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TURKEY 1998 |
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We board the plane, narrowly avoid being bumped. Late arrival a problem, but ends up working in our favor. We board and sit on the runway for three hours as a hydraulic fuel pump leak is fixed. Better to get there late than not at all, huh? Lots of whining by our planemates, somehow THEIR travel plans are more important than everyone else. Overheard: "This is a 30th anniversary - we're not just on VACATION." I'm thinking they should throw all us VACATIONING slobs out over the Atlantic to speed the plane up! As I listen to this moron rant, I am embarrassed for him. I tell the steward how impressed I am with his patience - this makes him smile. My theory about air travel is - always be cordial to the crew. In case of a crash, who would have a better chance of crew attention and therefore survival? Jeff and I return to the concourse, eat a free dinner on KLM, and quaff a few Coronas. At first, we are put off by the late departure, but soon I realize this will work in our favor, i.e. - a night in Amsterdam! We ultimately leave at 9 PM CST. Jeff and I are not able to sit together, but what's eight or so hours when you have the next 2.5 weeks to trip over each other? I converse briefly with an older man in the next seat, on his way home to Norway with his wife. He's reading a Norwegian Reader's Digest . . . I've always been fascinated, avid reader that I am, by looking at a book in a language that I cannot speak. Complete incomprehension. Chicago
IL, USA to Amsterdam, NL September 18, 1998
Flying, flying, flying. The flight is uneventful, the best kind. Jeff is amused at 5AM when he comes to my seat, and finds it empty. Somehow I scored by getting the seat across from the flight crew's seats, so there is double legroom. I'm flaked out across the crew seats, legs on the exit door, sleeping soundly. Modestly wrapped wrinkle-free in my Indispensible Travel Dress. All those years of marching band travel on a Greyhound bus have enabled me to sleep anywhere. The plane lands, we're in the chaos of Schipvol Airport, Amsterdam, NL. A quick trip to the transfer desk leaves us in a queue for hours. The place is full of angry travelers, all missed connections because of the late start. However, the two of us are unfazed. The girl at the counter views us with apprehension, as she anticipates another unsolvable mess. Happily, we inform her we do not wish to leave immediately, rather, tomorrow! We get a flight to Istanbul at 7:15 PM the next day, and begin the three hour wait for our luggage. EVENING FUN: We wander the streets awhile, snacking and stopping occasionally for beers, enjoying the remaining hours of daylight. Shwarma, "Vitte" fries with mayo (mmmm . . . sinful.) and a seafood sandwich. No herring sandwich, though, this disappoints me slightly (note: a 6 hour layover on the back end of the trip enabled me to procure my beloved "woostebroodge romples"). I'm glad to be back in Amsterdam, and it's fun being sort of a "big shot", showing Jeff all the things I enjoyed so much from my last trip in '93. We enter the Doors Cafe, both intrigued. We procure a couple Heinekens and some "White Widow". Ohhh . . . Jeff is in his happy place, as he rolls us a spleef or two. I caution (it's so important to be the voice of reason in these endeavors) "make a small one, I don't want to stumble into a graacht (canal)!" |
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Amsterdam, NL warm/sunny, 80° September 19, 1998 Ah . . . another day of bliss in my favorite city, with my indispensible travel companion, Jeffro. In all the world (well, of the few places I've been) I can't think of a better place to hang out on a Saturday afternoon than Amsterdam. I coax Jeff awake with promises of coffee and photo opps, and we exit the lavish Hotel Victoria in search of a cafe. VICTORIA HOTEL |
| Istanbul,
TURKEY We land in Istanbul, thankfully, and quickly find our driver for the Aladdin Guest House. We meet our driver, very young and slightly inebriated. We pile into the car and realize he's not our driver, there is an older man in the driver's seat. The cars collect another couple, also staying at the hotel, and we're off. Driving to the hotel, there is not much to see. It looks like the outskirts of any other city. Except of course, for the huge ferries on the Bosphorus that we see once we get closer. A few old stone walls are visible as we turn into the city. It's late, so there is no one out. We get to the Aladdin, and meet the two other Americans, Traci and Todd from LA. Seems they too, were originally recommended to the Empress Zoe hotel (a beautiful hotel) which was full, then directed towards the Aladdin. It is a beautiful example of the serendipity - often happens with the random nature of travel. We hang out for awhile on the rooftop terrace, with the animated and endearing staff of the Aladdin - who seem to be college students and brothers, or very good friends. We're sleepy from the flight, so we go to our respective rooms. Jeff is very surprised, I am unfazed by a walk down the hall to the bathroom. Hey, that saves us five dollars a night! However, in the end, we opt for "en suite" plumbing. (When you travel with Jeff, you travel in style - as he informs me. Good enough!) Istanbul, TR sunny 70° September 20, 1998 Today, we wander around Istanbul, stumbling a bit like the turistas that we are, to Aya Sophia, - beautiful OLD mosque. Jeff is on a tear with picture taking, we'll have a great record of this trip. Near the mosque, we are cornered by a guy who asks us the inevitable "where are you from - where are you going" query, our first tenacious carpet salesman, but in disguise of sorts. Feeling benevolent, we chat awhile, then agree to join him for "no obligation" Turkish tea. He drags us off, ostensibly to a travel agency that his Dutch wife runs. Aforementioned wife never appears, she is continually "on the way from the airport". His "travel agency" turns out to be a carpet shop. Politely, we view his wares, until his informative historical banter turns into "Buy a carpet from me!". We bolt. This guy did introduce us to a nice old man who DOES run a travel agency, who we end up renting a car from very successfully and inexpensively. He also introduces us to a Guido-type with a fake Moschino shirt who organizes bus tours - no thanks. |
