It turns out that May has 31 days, which in itself, is not really important unless, say, you were supposed to leave the country after 30 days and you overlooked this ity-bitty detail. I discovered that punctuality, as it pertains to visas, is important to Indonesian authorities as they escorted me through their secure area. I've always wanted an armed escort ... of course, the lack of ankle shackles or epic music really dumbed down the experience. I received a tongue-lashing from a guy who looked like he hosted a bird sanctuary in his mustache, and a fine of about twenty Canadian dollars before boarding a plane bound for Turkey. Why Turkey? Why not! One decent seat-sale later we arrived in Istanbul looking like the scuzzy SE Asia backpackers we are. Needing desperately to blend into the super-chic cityscape, I showered up and thought (briefly) about combing my hair. Since looking cultured wasn't going to happen, I decided to take in some culture, instead. Sander and I headed directly to the crown jewel of Constantinople: the Aya Sofya. Yes, my dedicated reader, you are about to learn some history. The Aya Sofya is a former Orthodox patriarchal basilica, later a mosque, and now a museum in Istanbul. From the date of its dedication in 360 until 1453, it served as the Greek Patriarchal cathedral of Constantinople. That said, what we are looking at today is the third-build. The Patriarch Constantinople pissed off the wife of the emperor and was sent into exile in 404. During the subsequent riots, this first church was burnt to the ground. Don't mess with the ladies. The second-build was obliterated in 532 during the ultra-violent Nika Revolt. A politically motivated and angry populace watching chariot races finally lashed out: by the end of the days races, the partisan chants had changed from "Blue" or "Green" (the competing factions) to a unified Nίκα ("Conquer!") The crowds broke out of the hippodrome and began to assault the palace, killing tens of thousands of people, and destroying over half of the city, including the poor 'lil Aya Sofya. Instead of fleeing, the Emperor hatched a plan that involved a popular eunuch, some well trained generals, and a bag of gold. MacGyver, much? All that was missing was duct tape and Swiss Army knife. The Blues took the gold, the Greens sat stunned, then Imperial troops stormed the Hippodrome and killed the remaining rebels. BOOM. He then rebuilt Constantinople and the Aya Sofya, and was free to establish his rule. Nowadays this architectural masterpiece boasts a super-sexy 32 m dome, several 20 meter high solid granite columns weighing over 70 tons each, marbles of every auspicious color imported from faraway lands, and a never-ending collection of glittering pre- and post-iconoclastic mosaics that would make King Solomon himself pee his finest robes. Nothing like it was even attempted for nearly a thousand years ... and I was there. I stood high in the Upper Gallery upon the circular green stone that marked the position of the Empress. I laid my gaze upon the tiny people moving about the Great Hall far below, wondering whether it would be best to be a ruler who was greatly feared or dearly loved. Sarah the Tyrant, or Sarah the Not-So-Tyrannical-Tyrant? Surrounded by nothing short of architectural perfection, I was lost in imaginings of revolutions and royal jewelry, conquered lands and exotic fruits. I had just come to choosing the name of my undoubtedly magnificent war horse, when the 8 year old kid beside me pulled a huge glistening green booger out if his nose and wiped it on the mosaic in from of him. I would have had him drawn and quartered, the little bastard. Decidedly 'Empress Sarah the Tyrant', I left the Aya Sofya calm and artistically fulfilled.
Slaughter.
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