Aravind Adiga earned a nod from NY Magazine as one of 2008’s writers to watch for this book, and it is a very entertaining read. The story follows Bikram, a poor boy who grows up in a typical Indian village. Bikram rises to the top of Indian society through cunning, courage, and wit (and some debauchery which I will not ruin). The language and quirkiness of the story-telling style reminds me a little of Shantaram. Easy read, and one I would recommend.
June 19, 2008
This book is like Judy Blume for grown sports-obsessed men. Instead of worrying about Margaret’s masturbation problem, it takes you inside the “meat market” that is big time college football recruiting. I am a regular lurker at UNC’s recruiting sites (each member furiously typing his own opinion on the message boards regarding a recruit, and furiously attacking others’ opinions - which is sort of like grown men masturbating all day, i guess - all fun, no tangible outcome). Anyways, easy read and very interesting if you are interested in that world. Otherwise - skip it.
June 17, 2008
It’s nice to be back home. 10 days is a long time to be gone, and travelling like this always makes me feel very disconnected to the real world. I went out one night, during Game 5 of the Lakers/Celtics series, and the Lakers were up by 20, and poised to pull the series to 3-2. When I woke up the next morning, the Lakers had lost, Tim Russert was dead, and R. Kelly wasn’t going to jail. Add in the countless earthquake aftershocks, the flooding in Iowa - Iowa?, and cyclones in Burma, and it’s like returning to a new world. Returning to work jet-lagged wasn’t all that exciting though…
But here are my post-trip thoughts. First - it was really shocking that so few people spoke english (i know, I know - my last time bringing it up). On our last night in Istanbul, there was a group of high school students at the cafe we were at, and they were there with their teacher. We started talking to them, and none of them spoke more than a few words of english, and the teacher struggled with even basic words.
Coke and all soft drinks are crazy expensive, $3 - $4 per can. All in all - Turkey is not a cheap country by American standards. It was actually pretty comparable. The one area that Turkey was way out of our price range was American liquor. $22 for a jack and coke, and $10 - $15 for the well drinks.
Turkish cuisine is all you get. Chicken sheesh, bread, spreads, blah, blah blah. And no spice to the food - the Turks are not lovers of the spicy.
The country is very clean - both pollutant-wise, and litter-wise. The latter was a bit shocking given that we coulnd’t find a single trash can on the city streets of Istanbul. We would be holding empty plastic cups for blocks until we could find a cafe to throw them away in, and yet, no trash on the ground.
Big smoking culture. Not the women as much, but it feels like 75% of the guys between 18 - 80 smoke. Well, they don’t actually live that long I don’t think, but suffice it to say, when you go out at night, you will come home smelling of smoke, regardless of where you visit.
Very nice, friendly people. Outside of the language difficulty issues, everyone was happy to help us find our way, provide information, etc. Definitely one of the highlights of the trip were the people we met along the way. There was definitely poverty in Turkey, and Istanbul in particular but we didn’t see it in a way that we have seen in other dark-skinned countries. Not many beggars, not many homeless.
Travelling with friends always makes the experience richer and deeper. We were able to recap, laugh, had people to enjoy the nightlife with, and there were times where the boys could go off and have boy time while the girls napped, or did each other’s hair, or whatever it is that women do when they find themselves man-less.
It’s hard to pick one highlight of the trip, but one of the highlights was saving the bird. It was just one of those cool once-in-a-lifetime moments where we had the chance to do something cool, and we did it. Another highlight was all the dancing. I haven’t danced this much collectively in about 15 years. Good times.
No real lowlights. A taxi driver tried to ”take us for a ride”, but it wasn’t that big a deal. i can’t really say that I was disapointed with any part of the trip. I liked Istanbul, but didn’t love it. Nicer mosques in India, older sights in Cairo and major Inidan cities. Nice, but outside of the Blue Mosque which is really spectacular, no real wonders. I really liked the beaches, but I liked Sharm better. Overall - Turkey ranks behind most of the other “foreign” places I have been (Egypt, East Africa, India, etc.), but ahead of the European places I have been (only Portgual and the UK). So, it is either my favorite European country, or my least favorite developing nation. Nothing really to dislike, it just didn’t have a strong identity.
