In the Presence of Sultans

Part One of a Three-part series on my foray into the Ottoman empire: The Harem.

Like millions of other American workers, the summer of 2021 held a chance to ponder, reassess and build my life with a new perspective prompted by pandemic. Taking a sabbatical from 30 years of work, I set off on a journey into my heart and the big, diverse, fantastic world around me.

Within that journey I was blessed to join a magnificent family on a trip to blend homes and hearts across hemispheres. For two weeks as summer simmered to an end, travels in Turkey wrapped around an international wedding and awe-filled wonders spurred by Sultans.

Join me for a few days in the presence of rulers, the one-day seat of two world religions, and the center of the universe. Go with me to Turkey, and take a moment to see what I see. We have some stories to tell....

Gosh. Today. Where do I start? With miracles, misogyny, motherhood and mosques, I suppose.

After nearly killing myself with Turkish coffee (requiring a last-minute wardrobe change because it had me sweating like I was on the face of the sun), it was off to the biggest, fanciest palace of the Ottoman Empire, home of sultans, eunuchs, military, a haram, and 1500 cooks to feed ‘em all. (See earlier posts for coffee and palace pics.)

There were spires. There were gardens. There were thousands of handmade 2” thick tiles that took three days each to make, individually painted with ground jewels. That was all cool. And beautiful. And dripping with history. But to explain the day we start first with the first layer of a misogyny and motherhood sandwich.

Layer 1: Harems.

According to the signs telling the stories at the Topkapi Palace, the Sultans in the Ottoman Empire had harems. According to our Turkish tour guide, members of the harem, concubines, never left the palace walls. In fact, he told us, the B-String concubines never even left the building, walked in a garden, or got to put their feet on the grass. They just got to hang out, do chores, get visited occasionally when the Sultan was bored and, to my Western Woman’s limited understanding, get treated pretty much like any other possession, commodity or livestock. I am positive there was more to it than that, but that’s what I gathered from our guide.

What you’d strive for was to be an A-list concubine, a “Favorite.” Favorites got to do stuff like go to the concubine swimming pool, put her feet in the grass and look at open blue sky in the garden, and (gasp—call Malala) go to the palace library. You got a sleeping chamber slightly bigger than a cattle pen, and you most likely got visited by the Sultan more often than the B-string benchwarmers.

Regardless if you were rocking the A-List or the B, each visit from the Grand Ruler was scheduled, prepped (get that girl to the Turkish bath), planned and then recorded. Someone would follow up with you to see if post-visit you were pregnant. And if so, I think, that could be the best day of your life and also the worst (more on that later). The best because you’d move up in the concubine leader boards; the worst because being a Sultan’s kid in the palace wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Note to Travelers:

One-half cup of Turkish coffee will make you awesome. Two cups will make you question life, the universe, the temperature on the face of the sun, and if your heart can possibly stay in your chest because it’s pounding so.dang.hard. Sitting here in the seats of Sultans, the Bosphorus Strait giving us the opportunity to gaze from one continent to the next, it is important to respect both the culture and the coffee.

#yourenotatStarbucksanymoreToto.

Join me tomorrow for Part Two of this three-part series. Stand with me in awe and wonder as we journey further into Topkapi Palace and gaze on miracles once held in the hand....