Sunday Funday

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 2^nd 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…

 

The Parable of Tuncay

Tuncay Sanli is a Turkish soccer player, and his story overlayed with our story makes for Day 3’s closeout post. As I mentioned – we were all siked up for the big football match that night, and in preparation, we all wore our newly acquired Turkish soccer jerseys.

As you can see, we are all wearing a particular player’s jersey, but since we didn’t really know any of the Turkish players, we let the jerseys choose us. We figured the personality of the various players would call its owner to it.

The girls are wearing # 8 (Nihat Kahveci) because his was the only jersey we could find in their size. The jersey fit in more ways than one though – during the match Saturday night, Nihat was all over the place – working hard, doing all the little things. Basically, he is not the most skilled player on the “pitch”, but he just keeps sticking around, hustling, and finally you say to yourself – “that Nihat – we have got to keep him around!”  Yup, that fits.

I am wearing #14 (Arda Turan), a 22 year old midfielder who is wildly popular amongst the Turks because he turned down a big European paycheck to stay home and play in the Turkish Leagues. He has a strong left foot, but apparently an even stronger personality. He was called “arrogant” by those we asked, and he didn’t get to play a minute in the game. Apparently his talent could not overcome his attitude, and even though I was shouting for “Arda! Arda!” at every interval, it was to no avail. He warmed the bench.  Rockstar who you love or hate…yup – that fits.

Quag is wearing #17 (Tuncay Sanli) who is a forward/striker, and he forms the backbone of our experience.

We decided to take Raghip up on his offer to go watch the game at his restaurant. He had saved a table for us on the garden, with a huge projector screen painting the game against the sky as a backdrop. As we approached the restaurant in Taksim Square, the “Polis” were out in full force. Bus-sized paddywagons, automatic rifles, riot gear – it was quite a sight. I asked Raghip if they were more worried about a Turkey win or a Turkey loss.  More worried about a Turkey win, he told us – turns out that Turkey was such a big underdog that the po-po was worried how the citizens would react.

Anyways, we make our way back to Café Krempen, and it is beautifully set up. Because we are late, it takes Raghib a few minutes to get our table together, but once he does, it is well worth the wait. To be in Istanbul, Turkistan during the biggest futbol match of the year – then to be watching it outdoors, under the stars, on a 20 foot projected screen on the wall of the garden. Pretty scene-tastic.

So Nihat helps to control the game for Turkey for the first half. The two sides battle to a
“nil-nil draw” at the end of the first half, and the crowd is getting energized. A game ending in a tie would be a victory for the underdog Turks, and rounds of drinks are being ordered in anticipation of a 2^nd half battle.

During the 60^th minute, Pepe from Portugal (not to be confused with this Pepe from France), makes an amazing move down the right hand side, dribbles, jukes, passes, avoids, shoots, and scores – GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!!! Only for the wrong side. The crowd’s spirit drops – like someone deflated the “enthusiasm balloon”. Now Turkey only has 25 minutes to get a tying score, and very little hope of a win.

Throughout the match, players play to the expectations of the fans. Nihat controls the action – works hard, but nothing measureable to show for it. Arda is relegated to the bench – my chants notwithstanding – he is confined to his penance point rather than being put in the game to be the difference maker that I…er – he – is. Then there is Tuncay. Tuncay runs around, flashing his ass like a peacock – making everyone think he is making plays, being a team player – fooling people into thinking he knows what he is doing.

But in the 90^th minute – with Turkey trailing 1-0 and time now drifting into injury-added seconds, the ball gets played to the center. A header by some unknown Turk, and the ball bounces towards the Portugal goal. The Ports seem confused as the ball bounces a 2^nd time. Finally, Tuncay enters the picture from the right. He zigs. He zags. He darts his way to the center of the pitch just as the ball crosses his path in front of the goal. Tuncay, poised to take his place at the center of Turkish destiny, ready to join Ataturk as one of the faces of this nation, sees the ball bounce towards his dominant foot – defender out of position – a stout shot sure to cross the goal…Tuncay winds right foot and takes aim – with seconds to spare he uncorks his canon and lets fly a kick that would embarrass radar guns everywhere. The speed of the uncoil is truly magnificent – cobras everywhere duck their head in shame, seeing the steam of a true strike. In nanoseconds, ball will meet foot and the fortunes of an underdog nation will be changed forever. Shunned from the European Union, mocked as faux muslims – with one strike, Tuncay will put Turkey on the global map in a way that they have never existed – and he whiffs…

Oh yes my loyal readers – Tuncay took the longest back-kick one can imagine, wound up for days, and let fly – and completely missed the ball. Dozens of Turks at the bar we were at spit their Efes out and cursed the ground he walked on. All cock, no balls.

