Hagia Sofia, Istanbul

 

My visit to Istanbul would have felt incomplete without exploring the renowned Hagia Sophia. Describing this leg of the journey proves challenging as the place invoked a myriad of indescribable emotions. The ambiance within was potent, as if I were absorbing 1500 years of history in a single day. Let me offer a condensed version of the extensive history of this edifice—the Reader's Digest version, as delving deeper would be a narrative far too protracted.

Originally constructed as a Christian Church in 537 AD, the Hagia Sophia now serves as a mosque. This transformation is not unprecedented, as the building has been reconstructed three times. Its fate oscillated with the political winds of Turkey, akin to a pawn in a chess game. The current president declared its reversion to a mosque in 2020, emphasizing its openness to people of all faiths. Upon entry, females must don a headscarf, and all visitors are required to remove their shoes. Designated a UNESCO heritage site, the mosque boasts separate prayer areas for males and females.

It's a place that elicits both joy and sadness simultaneously—a witness to unimaginable events like wars, plagues, and natural disasters. For 1500 years, individuals have visited, prayed, communicated with God, and sought solace beneath its expansive rotunda. Upon entering, the adage "if these walls could talk" resounded in my mind, laden with feelings, sounds, and an ineffable energy.

The atmosphere reverberated with prayers, conversations, whispers, and an indistinct melody—an ambiance delicately poised on the verge of disturbance. My curiosity piqued about the upper levels, although I refrained from ascending. While there seemed to be people up there, it didn't appear open to the public. Nonetheless, I believe these levels hold artifacts and historical information about the temple's past as it was once a living museum, providing a panoramic view of the structure's layout.
Many Christian depictions have been removed or concealed, reflecting Islamic beliefs that prohibit images during prayer. Notably, an angel's face was scratched out in the ceiling, and scaffolding hinted at ongoing renovations. I pondered the fate of displaced artwork, questioning where it went.

Despite these changes, remnants of the building's history endure. A casket and a baptismal fountain stand near the exit, testaments to the dedicated custodians who have safeguarded the structure for 1500 years—both in spirit and body. It was heartening to see this part of history preserved, a reassuring affirmation that not every trace of the past was being erased.