Wanderlust Heaven!

My final day in Odesa, and by extension Ukraine, was fairly lazy, even by my standards.  It had gotten pretty cold and felt a lot like New England…the old buildings, the falling leaves, the crisp air.  My overnight bus trip had worn me out, and I just felt like lying about reading…but managed to get up and do some strenuous exercises:  abdominals, resistance cord, and then a good run around Shevchenko Park as darkness fell.  It’s rare I manage to put those different exercise bits together – afterwards  I felt simultaneously refreshed and spent.

Hotel Passazh had a ‘European Business Center’ downstairs which had wireless, so got on the web.  Exchanged Skype messages with John in Shanghai, who was in ballistic mode because he’s been drinking the local milk and realized that he might have consumed 10 liters of milk in the past couple months – milk that might have contained melamine, of which you’ve by now no doubt heard.  I completely understood his fury – even though it comes with the territory, in China things are rarely what they seem.  The scandal is even showing up on Ukrainian television.

Checked out the ‘Chumby,’ a bizarre, nearly formless Internet-enabled device thatcan do about 100 different things, but seems to have no core application.  Anyone have one of these?  Thoughts?  Seems to be a poster child for retail therapy, methinks…

Friday night – not in an especially frisky mood.  Had a couple beers at Mick O’Neills…walked by Captain Morgans but it was packed and they were turning people away…ducked into Pobeda but it had a weak vibe and didn’t feel that inviting.  I decided to take it easy and not try for a memorable last night in Ukraine.  And, in truth, I was ready to roll on.  I had generally liked Ukraine, and Odesa in particular is an excellent city…but four months in the ex-Soviet lands had been enough.  If I had had a great social network here, it would be different, but I was ready for things to come a little easier – logistics, social life, etc.  In SouthEast Asia everything’s at your fingertips, and making friends is effortless.  I think it’s still my favorite region, but am keeping an open mind and I do enjoy the contrasts between places.  Ukraine and Turkey – that will be a huge contrast, I’m sure.

Saturday midday, went down the Potemkin Steps to the boat terminal, where I was supposed to register for that evening’s boat to Istanbul.  Registration was predictably annoying – the UkrFerry window was shut and the sign had ’13.30’ as the time of re-opening.  It was now ’13.50’.  Re-opening actually occurred at ’14.25’ so I had stood there for over a half-hour, along with a slew of other passengers and hangers-on.  I had spotted the boat, the MV Caledonia, on my way into the terminal – fairly large, although not luxury-cruise size.  Probably the largest boat I’ve been on since my time in the Philippines…I should make an effort to do more sea journeys.  But I’m getting ahead of myself here…

Finally registered, was told to return at 7 p.m. for boarding.  Easy enough.  Had a few hours before then, mostly spent them walking around the city, taking in the sights and sounds.  Noticed a bank advertisement offering 10% deposit returns on US$.  Returns on the Ukrainian gryvnia were more like 17%, but the inflation rate is high here so that would eat away much of that.

Tried to use the balance of my mobilephone credits.  Can check emails here with my phone, so have been especially good about staying on top of them – feels a bit like being back at work, but I do hate have 75 emails in my inbox.

Took care of stupid little things (which could snowball and become issues), like repairing my backpack raincover.  This sheet, from REI, is useful in protecting my pack from dust and dirt as well as rain, but it’s a bit flimsy and gets torn easily.  Found a store selling ‘scotch’ (that’s what scotch tape is called out here), bought a roll and fixed up the cover.  Felt a minor sense of accomplishment.  I wouldn’t say I was killing time – fixing the cover truly was important, OK? – but I was semi-anxious to get on the boat and head out on the Black Sea already.

Walked by a Turkish restaurant, Turkuaz, which was offering some meal deal.  Tempting, but I’d be in Turkey soon enough.  Turkish and Greek food are amongst my favorites and I fully expect a gastronomic blowout once I hit Istanbul…there are so many superb cuisines in this world, it’s hard to imagine more diversity and better offerings.  If I had to choose a last meal, I’d have real trouble doing so.

