/ 18 May 2010

Is Bursa the new Istanbul?

Is Bursa The New Istanbul?

Iskender Usta could little have imagined, back in 1867 when he opened his Kebapci Iskender restaurant on Unlu Caddesi, Bursa’s main drag, that the delicious new lamb dish he had invented would one day be served around the world in restaurants and as takeaway snacks.

The ultimate, original example of the first kebab is served there still, in a little blue-fronted café with its bright white-wood panelled interior decorated with black-and-white photos of Iskender, brought out by smartly dressed men in white shirts and black waistcoats who claim to be his descendants.

Coming to Bursa, it felt absolutely necessary to sample one of the originals — and, thankfully, Iskender’s are a much better, tastier version.

Doner-style spiced lamb, shaved finely and layered thickly on a floury pitta, comes with fat slivers of tomato and whole green chillies, tomatoey paste and salad. Alcohol isn’t sold there, but the fresh red-grape juice goes just fine. And the kebabs come on plates. With cutlery. Very sophisticated.

I ordered a portion and my two local friends — both tall, strapping lads — made the popular choice of a portion and a half (though they failed to finish them). When the plates were brought to our table, a second waiter hurried along behind with a silver bowl to ladle on the thick buttery sauce. We sat between a couple of Turkish families and happily munched in peace.

Aside from the glory of having invented the Iskendar kebab, Bursa, a small city that is reached easily from Istanbul by ferry over the Sea of Marmara, has many other selling points.

As the first capital of the Ottoman empire, having been established in 200BC, and held by the Byzantines and Seljuks before falling to the founder of the Ottoman empire, Osman, it is full of wonderful Ottoman houses, mosques and tombs.

Among those you can visit are Osman’s and that of his successor, Orhan, which sit together in the old part of the city, surrounded by a lush tea garden full of palms, which also house a six-storey clocktower, a little mosque and the tombs of various other sultans. Their silent marble encasements, illuminated by colourful rays seeping in through stained-glass windows and overhung with glass chandeliers, are a beautiful spot for quiet contemplation.

Bursa’s atmosphere is of a mini, more traditional Istanbul. There is a fantastic old silk market, the Koza Han, in a stone complex around a courtyard with two levels of tiny shops where jewel-bright fabrics overflow from boxes and shelves to the ceiling. I bought half a dozen scarves cheaply, rainbows of plump woolly silks and cool graphic prints on shiny satin — but resisted the kitsch ties with soft-focus photos of Ataturk’s face.

The main souk, the Kapali Carsi, was a bit too much like a shopping mall, mainly selling food staples, cheap jeans and tacky minidresses, but worth a look to see the gaudy wedding jackets for boys — white faux fur with red velvet for an Elvis-meets-Santa look. Worth a trip, too, to witness men making fresh baklava in the bakeries, stretching long, looping strings of pastry between their hands.

The Ulumay Museum of Ottoman Folk Costumes and Jewellery is a surprisingly interesting treasure trove in a restored medrese. Tiny doorways lead to room after murky room, where we were spooked by the creepy mannequins that suddenly started spinning when we entered, to show off ornate folk costumes from every region of Turkey, the Balkans and the Middle East.

From long stripey woollen socks to rainbow-coloured wedding outfits, sequinned headdresses and belly dancing garb and some fetching leather pantaloons for wrestling, these were the sort of garments that could easily inspire a Gaultier or Galliano collection.

An hour’s drive up a bendy mountain road through the forest lies Uludag, the favourite ski resort of Istanbul’s elite in winter, and a pretty place to cycle or stroll in summer.

But nothing could compare with Bursa’s central mosque, the Ulu Cami on Ataturk Caddesi. Enormous, divinely beautiful and certainly in a league with Istanbul’s famous Hagia Sophia and Blue mosques, its cream walls and high arches are dominated by huge swishes of Arabic and the floor is swathed entirely in intricately patterned red carpet, where people sit alone cross-legged against the walls and beside radiators, murmuring their prayers. Some women wore long, flowing black robes, others wore jeans, and many, including my guides, had bought special mosque shoes from a shop across the road — squishy leatherette slippers and the only kind allowed inside.

No one batted an eyelid to see tourist visitors, though incredibly we were the only ones there. That such a bewitching city can lie so close to Istanbul and be so off the radar is unfathomable, so go, at least to treat yourself to a proper kebab. — Guardian News & Media 2010