June 16, 2008
Friday we took an all day blue cruise in a traditional Turkish Gulet. We took off around 10:30 am and the agenda was to sail to 4 or 5 different spots where we could jump in and enjoy the beautiful blue water. It was the most consistently beautiful blue color I have seen. The Caribbean, and other places have crystal clear water in patches, but this water was both clear (in terms of visibility), and this beautiful turquoise blue.
We lounged around on the boat, which held about 35 people without feeling crowded. We alternated between sunbathing on one of the upper decks, and chilling at the table set up inside. It was nice to just soak up the sun and relax with no agenda.
The only downsides were that the water was pretty cold - very cold actually. When it got nice and hot, it was great to go barrelling off the deck, hurling into the icy water, but when the sun went away, it got cold too quickly. That was the time we spent soaking up the sun like lizards. The 2nd downside was the cruise was a little long. After a while, it became the same old thing. We didn’t come back to the dock until about 5:30 pm. We were talking to one of the “kaptans” and he told us that there were 45 gulets in the harbor that all did these day cruises, and they weren’t enough to cater to the demand. They all sailed full most days.
When we did come back, we took the rest of the evening to relax and rest up for another big night in Bodrum. We took a water taxi into the city center at around 10:30 for a late dinner and chose an Italian restaurant that was actually surprisingly good. From there we took a walk down the beach side until we got a stretch of bars that looked lively. They were playing the requisite cheezy music, but they all had these annoying guys running around blowing whistles at the crowd trying to get us to come into their club instead of the neighboring one. These annoyances had names - whistlerooeys. What did they think we were - sheep?
Then we heard whistles beckoning us from The Red Lion, and since it was lady’s night which meant half-priced drinks for the honeys, we decided to venture inside. The music was good, but the scene reminded me a lot of Sharm-el-Sheikh in Egypt. A lot of local Turkish heros hitting on a lot of European Pupooses. Pupoose [prn. Pu-poooose] n. A hefty single European woman who comes to foreign lands to feast on the local men. Pupoose was in season at the Red Lion. We also ran into a group of 3 british asian girls who were partying it up. One of the girls, the slasian - (as in ’slutty asian’), ended up leaving her friends when they went up to the bar to get drinks. We were outside at one of the terrace tables, and we see the slasian get on the back of a hero’s scooter, and they went racing off through an alley. About 10 minutes later her 2 friends, the clasians (as in ‘c**k blocking asians’) came out and started looking for her. The clasians start asking some of the local heros where the slasian went, and all the guys knew the hero she left with and watched it happen, and they just stand around shrugging their shoulders like they didn’t know. It was a little creepy - like a Natalie Holloway redux. So we asked the clasians if they were looking for the slasian, and they were like - yeah, do you know where she went. We told them they left with the hero, and they were so confused. They started looking around then they asked us - well, should we wait for her here? Do you think she’ll come back? How the hell should we know - do we look like the slasiany type? We bounce.
We decided it was time to move to the next spot. We had planned on hitting one of Bodrum’s 2 big clubs. One was Club Catamaran, a floating ship that hosts several hundred people. You get there by waiting at a particular dock, and a speed boat makes pick ups / drop offs every 10 minutes or so. It wasn’t all that exciting though because it wasn’t all that busy, most of the 6 rooms were hosting techno-ish parties, and it was $40 cover charges. The second option was Halikarnassas, said to be the second largest club in the world. We walked by and the music sucked, and it didn’t look all that busy (we were a few days ahead of peak tourist season), and the $40 cover wasn’t all that exciting.
So we headed back to the Red Lion area. We get about 2 feet when the whistlerooeys herd us into the next bar like sheep. Deja Vu, and it really was Deja Vu - just like Red Lion. Great music again though. We danced like monkeys. And look who it is - the clasians. Still no sign of the slasian though. Oh, and a couple of Nepalese. Oh, make that Slepalese…The music was so good that I almost broke my cardinal rule, and Got Jiggy Wit It, but luckily Nads saved me from myself and the clutch of Big Willy, and we retired outside for some refreshments and relaxation.