There seem to be no KFCs in Ukraine – odd.  Plenty of McD’s, zero KFCs.  I’d always thought, and I’m sure written in this blog, that fried chicken is the world’s favorite food, pizza perhaps being right up there too.  But that doesn’t seem to be the case out here.  I stand corrected…

Walked to the hotel to get my pack.  Went by a shop blasting out the New Radicals song ‘You Get What You Give,’ a great track on a great album.  I think the New Rads only had that one album, not sure what happened to them.

Got my pack.  Wanted to take a taxi down the hill to the boat terminal, was told by hotel reception it would cost 20-25 gryvnia.  But when I went outside and talked to the cabbies hanging out there, they wanted 50, and wouldn’t budge.  It’s always better to flag down a cabbie in motion than one parked at a stand, but I didn’t see anyone coming so was forced to deal with the cabbies at hand.  They were obviously in legion on this – I asked 3, and got the same response.  Well, fuck them.  I wasn’t paying US$10 for a 2 kilometer ride down the hill, I wanted to save my remaining gryvnia for food/drink at the terminal or on the boat.  I hitched up my pack and walked.  I had just enough time and, besides my basic economic objection, I refused to reward stupid Ukrainian cabbies for their thieving ways.  I was more than happy to be done with these crooks and to travel to places with either cheap taxis, or at least metered taxis.  Good riddance.

Reached the terminal, boarding was just starting.  The usual chaos…no real queues, people with shocking amounts of luggage (smugglers, natch), and confusion about the process.  Eventually we filtered through Ukrainian immigration and customs.  No problem.  I noticed a few ancient ‘CCCP’ Soviet passports on the officer’s desk – I’d pay good money to have one of those for nostalgia’s sake.  Remember the Soviet Union?  It’s been almost 20 years since it collapsed…and I still can hardly believe it.

The duty-free store at the terminal was laughable.  Tiny shop, crammed with two things:  booze and butts.  There was zero pretext of limiting alcohol carried onto the ship – unlike luxury cruises where they work hard to ensure that you consume their pricey liquor.  In the FSU, alcohol is king and it’s a god-given right to carry your body weight with you wherever you go.

There was a concert at the top of the Potemkim Steps, it was reaching fever pitch as the boat got ready to pull out.  Were the good people of Odesa sending me off in style, or were they celebrating my departure from their land?

My cabin on the MV Caledonia was a shoebox.  Not only was it smaller than the master bathroom at Dad & Ellen’s place in Boston…it was far smaller.  And there were 4 bunk-beds in there.  Yowza.

I hoped I wouldn’t have the full load of cabinmates, but they all showed up.  First, Ibrahim, a 25-year-old Turk who was in the apparel (smuggling) business in Odesa and apparently had just lost US$1,000 at a roulette table.  He had a bottle of Jack Daniels with him and was in the mood to drink.  There went any concerns I had that my cabinmates would be hardcore Muslims who would be praying the entire voyage.

Ibrahim was a real wild child – got right into the whiskey (I had my own bottle of Russian cognac and did the same), all the while telling me he was a ‘hooligan’ and that he preferred smoking reefer because that didn’t give him a headache the next morning.  I half-expected him to pull out a hash-pipe but I guess he hadn’t wanted to risk that.  I wasn’t sure how to feel about Ibrahim – I was happy to have a lively cabinmate and sidekick, but I also wondered how he’d mutate as the evening and voyage went on.  I’d see soon enough…

Ibrahim also told me he had heard that George W. Bush is Jewish.  As context, I had told him I was Canadian..that was my cover for the trip.  But, of course, conversation turned at one point to world events and politics, and I had to spend some time convincing Ibrahim that W. is a Christian fundamentalist and not a Jew.  I think I won him over, but it was a fight I was not expecting.

Our two other cabinmates showed up.  Both older Turkish fellows, I believe they were doing construction work in Ukraine.  Normal enough guys – one had no more than 3 teeth, but wasn’t shy about it.

