The timeless column feels cold and rough to the touch. I like to visit things that are a lot older than I am. It calms me down. When I am under a dome that is fifteen centuries old, I think “Oh yeah, I don’t matter. What am I worried about? This magnificent building has been around for so long, yet, I have been here for such a short period. Relax”. I get a great perspective. The feeling lasts around 18 minutes. Then I am back to be stressed about my job and to the sense how I absolutely need those new sneakers.
There is at least forty centimeters of snow outside. That’s why that day of February when I get in Hagia Sophia, there is not a living soul inside. I close my eyes and try to capture the silence and magnificence of the architectural wonder in this fantastic occasion. I place my ear on the wall as if it’s going to reveal its immortal secrets to me. I lay my hand in one corner, and one engraving grabs my attention. I open my eyes.
The glyph is striking visually. And it looks familiar. I push it hoping that it will move a hidden wall or activate a booby trap. It does nothing. Until I push again and it moves a centimeter or so. I immediately worry that I will be fined for damaging historical property. I push it again, and it sinks one more centimeter. A sound comes from the opposite side of the temple, but there is no one there. I push it again, and the sound repeats for as long as I push. I look around, and I can’t believe that I am here by myself. I push with all my strength, and I hear a crack from the other side. I walk fast towards the direction of the sound.
On the opposite corner, the same symbol awaits me on the wall. I push it. Nothing. I pull it. Nothing. I try to rotate it clockwise. Nothing. Counterclockwise. The floor moves under my weight. A centimeter down. I shiver. I continue turning it. It sinks another centimeter. I hear a crack. My legs shake. I gulp nervously. ‘Oh God, relax.’ I turn it again. The floor gives way under my weight, and a metal hatch opens swallowing me completely. I fall hard on my ass. The ground is muddy. The hatch starts to close down, and I have two choices: either I try to climb and get out, or I roll down to not be cut in half by the closing hatch.
I roll into the darkness.
Silence.
Humidity.
Coldness.
I sneeze.
I grab my phone and turn on the flashlight. No internet, of course.
A tunnel. A long round tunnel. The curved walls are made of brick. Spiderwebs and dust floating everywhere. I gulp and stay sitting with my back against the muddy curved wall. I feel dizzy. I stand up and scream at the top of my lungs ‘Yardım Edin!’ I punch the hatch, regretting my decision. Who am I? A lame version of Indiana Jones? A much believable version of Robert Langdon?
After 20 minutes of screaming and punching the wall, I give up. I have to go on, don’t I? Shall I stay here? Wait until the snow melts and the tourists start to come again to the former cathedral? I begin to walk shining forward with the flashlight.
I try to rationalize it. As Hagia Sophia was one of the most important churches in Christendom, it is expected that it would have a vast underground area just like St. Peter’s Basilica. I am sure it will have an exit to the garden… Right? I read about the wells inside and around the landmark. Am I going to end up swimming in one of them?
I walk over what it feels broken glass. I shine the flashlight down, and I see old chandeliers and bits of stained glass. I wonder if I am walking towards the Basilica Cistern, just 150 meters southwest of the ancient temple. Byzantine relics were said to be hidden by priests in secret chambers before the city’s conquest by the Ottomans. What hidden treasures am I going to discover? Old bones? Gold coins? Perhaps the Devil? I shiver. According to one legend Lucifer was imprisoned underneath the building.
I may have walked for more than two hours when the tunnel splits into two. This is not the moment for a choice. ‘Oh God, relax.’ I go left, and after an hour I have to retrace my steps as the tunnel has collapsed and there is no way forward.
I continue one more hour from the right side. I check my phone. Still no internet. Where am I? I check my pedometer? 25000 steps. Quick math tells me that’s around 20 kilometers! Surely, something must be wrong. I want to check again, but my phone dies.
Total darkness.
I sit with my back against the curved wall, exhausted. I don’t want to sleep, but my eyes close. When I wake up, I don’t know how long I’ve slept.
My eyes adapt.
Then I see the dime light.
I stand up and run through bones and relics.
There is a metallic spiral staircase. I go up as fast as I can. I turn and turn and turn. And then I go out. I am at the top of a minaret, seeing and smelling the sea. In front of me, there is a silhouette that I recognize: the silhouette of Hagia Sophia and the skyline of Istanbul. I look down, and I recognize the yellowish building. It’s the Hamidiye mosque in Büyükada, the biggest of the Princes’ islands.
I break a cold sweat, and I hyperventilate. I have to sit down. I feel a strong hand covering my shoulder — a tall man with a long white beard smiles at me. ‘Don’t panic’ he says calmly. He admires the views. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’. He is drinking tea and offers me one. I look at him suspiciously just as he smiles and offers me his cup of tea instead. I sip apologetically and ashamed. ‘What is happening? How is this possible?’. He stops smiling and puts his hand around my neck and strangles me strenuously. The tea spills all over me. I put my two hands around his solid arm, but it barely moves. Before I faint, the last thing I see is a small tattoo on his wrist. The same symbol that at Hagia Sophia.
I smell the humidity.
I feel warm.
I open my eyes and a small campfire burns in front of me.
The tall man is looking at me from the other side of the fire. ‘What do we do?’. I say shaking. I see myself breathing. He laughs. I don’t see him breathing. ‘Why don’t we wait here for a little while?’ he asks rhetorically.
He sips his tea.
I take my cup between my hands. It feels warm.
Did you enjoy this story and want others on ‘Istanbul’ by the author? Be sure and check out Istanbul Adrift and Tarlabaşı’s Bulutlar – Beyond a Michelin Star.
This article was originally published on February 11, 2019, by Santiago Brusadin.