After we got tired of the club scene, we just started strolling down the boardwalk area again. Hey - its the slasian. Being melasians (meddling asians), we stopped her and told her the clasians were looking for her. She didn’t seem to sussed over it, so we moved on.
Our night wound down around 3:30 am again, with a water taxi transport back to our dock. Tomorrow is our last full day in Turkistan, and includes our flight back to Istanbul after an afternoon of souvenir shopping in Bodrum.
June 14, 2008
So Thursday morning we jump in the car prepared to drive to Bodrum (the kneecap is fully heeled thank you for asking, and the curse of the mushroom soup seems to be behind us, so this should be a pleasant drive). It is about 3-4 hours away through the winding mountainous roads, and it is supposed to be a beautiful drive with the coastline blanketing us all the way. We wrap up another indulgent leisurely breakfast and roll out. We had a small Turkish map and we decided to wing it. No one spoke good enough English to really give us directions anyways. We figured we would just start driving in the general direction of Bodrum, and figure it out along the way. Turns out - that plans works! WIthin 30 minutes of driving we picked up signs for Bodrum and just followed them all the way.
The best part, much like this trip, is that I could be an auto-pilot, just enjoying the scenery and the trip. I wasn’t in charge of anything - Quag did most of the navigating, and I just drove where I was told to drive. I felt like Balram, the protagonist in The White Tiger (don’t worry, Book Club post to soon follow), except Balram (who was a poor driver for the rich, hated driving without being in charge. He wanted to be the one choosing where they were going, and why. Just a reminder that, that which liberates the privileged is often the same thing that enslaves the poor.
About an hour out of Bodrum we stopped at a little seaside hole in the wall restaurant for a quick lunch. We ordered our normal Turkish fare (you should know this by now - chicken kebab, salad, yogurt, bread, coke) and headed to our table. Nads grabs me, and I look down and there is this little bird - maybe less than a week old. It isn’t moving, but appears alive. Closer inspection reveals that there are 5 or 6 nests built into the roofing of the shack, and it looks like this little chucklee fell out of his nest. We debate what to do for a minute or 2, and decide to pick him up and put him back in his nest. So I pick him up and we drag a table over under the nest, then a chair to get on the table. As I start to climb the little pyramid, he sticks his neck out and tries to flap his little wings. He is super tiny - not even fully feathered. I reach up and place him back in his nest and the excited chuckling begins. It was a nice little side story, because we never intended to stop at this shack - we wanted to stop at the one before, but missed the turn. Then just happened to walk to that table, or we would have missed him entirely. There wasn’t anyone else around, and he probably dies that day or the next for sure if we don’t put him back. One of those little “butterfly flaps his wings” moments when a seemingly small decision turns out in someone’s good favor…In this case it only benefited the bird. We got billed at least double for our lunch! Like they say - one good turn deserves a swift kick in the ass as a lesson not to be so naive next time! But it was worth it.
We cruise into Bodrum with the plan of checking in and napping by the pool/beach (what else). First things first - I have to refuel and return the rental car. The car was a Fiat Linea and it was pretty small with a small engine. We used up half the tank, and I figured it would cost $40ish dollars to refuel. Oh no my friends. A half tank of gas in Turkistan cost me 97 Turkish Lira (or about $80). Gas is $3.50 a liter (with 3.8 liters/gallon), making that a whopping $10+ dollars per gallon!!! Now that I think about this - this is really typical of most 3rd world countries…and Europe…and really - every non-Arab country but the US and Canada. We complain about $4/gallon prices, and these guys are paying almost 3X that much. I don’t know how these economies survive with the transportation costs - how can middle class people afford to go anywhere? Do anything? But I digress. We get our nap and our pool and our beach, and slog our way through an average dinner (tough to measure up to the last spot).
