Am I Corn or Kale?

Marcelo’s account:

I had done my homework on Turkish bath procedures, so it was no surprise when I was guided to a private cabin where I could lock up my belongings and walk out wearing nothing but a small towel (“peshtemal”) wrapped around my waist.

As I stepped outside the cabin, I was greeted by a Turkish man with a grey mustache. He was twice as wide as me, and was wearing nothing but a towel as well — my masseuse, or bather, or whatever you would call it.

I followed him into the bath itself. The first domed room, with white tiles along the wall and a large marble table in the middle, was already quite warm, but my first mission would be to sweat profusely in order to open up my pores. We walked to a second room, also white but considerably hotter and with a marble sink near ground level, at which point we gestured towards a wooden door and sent me in. I walked alone into the hottest sauna I’ve ever seen; I had to breath slowly and carefully so as not to burn the inside of my respiratory tract, and within seconds my skin was completely moist.

I was half-hallucinating when I walked out on my own accord a few minutes later, wondering from room to room to find the large man. Eventually it was he who found me, and again he guided me to a different room, this one with several marble sinks. He made me sit down next to one and proceeded to dump hot water over my body. Then things got physical — it was time for the scrub of a lifetime, when I watched in horror as grey pieces of my dead skin fell off me as if I had been covered in Elmer’s glue. I thought I had mentally prepared myself for that, and I was wrong. Around that point, I couldn’t help but notice that the man’s enormous belly was very clean.

Though our language barrier was nearly impenetrable, I could tell that he was done with each step of the bath because he would slap my back with great force. We walked to the basin, where I laid down on top of another towel and had my body lathered in soap. For the second time (the first was before the scrubbing), the large man rearranged my peshtemal in order to cover a minimum portion of my body, thus allowing for maximum scrubbage. The marble slab was hot and my body felt the impending burn; I tried to suck it up and after a while, with the heat and the steam and the creamy foamy feeling that surrounded me, I felt almost delirious.

Massage followed. I’m not even going to beat around the bush here: it was painful. For a few seconds there I thought either my neck was going to break or my arm would be detached from my body. By the time I turned around with my belly facing up and the masseuse managed to crack my back by pressing most of his weight onto my folded arms, I looked up at the dome above me, with round holes arranged in a circle with sunlight shining through, and for a moment I was convinced that my childhood dream of being abducted by aliens had finally come true.

Another slap in the back, and I was free to stumble back to the basin room, where the guy made sure to wash my head using up half of the RTW-trip’s supply of shampoo. After that, I was left alone (not before the man made absolutely clear that he would appreciate being tipped for his services) to wash off whatever was left, and then sit, stupefied, pouring cold water on myself.

Eventually the large Turk came back and showed my to a dried set of towels. At that point, when things couldn’t possibly get more awkward than they had already been, they did — the man thought it would be important to show me how to properly wrap my peshtemal around myself, presumably so that next time I come to a Turkish bath I’ll know what to do. Naturally, that process involved me taking off my soaked towel and putting on the new, dry one the right way, which he proudly did (I must admit that the correct method makes much more sense than my Western technique).

I returned to my cabin, laid there for a few minutes drinking water, and after paying for everything I stepped outside to meet Norika in front of the nearby mosque and compare stories. Apparently, her service was short but equally intense. Her version of the mustached gorilla was an older, larger woman wearing nothing but a bright pink bikini bottom. I suppose she got me beat.

***

The next day we were not surprised to find out that our flight had been canceled. We were told to go to Turkish Airlines’ main office at Taksim Square, which gave us yet another opportunity to see more of Istanbul.  On the way there, we stopped at a dock to inquire about boats to Romania, but had no leads whatsoever.

