I did eventually drift off, only to be shaken awake by the bus conductor. We had reached the Greco-Turkish border and it was time for passport/visa checks. The first thing I noticed when exiting the bus was a swarm of mosquitoes. I loathe mosquitoes with a passion, and they are my least favorite creature on the planet Earth. If I had the power, I would kill every last one of them, and damn the ecological consequences. What annoys me most about mosquitoes, besides their tenacious vampirisms, was the fact that they are still around. Mankind has made extinct many creatures before, often accidentally, but sometimes purposefully. What irks me is here, in the 21st century, these bloodsuckers are still around. Not only are the little bastards pests, but they carry diseases like West Nile virus and malaria, making them accomplices to the deaths of many people every year. To conclude this tangent, we should eliminate mosquitoes worldwide with the same determination that made polio a pestilence of the past.
The border check was complicated, in that passports were checked by Greek authorities before everyone had to re-board the bus, drive 100 feet, stop, and have them checked by Turkish authorities. It made no sense why the Greeks had to check people leaving their country, but thinking on it more, it might have something to do with Greece having 2-year compulsory military service. “Compulsory” might be a strong word for it, but, essentially, if a Greek national does not complete his/her service, they are not issued a passport by the government. Perhaps the Greek border guards are simply trying to keep their people from “defecting”. Anyway, I obtained a three-month visa for 15 Euro (~$23) and re-boarded the bus. As it drove away from the checkpoint, a pack of wild dogs chased us down the road until the bus picked up adequate speed.
The bus arrived at the Istanbul station a little after daybreak. It was a beautiful sight to see, coming into the outskirts of Istanbul and seeing the sun peaking over mosque minarets in the distance. The place was a little confusing to get a hold of, mostly because the language was a bit much to tackle, and also because the place was bustling. Istanbul is a very large city with a lot of people. It is the bridge between the East and the West, and it is here that a rich trading tradition lies. Just outside of the bus terminal there were present hundreds of small shops in a market, lined up to sell wares and trinkets to weary travelers.
After some difficulty in finding the hostel, I was checked in and needed the afternoon to relax. A few hours later, I arose from a restful nap. I was staying in the tourist district, mainly the southwestern corner nestled up against the coast. From the rooftop of my hostel I could look out far into the Sea of Marmara and see many super freighters making the crossing from it to the Black Sea. The sun had already set but the last rays of light could be seen to west. The sun was probably in the process of setting over Greece, and I remember seeing the most beautiful sunsets there since leaving Arizona.
I went to dinner at a rooftop restaurant. I had something called a Turkish pizza, accompanied by buttered pita bread. Upon exiting the restaurant, stuffed and feeling content, I felt like ending the night with a round of hookah, or narghile, as the Turks call it. While walking, I had gotten used to ignoring anyone who came up to say hello to me, as it usually involved them soliciting a sale. However, when passing one restaurant, a stout young man in a catchy gold waiter’s uniform came up to me and asked “What is it you want?” I couldn’t fault the guy for his directness, and casually said “Narghile” while still walking. He asked me to take a seat and said it would be but a 10 minute wait. The price seemed right, so I sat and ordered a Coke. Ten minutes went by, and then fifteen, before I started wondering what was taking so long. It then occurred to me that I was sitting at a restaurant where no one else was smoking a narghile. I was about to leave a couple lira on the table and leave when the waiter came hurrying around the corner with narghile in hand. He set it down, adjusted the coals, and I was soon smoking ripe green apple sheesha. While imbibing, it came to me that perhaps this restaurant did not serve narghiles at all, but rather that young man had ran to a hookah store he knew and asked to borrow a water pipe. Either way, for a fifteen minute wait in a comfortable setting, I was happy that he obliged my request. I finished the bowl, paid, and continued on my way.
The nights in Istanbul were cool compared to the hot and humid days, making an evening constitutional a particular delight. The district I was staying in featured the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia, the most famous mosque in the world (second only to the one in Mecca). While the Hagia Sophia is tremendous, I found the Blue Mosque to be more beautiful, especially when lit up at night. While taking a moment at a small park to gaze up and stare at it’s blue essence, I was approached by a man. This man introduced himself, and asked me where I was from. At first, I was a little unnerved. I had some pretty bad preconceptions about coming to a predominantly Muslim country, especially with all the terrible things the US has been doing to those people, but being in an open, public place, I told him I was from America. I knew I was in the clear when a great smile crossed his face and his eyes opened very wide. He said, “Ah. America! Very good, very good. Where are you going tonight? Would you like to come with me to the Blue Mosque? I am on my way there now for the nightly prayer. I do not want any money from you, I simply want to show you a part of my country and its people. I want you to know that Turks do not hate America. We love America! America is our ally! Please do not think we hate America! Would you like to come to the Blue Mosque with me?” I was rather taken aback. I eyed the guy for a moment but could not find anything but sincerity in him. I do believe he was generally happy to have met an American and he really did want to show me the Blue Mosque. Had I not been tired out from travel that day, eating, and sucking a narghile hose for an hour, I might have taken a chance with him. However, it was almost midnight and I had promised myself an early morning to go out and see the Grand Bazaar. I thanked the man, but declined. He was not happy with this, but before he left he wished me luck in my travels, and wished that we would meet again, if not sooner, then later. This was the first real conversation I’ve had with a Muslim, and I was fortunate that it was a good encounter.