Tonight’s festivities include a jaunt to neighboring Gambet. Gambet, as we learned, means “home of cheesy Turkish bars”. Every bar was playing YMCA/Hey Baby Would You Be My Girl songs, and the proprietors/hosts were all well greased young Turks. Young gigolos with younger apprenti in training. At our first stop, the Atlantic Bar, we were looking at the cover of the menu and it showed a young Turk dancing shirtless with a couple of Euro-hussies. He looks familiar…wait a second - he is the dude who served us our drinks? We ask him to confirm - and sure enough, seconds later, shirt is fully unbuttoned and he has two Euro-jailbaities in tow, dancing on pillars to some cruise ship song. And our drinks had sparklers…oh yes my friends - the 4th of July kind - just hanging out of our drinks. Time to bounce.
The No Name Dancing Bar was stop #2 and final. It wasn’t much better, but it wasn’t any worse! The guy kept trying to get us to come in from the terrace because “the club” inside was starting up. The club was a DJ spinning disco, and the cheesy young dude dancing. Riight, we’ll be right in.
Back to the hotel, and in bed by 1. Tomorrow is the all day boat cruise!
June 14, 2008
Wednesday night was futbol night once again. After dinner (which was a scrumptious 5 course meal on the terrace with the sunset views again), we relocated to the hall next door where they had set up a bunch of chairs and a big screen to broadcast the Turkey vs. Switzerland game match. This was big for Turkey - after losing the first game to Portugal, they had to beat Switzerland to have any chance at advancing. Plus, given Switzerland’s history of meddling into everyone else’s business it would be good to lay a beatdown on these busybodies. The plan (mine at least) was to rock my Arda jersey and watch the game with all the folks that had gathered in the viewing room. We all sat around and watched the game until sometime midway through the first half when I had to run out and refill my drink. Of course during the 2 minutes I was gone, Switzerland scored a goal, and the mood in the room was deflated. Now Turkey would have to score 2 and keep the Swiss scoreless. A tough task given that the match was being played in Basel, Switzerland and they enjoyed a huge home field advantage. I wanted to watch the entire game, but Quag and the girls the 3 girls, didn’t want to wear their jerseys, and didn’t want to watch the game. So after Eva went to bed, me, Nads and Quag went to the hookah bar during halftime and agreed to come back and watch the end of the second half. The hookah blew (no pun-it intended), and of course - by the time we come back, the Turks have scored to equalize the game. Now the energy is back, and even though I have missed both goals, I am siked to be back in the room. A Raki later, and I am screaming Arda! Arda!
Arda started this game, and he has been looking good. A couple of near misses, but he is clearly the key to Turkish resurgence. The match only lasts 90 minutes long (plus injury time), and we are hitting the 89th minute. The room gets antsy because we need to win to advance.
90th minute. The ball is played to midfield and Turkey intercepts. The ball is passed to Arda who streaks down the left side, crossing into the Swiss striking area. He dances around and through 3 defenders, left/left/right, then eeks out a sliver of space between himself and a 4th defender. It is just he and the goal, with an advancing goalie and the 4 advancing defenders to beat. The room is screaming wildly - Arda is not going to pass. The fate of the nation rests on his leg, because win or lose, he is going to take what will likely be Turkey’s last shot of the game. I have seen this replay 50 times and I still don’t get how he does this (I tried to link to it on youtube, but for some reason the site is banned in Turkey?) - he launches a right-footed shot that shoots over the goalie’s head, dropping like a rock and bending just under the crossbar. GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAALLLLLLLLLL!!!!!
The crowd goes nuts, I am running around the room high-5ing anyone and everyone. We streak into the lobby and the reception folks are cheering. Down to the disco, and party like rockstars! The bartender offers to buy my drinks all night if I will give him my Arda jersey, and I almost do it - but then I remember, my drinks are free anyways!! it’s Good to be the King!
