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taksis, tube socks and trash, oh my! |
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Me with the staff at the Aladdin Guest House, and Traci & Todd, from LA.
Istanbul, TR rainy, cool 60° September 22, 1998 My cough is slightly worse today, I sleep in while Jeff meets our new pals Traci and Todd for breakfast. About 45 minutes later, he comes back with tea for me! Feeling much better, we begin to pack, as we're getting our car and beginning the drive today. Driving out of the city, we notice an open air fish market! Jeff to pulls over with promises of photo opportunities (this ploy serves me well throughout the trip). We are almost immediately cornered, or should I say, helped out by a tall Russian host. He obviously works for one of the handful of restaurants situated behind the fish market, but his ploy to snare customers proves helpful and informative. He trails me, while Jeff snaps photos, identifying each fish, and informing me of their "nice, shiny color". Every fish is nice and shiny. And only hours out of the sea, as evidenced by their bright red gills, pulled out for display (I learned this). Not wanting these fish to have died in vain, I persuade Jeff that we need a little fish lunch. We follow the tall Russian into his restaurant, which is wholly Russian-owned and order fish chowder, calamari and our ubiquitous beers. Everything is, predictably, delicious. ALADDIN GUEST HOUSE Sultanhamet, IS From the fish market, we arrive directly on the ferry, with our guide from the fish market actually riding along in our vehicle to direct us. Tremendously helpful, as we'd have probably ended up on a ferry to Iran or something without help. We board the car ferry in record time, and are on our way almost immediately, to cross the Bosphorus. Arriving at the Oriental side, we gather our bearings by getting much-needed petrol for our vehicle and consult the map. A long drive today, with me, NAVIGATRIX EXTRAORDINAIRE. We're intrigued by the Turkish countryside, and crazy cities filled with half-finished apartment buildings. Bursa, TR rainy, cool 60° September 23, 1998 We arrived in Bursa just in time for rush hour. With me madly trying to read signs leading to "tourist information", and Jeff trying to avoid a car wreck, we were a little stressed out on arrival. No dividing lines on the road made each stop light a free for all. Everything was under construction, with cars driving over the whole mess. We arrived at "tourist info" to find it closed. Useless. Consulting the Rough Guide, we settled on the Cesmali hotel. I'll admit, I was wooed there by the "Women owned" statement. I won't be snowed again. What we encountered, okay, the room was extremely clean, was a price almost twice as much as the rating the guidebook gave it. And the woman at the desk was not willing to negotiate - and this was low season! We were stuck, only staying overnight, our car was parked, and we knew of no other place. We resolved to be more savvy in the next city. Our stuff dumped in the room, we go off to explore, eat and, hopefully, have a beer or two. Our first stop is the bazaar, quite near our hotel. What we find is similar to Istanbul, only slightly heavier on the tube sock and knockoff designer bag trade. Wow! A Prada bag for $5! Cool! *snicker!* We come to a store that has a whole window full of what I had been calling "Little Sultan" outfits all through the trip. We'd seen a number of little 3-5 year old boys, riding a donkey, carrying what looked like a scepter, and wearing these fantastic little outfits. They looked like marching band uniforms on acid, embellished with gold braid, and a maribou-trimmed cape. Now, I think I figured out what the deal was. Seems that in Muslim countries (according to the book Culture Shock : Turkey that I had read before the trip), little boys are not circumsized until about age 4 or 5. Owie. It's a ritual, not unlike the Catholic custom of "first communion" that we have here in the US. Anyway, the poor little guy gets to be a little sultan of sorts for a few days or so, goes off to have the deed done, and then adds a red sash to his ensemble. Whereupon, I imagine, he walks around with a very pained expression for awhile. A picture of Jeff taken in front of this little store shows him in a rather pensive mood as well . . . . The bazaar didn't interest us much, with its rows of