"Ay-Gaz!"
The above quote is part of a sing-songy jingle that is played daily throughout the side-streets of Istanbul. For much of my time there, it was a large part of the mystery of Istanbul.
I hadn't realized until just now, by the way, that it had been over three weeks since updating this. Sorry. Once in a while it is bound to happen. Where I left off was at Istanbul, a city that now rides very, very high on my "places I like a lot" list.
But first I will digress from Istanbul back to Jerusalem, because Israelis, sometimes, can be quite humorous. Staying in Adam's apartment in the market in Jerusalem, I was privy to the daily bartering routine between store-owners and shoppers, truly a sight to behold -- it was in my face every time I walked outside. It was a noisy affair with lots of gesticulating (this was especially true with the older generation), multiple bouts of feigned disgust or disapproval by one or both parties, and finally the purchase was made. I suppose it fit in with the stereotype I had of a Mediterranean-style market.
The flight from Tel Aviv to Istanbul was even more mayhem. Typically, in my experience, the "seat belt" sign turns off in an airplane without much fanfare, and people continue about their business. On the El Al flight to Istanbul a full one-third of the passengers immediately stood-up when the sign turned off, and began milling about all over the plane or finding friends in other seats. It was a social event that I was, by default, invited to attend. I didn't see any reason to mill about, so I stayed seated.
After twenty minutes or so it calmed down a little bit, and the stewardesses began to bring coffee and tea to passengers. The older man sitting next to me, as well as quite a few of the other passengers on board, proceeded drink cup after cup after cup, stopping the stewardesses on every pass for refills. Lots of people were doing this. The stewardesses were being hounded on this flight, and it was apparent to me that it was impossible for them to keep up with the demand for tea and coffee. On one pass, the stewardess missed my seat-mate's call for a re-fill, and he began yelling at her in Hebrew as she continued down the plane. With over-exaggerated disgust, he took his plump, old-man sausage of a finger and banged it above his head to illuminate the button requesting assistance. I looked ahead of me, only then realizing that nearly 50% of the rows of seats had done the same. Everyone wanted these stewardess. Everyone needed tea. This was the noisiest flight I have ever been on.
To Istanbul. Oh, Istanbul. It is the most beautiful city I have been to.
I saw the same sights that everyone sees -- the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, and so on -- but with the exception of the Hagia Sophia, I would not necessarily call these the highlights of the city. Istanbul has every perk of the big city: it is very, very beautiful architecturally (the mosques do much for this) and has a Disney-like romance to it; there is water all around; the public transport system is functional in an ad-hoc sort of way; the night-life is booming; Istanbullus are nice and dress fashionably; and the city, as I mentioned previously, has some of the best sweets in the world. The daily prayer calls add to the ambiance. I experienced a "true" Turkish bath, saw a soccer match between the third and fourth place teams in the Turkish soccer league, and was on the losing end of many games of backgammon. At times it was unseasonably warm, other times there were snow flurries. I also met Alper in Istanbul, a 35 year-old, very sociable Turkish man, to whom I am indebted for showing me an excellent time around the city and who has an absurdly good sense of hospitality.
On one day I persuaded Antje, a German girl also going around the world (but again in the opposite direction that I am), to attend a beverage trade-fair to which I had received tickets from a hostel bartender. It was out by the airport in the middle of nowhere. At the entrance I explained that I had worked for K & L Distributors, a beer and liquor distributor -- I really did work for them once -- with the hope that I would be treated like a businessman. I was not. We stood out as foreigners and as non-business persons, but enjoyed some very interesting drinks all the same. And though I always want the best for entrepreneurs (and trade shows are not much fun for them), I can say with certainty that Kurdish milk-alcohol -- with chunks of something floating in it -- will not be successfully exported to the U.S.A. The salesmen at the event liked us, though, and generally wondered how/why the hell we were there. A show-bartender performing in front of a small crowd pulled Antje and I up at different times, and we tried (mostly unsuccessfully) to bartend for the crowd. On the third try I managed to flip a bottle of Malibu Rum into a martini shaker.
From Istanbul I took the train to Bucharest, where I planned to meet Kris, a friend of mine stationed in Romania in the Peace Corps. The train ride from Istanbul to Bucharest was straight out a children's book. My second-class sleeper car felt like first-class, with a sink and just two beds (rather than the six that I am used to). The inside of the car was wood-paneled, the windows opened widely, and away into the night I went. I shared the car with Nico, a recent recipient of a Ph. D in Plant Biology who just finished studying in Puerto Rico. For the seventeen hour train ride he had brought nothing but beer and roasted pumpkin seeds.