The rest of the night, we rock to the Song of Freedom, Put our hands up for Detroit, Dream a Dream to fly away, and generally just dance like fools. For the most part I am not paying too much attention to the commoners around me (Tonight I am Arda!), but I do see this Eurpoean guy wearing a white linen shirt, white linen pants, and white boat shoes just writhing his way around the dance floor hitting on these 3 blondies who can’t seem to shake him. Just another sad case of white on white crime. But I can’t trouble myself with that, I have more foolishness to create and encourage. At one point, I do this dazzling spin move that finishes with a scissor-kick/leap, landing perfectly on one knee with outstretched arms as if I were posing after scoring the winning goal, just waiting to be swept into the arms of my teammates and carried away to the adorations of all the screaming fans…No outstretched arms came. No adulations - just a jaw-dropping pain to my left knee. I finally got the ligament issues sorted out, now I bust my kneecap. Oh yeah - busted. But like another Hero, I rise up and continue to dance! Luckily the disco closes down at 2, so I am forced to fight my way back to sanity and sleep.
But, if even for only 1 night - it was Good to be the King (or at least be wearing his shirt!)
June 14, 2008
It was nice to awake to an Immodium-free morning. Stomach is behaving normally once again, and good thing because we will be spending the entire day trapsing through the Greco Roman ruins in the city of Ephesus. If you click on the link you will see some of the pictures and get a sense of just how startling these ruins are when you approach them. The original city dates back to 6000 BC, but the preserved architecture is mostly from the 500 - 600 BC timeframe. It has undergone some restoration, but most of the foundations and major building blocks seem to exist from that original age. Though I haven’t been to any other Greco Roman ruins, I believe my friend (who has) when he tells me that these are by far the most impressive in the world. The heat is sweltering, and there are tourists everywhere which makes it a little cumbersome to make our way along the meandering 3 hour self-guided tour, but all in all, no question one of the highlights of the trip.
We meet our first Americans in Turkey here. 2 girls from the West coast, and 2 guys from Michigan ‘08. We bounce from the main site of Ephesus up the winding mountain towards Meryemana (The House of the Virgin Mary). This is the house that she is said to have spent the final years of her life in. It was about 90 degrees + in the sun, and the road that takes you to the house is about 5 clicks up a steep curving mountainous road. On our way up there, we passed a dudhpakh guy, about 40ish, walking his way up the hill. We figured he was headed to the same place because there is nothing else up there, and we debated pulling over and offering him a ride. He looked well to do, so I reasoned that if he was walking, it was some sort of religious pilgrimage. Others had their own theories about what he was doing, with Nads suggesting he was something just short of the boogie man initially. But when we got to the top, we decided to just drive around the site and head back down the mountain (we were a little “ruin-ed out”), and we decided we would stop and offer him a lift when we saw him again. To her credit - even Nads was on board with this act of kindness. When we met him, he had covered a good distance, but we pulled over and asked if he wanted a ride. I think he was a bit taken aback (I think he literally took a step or 2 back), and he told us he was enjoying the walk, and thank you anyways. So the rest of the way down, we debated what he must have thought of us (terrorists, boogie men/women, just nice people but he really did want to walk, etc.). And so the time was passed - all because of this Australian man who decided to do something crazy.
After these 2 sites, we made a pit stop for a hearty lunch and refueling in an attempt to steel us for some more sightseeing. But the attempts were half-hearted passes at Basilica St. John (a church built by St. John the Baptiste, where he is now buried I think), and a mosque - we were done. It was sweltering (did I mention that?), and the luxurious pool was screaming our names at this point. Time for a dip in the icy cold waters, and a refreshing Churchill!
June 14, 2008
That means, enjoy the amenities and the food/drink-athon at the hotel. We woke up and had a big breakfast of made to order omelettes and pancakes, fresh fruit, etc. This is day 6 or 7 on the trip, but it is day 1 of breakout the Immodium. I think it was last night’s “midnight snack” - damn you cream of mushroom soup! So Nads makes me bolt from the middle of breakfast so she can have some quiet time in the room before we head out to the beach, but when we get to the room, the key won’t work. So the maid comes over and tries it - still won’t work. Then she calls her supervisor who comes over and tries it - surprise, still won’t work. It was beginning to get comical - Nads is starting to dance a little in the hallway and she is starting to rock her Bombay face (which I guess is the perfect complement to the Delhi belly she is developing). Finally - a guy comes over with a toolkit, and tries to install a whole new lock - but he has to get into our room first. So he lets himself into the room next door - jumps from that balcony onto our balcony, opens the door, and begins to change the lock. Nads is turning 3 shades of green at this point. Finally, the guy changes the lock, and even though he insists on spending 5 minutes showing us how to change use our new lock (which is just like the old lock) - but I hustle him out laughing. However, the joke was on me, as I developed sympathy rumblings, and I had to do the dance waiting for Nads to doo her thing.