cheap, electroplated gold jewelry, bedsheets and more "general merchandise". Bursa seemed to be a town that didn't get much tourism, a hardworking town . . . and a non drinking town. We had the damndest time finding a place that would serve us a beer! And we didn't just want to drink (although, that was part of the plan), we wanted dinner too. We wandered around a shopping area, everything closed, and were buffetted by the crowds streaming out of the bus station onto the sidewalks, coming home from work. Suddenly, a Tuborg sign called out like a beacon . . . . Tout Va Bien. I loosely translated this as "everything's all right". Next door was a little kebap joint that looked pretty good, and free of "Turkish M.O.'s" as we called them (Turkish MicroOrganisms in the water, which Jeff had a bit of a bout with during the trip). Okay, we'll have some kebap here, but first let's just have one beer. The place was dark inside, and had a haze of fumes from the heavy traffic outside. There was no escape from the lack of emission control standards. Anyway, we sat down, and the proprieter (who spoke NO English) took a liking to us immediately. He was charming and amusing, and we were able to communicate with him that we'd also like food. He immediately swooped over with a menu from the other place, seems they were collaborative. Perfect! A chicken kebap and Doner kebap later, we were lovin' life. Bring us another Tuborg, if you please, sir! He then put on a "so-bad-it-was-good" Turkish cd with covers of American tunes on it. Jeff and I were highly amused to hear the Turkish Julio Iglesis blasting thru "To All The Girls . . . " Okay, now some techno . . . . Jeff identifies it as a Crystal Method cd. Bonus! By now, the owner's friend has stopped by, as well as the guy from next door with his cute little boy. We all hang out at the bar, having a helluva time talking about skiing and snowboarding - pictures say a thousand words! We've also got a small Turkish dictionary, so we're able to coverse pretty well. The owner of this place seems really pleased to have partons that are from so far away, and we're really charmed by him. Somehow Jeff starts babbling about tequila, and the proper way to drink a shot of it - with the salt and lemon. We're in trouble. I decline the tequila, but partake of the Raki. I mean, when in Turkey . . . . pretty soon, we're all dancing, laughing and drinking. Jeff and I finally roll out at about 2 AM, and blearily stagger back to the Cesmali. Morning. Headache. Must drive. TOUT VA BIEN 0-224-224-96-33 Inonu Cd. No. 7/B (Sonmez is Sarayi Karsisi) BURSAnext door: DERGAH, Corba ve Isgara Salonu We were happy to leave Bursa, as there is not much there. An enchanted evening with a bunch of burly Turkish men, but how many times can you repeat that? Slightly hung over, Jeff and I press on towards Izmir. Well. Never have either of us experienced such an awful city as Izmir (save Gary, Indiana). As we drove, through rush hour traffic, I was nearly overcome by the fumes. I missed the US's stringent car emission controls for a bit. Every time a truck took off, the passenger side got BLASTED with hot, black diesel smoke. It left me coughing a number of times, my eyes teary from the smoke. Most of the shops I saw by the side of the road seemed to be car repair shops, themselves in bad need of repair. I clutched a tee shirt in front of my face, masking the fumes, while Jeff valiantly drove on. The sun blazed, and we choked on the dust. For a bit, I had the map stuck between the window and the door, blocking out the rays until it got too hot in the car to leave the window up anymore. When I pulled the map in, I shrieked as a bee fell out of the half-folded map. Jeff bravely saved me from the offending bee, quickly tossing it out of the car, while I flailed about, no help at all. Hey, can I help it if I'm scared of bees? This was easily the craziest driving we'd (well, Jeff did all the driving, this is his opinion, and he's driven in Lisbon, Portugal!) experienced outside of Istanbul. The vehicles ranged from modern buses, cars, and vintage American cars to a horse and buggy driven by a woman apparently coming home from the fields! As we drove towards the outskirts of the city, our nostrils were assaulted by a sickening smell. A black stagnant pond with dead fish? No . . . . raw sewage dump. NO fish. No reason to stop . . . on to the Mediterranean! |
