Istanbul made for some great memories, and I find myself
heading home with that familiar bittersweet mixture of emotions. I cannot wait
to be home with friends and family, and the routine of school will be a welcome
return; but I’m simultaneously left with that feeling that three weeks isn’t
nearly long enough when part of my heart leaves itself abroad every summer and
yet another year waits in-between some of the best moments in life.
Moments…
I arrived in Istanbul thoroughly exhausted after an
overnight, uncomfortable, sleep-interrupted bus ride. Without getting into the detailed reasoning behind the
matter (we’ll just say the steady decrease of spoken English leads to a
significant increase of my disorientation), I managed to unknowingly miss my
stop—I did not even know there’d be more than one stop—and ended up getting off
at some junky, industrial sort of area. The first directions to my hostel told
me to take a tram. I looked around at the distant, scattered apartments and large
dumpsters with even more scattered trash. There were hardly any cars
in this area, no less a tram. After going through about eight people before I
found someone who spoke English enough to help me, I rode in what felt like the
longest taxi ride of my life (I’ve only been in a taxi about five times, so it
probably really was the longest). I spent the ride in the front seat
overworking my already half-functioning brain to communicate with my driver
whose every sixth word was English.
He also gave me a mini language lesson, but the only thing I
remember is how to give the one-syllabic response of “good” after someone asks
how you’re doing—even still, I’m not 100% sure. Language lesson fail.
I put forth a pretty solid effort in our conversation until
he asked if he could come back to my hostel later and take me around the city
(conveyed mostly through hand gestures), at which point I suddenly had no idea what he was saying more so because I
knew I would not enjoy an entire evening of hand motions and Turkenglish. I entirely
forgot about the request until the next day when a hostel worker came to my
room to ask if I knew a Muro who wanted to go out. Hoping Muro had understood
as much of my English as I did his Turkish when I told him I was in Istanbul
for three days, I told the hostel worker to say I’d already checked out.
After the long bus ride followed by that taxi drive, I
couldn’t check into my room for another few hours. I walked around and did some
sightseeing until I could finally crash in my room.
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| Hagia Sofia |
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| The Blue Mosque |
When I woke up I was torn between going back to bed and
sleeping till morning or heading out for the hostel pub crawl. On my first pub
crawl in Dublin, I met Hannah, who, to this day, remains one of the most amazing
girls I’ve ever met. From that night on we stuck together, traveling throughout
the rest of Ireland.
As Istanbul was my last destination, I wasn’t holding this
crawl to such standards, but I still thought I should be social on my first
night (a Saturday night, no less) in the city.
I was told it started at 10pm on the rooftop terrace, but
when it was getting past even European punctuality, I asked when we were
heading out. Apparently it didn’t start till midnight and 10:00 was just the
2-hour meeting point.
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| I asked Tyler to take my place on round two |
Very tempted to duck out, I scanned the rooftop to see what
other hostelers I’d be joining, and noticed that the guy who helped convince me
to go had done just that. Then I met Katherine from Seattle. Her friend had
passed out early and, though I think we both envied her, she told me I couldn’t
leave her behind. And so I stayed. Luke, an eccentric Australian, was teaching
me how to play backgammon well enough until an English guy, clearly on
something, put 10 liras on me to win; the game then became less about teaching
me and more about getting his money. He got it.
When we finally left, it was not so much a night of pubs as it
was shoulder-to-shoulder packed clubs. I was reminded up till 4am that morning
why I never go to them. I did meet a lot of people, though, and still had a
good time.
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| At one of the last spots on the pub crawl |
The next day I went to Kilyos with Luke, Katherine, Alisa
(her well-slept friend), and Tyler, another Australian. Thinking I was done
with beaches after Marmaris, I left my beach towel behind, which was almost my
sorry excuse for not going. After pouring into bed at five that morning, however, a relaxing beach day sounded too good to pass up. And aside from the
hour+ drive, cramming four adults in the backseat of a small car along winding
roads, it was a perfectly laidback afternoon.
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| In the tiny car (our taxi driver was awesome) |
That evening we went out to dinner with an attempt to
“get lost” and find somewhere local. Getting lost is harder on intention, and our hunger won out as we sat at a café a ways down a touristy avenue.
The food was still amazing and we had some of the most entertaining dinner
conversations I think I’ve ever had.
On my last full day I visited the Grand Bazaar and spent way
too much time (and money) in a tiny jewelry shop. I only went in because it was
the first vendor I walked by where I felt that eye contact did not
automatically convey to the owner my assumed desire to purchase everything in his shop. It was my little Istanbul version of Tiffany’s with servings of
apple tea and my own tray to place everything I fancied. My collection was
priced at 670 liras, though, so you can imagine I put most of that back in a
rather un-Tiffany like fashion.
Stepping out of the shop in need of a free activity, I
decided to read by the fountain near the Blue Mosque, and wandered to my
hostel a few hours later where I made the saddest attempt at a nap (apparently
I have to feel like I’ve been dragged through hell and back via buses and plane
rides to get in a decent one) before Tyler asked what my plans were for the
evening. We decided to go out for tea. And if making it through the
too-close-for-comfort, jam-packed car ride to Kilyos wasn’t good enough, I knew
we’d get on fine when, just before we left, he asked me if I was bringing a
book so that he could be anti-social with his. Books and tea on outdoor
cushions beneath dimly lit mosaic lamps without obligation to make small talk?
Yes, please.
We read until blindness became threatening and then headed
out to grab some food. With unintentional, but successful, misdirection, we got
lost and found a great place for dinner and drank them out of tea until
midnight.
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| The Bosphorus |
Enjoying the last night for both of us, we went up to
the hostel rooftop terrace where we shared some beers with Tom, from London,
and a couple girls from Switzerland.
When it started pouring (sprinkling for Oregon standards) the group
moved in toward the covered area on floor cushions and I learned how to make my
first kebab behind the bar and played DJ for a while. The bartender took over
more after I played “Call Me Maybe.”
As two o’clock rolled around, all the guests save for Tom,
Tyler and I had wandered down to their bunks while we kept Kaan company. Tyler
lost a bet that required him to jump in the Bosphorus (the Istanbul Strait
separating Asia and Europe), so we said goodnight to our bartender and headed
down the wet cobbled streets to the water. Turns out the only thing I won were
bragging rights because we somehow all ended up in the chilly strait—a memorable
last night to say the least.
Istanbul, like so many other places I traveled this summer,
was amazing. I headed out the next morning for Venice where I spent another
night in the arrivals hall till my flight home Wednesday morning. A few more nights adjusting to airport climates and metal chairs and I may just be able to someday sleep in one a full two hours.
My limit of airport snoozes, constant early mornings, late night rendezvous around
cities and less-than-clean waters finally caught up to me in Venice. As
unpleasant as it will be to start fall term sick, I’m thankful it considerately
held off until my trip was over.
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| Looking forward to a night back with these girls |