Our cabin was right near the ‘Disco Bar’ and Ibrahim and I gravitated towards that after draining much of our respective bottles of liquor.  We plopped (fell) down on a couch and I drank a couple beers while we attempted a conversation over the incredibly loud pop music.  Ibrahim was getting sloppy and at one point I feared he’d vomit all over me (or worse, my mobile).  I’ve written on several occasions that my internal sense of doom is usually accurate – stay tuned for more proof.

At one point I was pretty sure I heard the song ‘Shabbat Shalom.’  But I’m really not too sure…

My Soviet cognac was nasty stuff – right up there with Ibrahim’s Jack Daniels.  Both of us were probably in over our heads…then again, as long as it wasn’t vodka, I’d be fine.  I wasn’t too sure about Ibrahim, though.  He might have been a hooligan, but he didn’t make it past midnight.  I think I fell asleep in the disco for a few minutes – I didn’t recall one of my other cabinmates being in the disco, but when I turned my head there he was.  He smiled at me like I was insane.  He and cabinmate #4 weren’t drinkers, but I also wouldn’t really call them well-behaved.  There were a few Ukrainian lasses on board who were heading to Istanbul for ‘some work.’  Cabinmate #4 was hanging all over one of them, and it was a sorry sight.  It occurred to me that there might have been a solid reason for my lack of sea travels in the past few years.

Not sure what time I finally went to sleep.  But the seas were very rough that night, and I awoke to the sound of Ibrahim in the upper bunk across from me, rolling around in agony.  Then he leaned over and dry-heaved…my damage control sensors went into hyperdrive, I reached down to the tiny table and grabbed a plastic bag, thrusting it into Ibrahim’s hands.  A carpetful of vomit in that tiny room would have been sheer hell.  I silently cursed Ibrahim as he continued to do his thing…I figured he was a weak drinker…but then it occurred to me that he might just be sea-sick, with the Jack D merely an accomplice.  I gave him the benefit of the doubt – later on he did claim that it wasn’t the whiskey, it was the waves.

That day was shrouded in mist.  I managed to straggle upstairs for breakfast – not that my stomach was in great shape, either – cognac and waves both played a role.  I sat outside and stared at the horizon to calm my stomach down.  Popped my last promethazine tablet, which is part of the famed ‘Coast Guard Cocktail.’  I forget what’s the other half.  The problem is that once you start feeling sick, it’s too late to take the medicine.  But this seemed to help.  Went back in the cabin – Ibrahim was understandably still out cold, but so were my other cabinmates.  Sleeping looked like a great idea…reading would have been iffy given the seas and my stomach, and I wasn’t comfortable pulling out my laptop and watching a DVD, given the company.  Slept till lunch…ate a bit, then down to the deck for more gazing…and finally back to the room.

Ibrahim was actually getting worse – he had another puking session, at which point I helped him to the doctor’s quarters, where they jabbed him with something that seemed to take effect quickly.  Back in the room, the old goat cabinmate had invited a few of the Ukrainian girls in for a drink (of our booze, natch – he had none of his own).  Jesus, Ukrainians can drink.  Ibrahim and I were too tired to complain, and eventually the girls took off.  I suspect one of them was giving grandpa a hand job under the covers – I have a piece of evidence but it’s not bulletproof.

We then slept all afternoon.  I haven’t slept that much in a 24-hour period in years.  Awoke to calmer seas, and Ibrahim’s settled belly.  Got up and had a beer from the bar…watched the sun go down (should have taken a photo of that – exquisite)…and pondered the remaining stretch of the journey.  A little Ukrainian kid was running around and pretending to shoot me, he was somehow connected to the Ukrainian girls (son of one of them?  Scary thought.)  I was inspired by the orange setting sun, mellow seas, and relaxed feeling, and belted out a bold version of ‘Love Boat,’ which the little kid absolutely loved.  For the rest of the night he was bugging me to sing – I think I did another rendition once or twice.