The next day I woke up early to go see the Grand Bazaar. The Bazaar is the world’s largest enclosed market space. I was astounded by what I found inside it. There was an entire section devoted to jewelry and gold, another to Turkish rugs, another to porcelain, another to spices, another to art, another to silks, and most random goods you could think of. It was all here! I went up to a narghile merchant to inquire the price of a small piece, and he broke out into full negotiation mode “My friend, I give you best price.” and offered a couple hundred lira. I had absolutely no intention of buying this thing, I was merely curious. I told him as such, and he asked me what I thought it was worth. I said “I dunno dude, like 70 lira?” And he said “Done!” and held out his hand. I backed away slowly, trying to apologize if I had given him the wrong impression, telling him I was a travel writer and that there was no physical way I could take the thing with me. He began cursing at me, and even called me a gypsy! I took exception to that, and showed the man my middle finger before promptly turning and backing away. That encounter really put me in a bad mood. I’m not used to high-pressure sales pitches, and don’t like being put on the spot like that, only to be called a damn gypsy! I consoled myself outside with a doner kebab, the one creature comfort I had developed over my excursion across Europe, and decided to pack it in for the day. Here are a couple pictures of the Grand Bazaar:
I got back to my district with some sunlight left, so I wandered around. I walked down to the Hagia Sophia to see what it was all about. To be honest, it was impressive, but it did look a little run down. That might be unfair, since it’s well over a thousand years old, but I would have thought that over the years it could have gotten a paint job or two. My personal favorite, however, was the Blue Mosque. Perhaps it was because blue is my favorite color, or maybe because it just looked a lot better. Either way, both are incredibly impressive buildings and a must see for anyone visiting Istanbul.
Hagia Sophia
Blue Mosque
Near this was the Hippodrome. Here it is, and it's underbelly:
And beside that, the Obelisk of Theodosius:
On my final day, I had decided to take part in a cultural activity called a Turkish bath. I had talked to the clerks at my hostel all week about it, had read many things about it, and finally decided to plunge in a give it a shot. I walked down the street, and found the bath. The attendant, a short, fat, grubby looking fellow, showed me to the change room. I had come prepared, dressed in my swimsuit and sandals, so I figured I would just take the towel, leave my shirt, and be off. When I exited the change room, he shoved me back in and gestured that I remove my trunks. After a brief pause, I re-emerged from the booth, ready for the next phase. I was taken into a large marble room that immediately felt like a sauna. It felt only slightly hotter in there than it had felt outside that day. The attendant instructed me to lay down on the marble floor, adjacent to another young man. In doing so, awkward does not even begin to describe what I felt at the moment. I couldn’t help but laugh a little to myself, and to my surprise, the guy next to me said, “Yea, I thought it was pretty funny too.” I struck up a conversation with the guy, laying on that hot marble floor. He was a student from Groningen, Holland, and was on vacation with his girlfriend. We exchanged pleasantries for almost fifteen minutes (where have you been, where are you going, what was that like, etc etc) and then the attendant re-entered the room wearing only his towel. He instructed me to follow him to the far wall where faucets and a tub sat. I sat down next to the tub, and he ran some warm water over what looked like a pillow covered in soap suds. He then sponged me head, my back, and my chest, adding a little extra elbow grease to make sure those dirty skin layers were removed, before filling a bowl with ice cold water and rinsing me clean. Next, he had me lay on a marble island in the middle of the room, where the massage began. I never knew whether massages were supposed to be hard or soft, but this guy preferred the hard method. He was forcing skin this way and pulling my legs that way and standing on the back of my hamstrings while pulling my arms back. Basically, I think he was trying to make me into a pretzel. The whole time the Dutch guy, now joined by his girlfriend, were looking at me and giving little chuckles, and I was laughing a little bit too. I mean, this situation was pretty ridiculous to begin with. After he was done, he washed me again, and told me to go sit down. He left, and I rejoined the Dutch, where we shared a good laugh at my expense. We settled into talking, eventually turning to politics, which at this point in my trip had become my least favorite thing to talk about. Whenever it comes up now, I just go straight to the gun issue, and that usually shuts people up. I liked the Dutch though, they were pretty cool. I had a cup of tea with them in the changing room when we were done, and wished them a good journey.
My time in Turkey was too short. Istanbul is an incredible city with much to see, and the rest of the country is a treasure just waiting to be discovered. The culture astounded me the most, being a near-perfect hybrid of Eastern and Western models. The country is 99% Muslim, yet the politics is adamantly secular. Turks are incredibly pro-American, and the over sense I got from them is that they wish Americans would take more time to understand what Islam is really all about. I can’t say that I did. I only saw the outsides of the mosques, and to be honest, the calls to prayer freaked me out a little bit. All in all though, they were really excellent hosts and make for some really good traders. They’ve been doing it for millennia and have perfected the art of commerce. Turkey is a land of contrast, but it was here that I had more eye-opening experiences than anywhere else in Europe. Here the surprises were delightful, not demoralizing. I think what excited me the most about it was I was at the doorstep of Asia three months after I had begun my European adventure. It was a whole new ballgame from here on out. This was truly my moment of stepping into uncharted territory occupied by people who were not like myself and who thought completely different than myself. From here I moved on, with only the distant light of the Olympic torch to guide my way. From Istanbul, I stepped into the unknown.
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