Evening in Istanbul

After supper we wandered a little more, into a place that looked overly authentic (I asked a Turkish guy later though, and he said it was pretty much what his grandma's place was like - amazing).... transcription from notebook written that night....

Charming space, covered in rugs overlapping, clashing wonderfully. Traditional (I hope) seating, low tables with 6" woven reed stools, and a platform to sit on the floor/cushions directly and eat. The place was possibly a converted mosque - centralized plan and a dome, niches in the wall. In the center under the octagon hole to the second story, ultimately under the dome, was an enclosure of low long countertops where two lumps of women knelt rolling out dough from an enormous bag of the stuff and frying it into bread. Very matriarchal women, robed with headscarves and flowing practical gowns, large, comfortably lumped immobile in their seat. It was hard to tell what heir emotions were being there, but it was easy to feel that they did a lot to rule the unruly boys. There were many, four musicians that played a 20 minute set, moving round to tourists at the tables, one man set aside his tambourine for a charming? dance that owed more to belly dancing and buffoonery then MTV. A long silver oboe-shape with a clarinet mouthpiece held the tune, and a tamboor, tambourine, and basket-bodied strummer made up the rest. After their set they rested on cushions in their corner, bsing and greeting customers as they walked in. Old man at the register, you'd think he was in charge, until an even older man from the table shoves him out and makes himself comfortable there. Coffee boy in american hot dog stand hat, matched bellboys, the waiter - too many people, it was easy to see this was just their way of life - they seemed to be spending time as a family as much as putting effort into running a business made slow by the winter.
After our Turkish coffee kicked in (wonderful, thick, leave the last quarter in the cup if you don't want to gag on the grounds they leave in) we wondered down to the bazaar gates and a gorgeous mosque - so un-Roman but an obvious continuation along a different path then ours. Our hostel's power was out, "the first time this year" so this was written by the light of the street lamps.

Picture from rug mosque/baths place the next day, I unfortunately didn't take any pictures of the Cennet place, but an idea of the rugs and niches anyway...