After the minor gastro-fiasco, we headed down to the beautiful beach. We grabbed a couple of beach chairs and some books and chilled out. There were some highlights to this early morning relaxation time. We were (re)introduced to European swimwear choices. As has been often said - some of the best gifts come wrapped in curses! The topless women weren’t attractive, and the men were wearing the good old hammocks. The second highlight was Quag taking the time to explain how sand becomes glass (and as a no-cost-to-me bonus, why my camera is not taking pictures with the vivid colors it did when i first bought it). Both issues are closely linked to silicone I have learned. You will need a Red Bull to process the rest.
After lunch we took a couple of 2-person kayaks out into the ocean and decided to race about 1/4 mile to the pier at the hotel down the beach. It was like another event in the Amazing Race that we pretend to be part of from time to time. With Nads manning the front, and me calling precise paddle-strokes from behind, we were able to stroke our way to the finish line in a comfortable first place. Lets just say there were no Giggitys at the end of this race.
Next stop - bar then pool. In between the beach drinks, I guzzled my customary club soda + lime, but here we had to make some adjustments. No lime, but they had some lemon and with some prodding I got some ice. I went back to the same bartender so often that we created a name for the drink - somehow she came up with Churchill. No idea why - but it worked. I did some smiles/winks, and I got the best Churchills no money can buy. Nads came down and gave her the stink eye though, and I think I am going to have to go train a male bartender on how to make Churchills from now on…
Dinner was served buffet style on the terrace, with everything from the standard chicken doner, breads & spreads, to steak and pasta. Beautiful views of the sunset, followed by a marathon game of Phase 10 that took us until our “early” night of 12:30. Tomorrow - we are off to Ephesus.
June 11, 2008
Monday was to be another relaxing day bumbling around Istanbul. We decided to sleep in and skip breakfast. This was the first day the jetlag really floored us. I am sure the 5 am nights didn’t work in our favor, but whatever the reason, we were just wiped. The great part was - we were tired so we slept. No clue what day of the week it was. We only backed into knowing it was Monday because we were flying to Izmir this evening.
We headed out of the hotel around noon, and stopped for sandwiches at a little cafe. By now we have seen 6 or 7 blacks, so we have stopped counting (many Tunisians it turns out). Americans - still a shortage. I think the count is at 2 or 3. We were also counting the number of dogs we saw - we got to around 7 and stopped counting dogs too.
After the cafe we decide to treat ourselves to a traditional Turkish bath - Cagaloglu Hamami. CH is this huge marble ornate Turkish bath that was built in the 1700s, and it is on the list of 1000 Places to See Before You Die. How do I know this? Because the always timely P.Lo gave me the book as a very appropo last birthday gift (25 if you must know). I also know it is on the list because everywhere you walk inside the bath, they have posters screaming it.
The idea of a Turkish bath is that you get buck naked, wrap a washcloth-size towel around you pipru/ghaan, and stroll into this huge marble hall. You sit in a beautiful traditional sauna for about 15 minutes, then an attendant comes and gets you to give you your bath. The “bath” starts with a massage with you laying down on your back. My attendant’s name was Turan (and after his performance, if I had to guess last name’s I am going with McHandserson). Turan starts with a solid rubdown. I had to stop his hands a few times when he got too comfortable, and he had this kung fu grip (that he used on my chest and arms!) which wasn’t all that comfortable, but it only lasted about 10 minutes. I stood up (clutching washcloth) red as a tomato. He then led me to a stall areas where he took a lufa and smacked me up/flipped me/rubbed me down with soap, shampoo, soap again. I will spare you the details, but lets just leave it at - this man is thorough. Again, the Turkish men must have very few personal boundaries because he was trying to go places I don’t let people go without dinner and a movie first. He even tried to scrub my nosering out until I convinced him it was jewelry, not a stain. He was perplexed. I think the weirdest part - really it was all pretty weird - was the fact that he was wearing the same washcloth that I was. I was ready to bounce at the end. Incidentallly - the girls had female attendants who were also rather girthy, buck nakedy, and quite comfortable with the flesh of another female. To pass the time and make things less awkward - Nads struck up a conversation with her attendant and found out she is both young and eligible. She told her about our friend back in the States - Big Nit - and she seemed very interested in seeing where things go. She wouldn’t let Nads take her picture, but she did give her a little “souvenir” to convince Big Nit of her eligibility (and Nads can vouch for her strong hands). If Big Nit is out there and interested - email me, and we will send you the pic of the souvenir.
