The two Mosques looked like giant spiders, their minarets, long legs punching holes in the sky. They could have been aliens from another planet, shedding terror over the city. The two titans overshadowed Istanbul, the city of intrigues, belly dancers and James Bond. Borders stood at the rail and watched the ship glide on the Bosporus. The sun was just rising, the burning red horizon a backdrop to the skyline. The sea was awake. Sailing craft of all shapes and sizes raced and lumbered across the strait, carrying fish, passengers and likely contraband. Borders leaned on to the railing and spat into the water.
A short time later, he left with Hill in search of their guide. Time to explore Istanbul. On the dock, belly dancers gyrated their wares, to the joy of the amateur photographers and old men with old memories. Borders and Hill took photos and moved on. Panama, carrying his hat and camera, weaved in front of them, seemingly glued to his agenda. Borders intended to keep a close eye on him. If he had any plans to meet someone today, this would be the place to do it. On the bus, the two men again sat at the rear. Panama, as usual, sat in the middle. His face showed anger and Borders wondered what had upset him. He didn't seem to be taking many pictures. Was his façade crumbling? Did he know he was being followed?
Istanbul was a sea of yellow taxis, squeezing in between modern buses and top of the line street cars that resembled bullet trains. It was indeed a modern city. Everyone was fashionably dressed and in a hurry. It reminded Borders of New York City. There were no beggars in sight, no gypsies sitting or sprawled on the sidewalk, with grubby paper cups. No knick-knack sellers dogging their every step.
The tour bus dropped them off at the Sophia Museum. It had begun its life as a Christian church and for five-hundred years was the largest church in the world. In the 15th century, it was turned into a mosque, and in the last century, into a museum. Whitewash blanketed the mosaics that once adorned the walls, and now only the occasional saying of the Prophet Mohammed caught short glances. Borders lost sight of Panama and cursed himself for it. He had become too involved in his surroundings. He forgot he was more than a tourist.
The next stop was the Blue Mosque, the most important mosque in the city. A line moved slowly awaiting the removal of shoes and the donning of scarves by women. Massive columns held up the ceiling of a building that was empty. The place reminded Borders of a huge underground parking lot with high ceilings. For prayers, there was a drastic separation of sexes, men at the front and women at the back. Borders noticed a young woman and babysitting with her back against one of the columns. She was more interested in people watching than praying.
The next spot on the tour was the Topkapi Palace, one of the biggest and most popular sites in Istanbul and was home of the Ottoman Sultan for over four-hundred years. The most astonishing thing to see at the Palace was the Sultan's throne, which was in reality a large bed. 'With all those wives, what would one expect?' Borders lived with that thought for a few minutes until the guide told them that the sultan's companion for the night was selected by his mother. Soon, the history lesson was completed, and it was time for shopping at the Grand market.
The bus dropped them off at the end of the street that led to the Grand Market. The street allowed only pedestrians. The sides of the street bristled with stores and restaurants. Benches and bushes tastefully filled the center. There was an abundance of signs in front of the eateries bragging about free WI-FI. Hill leaned against a brick wall and tried accessing with his cell while Borders sat on a bench trying to keep his eye on Panama. Numerous cats were sitting about and seemed to be giving him the eye. He wondered if he looked in any way like lunch. They seemed to be contented cats. He wondered who fed them.
A large tour group walked by and Borders noticed that each person had a #2 stuck to them. They reminded him of a kindergarten class. His group had no numbering system. They must have been trusted to look after themselves. Vendors stood on street corners and available empty spots, hawking roasted chestnuts and corn on the cob. Near the Bazar, men sold rugs and knock off clothing.
Entered through one of the gates the group looked upon a space that had similarities to a large cavern with a maze of paths leading in all directions. Lights reflected off metal souvenirs, and cramped stalls that lined the paths with what looked like flea market items. Clothing, like coats, belts and scarves filled the other stalls. As they looked around Borders noticed that most of the buyers were tourists. There didn't seem to be any locals on the purchasing side. He also noticed that the tourists didn't venture too far from the entrance, perhaps afraid of the maze.
It was a giant warehouse with paths covered in black cobblestones. The roof gave the appearance of a starless sky that lacked even their crescent moon. At a crossroad, Borders noticed that some of the paths were completely void of people. But he knew that the sellers were there, like carnivorous fish, waiting to pounce on anyone that walked within range. The two men bought nothing. They were not interested in necklaces, rings and knockoff watches.
Although unheard, they were acutely aware of the pitter-patter of small feet, mice scurrying from one stall to another. 'Where was the Pied Piper when you needed him?' No cats were in sight. Perhaps they were aware that meals were within a paws reach, and it wasn't necessary to over work. It was a feline welfare system.
