Bargaining at Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar

Istanbuls’ Grand Bazaar, or Kapalıçarşı (meaning ‘covered market’) speaks directly to every Indian’s heart. Over 550 years old, this market has over 3000 shops inside a large covered area. Everything that a tourist needs – or doesn’t really need but will buy anyway at great cost – is to be found here. Carpets, silver jewellery, tea, spices, lamps and kandeels, souvenirs, leather goods, and ceramics, among other things. And Indians, with their love for bargaining, will find themselves right at home here.

Competition is fierce among the sellers and they employ all kinds of techniques to woo customers. They make jokes – many of them inappropriate but it is difficult not to laugh with them because they have such a pleasing manner and enjoy their own jokes immensely. For example, the shops selling tea – many nudge-nudge, wink-wink references to the sexual prowess some of these teas are believed to impart. They proudly advertise their ‘Turkish Viagra’ and display signs for ‘genuine fake watches’. It is futile to resist those who are happy to laugh at themselves this way.

Like in other countries like Egypt, the minute they know you are Indian (and oh, believe me, they can identify us very easily), they launch into long discussions about our movies. And of late, Katrina Kaif in particular. They offer refreshment (oh, the apple tea!), discounts that seem attractive and lots of reasons why you must buy that item and from that shop alone. Listen to them patiently, banter with them and start from half the quoted price. They enjoy the bargaining and bantering more than you do and will probably be disappointed if you pay the asking price. If you are planning to buy something expensive, like a carpet, then it is best to do a bit of research before you enter the bazaar. Me, I stick to cheap souvenirs and tea – the varieties and fragrances of Turkish tea!

You can easily spend hours here, browsing, bargaining and buying – with stops for coffee and lunch in between at one of the numerous cafes inside the bazaar. Whether you want to buy that pair of lovely silver earrings or a set of six ceramic bowls with the whirling dervish motif, or even a belly dance costume as a souvenir to take back home, the grand bazar is the place to shop at in Istanbul. Hang on to your patience, sense of humour and your wallet (watch out for pickpockets) and you will have a great experience.

Friday photo: Istanbul

I’ve been there twice and it remains one of my favourite cities (see, this is the second time it’s been on the Friday photo series) – I wouldn’t mind going back. To Istanbul. Apart from all the glorious attractions like the Aya Sofya, the Blue Mosque and a ride on the Bosphorus, Istanbul is enchanting for the everyday contrasts it presents.

Like this one…

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Also see: Friday photo series

And all my Turkey stories here…

Friday photo: Turkey

This Friday, an image of the whirling dervishes of Turkey. And my story on them from a long time ago in Mint Lounge – read Outwhirling the dervish.

Also see: Friday photo series

Turkish beauty

The women of Turkey must be among the most beautiful in the world. Unlike their brash men, the women are simple and graceful and shy. Some of them initially come across as gruff but if you persist and manage to wrangle a smile, then you will see their face light up.

Turkey is a patriarchal society and according to some reports, the country ranks second in Europe, just after Russia, in abuse of women. Like many other things in Turkey, the contradictions here too are stark and startling, especially in the urban areas. You see women in veils and women in short skirts. Istanbul has some of the most happening night clubs in Europe as well as a high rate of honour killings.

That shy exterior hides women of great mental strength and courage, says my guide Shukran. And if her countrywomen are anything like Shukran, I believe that. More power to them.

Here are some of my favourite faces from Turkey – I particularly love the last one – it took me a good while to even get her to look at me – and then more time for that smile. But totally worth it, you will agree.

In praise of the Dondurma

Turkey has no paucity of desserts – the gooey chewy Turkish delight, the crumbly Kadayif, the sinful irresistible Baklava. But the most interesting of them must be the Dondurma, the local ice cream. Dondurmasi, ice cream vendors can be found on all the streets of Istanbul, usually playing tricks on their unsuspecting buyer. Wikipedia tells me that Dondurma means ‘freezing’ in Turkish – Two qualities distinguish Turkish ice cream: texture and resistance to melting. Inclusion of the thickening agents salep, a flour made from the root of the Early Purple Orchid, and mastic, a resin, impart chewiness.

