Dolmabahçe Palace can be summed up in three words. Not to sell the palace short or anything, but the simplistic essence of the palace that is Dolmabahçe can be adequately described with three simple words. Opulent, (or for those less concerned with vocabulary; really, really, really, really, really, really nice), which is a perfect descriptor to convey the amount of effort that was involved in making Dolmabahçe Palace beautiful. Ostentatious, no word in the English language, (and I’d be willing to bet in the Turkish for that matter), does a better job of describing the mindset with which Dolmabahçe Palace was built; the striving to both copy and improve upon the European ideals of grandeur, while infusing just enough Turkish artistry to prevent one from forgetting just exactly what country this palace was in. The third descriptor word, as much as I hate to break the “O” alliteration, is stupidity. Granted this isn’t nearly as sophisticated a word as the previous two but sophistication isn’t required, in fact, it’s almost out of place when being used to describe such a simple human fallacy as good ol’ fashioned, down-home stupidity. And that is exactly what it took to build Dolmabahçe Palace, costing what it did and doing it in 1843 a time when the Ottoman Empire was shaky at best, economically speaking. The drain produced on the economy by building this lavish monstrosity is mind-numbing, especially when one considers that it was done only as a childish display of power and arrogance. Sultan Abdülmecid deserved to have his empire collapse.

Don’t misinterpret this almost biting introduction to Dolmabahçe Palace. The fact that it was built primarily as a show of power means that it is hardly rivaled by any other palace of the time or since. Every single aspect of Dolmabahçe was intentionally exaggerated into untold levels of ornate refinery. The intention of Dolmabahçe was to cause those who visit and look upon it to marvel at the absolute magnificence produced by Turkish artisans and architects. Granted, the primary architect was French, but he was used mainly because they Turks didn’t know how to make things with European style…because they weren’t. The use of European style simply adds an extra few exclamation points; it shows that the unfamiliar architecture could still be implemented to great effect by the Turkish architects. This was a sort of “beating them at their own game” mentality that causes one of the greatest examples of nineteenth century European architecture to be located in what was then the capitol of the Ottoman Empire.

Commissioned by Sultan Abdülmecid in 1843, Dolmabahçe palace took 13 years to complete. Not having enough money to build a palace to the scale he wanted, Sultan Abdülmecid took out loans from foreign banks, driving the already shaky economy closer to the brink of collapse. The great cost was due to the nature of the building materials themselves. A massive amount of gold, (approximately 14 tons), was used just for decorating the ceilings of the palace. Also contained in the palace is the worlds largest collection of Baccarat and Bohemian crystal chandeliers, including the worlds largest crystal chandelier, (weighing in at over 4.5 tons). In addition to the chandeliers, there is a giant staircase made of Baccarat crystal, brass, and mahogany. Regardless of the amount of work and artistry that goes into a project, the cost of the staggering amount of crystal and gold that are in Dolmabahçe Palace would be enough to cripple all but the richest of nations.

Sultan Abdülmecid and his appointed architects, (Hacı Said Ağa, Evanis Kalfa, Karabet Balyan, and Nikogos Balyan), achieved what they set out to do in the end. Dolmabahçe palace is unequalled in its sheer magnificence. It’s almost too much splendor for me. Compared to the laid back refinery of Topkapi Palace, which maintained an exceedingly high level of comfort while still projecting an outward display of brilliance and aesthetic power, Dolmabahçe Palace seemed stuffy and fragile. Granted, it was far more imposing and glorious, but if I were turned loose inside I’d be afraid to touch anything, or sit in any of the furniture, for fear that I would be the destroyer of some immensely valuable work of art. I wouldn’t be alone in that feeling, apparently the people who did live in Dolmabahçe had to live the “stuffy lifestyle.” There was definitely no running around in Dolmabahçe Palace.

For indeed, every aspect of Dolmabahçe Palace is a work of art. Every and any conceivable surface that, while ordinary under normal circumstances, could be made into either a beautiful work of art or as a canvas for some other beautiful piece of art was used as such. There was no surface in any of its 285 rooms, 44 halls, 68 toilets, or 6 hamams that wasn’t being used to display some veritable feast for the eyes. There was not a single bare patch of ceiling, floor, or wall that wasn’t a treat to gaze upon. Even if you avoided the ceilings, floors, and walls; opting instead for a window, the view of the Bosporus from one side of the palace and the magnificent gardens from the other did little to alleviate the strain put upon the eyes by the sheer volume of sensory information they were being forced to take in. This was were the Turkish influence came in, adorning all these “canvases” were prime examples of Turkish art. Not a particular style of portrait or any real art like that, but the patterns and ornamentation were distinctly Turkish. Even the hardwood floor had the intricate geometric pattern of a Turkish rug.

Light was an important factor of Dolmabahçe Palace. Beyond the massive floor to ceiling windows which allowed natural light to permeate the vast majority of the palace, there where a few skylights, several fireplaces, (often more than one in a single room, the most I saw being four), and innumerable lamps and chandeliers scattered throughout the palace. No visitor to Dolmabahçe would ever be deprived the pleasure of gazing upon its splendor due to lack of proper viewing light. The light was also most likely symbolic; Dolmabahçe being the image of Ottoman power, style, and equality to the Europeans; it was literally the light of the Ottoman Empire.

Size was definitely a large factor of the design. Nothing in Dolmabahçe is built for economy; high ceilings, thick walls, carpets with more square-footage than the average American home. The Ceremonial Hall is without a doubt the single largest room I’ve ever entered in my life, and the prospects for any larger adventures in the future don’t look promising. Designed to hold 2,500 people, the best idea we could come up with was to lay down turf and make the room into a giant soccer stadium.

The message behind the grand size, ever-present light, and overt magnificence of Dolmabahçe Palace is unmistakable: awe-inspiring power. The (not so) hidden meaning behind ever facet of the palace’s design is to fill any visitor with an overwhelming sense of amazement that they will take with them wherever they go; so that no matter how grand a building or elaborate a structure they ever see in the future they will always remember: Dolmabahçe was a bit bigger, Dolmabahçe was a bit prettier, Dolmabahçe was far superior. To ensure that this message was received by all who visited the palace, extreme care was taken to ensure that they had plenty of time to take it all in. After the visitor was bathed and dressed, then they would be taken to the first of a series of waiting rooms where they would slowly progress from one den of magnificence to the next until finally being allowed into the presence of the Sultan himself.

Another odd aspect of the palace is the advent of technology. The embracing of the newer technologies instead of an ardent resistance to letting go of tradition was also exemplified in Dolmabahçe. On top of state of the art drainage and plumbing systems, Dolmabahçe had electricity installed not long after its discovery. Also, Dolmabahçe had one of the first telephones, (purchased from the Edison company), installed and it can still be seen today. This embracing of Western technology as advancement is just another sign of the competitiveness of the caliphate, striving as hard as it could to embrace, adopt, and conform to Western and European ideals.

Unfortunately for the Ottomans, the caliphate only lasted for a few more years, and only six sultans were able to occupy Dolmabahçe Palace before the Empire collapsed and the idea of a sultan was abolished. The founder of the new republic and father of Turkey, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, used the palace as a presidential summer home until his death in Dolmabahçe on November 10, 1938 at exactly 9:05 AM; the time which all the clocks in the palace are set to, in memory of his death.

The death of Atatürk in Dolmabahçe was almost a convenient tragedy. Already a symbol of Ottoman power, now the palace is another shrine for the great church of Atatürk that seems to be the predominate religion in Turkey.