At the House of Sabatai Sevi

Here we are with the last post of my Great Smyrniote adventure. In my last day in Izmir, I had a chance to visit one of the most paradoxical structures in the entire city. This withered structure, right behind the building in the center with three windows, is nothing less than the house of Sabbatai Sevi.

The area containing the house was normally protected with a wire fence, but I found a way to sneak in through a good-sized hole in the fence.

It's hard to believe that this building is more than four hundred years old!

I found two dark hole-like entrances at the ground level, but I couldn't crawl into any of them.


A narrow stairwell leads up to the rooms above.

This chamber, colored in a various layers of faded green, blue and white paint, was one of the largest enclosed rooms of the house. Until recently this building was inhabited by Gypsy or Kurdish squatters from the nearby Kadifekale neighborhood. In the last few years, the squatters have been evicted and the house was reclaimed as a part of the Smyrniote Agora restoration program.

What's even stranger is that people have been reported to visit this site and light candles in it. One anecdote I've heard of recounts people from America coming all the way to this house and praying in it. Weird. I guess in a way, the Sabbatean heritage lives on.


Right next to the "blue room" lies a half-collapsed terrace with yet another staircase leading up to the upper floor.

On the upper floor is the famous "chamber of the eyes," which houses these bizarre, face-like arrangement of windows, doors and alcoves.

Is this a case of genuine, anthropomorphic architecture? Or just simple 17th century lack-of-planning?

More details from the "chamber of the eyes".


My expedition of Sabbatai Sevi's house came to an end when I walked up to the roof of the building and saw a nice vista of the Agora unfolding below. It was this roof that Sabbatai Sevi supposedly ascended to the skies, levitating during his intense meditations.

I find these tales incredulous of course, but I still have a deep fascination for the life and history of Sabbatai Sevi, and the remaining Sabbateans in Turkey and beyond. This is not the least because Sabbatai Sevi's teachings literally expressed something like proto-secularism in an era riven with religious madness.

This vista concluded my trip to Sabbatai's house. I ran back to the fence, crawled back out from the hole and ended my day with a deep sense of satisfaction and wonder.

A special bunch of thanks go to my friend Okan Çetin, who guided and accompanied me on the trip to the Agora and the house of Sabbatai Sevi.

The Synagogues of İzmir

My adventures in Smyrna continue this week with this selection of pictures from the Havra street, near the historic, but currently dilapidated Kemeraltı district.

Once a populous Jewish neighborhood, this small bundle of streets still has more than a dozen synagogues dotting every corner. This is the Sinyora Giveret Synagogue.

Izmir still has a large population of Jewish citizens, but they have long since moved away into more prosperous neighborhoods. Their temples, all dating from the 1500s or the 1600s, are still in active use. This is the Algaze, or Algazi Synagogue.

There's literally a synagogue behind every street corner. This is the Hevra Synagogue.

Another view of the Hevra Synagogue, showing its centuries-old walls.

The Ets Hayim, with surreal checkered tiles surrounding its door. It's a pity I couldn't get into any of them.

This imposing edifice was one of the oldest in the neighborhood. Informally known as the "Portuguese Synagogue," it was built in the early 1500s by Sephardi immigrants escaping oppression in Portugal.

The taste of history: Old, weird and cool at the same time.

A short way from the street of synagogues lies this house, purportedly that of a wealthy Jewish merchant that left no heirs. What an amazing, beautiful building. If I ever get to be rich enough, I'd like to buy, renovate and live in such a structure.

The rubble in front of this house is residue from archaeological digs in the Agora, the ancient heart of Smyrna. In my next post, I will reveal more mystery and historical oddities from that place. Until then... hold on tight!

The Great Smyrniote Adventure: Greek Houses from Alsancak

Last spring, I took a completely out-of-the-blue trip to Smyrna, or Izmir. By any name, this is one of the most beautiful cities in the Eastern Mediterranean, and certainly the most livable, human-friendly city in all of Turkey.

Smyrna owes much of her beauty and splendor to the long-departed Greeks of Anatolia, who in the relatively tolerant atmosphere of the late-era Ottoman Empire transformed the city into a cosmopolitan paradise.

After the Turkish reconquest and the following Greco-Turkish population exchange, Smyrna became Izmir and lost a great deal of her metropolitan beauty. Even in its current state, however, it is a beautiful city, and the people of Smyrna are still the most educated, liberated and westernized citizens of Turkey.

Below is a selection of nicely preserved Greek houses from the historic Alsancak neighborhood.










Many of these houses are currently used as cafes, restaurants, pubs, bars and clubs. At weekend nights the streets fill up with people, making Smyrna all the more charming and beautiful.

Geological Madness from Cappadocia

No more words now; here is an orgy of geographical weirdness from the volcanic wastelands of... Cappadocia!

Three Greek Houses from Cappadocia

Three abandoned houses left in ruins by the departed "Greeks" of Cappadocia, who spoke perfect Turkish, had habits and dresses almost indistinguishable from those of local Turks, and took no part in the bloody Greco-Turkish war that took place in the west. These people were included in the horrifying population exchange between the two countries only because they were Orthodox Christians. What a shame.

A Place of Gathering

One of the places of worship (Cemevi) used by some of Turkey's ten to fifteen million Alevis. Despite the prolonged struggle of Alevi activists, the Turkish Ministry of Religion refuses to acknowledge these buildings as official places of worship, relegating them to the status of "cultural centers" instead.

At Arnavutköy

I was lucky enough to stay over at a friend's house in the beautiful neighborhood of Arnavutköy earlier this month. As I wandered out in the morning, I embarked on this short photo-odyssey through the district's breathtaking Greek neighborhood. Yes, that's the Bosphorus in the background.

Arnavutkoy, like each and every beautiful place in Turkey, used to be a predominantly Greek area. Although some Istanbulite Greek families still live here, many have fled after the brutal pogroms of 1955, and their houses stand deserted like so many ghost mansions. Here is one.

Despite the withering effects of time, the building's door still retains its elegance.

This fancy door handle still bears the traces of an era when people didn't need to lock their doors most of the time.

I poked my flash through the boarded-up windows to snap these pictures.

These pictures really broke my heart. An elegant house, full of cultured, civilized lives, has been reduced to a sleeping ground for dogs and beggars through the pressures of nationalism and xenophobia.

Of course, not every story from Arnavutköy is that depressing. Take a look at this mansion, beautifully preserved and restored. Unusually among all buildings in the neighborhood, it was covered in sculpted sheets of tin.

Occasional abominations like this mosaic-covered house aside, Arnavutköy is still a beautiful place to stroll through.