Went to dinner – last meal on the boat.  Food was altogether forgettable throughout, but that was expected.  A 36-hour voyage for US$190, what do you expect?  At my table was a tall skinny fellow who was rather quiet.  I also wasn’t feeling too social, but we eventually started talking.  Turns out he’s a German mathematics/physics teacher named Hartmut who’s on a 9-month sabbatical, and is traveling through these lands en route to Iran, where he once spent a few months.  Intriguing guy – well-traveled and very thoughtful.  I seemed to recall him dancing around in the disco the previous night, his head bumping into the ceiling.  But don’t quote me on that, I was probably seeing things…

Took it easy that night – just a couple beers at the disco.  One of the Ukrainian girls sat next to me, we tried to have a chat but it wasn’t easy.  Besides language barriers, there may have been cognizance issues…

Seas stayed pretty calm and I think I slept fairly well.  One concern I had was that I’d sleep too long and miss our passage through the famed Bosporus Straits, separating the Black Sea from Istanbul and the Sea of Marmara.  We were supposed to reach Istanbul by 8 a.m., which meant that we’d enter the Bosporus around 6:30 a.m. or so.  Somehow I got up exactly as we came upon the straits, the boat seemed to rock a bit more, probably because of nearby boats.  I got up, dressed, grabbed my camera, and went to the top deck to check out the views.  Which were spectacular – I’d been to Istanbul once, briefly, but hadn’t really seen the straits, nor much else.  Saw Hartmut up on the deck and we resumed our conversation.  As we took photos and hung out, we implicitly decided to hang out together in the city that day.

Got to the docks a little late, but then had to wait a while.  Turks got off first and foreigners had to chill.  Hartmut gave me some of his oranges and apples and I was totally relaxed – in no hurry to shoulder my pack and start walking.  Eventually we were let off the ship, and we went into the terminal to clear customs/immigration.

Funny process – the scanners weren’t in service, so a single guy went through people’s bags.  As for immigration, they had our passports and a fellow would just yell out an approximation of someone’s name, that person would then go up and pay for the visa, collect his/her passport, and go back to fetch bags and clear customs.  Low-tech, but OK.  Hartmut and I were ‘processed’ at the same time, and we were waved right through customs without even a cursory check of our bags.  ‘Midnight Express’ crossed my mind…interestingly enough, the prison in that movie is now the Four Seasons Istanbul, rooms going for US$800/night.

That was the start of a very enjoyable day, one of the most pleasant I’ve had in the past two or so years on the road.  We got some cash, then found a modest little café right near the Galata Bridge, where we sat for an hour, drinking tea and eating kebabs.  Kebabs for breakfast – you heard it here.  Then we walked over the bridge into Old Istanbul, up the hill into the Sultanahmet area, which is the touristy part of town, OK, but you’re a stone’s throw away from the Blue Mosque, Aya Sofya, and Topkapi Palace.  Hartmut needed to find a room, I had one booked.  We parted ways for a couple hours and did our thing, then met again to check out the Blue Mosque and the neighborhood.  He’d been here 5 years before, so knew more than I and showed me around.

The Blue Mosque:

We were both starving, and after seeing the interior of the Blue Mosque we noticed a vendor selling potatos stuffed with all sorts of ingredients.  It’s called ‘kumpir’ and puts the Wendy’s Chili and Cheese version to shame.  The vendor whips the potato and even adds extra potato, then butter and cheese, peas, beets, a bit of meat, sauces, etc.  The thing is a mound of food and is more than a meal.  One of the strangest things I’ve eaten.  Not quite as strange as Kyrgyzstani breizol, but not far behind…

It was raining, but the air temp was cool and comfortable, I suspect the summer would have been hot as hell.  We had a nice long walk, from the Blue Mosque to the Hippodrome park, over to Topkapi gardens, then down the hill to the Golden Horn – we were ready for a beer or two, and were most likely to find one under the Galata Bridge, where there’s a string of cafes and shops, like a Turkish version of Florence’s Ponte Vecchio.  Found a great little place and had some Efes drafts while the sun set.  It was still Ramazan (Ramadan), and it can be a challenge to get a drink here, but there are places and this was one of them.  No big deal.  It’s actually a pretty good time to visit, at sunset people are ready to feast and there’s a huge amount of activity and buzz in the air.  I hear that after Ramazan the discos and bars get very busy again, I’ll be back in mid-October and will check ‘em out then.