After the wonderfully soothing bath, we moved on to our last site in Istanbul - Suleymaniye Cami (which is a mosque built by Suleiman the Magnificent in 1557. Unfortunately a large part of the mosque was undergoing renovation, but it inspired me to coin my own “Fareesh the [blank]” name. I am still working on options, but if anyone has a suggestion, feel free to leave it as a comment. We wrapped the day up with another jaunt through the bazaar, another failed attempt to get manpris (and convince Nads it was ok), and then headed to the airport for our flight to Izmir.
From Izmir we picked up our rental car and embarked upon our journey that was driving 70 clicks in a stickshift car in a country whose language we couldn’t speak and road signs/rules we didn’t understand. Turns out - it wasn’t half bad. The most awkward part of the trip was at the toll booth right outside the airport exit I was still getting used to the soft clutch (NY’er = NO’driver), and as we pull away from the toll booth (flush with Turkish po-po), I rip one off, leaving about 3 inches of rubber and smoke behind me. The po-po looked to stunned or lazy to get up and follow - from there we just motored.
The hotel we were checking into is called the Ephesus Princess Club hotel, and it is an all-inclusive resort. It is absolutely gorgeous, and one of the most picturesque hotels I have ever stayed at. The only one that comes close is the Sharm Hilton. There is too much to say about this hotel, and I just don’t have the passion to blog it all out (but Nads, who found this gem, does -so I am reserving this section for her to make a guest appearance and give this place its due).
We check in too late for dinner, but there is a midnight snack of cream of mushroom soup and toast, and we are ready to hit the hotel club. We finally got the nerve to drink the Raki - a local Turkish hooch that turns milky when poured over ice. It tastes just like Ouzo, and after the first sip me and Quag are breathing fire! Tonight we are dragons…
After our Rakhi-thon and partying at the club till they close at 2am (my ACL is quite better, thank you for asking), we head down to the beach and chill out. We get into an interesting “conversation” that lasts almost 70 minutes. The old adage that you shouldn’t discuss politics or religion is actually true (who would’ve thunk?) especially after running on Raki fuel, and being someone who is predisposed to having strong opinions and finds no discomfort in challenging others on theirs. That is all I will say for now (think of it as a teaser, because the subject of the conversation is definitely getting its own post when I get back stateside - I just don’t have time or energy to get into it now). The good thing is that we are all adults and no one took it personally - just another heated conversation, and after a good night’s sleep we all awoke friends, and husbands, and wives.
Ahhhh, sleep.
June 11, 2008
Sunday we get to sleep in a little. The jet lag hasn’t really floored us yet, but without any afternoon naps, we haven’t really gotten adjusted yet. The mornings are tough. Today we decide to intersperse some sight-seeing with a little shopping at Taksim Square. Our only stop of the day is the Basilica Cistern. Its essentially a big water pot – it held the palace’s water supply, some 80,000 cubic meters. And there are some medusa heads down there. Ok, off to shop.
The clothes in Turkey are pretty similar to the fashions we get in the states. Some of the stores are the same, but I think there are mostly European imports. I finally took a stand on one issue – “manpris”. As a fashion decision I had always abhorred them. But for those days when you feel too sophisticated for shorts, but you are not quite in the full-length pant state of mind – they are perfect. You can rock out with your ankles out. Nads is dead set against them. She calls me some pretty Un-PC names whenever I raise the subject. She finally understood that I was only looking at the “athletic” manpris – like a pair of adidas that are made out of the wind-suit material (for working out, a quick jaunt to the store, etc.). Like most of the major decisions in our life – this one went my way after some heavy duty wearing down. I still haven’t found my size in the mapris I like, but I have a couple more shots before we leave Turkey. Here’s to holding out hope!
