"Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a
change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living."
Miriam Beard
Two weeks into Ramadan, classes ended and we had a break for the Muslim holiday of Eid. I found myself with 16 free days and decided to head back to Istanbul for some quality time with my favourite sister and travel partner, Rene. We didn't have a solid plan of what to do on my fourth trip to Turkey,having visited most of the hot spots, however, I had always wanted to go to Edirne,up near the borders of Greece and Bulgaria, having studied a few of its majestic Ottoman mosques back in my old art history days.
Back in Ottoman times, Edirne was known as Adrianople until after the first world war and was the Ottoman capital from 1365 until 1453, before Constantinople was captured and turned into the raging town now known as Istanbul. Sinan, The Ottoman Empire's favourite architect, adorned the Edirne skyline with his masterwork: The Selimiye Mosque , built in 1575, which has the highest minarets of any mosque in Turkey.
Little boys play on the monument to Sinan in front of his master mosque.
After a good coffee session at the Sultanahmet Starbucks, Rene and I said goodbye to Bulent and the others at the travel agency (www.speedtraveltr.com) and headed out to the bus station on the outskirts of town. The bus system in Turkey is well used and boasts some of the most deluxe coaches I have ever ridden on. Competition is high among different bus companies, so the minute a touristy looking person steps onto the threshold of the bus station, the swarms of touts descend upon the unsuspecting prey trying to lure the innocent to their bus of choice.
It seems every home in Edirne has its resident pidgeon Coup. Someone has lined this window sill heavily with bird seed.
Unfortunately for us, Edirne is not high on the list of places busses go. But we did find one that left within the hour, and the man behind the desk boasted that this was the Non-stop express bus to Edirne. We were sold! After a cup of tea on the bus and a couple of squirts of lemon hand sanitizer delivered by the bus waiter, we arrived in Edirne two hours later on the non-stop express. Oh yes, the non-stop express. First of all, there is nothing but fields of nothing between Istanbul and Edirne. Rene peppered our time on the bus by pretending to talk to the driver anytime he slowed down. "Ummm excuse me! Why are you slowing down? You'd better not think about stopping! Hey! My ticket says non- stop! This is the non-stop bus, buddy!"
Edirne to me seemed like a cute little university town: picturesque and quaint, with some big-assed mosques located in the centre of town. Immediately I recognized buildings that I had only seen previously on a slide in a darkened classroom what seems like eons ago now. Rene, having been to Edirne previously, lead me down to the hotel area of town, and we found a home in the "Tuna" Hotel. Yuck, I thought. We are no where near the ocean. But apparently Tuna was the name of the owner, and not the fish in this case.
This mosque is known as the mosque with three balconies, though I like to call it the funky minaret mosque. There is no real reason why the minarets are assymetrical, But I would have loved to hear the conversations that went on over that drawing board back in 1447. "You wanna do WHAT?!? Sure! Why not??!?"
We dropped our bags, and headed for the mosques armed with nothing but a few Turkish lira and our cameras, and headscarves (well, regular scarves big enough to wrap our noggins with) and headed towards the mosques. We passed throngs of families quietly waiting on the manicured lawns, waiting for the evening call to prayer which signaled the break of the day's fast. It felt like a quiet storm there on the lawn. Thousands of people quiet and still, murmuring amongst themselves, waiting for the feast to begin. 
Man washing his feet in the ablutions fountain. Again with the kick ass taps.
The first mosque we went into was not one of the mosques I came to see, but oddly enough, it was the mosque I will remember the most. Giant calligraphic designs adorned the walls with words like Allah, Peace, Mohammad etc. some ten, twenty feet high. We happily snapped away, snaking our way between groups of people loafed out on the carpet. This is what I really love about mosques. Not only are they beautiful buildings, but they are places were people come, take off their shoes and hang out, chat, take a break from the world outside and just chill out. 
Waiting for Iftar, the time where Muslims can break the day's fast during Ramadan.
Soon, the call to prayer filled the mosque, and we debated whether or not to leave. We've never been in a mosque while prayers were being lead, and so we snuck quietly onto the mezzanine where the women gathered to pray and witnessed the evening prayers unfold.
Frankly speaking, watching hundreds of people bend over, kneal stand up, and do it again in unison to the call of the Imam is possibly in my top ten of favourite experiences I have ever had in my life. Possibly a thousand people were in that mosque and it was so quiet the murmers of children playing on the farside of the mosque could be heard quiet clearly. When everyone knelt together a small earthquake shook the timbers that held the mezzanine together. Everyone moved in perfect unison, one giant mass linking each heart together and sending that one giant package of love towards the heavens to God.
