Istanbul calls the Spice Bazaar Mısır Çarşısı — the Egyptian Bazaar — and has never quite settled why. Hatice Turhan Sultan, mother of a boy sultan, ordered it in the 1660s as the commercial engine of the New Mosque rising beside it: rents from its vaulted rooms fed the prayers, the soup kitchen, and the school. The plan is a fat L, six gates, and close to ninety cells running beneath tall barrel vaults. For generations this was the pharmacy of the city, where physicians and cooks came for saffron, dried herbs, and remedies weighed out on brass scales.
Today you step into a corridor of colour and smell. Mounds of paprika, sumac, and turmeric are shaped into bright cones; strings of dried peppers and aubergines hang overhead; trays of lokum, saffron, and rose tea crowd every counter. The old medicinal trade has softened into one of sweets, nuts, and souvenirs, and the central aisle can press shoulder to shoulder. Step out on the mosque side, though, and the mood turns to a quieter market of seedlings, songbirds, and garden bulbs.