We were all pretty siked about dinner that night. We were going to Galatasaray Adasi, a really nice hotel/club on its own island. We had to take the restaurant’s private little boat over. Felt very shi-shi.
This place is definitely the nicest restaurant I have ever been to. It was a large outdoor venue with an Olympic size swimming pool smack in the middle of the large lower deck. That terrace overlooked the Bosphorus river, with the Bosphorus bridge set as the backdrop. Inside the pool – an addition had been cut into the side of the pool, with a very shallow area. In the shallow area were several beds that you had to wade to get to. You could just roll up your pants (or not if you were smart enough to rock manpris), and have dinner on a bed in this pool with this amazing view. There were 2 other decks above this first one, and each deck had its own restaurant. So the lower deck was more café casual, while our deck (the middle) was Italian with the upper deck serving Turkish. On our deck there was a huge cutout area surrounding the bar that doubled as a dance space. The Italian food was a pleasant surprise. Well-cooked, good flavor – all around high quality (including the desserts), and we ate like monkeys. It was our first non-Turkish Turkish meal, and it hit the spot.
Its too bad the place was dead though. From the time we got there at about 9:45 pm, to the time they ran us out around 12am, there were probably no more than 5 or 6 other couples dining. No dancing that night either.
So we headed back to Taksim Square. Since it had been a chill day, we had all squeezed in naps, gotten our 2nd wind – and we were determined to have a crazy Turkish night. Sunday nights are generally pretty chill in Istanbul, but we found a couple of spots to stalk.
Stop 1 – the Gate. Techno hell v. 2.0. We walked in and 30 seconds later we bounced right back out.
Stop 2 – Carizy. The bouncers convinced us to check the place out by showing us a videocam of the scene inside. People were popping and the music had words – sold. We ended up hanging out for about 2 hours, and had a great time. I can’t remember the last time I was rocking out at a club! I was doing my thing though – nice to know I still got it. Right up to the point where I tweaked my knee. I think I tore my ACL, or my MCL – whichever ligament gets strained in the middle of a fierce transition from cabbage patch/running man to spin/moonwalk exit. But even on one knee, I still got it.
The other cool thing about this bar is that there were big screens all over the place, and they were showing MTV France – which was playing The Real World Australia. Not only that, but the episode being aired was the one were Parisa hooks up with Alex (who was also hooking up with one of the slutty blondes who I can never tell apart. Parisa gets hammered and pukes on herself in the confessional before coming out and bleep-bleeping the bejesus out of the slutty blondes. All the while Cuhutta just sits there and talks to his sandwich – classic. Could really be one of the best TRW episodes ever (and if you still don’t know what I am talking about, you really should ask yourself what you are doing reading this blog.) Anyways, so Nads and I are watching this unfold on the big screen at the bar, and we were trying to remember some of the things Parisa says to the slutty blondes because they were some good lines, but neither of us can remember, and the show is dubbed in French…with Turkish subtitles. So we ask the bartender - who is watching as intently as us – to translate the subtitles. “6 people. 1 house. Crazy life”, he says straight-faced. Sweet – thanks for that (and newsflash bro – its 7 people!!) like all other bars the music got progressively more techno, and TRW ended so time to bounce again.
As we are wandering down the street, we did not choose our next spot, it chose us. We heard the sweet crooning of Shakira-Shakira! And just naturally started wandering up and down alleys until we found the bar playing the music. As we got closer I could feel my ACL (or MCL) getting tingly and gearing up for round 2. We finally found the place and rolled in and unfortunately the place was dead. The 2 DJs were spinning their arses off though and rocking the best American beats. So we outlasted the other 3 guests (who probably left because there was no techno), and partied till they kicked us out at 3am.
Another crazy night in Istanbul…
falooli
