knees with a baby lamb suckling my fingertip. Jürgen is taking portraits of butchers, then shaking their bloody, carcass-encrusted hands.

And now the peanut-seller wants to chat. Really, you lived in Germany? Auf wiedersehen! Çiğköfte sounds good for lunch. And then tea. Yes, Mr. Baklava Seller, of course we’ll sit down! Oh, look at this group of kids, who want to practice their English. “Huh-low! Bye-bye!” Now more tea and a round of backgammon, and then… wait. Where have the last three hours gone?! That’s how trips in Zeyrek tend to go.

Not quite in Zeyrek, but nearby, is the Yavuz Selim Mosque. This is one of the oldest imperial mosques in the city, commissioned by Suleyman the Magnificent in honor of his father Selim the Grim. The interior is simple but lovely, decorated with Iznik tiles and crowned with a shallow dome. But the Yavuz Selim’s main draw is outdoors. Like the Zeyrek Camii, this mosque offers an incredible view of the Golden Horn. A wooded courtyard faces out towards the river, complete with benches for people to relax and take in the panorama.

Locations on our Istanbul Map: Zeyrek Camii | Yavuz Selim Camii

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Held since Byzantine times, the Wednesday Market (Çarşamba Pazarı) was already woven so immutably into the neighborhood’s fabric, that the conquering Turks just named the entire neighborhood after it. Today, Çarşamba is a very devout section of Istanbul. The market occupies the narrow streets surrounding the Fatih Mosque, and brings the locals out in droves, the great majority of them covered women doing their weekly shopping.

The market concentrates on cheap clothing, household wares and food; nothing much of touristic interest. Jostling through the jam-packed streets, and getting mercilessly shoulder-checked by the no-nonsense shopping ladies (whose head scarfs surely impair their peripheral vision), Jürgen and I felt more than a little conspicuous. So it was with a sigh of relief that we finally emerged into the courtyard of the Fatih Mosque.

This massive complex is one of the great mosques of Istanbul, built on the destroyed remains of the Church of the Holy Apostles. It was raised 30 years after the conquest of Istanbul, on the orders of Mehmet the Conqueror, who was less than satisfied with the result. Furious that the dome was smaller than that of the Hagia Sophia, he had the unlucky architect put to death. Lesson: don’t disappoint a sultan who goes by the sobriquet of “Conqueror”.

We think Mehmet over-reacted. His mosque is a marvel, with gorgeous interior calligraphy and design, and a pleasant courtyard. We sat down inside to listen to a little preaching, and take in the atmosphere. The mosque was surprisingly crowded. A few kids were laughing and chasing each other around the carpeted room, while their fathers looked on with annoyance. There was a lighter, more frivolous atmosphere in this mosque than others we’ve visited, probably thanks to the shopping-festival just outside.

Walking around the grounds of the mosque, we found the mausoleum of the conqueror himself, his turban atop an absurdly large coffin. People inside this beautifully tiled mausoleum were praying to their hero, which I found a bit strange, but probably makes sense. After all, if conquering Constantinople doesn’t confer saint-like status upon a person, what would?

Location of the Fatih Mosque on our Istanbul Map

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It took a lot of effort to locate St. Mary of the Mongols, which was originally built in the 13th century. After hiking past the red brick facade of the Fener Greek Orthodox School for Boys at least four times — repeatedly up and down the same steep hill — and fruitlessly asking innumerable locals, we only found the right location after finally having given up. We were in standing front of something called the “Meryem Ana”, complaining loudly about the “stupid f&*@ing Mongol church”, when the door of the Meryem Ana opened up, and an attendant ushered us inside. It turned out to be the right place… but with a different name on its sign!

The guy obviously hadn’t understood our blasphemous insulting of his church, because he was very pleasant and happy to provide a short tour. This is the only Byzantine church in the city which has enjoyed continuous Orthodox services since Byzantine days. Hanging on a wall is the agreement signed by Mehmet the Conqueror which guarantees freedom of religion in the newly-Muslim city. Also within the church is the mouth of a five-kilometer tunnel which, according to our guide, led underground to the Hagia Sophia. (When later we visited the Hagia Sophia, I asked around about this, but received only denials that any such tunnel existed.)

St. Mary of the Mongols was surprisingly impressive, so our hopes were sky high for the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate, which is the main Eastern Orthodox church in the world: the central place of worship for a congregation of over 300 million. It’s a little strange that the center of Orthodoxy would be in a Muslim city… you’d think that once Constantinople fell, they’d relocate the patriarchate. But Orthodoxy, apparently, isn’t big on change.

We were astounded by was the silence and dreariness of this church. There were a couple other people inside snapping photos, but this was a far cry from St. Peter’s Basilica, and I had to double-check our guide book to make sure we had the right place. Of course, Orthodoxy differs from Catholicism in that every church is considered equal, and thus too much importance isn’t given to any one place. But still. You’d think that the most important church of Eastern Europe’s dominant religion would have a lot more going on.

Earlier in the morning, we had paid visits the Rose Mosque and the Aya Nikola, which made this an insanely long day of church-hunting. So, when we arrived at St. Stephen of the Bulgars, a white, cast-iron church set in the middle of a traffic island, I was secretly thrilled to find it closed for renovation. But because Jürgen was genuinely upset, I feigned disappointment. “The darned luck of it!” I exclaimed, shaking an angry fist at the heavens. “Well, that’s that, let’s go home”. And before he had a chance to react, I had hailed a taxi.

Locations on our Map: St. Mary of the Mongols | Green Orthodox Patriarchate | St. Stephen of the Bulgars

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When entering an extremely old mosque, we’ve learned to look for the placement of the mihrab: the semicircular niche which indicates the direction of Mecca. Orthodox churches face east, but a mosque should be oriented toward Mecca. If you’re in a mosque that was built as such, the mihrab is integrated soundly into the architecture. But if you’re in a former church which has undergone conversion, the mihrab will be off to the side, inelegantly askew.

