Dijital rehber

The building you see now is the third Hagia Sophia to rise on this hill. The first two were destroyed by fire. Emperor Justinian I had the present building constructed straight after the second one burned down during the Nika riots of 532. Two scholars led the work: Anthemius of Tralles and Isidore of Miletus. Both were in fact mathematicians. Work progressed at an astonishing pace, and the church opened five years later, in 537. The thick buttresses and minarets you see from outside were added in later centuries. So this building is not the product of a single era, but of fifteen hundred years layered one on top of another.

Look up. The dome is more than thirty metres across and about fifty-five metres above the floor. The first dome collapsed after the earthquakes of 558. It was replaced by a steeper, taller dome. Forty windows line the base of the dome. Because light pours in through these windows during the day, the dome seems not to rest on the walls but to hang in the air. Writers of the time described exactly that: a dome suspended from heaven. Over the centuries, earthquakes shook the building time and again; each time it was repaired and strengthened.

Below, you can see the huge round panels hanging at the corners of the main space. They were hung in the nineteenth century, during the major restoration under Sultan Abdülmecid. They are the work of the calligrapher Kazasker Mustafa İzzet Efendi. They bear the names of God, the Prophet Muhammad, the four caliphs, and Hasan and Hüseyin. Each more than seven metres in diameter, they are counted among the largest calligraphy panels in the Islamic world. A little further down, you may notice that the mihrab is not exactly in the centre of the apse but shifted slightly to one side. That's because the mihrab points towards Mecca, while the axis of the church faces a different direction.

The large mosaic in this part of the gallery is the Deesis scene. Christ is in the centre, with Mary and John the Baptist on either side, both interceding with him on behalf of humanity. Much of the lower part of the mosaic has been lost, but the faces are still intact. Look at the faces from a little distance: the shading is created by subtle colour changes in tiny pieces of stone. The mosaic is thought to date from the thirteenth century. It is considered one of the finest examples of Byzantine art, and most art historians who come to Istanbul linger longest in front of this wall at Hagia Sophia.

The two panels a little further on depict donations made to the church by Byzantine emperors. In one, Empress Zoe and her husband Constantine IX stand on either side of Christ. If you look closely, you'll see that the emperor's face and name were altered later; Zoe married three times in her life, and the husband on the panel was updated too. The other panel shows John II Komnenos and his wife Irene beside Mary and the infant Christ. It's no coincidence that the emperors hold a purse and a document: these panels are something like a permanent record of the gifts made to the church.

In the half-dome in the distance, in the apse, you can see Mary with the infant Christ on her lap. This mosaic was unveiled in 867. In the preceding period, the contentious years known as Iconoclasm, figurative images had been removed from churches; this mosaic is one of the first major images made after that era. On the gallery's marble balustrades there is a far more ordinary mark: graffiti scratched by visitors over the centuries. Among them is a name written in Scandinavian runes, probably belonging to a Viking soldier who served in the emperor's guard.

After Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror took the city in 1453, Hagia Sophia was converted into a mosque. The minarets were added in different periods; Mimar Sinan contributed to today's silhouette with buttresses that strengthened the building. Following a decision taken in 1934 it became a museum, and in 2020 it reopened for worship as a mosque. So the gallery you're standing in has witnessed fifteen hundred years as a church, a mosque, a museum and a mosque once again. Take one more look at the courtyard as you leave: very few buildings in the world have stood for so long.

You've come down the stairs and are now inside a fifteen-hundred-year-old water reservoir. The Basilica Cistern was built in the sixth century under Emperor Justinian I. It takes its name from a great basilica that stood above it. Locals called it the Sunken Palace; walk among the columns and you'll see why. The cistern supplied water to the nearby Great Palace and the surrounding area. Water was carried by aqueducts from sources outside the city and collected here. In times of siege or drought, cisterns like this one kept the city alive.

Look at the columns stretching out in front of you. The cistern has three hundred and thirty-six columns, each about nine metres high, in twelve rows of twenty-eight. Most of the columns are marble, but their capitals don't match. That's because the builders used pieces brought from older buildings rather than carving new columns. So here you'll see capitals of different styles side by side. The brick vaults of the ceiling rest on the columns. Notice how your voice echoes as you walk: this place was never meant for visitors, but for storing water in silence.

In the Ottoman period, the city's water needs were met mainly by running-water systems and fountains, so the cistern was gradually forgotten. In the sixteenth century, the French scholar Petrus Gyllius, who came to Istanbul to trace its ancient buildings, found this cistern. According to his account, people in the neighbourhood lowered buckets through holes in their basements to draw water, and even caught fish. No one fully realised that such a vast structure lay beneath them. Gyllius took a small boat among the columns and wrote down what he saw. His account plays a big part in the cistern's fame today.

Beside the walkway, you'll see a column with a shaft unlike the others. It is carved with motifs that look like eyes or teardrops, and it is always damp. That's why locals call it the Weeping Column or the Peacock-Eyed Column. Similar motifs appear on columns from one of the city's ancient forums, and this column is thought to have come from there. It is one of the best examples of how the cistern's builders reused pieces of older buildings.

At the far end of the cistern, two Medusa heads carved in stone sit beneath two columns. One is placed on its side, the other upside down. In mythology, Medusa turned anyone who looked at her to stone, and in antiquity she was believed to ward off evil. No one knows where these heads came from. There are many stories about why they were placed sideways and upside down, but the most plausible explanation is quite simple: the builders used these blocks as bases to bring the columns to the right height and positioned them however they fitted best.

The cistern reopened to visitors in 2022 after extensive restoration that began in 2017. Earthquake strengthening and new walkways were part of the work. Today the lighting is designed to highlight the columns and the surface of the water, and art installations are sometimes shown in the cistern. The cistern has also appeared in films, the best known being a 1963 James Bond film. Take one more look back as you leave: this darkness is the darkness that stored the city's water for fifteen hundred years.