At the car rental office, we see a typewriter called "Erika". |
After bolting from the rug guy (no pun), we veto the restaurant directly outside his shop, and walk around the block to another place. This place has tablecloths which turned out to be, on closer inspection, blue bedsheets with a bright yellow floral motif. These bedsheets also cover the patio area, nicely shielding us from the burning rays of the sun. Matching bed sheet-covered menus complete the Turkish elegance. I was expecting the waiters to be wrapped in bedsheets . . . . We enjoy a delicious meal, which includes the green bean meze which I remain fixated on for the remainder of the trip. For dinner, we want seafood, so the guys at Aladdin get a driver to take us to a restaurant, in a neighborhood that is nothing BUT seafood. We eat dinner, nothing special, I am disappointed in the seafood quality. . We opt for a walk around the area, and run into our pals, Todd and Traci eating (with similar impressions), join them for coffee, and a shot of what Todd identifies as "Scope!". |
| We part company with Todd and Tracyiand continue on, they opt for a cab home, we decide to walk and happen upon an outdoor cafe with hookahs everywhere! We learn that they are called nargilas, but have the same cherry tobacco that we have in our own home hookahs. We enjoy the nargilas, a glass of tea and the many cute stray kittens that populate the place. Istanbul, TR rainy, cool 60° September 21, 1998 I wake up with incredible chest pains, from the nargila, no doubt, coughing. I've also got a slight sore throat. I stagger to breakfast on Jeff's heels, and come to life after awhile. It's day two of the Turkish breakfast we would dine on throughout the country - bread, hard boiled eggs, tomatoes, cucumbers, olives and goat cheese with tea or instant coffee. The Aladdin Guest House puts the only spin on this selection by serving small sausage pastries. Tourist Day. To the Topkapi Palace . . . the palace is bare, no furniture, for the most part, only the walls remain, with a lot of the wall coverings intact, tiles and such. Here I was struck by the phenomenon of tourists wandering around, snapping pictures of various artifacts and rooms, without really observing what it was they were taking a picture of. Most of them did not so much as read the informative labels giving historical information on the thing they were viewing. I became angry at humanity on this day. |
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The room containing the Sultans possessions was overwhelming. Everything was encrusted with jewels, and made of solid gold. The Sultans throne was made of teak, I believe, and encrusted with jewels and had mother of pearl flowers covering it. There were bowls of peridot (a light green gem), and endless diamond-encrusted knives and daggers. I also saw a diamond-covered brooch shaped like a boat anchor - very sassy! No doubt for when the Sultan wanted to play little "ship captain and mermaid" games in his Harem. Most of the weapons and armor seemed to be for ceremonial purposes only, yet, they were definitely used for battles. I suppose if you're the Sultan, you've got guys looking out for you, so the weapons don't need to be AS useful as, say, the ones carried by the plebian army men. The exhibits that held the weapons were VERY poorly designed and lit. All of the rooms were very hot, they need a good museum designer at Topkapi if you ask me (and I'd apply for the job, if I could live in Amsterdam and work from there). THE HAREM:
inside Topkapi Palace was simply amazing. Some of the inner rooms
remain sealed off to tourist traffic. The rooms were incredibly opulent,
much of the original wall ornamentation remained intact. I had no feeling,
in these rooms, of injustice, or oppression towards women in the Harem,
even though I know the females residing within were concubines or slaves.
In Ottoman times, the women of the Harem had it better, I believe, than
the common women living in squalor in the streets of Istanbul. The women
of the Harem improved their ranks by bearing a boy child, at which time
they often ascended to a higher rank, as a wife of the Sultan. Inside
the Harem, the women had considerable power, access to medical care, and
were well fed - compared to their common counterparts, that is. The Harem
itself was presided over by the Sultans mother. One of the mothers rose
to the status of Sultana, but her reign was marked by intrigue and corruption,
forcing her to give her throne to her son, Suleana the Mad. That's when
things REALLY started to go downhill, Ottoman Empire-wise. (This would
be "Erika's History Lesson in Slang"). The last woman left the
Harem in 1909, at which time it was closed up, and almost no access was
permitted until the late '60s. |