The mihrab in the Gül Camii was askew, because this was originally the Byzantine Church of St. Theodosia, built in the 12th century. It’s a small building, square-shaped and built of red brick, and once guarded Theodosia’s corpse. She was a nun martyred during the 8th century struggle against iconoclasm. While protesting the removal of a particularly revered icon at Constantinople’s Great Palace, Theodosia shook a ladder and inadvertently killed the soldier who was atop it. For this crime, she was executed in one of those glorious ways forever lost to history: a ram’s horn was hammered through her neck.

May 29th, the day on which the Ottomans overran Istanbul, just happened to be Theodosia’s Saint Day, and the church was full of worshipers. According to at least one account, the marauding Turks stormed inside, chased out the Byzantines, and threw her holy old bones to the dogs. And then they converted her church into a mosque. Yes, Saint Theodosia has had it rough.

After tracking down the Gül Camii (or Rose Mosque), we visited the nearby Aya Nikola: a Greek Orthodox church. This rundown old building on the shore of the Golden Horn looks nothing like a church, but after having rung the doorbell, we were shown in by a little Greek lady. The Aya Nikola is tiny and dark, but lavishly decorated, with a fantastic wall of icons around the altar, but I got the distinct impression it’s no longer used in service.

Part of the reason we enjoy hunting down these old churches, is the excuse it gives us to explore new neighborhoods. From the Aya Nikola, we walked along the coast of the Golden Horn up into the hills of Fener and Balat, the old Jewish quarter. This part of Istanbul, west of the Atatürk Bridge, is one of the most picturesque and rarely-visited parts of town.

Locations on our Map: Gül Camii | Aya Nikola

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The former Cibali Tobacco and Cigarette Factory is today home to the Kadir Has University. The factory dates from 1888, but was abandoned for decades before being purchased by a foundation which, following the examples of the Istanbul Modern and Santralİstanbul, discovered a contemporary use for a historical building. The conversion from factory to university was beautifully realized and won the 2003 Europa Nostra award, honoring the “safeguarding of Europe’s cultural and natural heritage”.

During the restoration, the site was realized to have an even older history than once thought, when both an Ottoman hamam and a Byzantine-era cistern were discovered in the basement. The remains were preserved as well as possible, and became the setting of the subterranean Rezan Has Museum.

For an archaeology museum, an ancient underground cistern is about as atmospheric a setting as one could hope for. The permanent collection is small, but nicely presented, with information posted in English that takes the visitor on a chronological journey through the ages. From Copper Age tools and jars, to the oil lamps and weapons carried by the Selçuk Turks on their march through Anatolia. There’s ancient medical equipment and a fascinating collection of decorative belts worn by the mysterious and short-lived Kingdom of Urartu.

It’s great to see Istanbul making use of its cultural heritage and, instead of razing these old buildings, giving them a new lease on life. Anyone who wants to see such a restoration perfectly executed should pay a visit the Rezan Has Museum.

Location on our Istanbul Map
Rezan Has Museum – Website

-Further Reading: A Short History of Byzantium

Contemporary Turkish hamams find themselves in a difficult position. For centuries, these public bath houses were an integral part of Ottoman life. Islam places great significance on cleanliness, and hamams were the only place to go for a hot, soapy bath. They were buildings of such importance to society, that the empire’s greatest architects were often employed to design them.

But then came the advent of indoor baths with hot water. And just like that, the primary function of the hamam vanished. Sure, they were still pleasant communal areas to meet friends and catch up on gossip, but for day-to-day life, taking a hot shower at home was a lot more convenient.

What to do? These are buildings of great architectural beauty, and you can’t just let them sit around empty. Luckily, hamams generate a lot of interest from visitors. For many, a trip to Istanbul would be incomplete without experiencing the famous Turkish bath. So in order to survive, many of Istanbul’s hamams have reoriented themselves to serve tourists.

Built in 1583 by the master architect Mimar Sinan, the Kılıç Ali Paşa Hamamı is incredible, all domes, white marble and water. After decades of neglect, it was purchased privately and beautifully restored by its new owner, who was intent on returning it to its original purpose. The interior bathing room is stunning, with a large marble stone in the center, bathed in rays of light. Looking at it, I could hardly wait to get my clothes off.

And I soon did. While I was heating my body on the stone, hypnotized by the star-shaped holes in the ceiling, an assistant came to fetch me. He sat me down at a sink, grabbed my wrist, lifted my arm into the air, and began to scrub me with a rough sponge-glove. After scrubbing the dead skin off every inch of my body, he soaped me up with something called a “loofah”: basically a cloth sack that’s pulled tight to produce an unbelievable amount of foam. He remained silent throughout the procedure, which I appreciated, and was very thorough in my washing. Almost distressingly so.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more speckless or clean. I was helped into a big, comfy robe and then led into the lounge area to relax with sherbet and tea, before my massage. For 25 blissful minutes, my back and legs were worked by strong, professional hands. At the end of the session, after being cleaned, rubbed, scrubbed, and massaged, I was amazed to find myself hovering in the air. I floated out of the hamam, up the hill to our apartment and settled slowly onto our couch, like a leaf falling onto a patch of soft grass.

We loved our first hamam experience, and planned on repeating it soon, though we’ve heard horror stories about some. Besides the Kılıç Ali Paşa Hamamı, which of Istanbul’s hamams offer the best experience?

The Kılıç Ali Paşa Hamam – Website

Location of the Kılıç Ali Paşa Hamamı on Our Map

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