For, the Dondurma is that kind of ice cream – a trick dessert – thick and adhesive. The Dondurmasi takes out a scoop, puts it on the cone and then begins the fun and games. He turns the cone upside down, he takes it close to the buyer’s face, he rotates it round and round – and the ice cream just sits tight. He sometimes takes the entire stock of Dondurma out on a stick – it comes out like a lump of well-behaved dough.

Invariably, by that time, a crowd has gathered to watch. The audience is delighted. The buyer is bemused. A good time is had by all. Almost all.

Taste-wise, Dondurma is nothing to rave about – that sticky chewy texture needs some getting used to. But for entertainment value, nothing can beat it.

Istanbul: top 10 attractions

I am thinking today of one of my favourite cities – it is almost two years since I visited Turkey and I have written a lot about Istanbul here in the past. Istanbul is also the European Capital of Culture for 2010 – so I decided to write again about the city before the year is over.

Here then is a list of my (and the world’s, I guess – not surprises here, really) top attractions in Istanbul (in no particular order) with images and links to older posts.

~ Topkapi Palace – not really among my favourites but for the gorgeous views of the Bosphorus from several places inside the palace complex. I guess growing up on a steady diet of opulent palaces and forts in India has spoilt me for palace-spotting anywhere else in the world. Worth a visit, however, especially the Harem Tour.

~ Blue Mosque – Istanbul’s most-recognized landmark, the Blue Mosque, also known as the Sultanahmet mosque dates back to the early 17th century. The mosque welcomes all visitors during non prayer hours and is a place of deep peace and quiet.

~ Hagia Sofia – ah, now we are talking! The Hagia Sofia or the Aya Sofya was once a church, and then a mosque and is now a museum of sorts – a powerful symbol of the secular values that Turkey claims to hold dear. The Aya Sofya carries memories of all its earlier avatars and is a must-visit.

~ Basilica Cistern – located unobtrusively opposite the palace, the underground water cistern, also known as Yerebatan Sarayi is easy to miss. Definitely take time out to visit this – and not just because a scene from the Bond flick ‘From Russia with Love’ was shot here.

~ Istiklal Cadessi – which houses all the major international brands and loads of local delights in the side-lanes. And also to watch, and perhaps ride in, the antique tram that traverses the narrow stretch of road filled with shoppers, both locals and visitors. And at the end of the street, the Galata Tower from the top of which the entire city is said to be visible.

~ Cafe 360 – And somewhere towards the end, on the top floor of an old, decrepit building, the Cafe 360 that offers stunning views of the city. Book a table on the terrace in advance to get the best out of this experience.

~ Bosphorous cruise – get on to a boat on the Bosphorus for a wonderful cruise that takes you past quaint fishing villages and prosperous settlements on either side. Or take a smaller boat and cross the river to the Asian side for a glimpse into how the other half in Istanbul lives.

~ Whirling dervishes – call this touristy or whatever you wish but this was, for me, an experience of a lifetime. I watched the whirling dervish ritual at the Cemberlitas Pres Museum, just down the road from Sultanahmet Square, but I am told that the best place to watch it is the ancient Sirkeci railway station.

~ Grand Bazaar – along with the adjoining spice bazaar, the best place to fully take in the sights, smells and sounds of Istanbul. You can easily spend a whole day here just browsing through the shops and watching the vendors at their wheedling, bargaining best.

~ Ortokoy weekend – and finally, my favourite experience of all, a Sunday morning spent at Ortokoy by the Bosphorus. Watching locals in their weekend best, couples walking hand in hand, fishermen talking their own secret language, street vendors offering irresistible temptations, hot chocolate in a street-side cafe and antiques at the weekend market. A perfect way to spend a Sunday morning.

Have you visited Istanbul? What are your personal favourites?

Also read: Turkish delights – on the Istanbul experience

Turkish delights

“I am not a terrorist or a thief, I am only trying to help you”. This is a new one. Walking through the Sultanahment area on a autumn morning, I am stopped (is the word accosted?) by many men offering their ahem, services – from proposing to act as unauthorized guide inside the Topkapi Palace to taking me to the cheapest and best place for carpets. Most of them go away when ignored; I don’t think they really expect to be taken seriously. It is just one of the things Turkish men seem to do to pass time during the long off-season days.