Kris surprised me at the train station (where I did not expect to meet him) by sneaking up from behind me and lifting me into the air. He took a good look at me (we had not seen each other in about a year) and first thing he said to me was, "you look insane." Thus commenced our week of childish behavior. I would argue that we did two things that were actually productive during our week together in Romania: one of them was ice-skating, which we did the first night. The second productive activity was when we saw "Blood Diamond," starring a notably thick-necked Leonardo DiCaprio.
The rest of our time together was a series of ill-conceived non-plans. One of our first nights in Bucharest saw us stay inside the youth hostel and play Tiger Woods Golf 2005. Another night in Bucharest, we managed to wait too long to find food, realizing too late that every restaurant in town was closed. Everything, that is, except... MCDONALDS!!! Kris and I each ordered Big Macs and large fries. Kris then decided to order a second Big Mac -- America-style! -- and I followed with another cheeseburger. I then decided to order a McFlurry for the both of us to share -- obviously we were no longer hungry -- and by this time was laughing to the point that I could barely complete the order. And the McDonalds employee? Not impressed by us at all. Nope, I can say objectively that he did not find our behavior as funny I did. Another night in Bucharest we attempted to watch the Super Bowl, but failed to do so and managed to lose Kris' cell phone.
From Bucharest we caught the train to Sighisoara, a Transylvanian town that fits the Transylvanian stereotype perfectly: snow on the ground, castles and cathedrals, very dark at night. At one point I thought I saw a vampire, but it turned out that it was just my friend, Kris, who has a vampire-like countenance. We stayed in Sighisoara for two nights and saw the town pretty decently, as it's quite small. Our last night we made dinner at the hostel with Monica, a friend of Kris' and also a Peace Corps volunteer, and later that evening we stole a handful of Pepto Bismol tablets from her because our tummies hurt.
Arbitrarily, we took the train to Arad, a town of virtually no significance for travelers. It was impulsive and we arrived without a guidebook, map, or phone, knowing nothing about the city except that Casey, another Peace Corps volunteer, lived there. Fortunately Kris managed to contact her, and she gave us a good tour. We also ate macaroni and cheese together. After less than 24 hours in the city, we left the following morning on an 11 hour train ride back to Bucharest.
After a night's sleep in Bucharest, Kris decided that he had had enough of me, and I agreed that I was also tired of him. There was nothing to see in Bucharest of any interest to us, and Kris' apartment was a two hour share-taxi ride away. We were both very tired. So he decided to leave earlier than planned. At the bus-stop where he departed, with both of us realizing that we would not see each other again for at least a year and a half, I told him that "it's time to say something poignant." "This was an ok trip," he replied.
It was just an ok trip! At some point during the trip Kris and I came up with a mantra that we were to repeat on multiple occasions (or try to, anyway) when others would ask us what we were "doing" together in Romania. The reply went like this: "We don't do much. We're not doing anything, really. When we do do something, we don't do very much of it or for very long. What we do do, we don't do it well." This, of course, doesn't answer any of the questions that people could possibly have been asking us. But people were surprisingly willing to allow us to respond with this, and it was very much the truth of our trip.
If you were to take a look at a map of Romania, our trip had no intrinsic logic to it. But once again I will invoke the quote that, "It's not about the destination, but the journey" (or something like that). This trip was not about the destination, because we had none. Nor was it really about the journey, either, since the train-rides, though beautiful, were merely a means to arbitrary destinations. Mostly this trip was about sharing a few beers with my best friend. So in that sense it was very productive.
I am still at the hostel in Bucharest (one of the best hostels I've been to, I must say), surrounded by a bunch of ridiculous characters and trying to figure out my next travel plan. One of these characters is a Romanian model/actor who I caught watching WWE wrestling yesterday. "Ha ha!" He yelled at the television. "Look at him! He brought out the table -- now it is used on him!" Somehow there is dance music going on almost all day, here. There is a resident cat, Flutu, who I continually find in my upper-level bunk-bed.
I am trying to find a way to leave here, and for the first time am floundering. I had been pursuing a travel-plan that included sailing, but this has fallen through and I am left with absolutely no itinerary to speak of. By mid-March I will be in Costa Rica. Until then? I can say with absolute honesty that I have no idea right now. I'll let you know, though!
I hadn't realized until just now, by the way, that it had been over three weeks since updating this. Sorry. Once in a while it is bound to happen. Where I left off was at Istanbul, a city that now rides very, very high on my "places I like a lot" list.
