We're deconditioned as travelers. As we've aged in debt,
we've not traveled abroad since living abroad.
The train ride up to Seattle, the night in a scarier
hotel near the airport in SeaTac than I'm confident we'll experience while
we're in Turkey, the 10+ hour flight to Amsterdam, the additional 3+ hour
flight to Istanbul, the sea of 'Other Nationalities' people we waited at length
in customs with, the Metro plus tram combo we reluctantly relied on pleasant
locals to help us understand, and walking through the main square nestled
between the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofya with our blonde hair and our bright
clothes blazing--but most apparent of all--the clicks and clattering of a 35
pound suitcase's small wheels ringing out from attempting to navigate the
cobblestone roads... it was all exhausting. It was hard to appreciate in
the moment, but no doubt--we'd worked our asses off to get here. That would
only make what came next sweeter.
We finally found our hostel, many thanks to all of the
carpet and kebap sellers out in the streets looking for just our type to build
good will with and hand us their card for later consideration--assuming they
fail to coax us in with compliments ("nice couple" being the most
common refrain; being called "Antonio Banderas and Jennifer Lopez"
the most puzzling) or a complimentary coffee or tea.
The gal at the hostel is an American from Tennessee
living here and dating a Turkish man. She gathered the new arrivals together
and went through the map of the city with us and was more than generous with
suggestions. Meanwhile, my ass was feeling like mince meat from sitting
throughout the long journey, I was sweating from fighting to get the luggage
over every cobblestone between the tram station and the hostel, and I hadn't
slept in roughly 24 hours. Regardless, I was determined to get out and
get a taste of this place on our first night here. Becca felt the same,
in every way.
Although we'd read and been told that fish places in the
city are pricier and we'd been planning to get our fill of fish along the
Aegean coast in the next phase of our trip; we took the tip from the hostel
folks that a fish place just down the way owned by a nice old man was a good
place to start our culinary quest in this country. And it was. We had a
fantastic tasting aubergine and pepper dish that I don't really know the name
of nor what was in it more specifically than that. We also had a lovely salad
and sea bass. We washed it down with water, mostly; followed by Raki (the milk
of the lion [a grape liqueur flavored with anis]).
As much as we tried to mutter the phrases we'd pained to
learn in Turkish during the exchanges with the restauranteur and his staff, it
was clearly unnecessary and they were perhaps pleasantly inconvenienced by our
efforts to communicate in anything other than English.
In the middle of dinner, an imam broke out into song and
prayer nearby as though it was piped through tsunami warning system stations
throughout the city and that is when the long and difficult journey fresh in
our minds washed away. The taste of the aubergine dish, the taste of Raki, the
looks on the locals faces when they would see each other and interact, straining
to pick out the few Turkish phrases we'd learned in hearing their exchanges. A
time to be thankful and reflect to be certain.
After dinner, we walked back through that main square
nestled between the two titanic, ancient buildings we planned to see the next
day. This time we were unburdened by our luggage, but we still stood out in the
crowd and the shopkeepers let us know it--continuing to call out to us.
At one point, we walked past an establishment that featured a live band
pounding out the tunes inspiring a Whirling Dervish to whirl and whirl. The
square was alive with throngs of people--most of whom appeared to be locals.
They were happy and loud and bright. A food cart for Ottoman ice cream featured
an incredibly enthusiastic young man working a very long spoon in amazing ways
to load ice cream onto a cone--he had a great many tricks that delighted his
customers--even as they waited in line. All of this buzzing occurred around a
military vehicle parked in the middle of the square, parked in an unlit area
under a tree, with the mounted gun covered and seemingly decommissioned (if
only temporarily) with approximately four soldier-looking police playing games
at a picnic table nearby.
After we snapped some photos of the big, beautiful
building facades and the large fountain putting on a multicolored water show at
their feet, we worked our way back to the hostel and we mercifully passed out
as soon as we hit the sheets.
I couldn't sleep through the night, though. A dog whining
in the alley. A drunkard trying to get into our room. Thunder and lightning
followed by rain. I took a piss and closed the window and before I knew it, at
4:44 a.m., an imam was blaring out in prayer over the city again--and a big
smile spread across my face.
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