T.R. Schoonover's Africa-India Travelogue
Istanbul, Turkey
18 March 1952
Ship enters Dardanelles at 5.30am
Log Abstract…
At: 12 Noon Position: 40.51N | 28.25E
Travelled: 321 miles
Light variable breeze, smooth sea, partly cloudy, fine & clear
28 nmi to Istanbul
Arrive Istanbul 1.24pm
Log Abstract…
At: 1.24pm (LT) Istanbul arrival
Weather: Light Southerly breeze, slight sea, partly cloudy, fine & clear
Passage: 1 day, 20 hours
Detention: 18 minutes at Chanak
Voyage Distance: 644 miles
Average Speed: 14.74 knots

Istanbul Arrival
T.R.S…
After crossing the small land-locked Marmora Sea, we arrive at early morning on Tuesday, March
18, at the mouth of the Bosporus, the outlet of the Black Sea, with the great city of Istanbul
lying on both shores and extending in a great semi-circle up the mountain sides.
A small bay, or estuary, known as the Golden Horn, is the city's harbour and is virtually alive with all manner of water craft from rowing boats to heavy freighters and liners. Mail is brought aboard by special motor launch, and we all enjoyed the news from home while waiting for landing arrangements to be completed.
The view of the city from our anchorage is superb. The white marble palace of the Sultans on the waterfront, the tall minarets, St. Sophia Cathedral, the Blue Mosque - all can be seen clearly through the morning mist, like jewels studded in a magnificent brooch.
Cold Turkey
T.R.S…
We itch to go ashore and explore the place in spite of the unexpected cold, raw winter weather.
Many jokes pass around about long red underwear and cold turkey; and heavy coats and furs come
out of hiding like magic.
[Photo: Cunard - The Blouin Collection]
Turkish harbour police come aboard clad in long, double-breasted khaki overcoats with red shoulder straps, suggestive of Soviet generals - powerful looking chaps and graceful as panthers. They stand guard at the ship's ladder to inspect our shore cards, issued by ship officers from our passports, and the shore excursion begins.
The Byzantine Bazaar
T.R.S…
Descending the ship ladder to a flat barge deck, we go aboard a ferry boat flying the red star and crescent flag that
has been Turkey's national emblem down through the ages. Accompanied by another couple, we engaged a car and guide and
took a long winding uphill drive to the ancient Byzantine bazaar - the most unique shopping district in this world, surely.
Here at least 5,000 shops are compacted under one giant roof which covers the equivalent of 15 city blocks. No vehicles of any kind can enter, but literally tens of thousands of pedestrians crowd along its miles of cobblestone pavements, intersecting every 60 or 70 feet.
The one-storey building runs up and down hill with ramp-like walkways, while the high-arched ceilings are built at various levels to conform with the sloping ground surface. The whole interior is brightly illuminated, and brilliant shop windows line each side of the walkways.
There is no heat except small braziers in individual shops. The air is cold but there are no offensive odours unless the aroma of sweet-smelling Turkish tobacco could be called offensive.
One has the feeling of being in a vast underground labyrinth and is a little fearful of becoming lost in a strange living sepulcher. Shops are shallow in depth and plenty of them are no wider than four feet. Others have fronts as wide as twenty-five feet for displays of rugs, furniture and other bulky merchandise.
I entered one little china shop which one more customer would have filled to capacity. Shelves loaded with china extended from floor to ceiling, leaving only thirty-inch floor space between, and a little ladder hung from the ceiling so the proprietor could get to articles parked on the upper shelves. There was no table, counter or desk in the place, and the proprietor simply placed his foot on a lower shelf and wrapped up my purchase on his knee.
Merchants in this bazaar do not hawk their wares, but sit on stools, watching all passers-by, alert for customers. Carriers transport bulky loads on their heads and backs - radios, bedsteads, mattresses, rug bales, and the like, bending under their loads like pack mules while nonchantly smoking their cigarettes.
Istanbul, A Great World City!
T.R.S…
The Turks are a sturdy, vigorous people. The men have strong, heavy featured faces and are of athletic build. Many are
quite handsome in a sombre, expressionless sort of way. Women are comely - some really beautiful - but all are inclined
to early breadth and bulk. It is not easy for either men or women to smile. They really take life seriously, although
the small fry seem to have their full share of fun.
Contrary to popular belief, Istanbul is a clean, beautiful and enterprising city and deserves to rank as one of the great cities of the World. It is steeped in antiquity, with ancient ruins all around, but the progress it is making in the way of buildings, pavements, schools, parks and landscaping is a tribute to the initiative of the present generation.
Its famous old mosques (called moskies by the natives) are beyond description or understanding - but all run true to a single type of architecture. Here they stand after fifteen centuries of the ravaging elements, attesting the precision and skill of the master builders of those ancient times, and still carrying the decorations and mosaic work of some of the great artists of all time.
Archaic Transport
T.R.S…
Except for aeroplanes, Turkey is backward in meeting its transportation problems. In Istanbul, horsedrawn drays with
steel-tyred wheels rattle over the cobbled streets. Wagons have no brakes and heavy loads going down hill force horses
to slide their shod hooves stiff-legged before them.
Little ponies with loads balanced on their backs, plus the riders, struggle along the streets, staggering under their burdens. Men themselves, with saddles and racks on their backs, carry loads that look like a taxpayer cartoon.
Street cars are small and noisy. Buses are scarce - taxis very costly. Carriers use no pushcarts or wheelbarrows. In spite of this typical drudgery, the average Turk is erect and powerful and seems to thrive from the struggle of making a living.
A Nifty Move
T.R.S…
We stopped and watched a man mowing a public grass plot using a scythe with a long straight handle,
and a smotth, even job he was doing. Another raked up the clippings with his fingers. A shoe-shine
boy made motions for a cigarette. When I gave ham a Camel he dropped his box on the walk and
insisted on shining my shoes.
When finished he stuck out his hand for payment. Sorry I didn't have a nickel, the least change I had was a quarter, which he took with a great bow - then lighted up his cigarette, the bandit!
See many slotted tile chimneys with tops sealed up, surmounting typical domed roofs, oozing smoke and indicating open fires are somewhere within. Perhaps it was the canopy-like, smoke drawing properties of these domes that make them so popular as roof covers.