But first I will digress from Istanbul back to Jerusalem, because Israelis, sometimes, can be quite humorous. Staying in Adam's apartment in the market in Jerusalem, I was privy to the daily bartering routine between store-owners and shoppers, truly a sight to behold -- it was in my face every time I walked outside. It was a noisy affair with lots of gesticulating (this was especially true with the older generation), multiple bouts of feigned disgust or disapproval by one or both parties, and finally the purchase was made. I suppose it fit in with the stereotype I had of a Mediterranean-style market.
The flight from Tel Aviv to Istanbul was even more mayhem. Typically, in my experience, the "seat belt" sign turns off in an airplane without much fanfare, and people continue about their business. On the El Al flight to Istanbul a full one-third of the passengers immediately stood-up when the sign turned off, and began milling about all over the plane or finding friends in other seats. It was a social event that I was, by default, invited to attend. I didn't see any reason to mill about, so I stayed seated.
After twenty minutes or so it calmed down a little bit, and the stewardesses began to bring coffee and tea to passengers. The older man sitting next to me, as well as quite a few of the other passengers on board, proceeded drink cup after cup after cup, stopping the stewardesses on every pass for refills. Lots of people were doing this. The stewardesses were being hounded on this flight, and it was apparent to me that it was impossible for them to keep up with the demand for tea and coffee. On one pass, the stewardess missed my seat-mate's call for a re-fill, and he began yelling at her in Hebrew as she continued down the plane. With over-exaggerated disgust, he took his plump, old-man sausage of a finger and banged it above his head to illuminate the button requesting assistance. I looked ahead of me, only then realizing that nearly 50% of the rows of seats had done the same. Everyone wanted these stewardess. Everyone needed tea. This was the noisiest flight I have ever been on.
To Istanbul. Oh, Istanbul. It is the most beautiful city I have been to.
I saw the same sights that everyone sees -- the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, and so on -- but with the exception of the Hagia Sophia, I would not necessarily call these the highlights of the city. Istanbul has every perk of the big city: it is very, very beautiful architecturally (the mosques do much for this) and has a Disney-like romance to it; there is water all around; the public transport system is functional in an ad-hoc sort of way; the night-life is booming; Istanbullus are nice and dress fashionably; and the city, as I mentioned previously, has some of the best sweets in the world. The daily prayer calls add to the ambiance. I experienced a "true" Turkish bath, saw a soccer match between the third and fourth place teams in the Turkish soccer league, and was on the losing end of many games of backgammon. At times it was unseasonably warm, other times there were snow flurries. I also met Alper in Istanbul, a 35 year-old, very sociable Turkish man, to whom I am indebted for showing me an excellent time around the city and who has an absurdly good sense of hospitality.
On one day I persuaded Antje, a German girl also going around the world (but again in the opposite direction that I am), to attend a beverage trade-fair to which I had received tickets from a hostel bartender. It was out by the airport in the middle of nowhere. At the entrance I explained that I had worked for K & L Distributors, a beer and liquor distributor -- I really did work for them once -- with the hope that I would be treated like a businessman. I was not. We stood out as foreigners and as non-business persons, but enjoyed some very interesting drinks all the same. And though I always want the best for entrepreneurs (and trade shows are not much fun for them), I can say with certainty that Kurdish milk-alcohol -- with chunks of something floating in it -- will not be successfully exported to the U.S.A. The salesmen at the event liked us, though, and generally wondered how/why the hell we were there. A show-bartender performing in front of a small crowd pulled Antje and I up at different times, and we tried (mostly unsuccessfully) to bartend for the crowd. On the third try I managed to flip a bottle of Malibu Rum into a martini shaker.
From Istanbul I took the train to Bucharest, where I planned to meet Kris, a friend of mine stationed in Romania in the Peace Corps. The train ride from Istanbul to Bucharest was straight out a children's book. My second-class sleeper car felt like first-class, with a sink and just two beds (rather than the six that I am used to). The inside of the car was wood-paneled, the windows opened widely, and away into the night I went. I shared the car with Nico, a recent recipient of a Ph. D in Plant Biology who just finished studying in Puerto Rico. For the seventeen hour train ride he had brought nothing but beer and roasted pumpkin seeds.
Kris surprised me at the train station (where I did not expect to meet him) by sneaking up from behind me and lifting me into the air. He took a good look at me (we had not seen each other in about a year) and first thing he said to me was, "you look insane." Thus commenced our week of childish behavior. I would argue that we did two things that were actually productive during our week together in Romania: one of them was ice-skating, which we did the first night. The second productive activity was when we saw "Blood Diamond," starring a notably thick-necked Leonardo DiCaprio.
