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Istanbul revisited the old place

The Irish poet Yeats never set foot on the land of Istanbul in his entire life, but this did not affect his writing of the famous poem “Sailing To Byzantium” when he was old. More than a hundred years later, the middle-aged angry young painter Chen Danqing He also wrote similar articles, and later he collected it into a book “The Journey of Ignorance”, depicting Chen Cengqing’s travels in Istanbul, St. Petersburg, and Moscow. The text in this book also influenced my subsequent itinerary in Russia, and ended in Moscow-Tretyakov Gallery.

It has been fifteen years since I went abroad for the first time.

In fifteen years, I have visited not many, many places, some places I want to go but never go again, and some places go and go again, maybe I really like it.

Those cities that have been to two or more times are: Florence, Rome, Venice, Chiang Mai, and Istanbul.

I went to Istanbul for the first time ten years ago. The city’s sunshine is extremely warm and dazzling. The blue Marmara Sea is always shrouded in a layer of golden light. Blended with the sound of prayers that filled the city. In the Otak area and the Golden Horn, among the various markets, in the old cobblestone streets, beside the tracks of the old trams that pass through the downtown area, hurriedly veiled. Women, women in camisole vests, fashionable women carrying designer bags, migrant workers carrying white plastic bags, free and somewhat desolate people from Ibaraki, and foreign tourists looking around and looking forward to excitement pass them by. From Europe To Asia, from Asia to Europe.

At that time I also wrote this text:

“Navigating on the Bosphorus, the city of Iraq is in the west, and my hometown is all the way to the east. It has been sixteen days since I left home. In the thousand years of Byzantium, it seems that the air is full of thick history. Leaning on the ship’s side Go up, looking at the Jinwuxi pendant outside the cabin, the terminal is in front.

I think of Pamuk’s words: “Watch the cypress trees, the forest in the valley, the empty villas and dilapidated ships that are unattended, and watch—only those who spend their entire lives on these coasts can see—the ships and the elegant The poems composed by Li Villa in Bosphorus put aside the grievances of history, and enjoy it like a child, hoping to know more about the world and learn more-a fifty-year-old writer gradually understands that this embarrassing struggle is called joy”

Having said that, I was only in my thirties when I wrote that paragraph. Ten years have passed since I set foot on the land of Istanbul for the second time. I can better understand this embarrassing and joyous struggle called entering middle age.

I stayed in the old town for two days. The hotel booked was big but not big. The location was very good. It was just a few steps from the hotel to the Hagia Sophia on the main street where the tram passed.

When I arrived at the hotel, I put down my luggage. It had just finished raining, and the air was filled with an Islamic gray. Although it was on the beach, it was not humid, and I went out.

Go for a walk by the beach, I said to my parents.

Whatever you do, follow you.

So I came to the beach.

This is the Golden Horn, and the Marmara Sea is in front. Ferries usually go back and forth without stopping. I couldn’t wait to walk to a stall and ordered a piece of fish bread. The fish was grilled and squeaked, and it was fragrant, accompanied by lettuce, tomatoes and salad dressing. One bite was the happiness of revisiting the old place. feel!

Go, go to the Golden Horn Bridge.

There are still so many great fishing people along the way. Here is the new mosque at the bridgehead, which is closed for repairs this time.

It’s getting late and I need to eat. There are rows of restaurants under the bridge. The male waiters soliciting customers saw me as if they had seen my long-lost relatives. I walked from north to south, and finally watched in one house. I sat down in the more pleasing restaurant and ordered grilled fish and grilled chicken. The family had their first meal in Istanbul.

The Ottoman Turk Empire (strictly speaking, Ottoman and Turkey are two nouns in different time and space, and two words are used to facilitate the writing). As a multi-ethnic empire across Europe, Asia and Africa, it has stretched for hundreds of years. Recently, it was bullied by the Western European powers armed by the Industrial Revolution to the doorstep. It was different from the Chinese nation, which was like a tightrope walking around the powers. Even if the 1911 Revolution overthrew the monarchy, it basically retained most of the empire. Ottoman Turkey was betting on one. It is a shame that the allied camp in the station was finally carved up by the great powers after the war and finally established a new republic based on the main Turkish nation’s settlement for generations. On the last day of Turkey, we were walking on the stone road in the old city. A group of Chinese tourists visited the square next to the Blue Mosque under the guidance of a Turkish eldest sister who speaks standard Mandarin Chinese. It was presented by the German Emperor to the last one. A Turkish sultan’s fountain, the Turkish eldest sister’s tour guide patiently waited for everyone to surround the fountain in a circle and began to tell, “It’s a pity that our sultan, his friend turned out to be the German emperor, who gave our country’s precious treasures to the German emperor. In exchange for their military advisers, guns, and artillery, they finally sent our great boys to the battlefield. This is the fountain that the Kaiser gave to the Sudanese mother at the time.”—The distressed tone of voice, like a flood in Yuanmingyuan. Before the law, the Eight-Power Allied Forces burned down their Chinese counterparts in the Old Summer Palace.

The next day until the sun was three poles, we walked out of the hotel and bought the museum pass in Istanbul the previous afternoon. The ticket is valid for five days from the beginning. It is available in many locations. It is a must-select item for museum control and is enough to cover our Istanbul museum. day.

The first stop is the Royal Palace.

In the history of the empire, there was a national power that was like violent fire and oil. Even after the war of Vienna, it has maintained a relative offensive with Western European monarchs for a long time, but after all, crossing the east and west points is the only way to cross trade. The empire itself is rich in products, and the internal economy is sufficient to cycle. It lasts for a long time and wealth is increasing day by day. This has created a prominent Ottoman civilization and culture in the process of human civilization. Representatives of this are the Topkapi Palace in the old city, and the Archaeological Museum separated by a wall.

The weather was fine that day, sweeping away the haze of yesterday, and it only took five minutes to walk from the hotel to the palace, with the blue sky and white clouds overhead, and the Hagia Sophia accompanied all the way.

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