Also unsurprisingly, the main office was total chaos. Aspiring flyers stood outside, waiting for their number to be called so their future could be rescheduled. When it was our turn, we were given the choice to fly to Vienna on the same day, Budapest on Wednesday, or Lisboa on Thursday (Amsterdam was a lost cause due to the insane backlog). Because we had already booked another night at our guesthouse, we went with plan B and just like that, here we are in Hungary.

***

Budapest is stunning. We stayed at the Lavender Circus, a hostel on the third floor of a 19th-century apartment building that caters specifically to young couples traveling on a budget; instead of the large dorms with multiple beds, this place only offered double rooms with shared bathrooms. In other words, it was exactly the kind of hostel we have been looking for all along. The owner was an extremely artsy/lover type (at night he would project silent films onto the walls of the building); 30 seconds after we arrived he was already pouring us glasses of Hungarian wine before showing us the place and letting us pick a room; he furnished and decorated every room with his art and antique furniture, making each one a unique environment. The Lavender Circus was the polar opposite of your typical Best Western fare. 

Budapest used to be two cities, Buda and Pest, sitting on opposite sides of the fabled Danube River. Buda has an old historical center, whereas Pest is more “modern” (19th-century buildings instead of much older). The hostel was located on the Pest side, right across from the National Muzeum that we did not go to.  Just a few blocks from our hostel was the Central Market (read: awesome food). Over our two full days in the city we tried six different kinds of rektes (basically a bulging strudel with 90% of its weight in the filling) and purchased other amazing picnic supplies.  

We crossed the beautiful green metal bridge (I still fail to remember its name) and spent our first day walking around the Buda side, through parks and around the citadel built in the Middle Ages.. We continued on to the old Buda Castle, the historical downtown, and the Fishermen’s Post. Buda is hilly, and from many spots one can see the enormous Parliament building (the biggest in Europe) sitting along the banks of the Danube River; this particular urban landscape is deservedly a UNESCO heritage site. 

 

 

The next day we got to ride the oldest underground train system in continental Europe (Hungary is full of surprises). We stopped at the train station to buy tickets in advance and then walked toward to the Heroes’ Square. Norika recollected that on her first trip to Hungary (when she was 12) the tour guide spent an excessive amount of time explaining the background of each of the numerous men depicted on the statues surrounding the square. We quickly walked by them and then went on with day’s real plan: to visit a Hungarian thermal bath — apparently, Hungary has the second-most thermal waters in the world; fateful Iceland is first.

I wasn’t sure what to expect (especially because Hungarians call these places “spas”), and I think we were both a bit hesitant to go — especially once we found out that the outdoor swimming pool would be closed for cleaning. Fortunately, there were two more outdoor pools, one of them with awesome jets and currents that made the place feel more like a water park; the other was even hotter (38 degrees Celsius, which essentially made it a huge hot tub) and, much to my personal amazement, featured big old Hungarian men hunched over chess boards. The indoor section was even more impressive: dry and steam saunas of different temperatures, aromatic hot tubs and pools of different sizes and shapes, etc. There were so many sections that we did not have time go everywhere we wanted! Either way it was a worthy experience, completely different from our Turkish bath a few days prior but also quite old school. We left the spa rejuvenated and were not too bothered that the free concert at the St. Stephen’s Basilica we had heard about was simply not happening.

That night we had our best Hungarian meal yet (noodles with curd cheese and bacon, and Hungarian sausage with pita and the most incredible mustard) and the next morning at the station we tried the greasy Langoz (a thick and salty elephant ear served with a type of sour cream and cheese), though these meals were nothing compared to what awaited us on our next stop.

 

***

Late Saturday morning we arrived in Pecs. We were searching for another place to visit in Hungary on our way to Slovenia, and found this to be the perfect place for a weekend stop — even though we did not know the city was one of the 2010 European Capitals of Culture until our couch surfing friends informed us.  This was our first couch surfing experience and we stayed with an awesome couple named Geri and Nelli who are both lawyers–funny!  We immediately clicked with them and though we only spent two nights there it was hard to say goodbye. 