Not interested in shopping, Borders and Hill left the Bazar and made their way up the street. Panama, again, was no longer in sight, and there was no way of finding him. They just hoped he would show up at the bus. They decided to stop at one of the restaurants for lunch, which was easier said than done. All the places seemed to be full. Near the spot where they had been dropped off, they found a table with three vacant chairs.
The eatery was a long room about twelve feet wide. On one side was a counter displaying sandwiches while the other wall lined with tables and chairs. Half-way along this wall was a cash register, where a man stood ringing in receipts. Near him stood another man, presumably the owner, watching him punch in the numbers, as well as keeping an eye on the customers.
A waiter brought menus as well as an ashtray filled with sugar cubes. Borders noticed that all the other tables had ashtrays as smoking was still an important pastime. Nowhere was there an ashtray filled with sugar cubes. Maybe the waiter noticed the empty shirt pocket where men carried their cigarettes, maybe he thought most foreigners didn't smoke, or perhaps it was something else.
After finishing their meal, Borders was pointed in the direction of the washroom. He walked through the center of the long room, up a flight of stairs, through the kitchen, to a small washroom that served all. He was aware that overpopulation reduced shyness. On his return trip, cooks watched as he sidestepped waiters, and when he returned to his table, he saw a man occupying the empty chair while a woman stood nearby waiting, anxious for Borders to leave. The man sucked on a sugar cube while he held a cigarette between his fingers. The waiter came and laid the bill on the table, at the same time taking the tray of sugar cubes.
Hill paid the bill and rose from his chair as the woman quickly sat in Borders's empty chair. As they made their way to the sidewalk, the man began to cough, first easy, and then violently. He tried to rise from the table, but instead succeeded in pushing it over, scattering the table's dishes. A nearby cat scurried to the side of a planter, and then looked back. Foam seeped from the man's mouth, and his eyes became red with panic. The woman screamed - her hands clutched to her face. The waiter and owner rushed to the table. The waiter looked up at Borders and each man knew.
"Let's get out of here before the police arrive," said Hill. "No use getting involved."
They walked back to the Grand Market, to the sound of sirens in the background. They hurried to their group they knew would be assembling out front. Borders thought over the incident, having no doubt the sugar caused it, and that they were the targets. When they again attached themselves to the group, they saw Panama standing on the fringe. He made no reaction when he saw them. There was just a blank stare. Borders wondered what was rolling through his mind.
As they all stood and waited, they were approached by sellers and were soon surrounded. These were sellers who were unable to obtain a stall in the Grand Market and left to their own devices set up outside the gate. Their selling technique seemed to be every man for himself as they shoved items into startled faces with prices yelled out by one person or another. The guide argued with the ring of sellers, but no sooner had he pushed one away, another would take the spot. Pushing and shoving continued as the guide tried to get his troop back on the bus. Some sellers dropped back, as they came closer to the bus, heading back to fresh targets. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the group settled into their seats, and the doors closed. As they started to pull away, one woman yelled.
"Stop the bus. My wallet is missing. Someone stole my wallet."
Everyone heard the complaint, but they all realized it was too late to find the wallet. The bus stopped, opened the door, and the woman with a few friends ran back towards the market. The tour guide tried to stop them, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Thirty minutes later, the woman returned, waving the wallet in her hand.
"I found it in a trash can," she said. "I had only a few euros in it. I'm glad I left the other wallet with my credit cards back on the boat."
Everyone agreed it was a lesson well learned. As they sped down the highway, someone asked the guide where they were going.
"We still have to go to a rug factory," he told them.
Some protested that there wasn't time.
"If we turn around right now, we have just enough time to get back to the boat."
"No, no," he said. We have to go to the rug factory – it's part of our tour."
Now everyone protested, afraid that they wouldn't get back to the ship on time, and it would sail without them. After continual protests, the guide finally relented - signs of fear visible on his face. The bus pulled over to the curb, and then swung out, turning around in the middle of the road. It headed back to the boat. The guide then used his cell to make a call, reporting his intentions back to his office.
"What is the matter with him?" asked Hill. "Does his uncle own the rug factory?"
"Maybe," answered Borders, "but it's the law in Turkey that every tour group has to visit a factory, be it a rug, coat or any other fabricated item. He broke the law by not going to the factory, and the penalty is severe."
Hill just shook his head.
A half hour later, when they were approaching the dockyard, they noticed a large number of people milling about partially blocking the bus. As the troop left the bus, heading towards the gate, a rock, flying through the air, hit one man in the side of the face.