There is something about Turkish men. And it is not just now. Look at the Topkapi Palace, built in the mid 15th century. The star attraction within the palace, with separate tickets and specialist guides, is the Harem Tour. An entire area devoted to the Sultan’s private proclivities, his wives and concubines and their affairs (marital and otherwise); that is where I head first. At the entrance to the Harem, the tour guide is saying something in French, his group in splits at what must have been an obviously lewd reference to the activities within the Harem. Or so I imagine, mentally composing Harem jokes as I walk in.

As any place with so many women, especially women competing for the Sultan’s affections and the throne for their male offspring, the palace must have been abuzz with political activity at all times. Think of prime-time soaps on Indian television with all their squabbling and scheming and multiply that by a few degrees and you will begin to get an idea of the hot-bed of intrigue that the Harem was. (Chew on this for a sampler, the Sultan’s mother, the quintessential mother-in-law or saas ruled the palace, and sometimes the empire from inside here).

But I am not thinking about such unpleasantness as I walk through the huge rooms with their ornate chandeliers and gilded mirrors, the stained glass windows and best of all, the striking Turkish enamel panels. It is true that the rest of the palace pales in comparison to the opulence of the women’s quarters. Or perhaps it feels that way because I am tired after a long walk through the palace grounds and cannot wait to get to the Konyali, which comes highly recommended. Not another royal chamber, Konyali is the restaurant inside the palace complex, with gorgeous views of the Bosphorus all the way to the bridges connecting the European side of Istanbul with the Asian.

“If the city speaks of defeat, destruction, deprivation, melancholy and poverty, the Bosphorus sings of life, pleasure and happiness”. Sipping coffee by the edge of the water, watching the passing ferries and the loud hungry seagulls, it is easy to understand Orhan Pamuk’s nostalgic fondness for this river.

When I finally come out of the palace, the day is warm and all the shops on the road are open, waiting for the tour groups to descend. Just across the road is the Yerebatan Sarayi, or the Basilica Cistern. Nothing I have read about it can prepare me for this experience. I step off the heat and the noise of Istanbul’s busiest district down a few steps, right into an underground water cistern, complete with marble columns and muted lighting. The air is cold down here and the place reeks of what I can only call atmosphere, enhanced by the music playing from invisible speakers. Local guidebooks proudly point out that a scene from the Bond movie ‘From Russia with Love’ was shot here but it is of the ‘Phantom of the Opera’ that I am thinking as I look at the water in the narrow channels on both sides of the walkway. The board outside is small and inconsequential and makes it easy for the purposeful tourist walking towards the Blue mosque to miss this place. And thank god for that.

As I step out, I spot a tram on the road and get in without thinking of where I am going. It is a lot like being on the road in India, pedestrians darting across streets at random, drivers with scant regard for traffic rules, blaring horns – everything except the cattle. I get off at the end of a crowded shopping street and find myself in front of a temple to sin. The kind of sin that comes sugar-coated and deep fried and stuffed and topped with nuts and dried fruit. Bring on the Baklava! And the shop-keeper brings it on, in flavours I had never imagined. I think about calories and suchlike only after I step out of the shop a full twenty minutes later, and decide to walk back to Sultanahmet square. Apart from anything else, I want my conscience to be quiet when I repeat this mini orgy the next day.

At the centre of the Sultanahmet square then, is the sight that graces a million postcards from Istanbul, the Blue Mosque built by Sultan Ahmet I as proof of the might of the Ottoman Empire. The blue tiles on the ceiling give the mosque its name but it could have just as easily been called the golden mosque or the multicolour mosque. Inside, muted sunlight filters in through the high windows, complementing the light from the chandeliers that hang low all across the prayer area.

As with all large places of worship, the tourist feels lost and overwhelmed but not the worshipper. Each has found a corner to call his or her own and is softly reading or praying. For all its grandeur, it is an unexpectedly warm and accessible place and the little groups of women gossiping in their own nooks after prayer, their children sleeping or playing quietly among themselves make it so.

In contrast, the Aya Sofya (or Hagia Sophia), the Church of the Divine wisdom across the road is weighed down by centuries of history. It has been built thrice over the same spot and was in later avtaars a mosque and now a museum. The high ceiling, the gilded but peeling murals of Christ and Madonna on the walls and Islamic medallions mounted on the pillars – I can only stare in silent awe, as all other visitors do here.

