Down in the Depths of Basilica Cistern.

Basilica Cistern, Istanbul.

Cover photo courtesy of Kurmanbeck.

September 2020.

It was a sunny morning in Istanbul as Sladja and I strolled through the ancient Eminönü district. As arguably the city’s most historic neighbourhood there was much to see. But for now we had decided to focus on just one fascinating and curious exhibit dating back to the 6th century.

The Turks call it Yerebatan Sarnici, which roughly translates as Subterranean Cistern. In English, that has been adjusted to Basilica Cistern. Back in Istanbul’s Byzantine era the powers that be constructed around 70 cisterns, vast underground reservoirs that stored and filtered rainwater for city use. This particular cistern, commissioned by Justinian The Great in the 6th century, emerged from the site of an early Christian basilica.

If we’d have visited during regular times there would’ve been a steady queue extending down the street. However, deep in the heart of the COVID mess, we were able to breeze straight through the door and pay the ridiculously low entrance fee of 20 Turkish Lira (around $1).

Basilica Cistern.

Free from the pressure of crowds, Sladja and I took our time descending the stone staircase that leads visitors down into Istanbul’s grand cistern. Within seconds the warmth of the morning had given way to a pleasingly cool and damp air. The brightness of the sunshine replaced by an initially thick gloom. Then, a gradually brighter amber glow as we reached the bottom of the steps.

I had definitely never seen anything like it. A mammoth, cavernous space that, historians say, no less than 7000 slaves helped to construct. That can’t have been much fun for them.

Justinian The Great’s primary aim was to create a water filtration system for his lavish Great Palace of Constantinople. Unfortunately, only a few remnants of that royal home remain today, which live in the Istanbul Archaeological Museum. Later, in around 1453, the system also provided water for Topkapi Palace.

Yerebatan Sarnici.

By the mid 1500s much of the local public drew water from the cistern. Though in truth by this point it had become increasingly neglected by royalty and government. In fact, records of its use may have disappeared altogether if not for the famed scientist and explorer Petrus Gyllius.

Fascinated by stories he’d heard about it, Gyllius visited the cistern in 1565. Leaving a written account of his experience in a journal, he talked of locals rowing him between the stone columns and even catching a fish or two for supper!   

That morning Sladja and I found ourselves wowed by the very same columns. Apparently there are 336 of them, a veritable forest of marble delights as far as the eye can see. The walls, four metres thick, and indeed parts of the ceiling, are made of firebrick. Craning our heads, our eyes followed the columns all the way up to the capitals, carved in a number of styles, such as Ionic and Corinthian.

One magnificent column stands out from the crowd. They call it The Crying Column because of its decorative tears. Some historians say this is a tribute to the slaves who lost their lives constructing the cistern. In contrast, other experts reckon they are actually hens’ eyes.

The Crying Column.

One thing they do agree on though is that the column was most likely inspired by similar pieces created for the Triumphal Arch of Theodosius I, erected in the 4th century.

The Crying Column is a historic gem. And yet, further down the cistern, there are two columns that truly steal the show. Both have spectacular bases with carved faces of Medusa!

This winged human female was perhaps one of the most misunderstood characters of Greek Mythology. Once a beautiful priestess of Athena, she was raped by the sea god Poseidon and then punished by Athena for breaking the vow of celibacy. Basically, she turned her into a monster with greenish skin and snakes for hair.

Eventually, such a monster had to be killed. Which is what the Greek hero Perseus duly did by beheading her. He subsequently used Medusa’s severed head to turn his enemies to stone. Talk about getting a rough deal.

The heads in Basilica Cistern remain a bit of a mystery. While historians can’t be sure where exactly they came from, there is a general agreement that the emperor probably demanded their transfer from another late Roman era building in the city.

Basilica Cistern.

Back in its heyday the cistern could hold up to 80.000 cubic metres of water! The water it stored came from a distribution plant in Belgrad Forest and was transported into the city’s network of cisterns via the grand Aqueduct of Valens. 

Photo courtesy of  Mondo79.

On the day of our visit we noticed that the water level at Basilica Cistern was really shallow. Just deep enough to create an atmosphere, and for people to throw coins into the water and make a wish.

We loved our stroll through Basilica Cistern. Indeed it was a highly atmospheric exhibit in which to consider the incredible history that has unfolded here over the centuries. Unsurprisingly, it has appeared in numerous Turkish movies and TV shows. Moreover, one of its Medusa heads features in Dan Brown’s bestselling novel Inferno.

Most high profile of all, a scene of the 1963 James Bond movie From Russia With Love played out between Basilica Cistern’s historic columns. In the scene, Sean Connery as 007 travels in a rowboat under the city of Moscow in order to spy on the Soviet consulate with a periscope. Classic.

007 in Istanbul.

Back on that autumnal morning in 2020 Sladja and I were only able to visit a part of the cistern. This was due to the fact that a large chunk was under restoration. Since then, I see they’ve utterly transformed the place.

Today it stands as much more of an art exhibit. There are modern sculptures set around the columns, for example, and short videos depicting Turkish history projected onto the walls. The place is now earthquake-proof, they say, while the murky water and coins have been replaced by crystal clear pools that periodically change colour.

Photo courtesy of Metuboy.

It certainly is a dramatic makeover. As a result, the group that runs the cistern recently announced that, as of 2023, the cost of entry will go up. From the 20 Lira we paid to a whopping 300 Lira per person (around $16). Times change, I guess, there is no holding back the constant drive for modernisation. Somehow, I’m glad we got to see the no-frills version. As for whether we would pay the money to see today’s attraction, we’re not sure, the jury is out.

Like this? Take a look at my series of articles on Istanbul.

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