The rest of our time together was a series of ill-conceived non-plans. One of our first nights in Bucharest saw us stay inside the youth hostel and play Tiger Woods Golf 2005. Another night in Bucharest, we managed to wait too long to find food, realizing too late that every restaurant in town was closed. Everything, that is, except... MCDONALDS!!! Kris and I each ordered Big Macs and large fries. Kris then decided to order a second Big Mac -- America-style! -- and I followed with another cheeseburger. I then decided to order a McFlurry for the both of us to share -- obviously we were no longer hungry -- and by this time was laughing to the point that I could barely complete the order. And the McDonalds employee? Not impressed by us at all. Nope, I can say objectively that he did not find our behavior as funny I did. Another night in Bucharest we attempted to watch the Super Bowl, but failed to do so and managed to lose Kris' cell phone.
From Bucharest we caught the train to Sighisoara, a Transylvanian town that fits the Transylvanian stereotype perfectly: snow on the ground, castles and cathedrals, very dark at night. At one point I thought I saw a vampire, but it turned out that it was just my friend, Kris, who has a vampire-like countenance. We stayed in Sighisoara for two nights and saw the town pretty decently, as it's quite small. Our last night we made dinner at the hostel with Monica, a friend of Kris' and also a Peace Corps volunteer, and later that evening we stole a handful of Pepto Bismol tablets from her because our tummies hurt.
Arbitrarily, we took the train to Arad, a town of virtually no significance for travelers. It was impulsive and we arrived without a guidebook, map, or phone, knowing nothing about the city except that Casey, another Peace Corps volunteer, lived there. Fortunately Kris managed to contact her, and she gave us a good tour. We also ate macaroni and cheese together. After less than 24 hours in the city, we left the following morning on an 11 hour train ride back to Bucharest.
After a night's sleep in Bucharest, Kris decided that he had had enough of me, and I agreed that I was also tired of him. There was nothing to see in Bucharest of any interest to us, and Kris' apartment was a two hour share-taxi ride away. We were both very tired. So he decided to leave earlier than planned. At the bus-stop where he departed, with both of us realizing that we would not see each other again for at least a year and a half, I told him that "it's time to say something poignant." "This was an ok trip," he replied.
It was just an ok trip! At some point during the trip Kris and I came up with a mantra that we were to repeat on multiple occasions (or try to, anyway) when others would ask us what we were "doing" together in Romania. The reply went like this: "We don't do much. We're not doing anything, really. When we do do something, we don't do very much of it or for very long. What we do do, we don't do it well." This, of course, doesn't answer any of the questions that people could possibly have been asking us. But people were surprisingly willing to allow us to respond with this, and it was very much the truth of our trip.
If you were to take a look at a map of Romania, our trip had no intrinsic logic to it. But once again I will invoke the quote that, "It's not about the destination, but the journey" (or something like that). This trip was not about the destination, because we had none. Nor was it really about the journey, either, since the train-rides, though beautiful, were merely a means to arbitrary destinations. Mostly this trip was about sharing a few beers with my best friend. So in that sense it was very productive.
I am still at the hostel in Bucharest (one of the best hostels I've been to, I must say), surrounded by a bunch of ridiculous characters and trying to figure out my next travel plan. One of these characters is a Romanian model/actor who I caught watching WWE wrestling yesterday. "Ha ha!" He yelled at the television. "Look at him! He brought out the table -- now it is used on him!" Somehow there is dance music going on almost all day, here. There is a resident cat, Flutu, who I continually find in my upper-level bunk-bed.
I am trying to find a way to leave here, and for the first time am floundering. I had been pursuing a travel-plan that included sailing, but this has fallen through and I am left with absolutely no itinerary to speak of. By mid-March I will be in Costa Rica. Until then? I can say with absolute honesty that I have no idea right now. I'll let you know, though!
posted by conor | 5:12 AM
3 Comments:
Conor! Due to my reading your email months ago without actually "READING" it, I came to my own conclusion that you would be updating everyone via email. I was set straight, however, and am now catching up with the tales of your travels. I'm enjoying it very very much. Glad to hear everything's going so well!
hola mi hermano mayor--i love reading about your travels, and am quite embarassed how much more comical and well written yours are than mine. :) I miss you a bunch and CANNOT wait to see you in Costa Rica!! Carnaval is approaching this coming weekend, where I will be spending 5 very long days on the beach trying to improve my tan. :) Love you and am glad to hear you're doing so well
Hey Conor. I am all caught up on your blog now. I'm heading down to SF next Tuesday to see Vanya, then on to Ecuador. I have a feeling you will catch up with me in South America. At least I hope. Keep in touch.
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