It is already dark and my stomach says it is dinner-time even if my watch does not. I choose a quiet restaurant down the road. The window display is inviting, and I can see the two old women inside making hot naan by the stove. Further, this is possibly the only place where the owner is not standing outside, ready to grab the hungry and the unsuspecting. That clinches it for me and I walk in with my friend and spend the next two hours over a leisurely meal, a group of four musicians performing for just the two of us. After the meal, the owner brings in steaming apple tea in their typical tulip-shaped glasses, and I think a meal cannot have a better ending (except perhaps with a baklava, but hush).

Dinner over, we are standing on the road looking for a taxi to take us back to the hotel and the stranger comes close to us and whispers, Lady, others cheating, you come with me, cheap and best food… I am glad. Nothing has changed in the couple of hours I have been inside. I go back to the hotel with a smile on my lips; Istanbul feels so much like back home.

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A slightly shorter version of this was published in the latest issue of Forbes (February 05) – Read it here…

More Turkey photographs here

More on Turkey here on Itchy Feet -
- Outwhirling the dervish
- One river, two continents
- Of Artemis and Amazons

Outwhirling the dervish

Published in Mint Lounge as Going round in circles…

She could throw a whirling dervish out of whirl. I cannot get this line out of my head and to my complete dismay, I find myself mentally humming the rest of the song as I watch the four Mevlevi spin in front of me. I mean, here I am at a performance I have been dreaming of, ever since I planned the Turkey trip and I am thinking about Maria and her whirling and whistling abilities?

A secret turning in us,
Makes the universe turn.
Head unaware of feet,
And feet, head.
Neither cares.
They keep turning.

(‘The Essential Rumi’ – translated by Coleman Barks)

This describes the dancers perfectly, as they whirl and whirl and whirl, white skirts billowing gently, feet never once faltering, attention never once diverted, even by the sudden and harsh light of a forbidden flash camera. Just to put things in context, I read somewhere that initial training for a Sema performer includes standing on a wooden plank one square meter large, with a nail in the middle and learning to turn his foot so that the nail is between his big toe and second toe. Those taking part in this ceremony are traditionally called ‘Mevlevi’ – followers of Mevlana (meaning ‘our guide’) Jelaluddin Rumi.

The entire ritual is based on symbolism, the dancer departing from his ego and turning towards truth and spiritual perfection. The English speaking guide explains the significance of each element of the performance but his voice fades away from my consciousness as the musicians begin playing in the background. The initial segment is a eulogy to the Prophet Mohammed and the sound of the flute (known as the ney, thought to breathe life into all creatures) is especially mesmeric.

After a few minutes, the four dancers enter the room dressed in the traditional long, black coats and the tall conical fez on their heads and greet each other formally three times. As they begin moving, the first step is to remove their cloaks, symbolizing the shedding of the ego, or falsehood. The dancer’s arms are open, the right hand directed to the skies, seeking god’s benefaction and the left hand facing the ground, passing this blessing on to all things around him. The whirling of the dervishes is supposed to replicate the movement of planets revolving around the sun (in this case, God), each rotating on his own axis, while slowly circling around the room. The whirling is anti-clockwise, the minds of the spinning men on meditation mode; Let yourself be silently drawn, by the stronger pull of what you really love (Rumi).

A local friend later says dismissively, “If it was the genuine religious thing, you would not have been allowed there”. Ah, well, the real McCoy or not, I am captivated by it all – the solemn ritual, the haunting music and hymns, the serene expression on their faces. In the 1920s, Kemal Ataturk, the revolutionary Turkish leader in his zeal to modernize Turkey and make it more European, banned the Mevlevi sect as being backward, traditional and just too ‘Islamic’ (the list of things banned by Ataturk is long and includes the traditional fez and the native Turkish script). Later in the 1950s, the government legalized the Mevlevi order as a cultural (non-political) organization and allowed the whirling dervishes to perform annually in Konya on December 17, the anniversary of Rumi’s death (celebrated as his union with his beloved god).

Today the whirling dervish is one of the most visible and popular icons within Turkey, found everywhere from fridge magnets to tea coasters and ceramic bowls. While weekend performances are popular within Istanbul, the annual ceremony at Konya is on another scale altogether and attracts thousands of Sufi followers from across the world. The lodge where Rumi lived is now a museum and the entire town is a silent and enduring homage to the philosopher-poet.

And Maria, Mother Superior, don’t take this personally, but you just cannot throw a whirling dervish out of whirl.

