Istanbul’s five-a-day, the call to prayer

Before I arrived, my friend told me, “it’s magical”. Even if she wasn’t Islamic, (nor Christian or Jewish), the call to prayer, as she was referring to, brings out one’s spiritual side. I didn’t know if I should cry, pray, or simply carry on, she told me.

I wasn’t dubious, but as someone who has become extremely passive about religion, I questioned my own reaction to it. It was within ten minutes of stepping off the bus, (my first actual step into Turkey), that I heard it. A helpful Finnish friend herded me toward the ferry where I sat when it sounded. Turkish, I will tell you, is a linguistic high hurdle. As the boat drifted between continents, (the city of Istanbul is singular in staking such a claim), I heard the erie echo that can only be it. The call to prayer.

I describe it as such because as my friend told me, words can’t describe it. Thus, it’s my best attempt.

A city of three empires, Istanbul is already highly iconic. But listening to a bellowing voice in Arabic while “the old city” looms ahead, well, it’s simply poetic. The indiscernible voice praising Allah isn’t just a prayer, or rather, a call to one. It’s more akin to a lullaby that a mother sings.

According to the brochure, “What is Islam?”, which is readily available for free in Istanbul’s Blue Mosque for converts or curious observers (like me), the call to prayer is determined by the sun’s movement. Thus, it changes from winter to summer and accordingly, one’s place in the world. As the brochure says, one can believe at every moment, somewhere, there’s someone praying.

I won’t be a convert, but the Islamic way is undoubtably intriguing. As traveling teaches you, there’s so much you don’t know. 

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