Another lucky coincidence of the weekend was that the PEN festival was going on in Pecs (by the way, Pecs is pronounced “paech”).  We got to meet many of Geri and Nelli’s awesome friends during a pre-game party.

PEN is a university music festival that lasts four nights and it was probably best that we only caught the final night because it was more than enough fun!  Set among several buildings of an old leather factory there were four stages, a dance bus, and our favorite: the silent disco. Peeking into the room while waiting in line provided the silly sight of hundreds of people dancing to no music at all. Looking more closely, we noticed that the dancing people had headphones on and were all holding some sort of walkman/music players. Once in, we found out that was a sort of handheld radio broadcasting two “stations”, so everyone in the room is actually dancing to one of two different songs, which becomes quite comical when one of the songs call for you to sing along.

We were responsible enough to leave our camera at the house; it appeared that most people at the festival were operating on some level of drunkenness, including the workers at the food tents (Marcelo somehow got paid to eat pizza — he handed a 500 bill and got 600 back, which made up for an earlier moment when we were slightly ripped off).

*** 

The next day Nelli had to take the afternoon train to Budapest, where she works, so we accompanied her and Geri on some errands on the way to the train station.  Again, lucky for us, this involved stopping at Nelli’s mom’s house to eat some delicious food.  Before rice & breaded pork patties and poppy seed cake for dessert, we had the best cabbage soup ever. Dropping her off at a tiny train station was a lot more melancholic than we could have ever expected, and we are certain we will see her and Geri again. 

After that Geri took us on a quick detour to a traditional, small town bar that gave us a poignant taste of less glamorous lifestyles (it‘s still OK to smoke indoors in Hungary, and apparently it‘s also OK to bring your little infant baby with you when you are drinking and smoking a Sunday afternoon away).

We drank our coffees and drove to the next village to stop by Nelli’s grandparents house. We briefly met them, a painfully sweet older couple who we also hope to see again. Like Nelli’s mom, they also gave Geri a bag of food (fresh honey, homemade salami, etc.). We loved to see how much of the food at Geri and Nelli’s was homemade: even the palinka (Hungary’s signature spirit) was distilled by Geri’s grandfather! After a few more errands and some driving through the countryside, we took a short walk through Pecs’ recently remodeled main  historical square and then went back to the apartment to eat sandwiches and watch a movie (Nelli‘s recommendation was “Two Days in Paris“, in honor of our itinerary change). Our marvelous stay in Pecs — and Hungary — was coming to an end.  

It seemed absurd at first, but over the past few days we grew more used to the bizarre reality that our scheduled arrival to Europe has coincided with the greatest disruption in the history of aviation. When I first related the news to a half-asleep Norika on our first night in Istanbul, she must have thought it a dream: “of course an Icelandic volcano has cast a gigantic cloud of ash over the entire continent…” zzz.

To make matters more challenging, we heard back from my relatives in Northern Italy and they won’t be in Lucca during our planned stay there — good thing we have sorely slacked on the reservations department. We suppose that’s just the jolt of spontaneity our trip needed. Naturally, we have devised a series of alternative plans in case we can’t fly to Holland tomorrow afternoon; we may fly to Barcelona instead, or better yet (if we can’t fly at all), find a boat that would take us to Romania and travel across Eastern Europe, completely scratching the Netherlands and France off our itinerary. Who knows.

***

These concerns have definitely not stopped us from enjoying the present moment. Istanbul is a marvelous city and one of our favorite stops thus far. It is beautiful, chaotic, somewhat walkable and it oozes history. It also happens to be about 50 degrees cooler than the last few places we’ve been in, but having eaten baklava almost everyday, how can we complain?

Like many other fabled great cities (i.e. Rio de Janeiro), Istanbul is defined by its geography. It sits partly in Europe and partly in Asia, relying on seven bridges as well as ports and boats to connect the two sides. There is nothing plain about this place — unless you are right by the water, most of the time you will be either walking up or down steep road; in effect, this not only represents a valuable work out opportunity for overweight tourists, but also generates beautiful views of neatly stacked multicolored buildings at a distance.