Hartmut and I were both pretty beat by this point, and meandered back to Sultanahmet.  We sidetracked to the Spice Bazaar, where we both bought some sweets.  I don’t really have a sweet tooth, but some of the products they have here are irresistible.  I bought a bag of walnuts covered in some sort of amber candy, a bit like honey.  Excellent.  After a few months in ex-Sovietland, the foods of Turkey are simply mind-blowing.

Got a bit lost going home.  Wandered into what seemed some sort of graveyard, which eventually opened into a courtyard where tea and waterpipes (narjileh) were on offer.  We sat down (were escorted to a tourist section, to be accurate), and had some tea and a waterpipe.  Very relaxing – a fine way to spend my first night in Istanbul.

Stopped for a plate of meatballs (kofteh) before getting back to the pension.  I think it will prove difficult here to maintain my girlish figure…Istanbul probably has some of the world’s best street food, right up there with Bangkok.  I still rate Tokyo the best eating city on earth, but that might be challenged.

The guy at the front desk is named Asi, sounds like Ozzie in English.  I asked him if he had heard of Ozzie Osbourne – I believe he had.  I try not to be a stupid tourist but sometimes succumb…

Had noticed a few things during the long day running around Istanbul.  One:  many women wear headscarves here.  I’d heard the practice was growing, but perhaps one in three women (in the Old City, anyway) were wearing them.  Two:  Turks are good at looking a bit stylish while hanging around town.  Many guys wear an old sport coat, for instance.  Three:  Istanbul is very touristy compared to Ukraine or Russia, but I was not unhappy about that – at least you can get your laundry done without hassle, you can get tickets and change money easily, etc.  A bit of infrastructure can be worth the annoyance of nasal American voices all round you…

Next morning, got up early, had breakfast on the pension’s rooftop (commonplace here), and visited the historic Aya Sofia, aka Hagia Sofia, which until 1453 was the largest church in the world.  Then the Ottomans took the city and converted it into a mosque.  If you’re interested in more history than that, there’s lots online to read, but I’ll just say that the interior of the now-museum is absolutely massive in scale and is astonishing in its design and style – even if you’re good and sick of churches, as I’ve become, this place really stands out as one of the top buildings in the world.  And the Ottomans left many Christian frescoes and mosaics in place – right above the imam’s pulpit there’s a mosaic of Jesus and Mary, still intact.  I guess Muslims consider Jesus an early prophet so no harm having his image there…

Next, walked across the street (the sights in Sultanahmet are that close) to the entrance to the Basilica Cistern, an underwater reservoir that was built by the Byzantines, then forgotten for centuries until a Dutch archaeologist found it in the 1500s.  There are still some old Ottoman houses with access to this body of water, and in fact it the Dutch explorer found it again because some people told him they could get fresh water by lowering a bucket from a hole in their basement, and could even catch fish sometimes.

This place is odd and captivating.  There are walkways over the water, and scores of old columns holding up the ceiling.  The water is everywhere – the air feels wet, and water drips from the ceiling.  Watch thy camera, oh tourist.  And fish swim in the waters, which are apparently still clean but who knows.

There’s also the obligatory ‘Cistern Café’ with overpriced food/drink, no one was sitting there when I visited the cistern.

Started to rain again.  I escaped by ducking into Karadeniz café and having a Turkish coffee and a bowl of lentil coup – mercimek, which is a bit like Indian dal bhat but is lighter in color and in flavor.  Rain eventually let up and I went out.  Had noticed that my flimsy daypack was ripped, yet again, and saw a tailor’s sign.  Went upstairs and found the shop – the tailor didn’t speak English but it wasn’t difficult to communicate my problem (the bag, that is).  He sat down and finished up his current job, and indicated that I sit on a chair nearby.

