Provocolate: The Etymology of Everything that Matters to us.

I have all kinds of stuff to write about Istanbul, a city I woke up in for the first time in my life on one of its saddest days in recent times. I want to write about the best salepi- it's on a ferry going somewhere, I never knew where exactly, on the Bosporus.

The best cup of tea was like a bouquet in a glass that Hussein made us as a treat at breakfast. I want to write about the Cemberlitas Hamam and the sweet lady who covered my mother in clouds of soap foam while we all chatted on the huge marble round. The ice cream guys do a whole thing spinning it around and messing with you.

Bright red sour turnip juice filled with leaves of picked cabbage and cucumbers is addictive- we got extra to have in our room to the revive our languishing blood after the hammam.

The Kazan Dibi is so thick with salep (the powdered root of a wild orchid) that we could barely eat it with a spoon.

Somehow all of those things which are usually really important to me are not at the fore of my thoughts right now. We arrived in Istanbul on Monday afternoon and were just in time to see Agia Sopia at leisure and have Salep ice cream and roasted chestnuts in the great plaza. We could have rushed to the Blue Mosque and indeed thought of it- there was a good 45 minutes before evening prayers, but we did not want to see such beauty in a rush. As it happened, we heard the explosion the next morning as we were just finishing breakfast, not 250 m away.

You remember that song "It's Istanbul not Constantinople?" The name of the city is often shortened in Greek to simply "the city," (from "City of Constantine") as in- "are you in the city?" City = Poli, ("politics"), and in Greek, the root forms the words for culture and civilized- linking not just the word but the very place with the notion of civilization. That's a tall order. Here are a few of the things, really little yet super-important things, that make this city the crown jewel in the very notion of civilization itself:

Tea, and all it represents-

Tranquility, refreshment, and grace are taken at all hours in delicate, shapely glasses. Always a saucer, a perfect tiny spoon, and sugar cubes wrapped like present:

It's interesting when you travel to observe what things cost: A high cost could represent what something is worth, what people are willing to pay for it (pastry and confiserie were all over the place, and clearly deemed "valuable" - they were surprisingly expensive for us). A low cost on the other hand could represent that something is considered essential and must be available to all. Tea, always in a glass with a saucer and a spoon and these perfect little cubes, and often just 1 tl (about 30 cents), is such a thing. Even in the rushed atmosphere of the Grand Bazaar, this ritual is repeated thousands of times a day- tea vendors are all over, men swinging trays of glasses, going from shop to shop.

A beautiful public sink for handwashing between stalls in the Spice Bazaar

Hygiene-

This is a clean city populated by very clean people. Public hygiene, like tea, beautifies the city, like at this ornate public sink. It also takes the form of graceful ritual at the hammam. The one we visited, with a central platform large enough to accommodate a dozen women under its soaring dome, had been in continuous use for over 400 years. The ladies sang as they washed us (how old the songs are I could not say).

Salepi on the ferry

Transportation-

Like tea, very inexpensive. And so practical. In addition to the metro, there are excellent trams and many, many boats (these are like well-appointed public salons floating to and fro on the Bosporus). Everything was gleaming; we even saw a man polishing the windows of the funicular while it was waiting in the station.

The best part? The commuters- always getting up for older passengers, and even moving so we could sit together as a group, trying to make room for everyone. There are seats that flip up when they are not in use to make room during crowded hours- people hold them down for others and motion for them to sit. One hears about grand Turkish hospitality- it extends to the public sphere.

"Lady"-

You can refer to someone as a lady, but you cannot call someone "Lady" in American English- it sounds ironic. But the way they say it in Istanbul, it is like a "Madam" without the pretension and over-formality, and so much sweeter than "M'am." I have never been called so sweetly in any other city.

Istanbul is crowded- full of life and action and noise. But then there is tea, and cleanliness, and it is so easy to get around. People call you "Lady" in a kind voice. Most of all, the citizens set the tone: such gracious civic behavior, everyone seeking an opportunity to accommodate others: mindful, thoughtful, the very definition of civilized.