***

Our guesthouse room may have left something to be desired, but our breakfasts on the terrace are delicious and feature a stunning view of the Blue Mosque.

The mosque’s architecture was heavily based on the building it sits opposite to: the Hagia Sophia (except that was built nearly a 1000 years before… in 537 A.D.!!!)

Although we don’t plan on going to too many museums during our Europe leg, Istanbul was a necessary exception, if anything because its two most famous museums (Hagia Sophia and the Topkapi Palace) don’t carry much artwork — instead, the buildings themselves often ARE the artwork. The Blue Mosque (which charges nothing for admission, as it is actually a functioning mosque, blaring prayers from its impressive six towers five times a day) and the Hagia Sophia are so massive in size and design that our camera had a hard time figuring out what to focus on: there were simply too many arches, windows, domes.

Blue Mosque:

Hagia Sophia:

In contrast, the Topkapi Palace was not a single large construction, but rather a series of courtyards with scattered buildings throughout. It was more museum-y as it featured expositions of Ottoman objects (weapons, jewels, thrones, etc.); the most jaw-dropping relics contained obscene amounts of emerald and ivory; the strangest included the supposed staff of the prophet Moses, samples of Mohammed’s beard and other antiques of questionable authenticity. Most viewing rooms did not allow photographs.

We also let curiosity take us into the creepy underground world of the Basilica Cistern, also built in the 500s. There is not much to say about it: it’s just a dark, wet, and fascinating place to be.

***

Eventually, we decided to experience the intense realm of Turkish commerce. The notorious Grand Bazaar is indeed overwhelmingly grand, possibly the world’s first shopping maze. Our first time there was nearly traumatic; out of at least 20 entrances, we happened to walk in through the one full of jewelry hagglers angrily yelling on their cell phones, something we thought only happened at stock market exchanges. After a while we made it to more friendly grounds and got lost wandering through the isles and narrow roads around the covered section.

The Egyptian Bazaar (also known as the Spice Bazaar) was cooler. First of all, it was smaller and thus a more manageable market to explore. The colorful shops offered more edible items than the ones at the Grand Bazaar: spices, teas, sweets, and dried goods were mostly inside, while the outdoor shops sold everything from cheese and fish (one of the shops had a whole blue marlin laying on its stand) to kitchen ware. We followed the plan we devised a long time ago and stocked up on almonds, hazelnuts, and apricots (a total of 3 pounds of goods!) so that the Old World won’t lead us to starvation with its prohibitive food costs.

Finally, we discovered crazy shops under the Galata Bridge selling leggings and fake soccer jerseys for roughly $3 a piece. As he ripped open plastic packages and tossed shirts into large disorganized mountains of shirts, the man at the soccer jersey shop yelled a lot of things that would probably remain unintelligible even if we understood Turkish.

***

On Sunday, we embarked on a short boat tour of the Bosphorus; it was cool and windy, but worth it for the nice views of the greater Istanbul, including the Ortakoy Mosque and the awesome Fortress of Europe.

***

Monday is theoretically our last full day here, so we wanted to get a little more adventurous and explore a less touristy part of Istanbul. We crossed the Galata Bridge and walked away from the Golden Horn in search of a particular Turkish bath that (despite being unable to find much information on it online) we hoped would have a more local flavor than the hamams around the Sultahnamet area: the Buyuk Hamam, which was built in friggin’ 1533. Of course, we were also hoping that the full treatment would be considerably cheaper than the 40+ euros that the places nearby were charging. I am happy to say in advance that we were successful on both accounts.

Because the hamam’s male and female sections are completely separate (only the most touristy ones aren’t so), we each set out on our own culturally shocking adventure.

To be continued…

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