I read my guidebook for a couple minutes, then another customer came in and spoke with the tailor.  This guy then went behind the door, removed his pants, and handed them to the tailor.  I was a bit foggy from the rain and from all the morning’s sight-seeing, so I didn’t think much about this, just continued to peruse my guidebook.  At one point I looked up and saw the guy still standing behind the door, pant-less.  At that point I put the pieces together and started to laugh.  So did the guy, sheepishly.  The tailor soon joined in.  The customer spoke a bit of English and told me he ripped the seat of the pants jumping over a big rain puddle.  I laughed even louder, so did the other two.  We must have gone on for 5 minutes, until the tailor somehow finished repairing the guy’s pants and he paid and left.  Then the tailor finished my crappy little pack – he pretty much remade it, cut off the failing material and restitched it so that it should hold up for a while longer.  He’s a real tailor and did a nice job – my earlier rescue efforts were in the hands of FSU dezhurnas (floor ladies) who were willing, but not that able, it seems.

Funny episode.  I think there will be lots more to come here, the Turks seem pretty light-hearted and the place in general seems ripe for laughs.

The rains come and go here, and then there’s bright sunshine.  Reminds me of storms in Johannesburg, the sky would suddenly go dark, there’d be hellacious lightning and thunder, then pouring rains, and a few minutes later bright sun again.  Weird.

I continued to traipse by street-food vendors and storefronts and drool uncontrollably.  This sort of food really does it for me – must be genetic.  I’ve written before about conditions under which I’m likely to visit McDonald’s, i.e. countries with mediocre local food (Philippines), and countries with ridiculously overpriced local food (UK, Russia).  I think Turkey may be the country where I’m least likely to visit a McD’s – the local food is terrific, it’s fast, and it’s pretty cheap.  Even in Japan I’d hit a McD’s once in a while, just to sink my teeth into something solid…here, that’s just not an issue.

Had lunch (my third meal of that day) in a koftesisi (meatball place).  Sat at a table next to a Caucasian couple – we chatted a bit, they’re from New York and were on a Holland America cruise ship.  They had a local woman showing them around, and I copied their food and drink choices – a plate of meatballs, a dish of bean salad, and a yogurt drink.  All excellent.  The fellow was fun to talk to – we commiserated about the financial crisis, and he told me that he was on the phone with a friend, who noticed that Lehman had just declared bankruptcy and whose stock was at US$0.18 a share.  While they were talking it jumped a penny, and this fellow said that even in the worst of times, you can make 6% (do the math).  So perhaps it’s time to buy, or will be soon.  Of course, it all depends on what happens with the U.S. bailout package – I hope the government takes equity from the banks and shareholders first, before writing any checks.  They did that in Sweden in the 90s and while that was a smaller-scale situation, it was analogous and it worked well.  We should not let urgency overtake intelligence in this race…

I walked off my lunch in the Grand Bazaar, a collection of some 4,000 stores under roofs and open air.  Certainly a huge tourist trap, although there are good deals to be had and locals participate as well.  I just bought a Pantene shampoo – what else do I really need?  Sometimes I think I miss the point of these places, but I just like walking around and looking at a few things, I don’t generally feel any need to buy and thus be bathed in retail therapy.

When I entered the Bazaar I took a quick photo.  A vendor came over and said, ‘one photo, one carpet.’  I said that I had no home and no place to put it – I was just a traveler.  He said ‘how can you fly without a carpet?’  Clever – I’ll bet these guys have a book of quips memorized.  I told him I’d come and buy a carpet when I bought a place to live.  Powerless by now, he smiled and agreed.  I walked on.

Bought and read the International Herald Tribune, my first newspaper in four months.  All bad news,except for the Red Sox’s decent play and impending playoff bid.  They’re unlikely to win the division, but they’re alive and kicking, and are probably as good as anyone in the American League.  Let’s see.  Playoffs start next week.