General Information

In Istanbul, Sema performances (the more authentic ones – avoid the ones in restaurants) take place regularly at the Galata Mevlevihanesi, the hall for the Mevlevi at the Southern end of Istiklal Caddesi in the throbbing Beyoglu shopping district. You can also catch performances at the atmospheric Sirkeci station, the old railway station where the Orient Express used to end its long run from Paris. I booked my performance at the Cemberlitas Press Museum in advance on email (galatamevlevi@gmail.com) through this website (http://www.rumimevlevi.com/en/index.php)

The Whirling Dervish Festival at Konya is held between the 10th and 17th December each year. Konya is connected with Istanbul by bus (roughly 10 hours), train and flight (Turkish Airlines has daily flights) though during the festival period, it is advisable to book travel and stay well in advance.

Inside the Blue Mosque

It is still early evening when I head to the blue mosque, at the heart of the Sultanahmet area in Istanbul. Despite the quickly fading sunlight, Sultanahmet is bustling and crowded as always, with tourists and touts, crafty shop-owners and wary shoppers. I ignore all the calls and offers of the locals and join the other tourists ambling towards the gates of the mosque, stopping to take photographs ever so often.

Called the Sultanahmet mosque after its patron, the mosque was completed in 1616 and features six towering minarets instead of the customary four (more history here). The mosque gets its more common name from the blue tiles adorning the walls, though from ground level, where I end up sitting, every inch of the walls and ceiling seems filled with a variety of brilliant colours and it is difficult to spot the blues.

I remove my shoes near the entrance, though I am allowed to carry them inside the mosque in plastic covers. I am a little intimidated, both by its size and grandeur and by the fact that this is the first time I am stepping into a mosque and I do not know what to expect. However, I soon feel at ease. Despite its imposing appearance, the interiors of the blue mosque are warm and welcoming. I sit on the carpet in one corner and watch those who are in prayer and meditation.

Mild winter sunlight filters in through the high windows, reflecting the hues of the stained glass. The chandeliers hang low, emitting a mellow light that adds to the feeling of warmth and intimacy inside the closed space.

There is a sense of stillness and peace around the place; for a while, I keep my camera aside and just observe. Suddenly, I feel a tug at my sleeve and turn around startled. The little girl smiles at me brightly and tries to climb on to my lap. Her mother walks out of the women’s enclosure where she has been sitting in silent prayer to take the tot back with her.

And that is how I spot the enclosure. Groups of women are reading their prayers quietly, their children playing or sleeping on the low narrow window sills. One of a trio of older women beckons to me and points to my camera. Her friends are appalled and interested in turns; as I click, they dissolve into subdued laughter. It is getting dark outside – it is early winter – and I walk away, their farewell smiles following me all the way to the exit.

And half an hour later, I stand looking out of the window of the Aya Sofya just across the street – and the domes and minarets of the Blue Mosque peep out at me, the silhouetted exteriors as interesting and inviting as the people inside.

One river, two continents

The simit vendor shakes his fist at me. He is tired of tourists taking photographs of him and his pretty sesame-flecked looped bread without buying anything. On the other side, my friend is trying hard to not shake her fists at me; instead she points to her watch impatiently. We barely have time to grab cups of coffee before we board the ferry. We are there for the ‘scenic Bosphorus tour’ as recommended by a local friend.

Istanbul wakes up early, even for a chilly autumn morning. The chestnut vendors have all already set up shop as the cab drops us at the entrance of Besiktas Quay down the road from our hotel. The first fifteen minutes of the cruise are the most exciting for most of us on the boat as we cruise past the extremely picturesque Ortakoy mosque and under the older Bosphorus bridge. We have spent all of Saturday walking along the crowded stretch of Sultanahmet and so floating lazily on the Bosphorus is the perfect thing to do on Sunday morning.

And so we float, past obscure fishing villages, wooden houses painted in bright colors, sea gulls out for a morning dive, tiny river-side restaurants, an odd castle or two. Soon after we cross the Ortakoy mosque, on the Asian side along Bebek are the picturesque 19th century wooden villas (called yalis). I remember my friend talking about the exorbitant rates of real estate along this stretch and I can immediately understand why this part of the city is such a desirable place to live in. Imagine sea gulls as breakfast companions and the horn of tugboats in place of blaring cars and buses; you would want one too.

