One of my favorite movie opening sequences begins with a scene where a silver mug is being engraved with the words, “… my love, my friend.” The engraver pauses, waiting to be told what else the woman beside him wanted to add to the dedication. The camera focuses on her face as she utters, “Agatha”. The name then appears on screen as it is the title of the film.
The woman is supposed to be Agatha Christie, the world’s most successful crime writer with more than a billion books sold. A few years ago, when I was convalescing, my cousin, Manny, gave me discs containing dramatizations of Christies’ novels featuring her two star sleuths, Hercule Poirot and Jane Marple. I found watching the episodes very comforting. Perhaps the sense that everything - no matter how complicated - would be made right in the end was so reassuring after a serious illness. I have been a fan ever since.
The 1979 movie with the engraved mug scene I just described, presented an imagined account of the 11 days in 1926 when Christie mysteriously disappeared. Perhaps she had felt devastated after learning that her first husband, Archie, (the recipient of the mug) was divorcing her. Since the famous writer had never revealed what happened to her, all kinds of theories abound. Many hotels have also joined the fray, making conflicting claims about the writer holing up in their premises when she went missing. One of the more sensational stories related to Christie’s unaccounted days involves the venerable Pera Palace in Istanbul.
The Pera Palace Hotel
In 1979, when the movie was about to be released, newspapers were abuzz with reports that a clairvoyant had been told by Christie’s spirit (she had died in 1976) of the existence of a box inside which was a diary that recounted the celebrated writer’s disappearance. The key to the box was hidden in Room 411 of an Istanbul hotel. Soon after, the manager of the Pera Palace announced that he had found such a key in a room of his establishment with the exact same number but apparently nothing else.
Today, it is generally agreed that Christie had been ensconced somewhere in northern England all along, far from Turkey. Yet the quarters in the Pera Palace that had been identified so supernaturally are still preserved in her honor. Like many others, I had assumed that this was where Dame Agatha penned Murder on the Orient Express which begins in the great city on the Bosporus.
Actually, the novel may not even have been written at the Pera. A hotel historian explains that while working on her manuscript, Mrs Christie would very likely have stayed at another Istanbul institution, the Torkatlian. This is, in fact, the hotel where she actually sets the first part of her story. It was from this comfortable base that she went on archaeological expeditions with her second husband, Max Mallowan, in Syria and Iraq. She would later compile her adventures in a memoir with a genteel title – Come Tell Me How You Live.
Whatever the truth turns out to be, the Agatha Christie Room at the Pera Palace will always be a shrine for devotees of the Queen of Crime. The Room seems to have been arranged to suggest that it was as the novelist had left it. Among the furnishings are an old typewriter and a shelf filled with the honoree’s books. The color of the curtains and of the bed cover - a deep red - hints of the blood spilled on the pages of Christie’s works.
The sanguine references notwithstanding, the Room’s atmosphere is one of quiet elegance which contrasts with the rest of the building. As befits an institution that housed the aristocratic passengers of the luxurious Orient Express, the Pera Palace appropriately exudes opulence. An old brass escutcheon on the wall of the terrace is a reminder that these two properties were once in the hands of one owner.
The Lounge
Brass Escutcheon
Built in the last decade of the nineteenth century with Alexander Vallaury as architect, the Pera was refurbished a few years ago by the Jumeirah Group which also runs the Burj al Arab in Dubai. Judging from old photographs I could see that the present interiors have been done up much more elaborately than in the past.
Flowers greet you
Entering the lounge when I first arrived at the Pera Palace, I was overwhelmed by its strident pinkness. One encounters this heated color in the marble, the footstools, the cushions, and even in the flower arrangements that exploded on a round table near the door. Then I noticed that the fuchsia exuberance was balanced by the richness of the brass ornaments and the luster of the mother of pearl inlaid cabinets. The rosy tones of the stained glass windows that grew paler with each passing cloud quieted the room further while huge globes drew my attention away to other parts of the world.
Pastry shop
It was when I caught a glimpse of the pastry shop on my way to my room that I deduced where all this pink belonged: in the trays of macaroons and strawberry tarts glistening inside glass vitrines. I promised myself that I was going to return to sample all that had been so lovingly confectioned.
Antique elevator
Having torn myself away from all the sweet excess, I was conducted by the hotel officer to an antique elevator that was brimming with the wrought iron curves of a past era. As we ascended, I studied the moving compartment, remembering that the clairvoyant had mentioned riding one of these ancient conveyances in her vision. Soon, however, I would forget about these allusions to the occult as the view from my balcony would prove more fantastic than anything a seer could conjure.
Sunrise over the Golden Horn
Dawn was just breaking over a luminous band of water that was none other than the Golden Horn. Imagine the endeavors that were launched here, the nautical battles waged, the fortunes gained and lost! Suddenly forlorn cries came from every quarter. It was time for the morning prayer and every mosque joined in the great call for the faithful to turn to the Divine.
The neighborhood in which the hotel stood would prove just as compelling. There were many vibrant bazaars, colorful cafes, and quiet bookstores. The area boasted its own wonderful gallery – the Pera Museum. At the time of my visit it had exhibits on traditional locks from Anatolia as well as a fine show on Turkish court painters.
Scenes from the Pera District
A painting at the Pera Museum
Beside the Museum was a lovely edifice decorated with a pair of atlantes. This was the Grand Hotel de Londres. I was later to learn that it, too, had its own Agatha Christie Room - this one done in shades of orange. Perhaps our writer has rested her head on many pillows!
Grand Hotel de Londres
I was already on my way back from exploring the district when I stumbled into a bit of unpleasantness. I had just snapped the front of a bakery when a man who had been seated at a sidewalk table started yelling at me. He approached me all the while shouting and – without warning - gave me a strong shove. A thought flashed briefly in my mind: what if I responded with my best kung fu pose? It didn’t matter that I couldn’t tell karate chop from a pork chop. I just had to look convincing even if it meant channeling a panda. As a friend of mine observed: everyone else thinks that all Asians are masters of the martial arts. Eventually, I decided that the better part of valor was to use every last bit of my adrenalin rush to run towards my hotel.
Safely cocooned in the Pera’s Lounge again, I reviewed my brush with violence. I realized that if the incident had escalated further, I would have taken a serious hit for the sake of journalism!
Later, my mind wandering because of the chamomile tea, I feel to thinking about Dame Agatha. What might she have done had she been there on the sofa with me? Would she have asked me what my assailant had looked like? Would she have asked me if there were reliable witnesses?
Somehow, I imagined that it was more likely that she would have poured me more hot tea. Then, she might have quietly said: “Come, tell me how you live.”
Safely back in the Lounge
Photo of Agatha Christie room is from the Pera Palace website
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