Checked out my emails – the Pension has wireless, hallelujah.  Accoms standards here in Istanbul seem quite good – value isn’t superb, but they know what foreigners want and provide it, for a cost.  More than you can say for Ukraine…

Am experiencing an odd software problem – sometimes Skype doesn’t open when I boot up, and even when I double-click on the icon.  I usually get it to start by opening the Control Panel – perhaps Skype thinks I’m about to uninstall it (and sometimes I have that in mind), then it opens.  Any ideas?  The same is often true of iTunes, if Skype isn’t open then iTunes won’t open either.  Something is holding them back – is my CPU too busy?  Something else?  Help, dear readers.

Was feeling the effects of the incredible food here, so went for a long run along the Golden Horn.  There’s a good sidewalk/promenade that goes on for a long ways – flat, but because of the rains there were massive puddles I had to get around.  Still, a good run, I was sweaty and exhausted when I got back to the pension.  Asi laughed when he saw me.

Of course, I only ran because I want to overeat, so I showered and walked up Divan Yolu Caddesi to a little sandwich shop that specializes in fish.  I got a calamari sandwich for a few lira, it was terrific and reminded me of cheap calamares sandwiches I’ve had at Café Ideal right off Madrid’s Plaza Major.  Then I went back to the Karadeniz café, and had an Iskander kebab.  I was now seriously full, but while walking near the Blue Mosque I came across loads of people feasting in Ramadan fashion, and I got a small plate of baklava to cap things off.  Delicious, and super-rich.

You’d think I could hold no more in my stomach, but I managed to waddle down to North Shield Pub, and had a couple beers.  I was trapped there for some time by major-league rains that came out of nowhere, and I was lacking an umbrella.  Didn’t mind too much getting stuck at a bar…

Saw a photo in the IHT of the Islamabad Marriott, which was bombed the other day.  The place was gutted – looks like a construction site and not a luxury hotel that was damaged.  Apparently the President and his team were supposed to have dinner there, but there was a change of plans and they barely missed getting torched.  Coincidence?  Pakistan is a scary place these days, even new friend Hartmut is giving it a miss after he leaves Iran and heads to India…

Next morning, had breakfast on the terrace again, was joined by an older French-Aussie woman who had just arrived.  I told her what I had enjoyed thus far (I skipped the previous night’s food porn), then went downstairs, where I was supposed to meet Hartmut for a coffee.  He didn’t show after a half-hour, so I took off and continued my sight-seeing.  Visited the Suleiyman Mosque, named after Suleiyman the Magnificent, who’s buried there and who was probably the greatest of the Ottomon sultans.  Nice place, but I was more impressed with the view from the Golden Horn that I was with the up-front experience.

Walked down to the water, and found a restaurant I’d read about called Hamdi Et Lokanasi, famed for mezes and kebabs.  It’s on the 3^rd floor – went up and the views across the Horn were brilliant.  I stood there and took photos till a waiter came and seated me, on the balcony next to a Western couple.  Turned out they live in Key West, and were another cool American couple.  They were expressly not on a cruise ship, they’re independent travelers, and have really been around.   Ellen has been to backwaters like Burma and Laos, and Courtney has seen his share of countries as well.  We sat there eating and talking for well over an hour – they told me what they liked in and around Istanbul, I gave them pointers on Vietnam.

They were staying in Sultanahmet as well, right across the street from my pension.  I felt lucky to have randomly met them, they were great travel discussions partners.  Made me feel a bit better about being a gringo to meet dynamite folks like them.  Am I starting to sound at all like Michelle Obama?  Anyway, it goes without saying that we seemed to be politically aligned, and economically as well – Courtney and I bitched about our Goldman shares – but I think we’re both cautiously optimistic that they’ll climb one of these days…

Ellen and Courtney were both done or nearly finished with books they’re reading about Jordan, which they’re visiting next, and told me they’d drop off the books at my pension.  Very nice of them – English books in Turkey are outrageously expensive.  And sure enough, when I got back to the pension that evening, Ellen had left her book for me, it’s by Queen Noor and is about her adjustment to life in Jordan and that country’s nature and development.  I plan to eventually visit Jordan and this book should give me some much-needed background.  They got my blogsite from me and I think they may check in and read this post at some point – I hope they do.