It is of this experience that Orhan Pamuk has written, “To travel along the Bosphorus — be it in a ferry, a motor launch or a rowing boat — is to see the city house by house, neighborhood by neighborhood, and also from afar, as a silhouette, an ever-mutating mirage”. The Bosphorus is a strait between the Black Sea and the Marmera and runs through the heart of the city, dividing it into two – Rumelia and Anatolia. For a moment out there, you are straddling two continents. The Bosphorus is everywhere in Istanbul; in many ways it defines the dualism of this city: European and Asian, traditional and modern.

The cruise goes all the way to Anadolu Kavagi, a fishing village close to the Black Sea, but our recommended itinerary is getting off at an earlier stop and taking a cab back to Ortakoy. And so we duly get off at Sariyer and take a taxi and a journey along the Bosphorus that goes on for the better part of an hour. As we step out of the Sariyer quay, it is tempting to settle down at one of the river-side cafes with views of the fishing boats and ferries and sea gulls, with a cup of coffee. But Ortakoy has been advised and so ho! to Ortakoy.

In the cab, we pass fishermen all along the way (arguing about whose fish was bigger, I guess), friends reading newspapers, even playing cards early in the morning. And then the old Turks, dressed in Western suits, complete with mufflers and felt hats, playing a version of Scrabble that I am tempted to watch and learn. Sipping what I imagine (since I love it so much and think it the perfect drink for a cold Sunday morning) is apple tea, from traditional tulip glasses.

Sunday morning at Ortakoy

At Ortakoy, none of the squalor or desperation Pamuk describes as part of the character of Istanbul is visible; once the “middle village” Ortakoy under the older Bosphorus bridge today is a suburb that sings with the life and hope that this wonderful river can offer. Young couples, the women dressed in smart Western clothes are holding hands and eating ice-cream, children are playing noisily in the tiny park, and vendors are selling jacket potatoes (kumpir) and sinful waffles with delicious toppings. We debate briefly between the inviting cafés along the water and the equally inviting food from the street vendors. And finally conditioning kicks in; having grown up in India, I believe firmly that street food is always bound to taste better. And so it does.

Down the road, the Sunday flea market is just beginning to pick up steam. Locals and tourists stop there for the pleasure of bargaining over silver jewellery, sweaters and scarves, beads and semi-precious stones, and antiques looking suspiciously new and shiny. I buy some fridge magnets in ceramic with the whirling dervish motif (extremely popular in Turkey) as souvenirs and refuse to get tempted into considering some of the more attractive antiques.

And at the entry to the market is the Büyük Mecidiye Camii (Grand Imperial Mosque of Sultan Abdülmecid), known simply as the Ortakoy mosque. Built in the mid 19th century, it is a baby by Turkish mosque standards. We are feeling mosqued-out, having spent the better part of the earlier day at the exquisite Blue Mosque (built in the early 17th century) and the imposing Hagia Sophia (or Aya Sofya, originally built as a church in the 4th century), and give it a miss. Me, I am just happy sipping on that hot chocolate, listening to the music from the cafés and watching the boats on the Bosphorus.

General Information

The cruise starts from Eminonu and is a six hour round trip, though you can get on and get off anywhere in the middle. You have the option of going all the way to the last stop on the boat at Anadolu Kavagi on the Asian side, a tiny fishing village thrust into the limelight thanks to the ferry. It is a pretty village and the boat stops for two hours there, time enough to catch a fresh fish lunch and ice-cream. If you have the energy after that, you can also make that short trek up the hill for wonderful views across the Bosphorus from the 14th century Genoese Castle. By the time you cross Sariyer and get to Anadolu, the Black Sea becomes visible, and the Bosphorus is no longer the placid mid-city river it was all along.

Information on the cruise can be found on this website (http://www.ido.com.tr/en/) and tickets can be bought just before the cruise. Fly Turkish Airlines direct to Istanbul from Mumbai and Delhi or Emirates via Dubai. A Turkish tourist visa can be bought from the Embassy at New Delhi. Turkey is all ready to play European Culture Capital in 2010 and a morning at Ortakoy, or any of the smaller villages along the cruise route is enough to give you a glimpse of both cultures, European and Asian.

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This piece was published in HT Cafe on Saturday, June 20, as The River Between