Though I was a mere observer I was sucked up into that energy and my own explosion of celestial love went skyward as well. I love moments like this because life, for a brief second seems clear and the future seems strong, optimistic and full of greatness. It was also one of those moments where I was overcome with gratitude about the form my own life is taking; to be able to stand together with these people in a mosque, on the other side of the world from where i grew up, and witness this moment among all of the other special moments and experiences I have had so far in my life.
Hanging in the mosque of funky writing.
Outside the party had started. Evening lights were on, people were joyously sharing their dishes with one another, children ran circles around groups of picnickers hoisting pieces of Ramadan bread over their heads giggling and laughing. Rene and I managed to snag a spot in an overrun restaurant and shared a table with two Turkish women who cheerfully shared their tissues with us as they chain smoked themselves through a meal of Turkish Pide. 
Okay, so across the street they have the mosque of Funky Minarets. I wonder if this was any influence on the choice of graphic illustration plastered here and there in no particular shape or pattern on this inside of this mosque. LOVE IT!
The view of the skyline of Edirne on our walk through the countryside.
The next morning we ate our complimentary breakfast at the Tuna Hotel before checking out: Hard boiled eggs, cherry jam on soft glutinous bread, olives and tea that definitely grew hair on my chest. We took a walk through the neighbourhoods of Edirne to the outskirts of town, where we went to see the outside of a mental hospital museum. We didn't bother going in, as Rene had been there before and described ghastly scenes of mannequins strapped to beds and not much else other than a resident pervert who followed her around until she left. The outside of the building was cool though, and after snapping a few photos we continued on our way along the riverbanks where children played and old men fished with strings ties to poles. We watched a horse run aimlessly and wildly through a mosqueyard with no apparent owner and a will to escape to somewhere. A nice sunny fall day, we chatted and wandered and drew similarities between the Turkish landscape and our own Canadian Okanagan valley upbringing.
The mental hospital museum.
Our walk took us past the Edirne stadium, which is home to Turkey's national sport, popular during Ottoman times and still quite popular today, the games are televised and the greatest champions stand guard in bronze in front of the stadium. Well, except for the latest guy, who was a foot shorter and caste in a cheap looking metal. "He looks like a feisty little guy," I mused with Rene. "You'd be pissed too if you were a foot shorter than the other guys and caste in tinfoil."
Four Big papa champions and a wee winner.
Rene explained Turkish "Yağlı Güreş" (oil Wrestling) the only way a sister of mine could explain it. "See, these little manly wine keg- shaped men put on these tight leather pants (Turkish lederhosen), grease themselves up in olive oil, and go wrestle in the middle of the stadium. The point is to grab ahold of the tight leather pants and you do that- well- by shoving your hands down the other guy's pants and well, grabbing ahold of something." If I'm ever in Edirne during oil wrestling season, I'd buy tickets to see that. And I would buy tickets for all my gay male friends too. But of course this is a very manly sport in Turkey, and only the man of all men can win, and to think otherwise would be very un-Turkish.
We continued along and stopped to check out a dead turtle flattened to the road and completely dried out. Rene poked it with her shoe and got him to stand up for the photo op. Over the bridge and up the hill we ran into a group of Turkish school children. These two young ladies stopped to pose for a pic and Rene practiced her Turkish on a young boy whose name meant "darling."
Inside Sinan's greatest mosque.
Back in downtown Edirne and tired from our walk, we discussed what we should do with the remaining days of my 16-day visit to Turkey. Rene needed to pop out of Turkey in order to renew her visa, and we had two choices: Rene could hop over the border to Bulgaria, a ten minute bus ride into a few hours of paperwork and beaurocratic nonsense or we could head to one of the Greek islands linging the Turkish coastline the day after next. If we chose Bulgaria, we would then travel to the East of Turkey to Climb Mount Nemrut afterwards. If we chose Greece, well, we would just have to explore Greece.
Tea, turkish style in thin highly breakable tulip glasses that burn your fingers if you try to hold it for too long.
After a Turkish tea, a chat and some debating, we sat in silence and considered our choices. But in my mind, I had already decided where I wanted to go. "Greece, Nae." I said. "Let's go somewhere we haven't been before." She looked relieved. "Greece it is!" And I knew she had been thinking the same thing all along.
Rene and I joke that travelling with a sister is like travelling with yourself in another body. As we walked past the Mosques of Funk back to the station to catch our non-stop back to Istanbul, Rene filled me in on the best and cheapest ways to launch ourselves over to the land of the Greeks.
Having a sister who runs a travel agency in the heart of the Ottoman Empire comes in handy sometimes!
NEXT STOP: GREECE!