Views from the resto:

I also had a note from Hartmut, he’d overslept that morning and apologized profusely.  He proposed meeting next morning for breakfast, but that wouldn’t work for me, so I emailed him proposing a drink that night, hoping he’d check email.

During the day I also visited Rustem Pasha Mosque, noteworthy mostly because they give out free Korans to visitors.  I might try to read mine, but expect to fail miserably.  I tried to read the Old Testament years ago and didn’t get far.

Got a haircut at the barber down the street.  He did a good job, there were only two things to note.  One, he had dragon-breath and at times I nearly passed out as he hovered over me.  Two, he was a bit too thorough – he cut my nose hairs (which weren’t that bad, really), and pulled out a lighter and proceeded to burn my ear hairs.  I’m serious – I’ve seen people lightly burn off threads on shirts, but never ear hairs.  A Turkish customer in the next chair was laughing, probably provoked by my nervous laughter, and then the barber joined in, much like the episode in the tailor’s shop the day before.  What is it about being in Turkish shops that’s so damn funny??

Went for another run along the Horn.  Came back, showered, went out for something to eat, and ran into Hartmut down the street.  He’d read my email and was coming to look for me.  Good timing.  We looked for, and soon found, a rooftop bar to grab a beer.  We lucked out with Southern Cross, the rooftop was very much like the rooftop bars in Hampi, India – lots of mattresses, pillows and blankets.  We had a couple large Efes drafts apiece and talked for two hours – about all sorts of topics.  Hartmut’s a teacher, and we talked about the teacher-student relationship – staying in touch after moving on, sexual tensions, etc.  I told him about teachers and professors who influenced me.  Miss Gibson, my first grade teacher, for whom I painted a picture of a frog on a lilypad that she hung on her wall and maybe still has hanging there.  Mister James, a high school English teacher who said one day in class that while the act of intercourse has become commoditized and debased, the simple act of kissing has remained pure and exciting.  And Professor Cid Scallett from business school, of whom I wrote fairly extensively last April, after my 15^th business school reunion – Cid was a deeply influential figure in my life, and although we didn’t communicate for 15 years, we recently re-connected and I hope we become close again as years go by.

We went out for a late-night feed after the beers, and we out till 1 a.m. or so.  Then we said goodbye – Hartmut was likely to get his Iranian visa the next day, then head east towards that country.  Our paths wouldn’t converge anytime soon, but we’ll keep in touch and perhaps meet again this winter/next spring in India or SE Asia.  I had a blast sitting around chatting with him – I really can’t say that about too many people.  Hartmut, godspeed.

BTW, there’s a real German angle here.  Hartmut got his Turkish visa for free (mine cost US$20), and many Turks speak German.  Germany for decades has had a guest worker program aimed at Turks, and millions of Turks live or have lived in Germany, creating an interesting link between the two nations.  It’s not always a perfect bond, but it’s unique.

It’s now Thursday morning, I’m racing to blast out this entry before checking out of the Side Pension.  There was just a knock on the door – I cursed for a second, thinking that management was jumping the gun on getting me to check out.  But it wasn’t management, it was Courtney, whom I’d met at the Hamdi restaurant the day before – he was done with his “Live from Jordan” book and was giving it to me.  Cool.  This book was written by an American student of Arabic, who spent a stretch in Amman and then Cairo, and wrote about his experiences there.  I’ve now got this book and the one by Queen Noor, as well as the Hungarian ‘Book of Fathers’ that Bert gave me in Budapest.  Those will keep me busy during some long bus and train rides here.  I’d better devote some time to reading one of these days, or I’ll have to lug all these books around for weeks.  Not the worst problem to have.

Alright, now management should be barging in on me, so I’ll wrap this up.  Going to meet a classmate from b-school later today, that should be good fun.  Over and out.

Tags: Travel

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