Bursa

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Bursa

So the next day we rush out in the morning to catch the ferry to Bursa. It is getting freezing cold here, and its supposed to be colder there. The ferry which people do not really know much about it seems is a very good option. 20 liras all the way to Guzelali and then you catch a bus to the metro station to go into Bursa. We were fixed up in a small little old house with a really nice old couple and very very antique plumbing. Thankfully the blankets are warm, the rooms are clean and the heating works. And it is reasonably cheap.

Bursa is an old Ottoman city. The first Ottoman city in fact. A stylish town with an old heart, it hugs the slopes of the Ulugu mountains and is home to the swankiest skying resorts. But below that on the hills lie this 14th century town which gave birth to one of the most beautiful green mosaic tile mosque I have seen or heard about, but also the famous Iskender Kebap. Infact the restaurant run by the great grandson of the famous Iskender, who came up with the brilliant recipe for this kebap still very much exists in the main Bursa market area under the same name.

It was a cold morning when we arrived in Bursa, without any idea of how much colder it is going to get. So after we checked into the rickety inn in the main square of Bursa, we set out all clad up from head to foot, and thank god for that, as this winter is definitely a bit much for our Indian bones. The wind piercing into the very insides of our body, we walked all the way upto the Yesli Cami, and then down through the market. Little stops for food - the Durum, the ayran, cay and more cay...I am loving the Turkish tea in its small glasses served with a small spoon and a few cubes of sugar. My survival startegy against the cold. Ofcourse we have to take frequent breaks to let Sanaa rest up so our progress is usually very slow. But the whole day moved into a different gear as Zeynep, my CS contact in the city walked towards us through the crowded Bursa Bazaar with a smile that lit up everything around her.

I have written to Zeynep several times over the last one month before arriving in Turkey. She had replied back promptly with promises to host us, which had to be shelved, because of her personal problems (which I completely get), but she was always there helping me through each and every arrangement. She was the one who booked the hotel for us, and after a day of walking, we were really looking forward to meeting her.

Zynep turned out to be a perky young Turkish woman, full of energy and vivacity, smiles and warmth. She used to work as a translator for the Australian Consulate and her English was sparklingly good though yes, Aussie. So we headed off to dinner with her, up a staircase in an alley at the back of the Bazaar (okay, I forgot the name) and into a large dining hall. The food to be had seemed to be the Mixed Grill or Karshika Izgaara and we were not let down. The plates started arriving and arriving, and soon the table was covered with so much of food that it was veritably creaking at the joint.

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