Arda sits, gaping in disbelief, at the end of the bench as he watches the last seconds tick away. Portugal takes advantage of the stunned Turks and score a breakaway goal to punctuate the 2-0 game, but it wouldn’t have mattered. With Tuncay’s whiff, Portugal’s effort was cemented in the ‘win’ column. And Tuncay will always be remembered as “that guy”. The Bill Buckner, the Charlie Liebrandt, the Craig Ehlo – the guy who takes the game on his shoulders at a time that matters in a game that is the defining game of his career, and he fails. Flat on his face he begins the task of assembling a litany of excuses for the post-game news conferences. Nice work Mr. I Can’t Hit a Soccer Ball as it Bounces Perfectly in Front of Me – this Bud’s for YOU. And like all the jerseys we wore – #17 (Senor Tuncay) chose its owner.

I would be remiss not to mention Nads’ shining moment, forever to be known only as “gaffe #2″.  As we watched the game (Portugal vs. Turkey, mind you) Rinaldo, one of soccer’s most recognizable players and the star of the Portugal team crosses the field, and just misses a great scoring opportunity.  As the Turks (including Raghip) were cursing the porous defense Nads decides this is her moment to be part of the group.  “Isn’t that the Rinaldo who was hooking up with Bipasha Basu?” she asks Raghip?  (Yes it was) But I don’t think he knows Bipasha Basu from Billy Blanks, so he just stares at her like she is speaking Chinese.  The rest of us also stare at her blankly.  “I think it was”, she answers (her own question, a “quirky” quality I have grown to love).  “He’s from Brazil right?”  The last part, in case you were still reading, was the part that made Raghip just gape at her like she was a pretty face surrounding a hollow coconut.  “Yes, from Brazil”, he said, “just don’t tell the Portugese!”  Ha – that was funny.

After the bummer of a loss, the bright spot was the weather – it finally stopped raining. We decided to do a club crawl and bounce from joint to joint to get a feel for the club vibe in Istanbul.

The first club looked promising. People coming in and out. Nice roof garden deck. But 8 flights of stairs later we stumbled into techno hell. The music was so bad that they actually played a techno version of Jingle Bells. Sweet. There was some goober in the corner wearing Adidas track pants and white tennis shoes, gooving with himself in front of a mirror. Definitely time to navigate the 8 flights in the opposite direction.

After passing a couple of more clubs, we got tired of the techno beats and decided to move on to more mellow digs. We found a smallish karaoke joint a few doors down the main strip, and decided to stop in for a few minutes. I kept waiting for the ass on the stage to stop singing so I can get up there and belt out my famous can’t miss karaoke hit. But this dude kept singing song after song. I finally realized it wasn’t a karaoke joint, and that dude was actually an entertainer. Anyways, no hollywooding that night. We did get a couple of slices of yummy birthday cake though, courtesy of the woman at the next table (turns out “Happy Birthday” in Turkish is the same tune as in the States).

3 am and time to bounce again. We roll back to Green Corner, the 24 hour nargila joint around the corner from our hotel. We settle in from some mint hookah and apple tea and a debrief of the night’s events, and other random topics.

5am and we are dunzo…

 

The Big Saturday – Turkistan Day 3

So Saturday was the day i was most excited about during the Istanbul tour. Not because of the sites we had planned to see, but because it is Euro2008, and Turkey was taking on favorite Portugal with futbol’s best player at 9:40 local time, and the city was getting ready for the event. But more about that later – now on to the day’s events.

For Saturday the plan was to take a cruise up the Bosphorus for a few lazy hours then spend the afternoon on land at one of the small fishing villages for lunch. Of course, with the dearth of English it was near-impossible to figure out what boat we were looking for, where it departed from, timings, and all the other minutia required to actually take the Bosphorus cruise. We finally figured out that it leaves at 1:35 pm, so we got there in plenty of time for the 5 hour tour (with visions of Gilligan dancing in our head).

The Turkish coastline around the Bosphorus is beautiful. There is an Asian side and a European side (with the first bridge connecting “Europe to Asia” being the Bosphorus bridge opened in 1973). The ferry zigzags both sides of the river, stopping at various points along both sides, eventually docking for 2 hours at a fishing village (Anadolu Kavagi) where we had lunch and walked around. Day 3, and we have already had rain for 2 days. It started pouring during the cruise, but luckily it shut down over lunch so we could walk around afterwards. Lunch was surprisingly average – again. All the food here is the same – “shish” or gilled meats is option 1, and some sort of fish dishes are the second option. There is ubiquitous pizza, but really Turkish food is the only cuisine. I am definitely spoiled by the variety of cuisine available in the US, specifically NYC, but really – Turkish and nothing else? I couldn’t do it for more than a few days. I am already jonesing for some sushi. So – back to lunch. We got some mezzes and some fish. Woohoo. There wasn’t a ton to see in the village after lunch – so we stopped and ate delicious fresh made waffles. Definitely the culinary highlight so far – they make these waffles fresh, and then slather them with white chocolate, dark chocolate, nutella, and sprinkle some nuts all around. Roll it up like a taco and oink away. Nads and I shared one, but one bite in, it was a decision I instantly regretted. I could’ve eaten 2 by myself. Washed down with a little apple tea, and we were back on the boat headed back to our port. All in all – a very relaxing day – which was perfect to get fired up for “the big match!”

 

A Drink to the Foe We Vanquished

Before I start posting about Turkistan again, i have to send a big atta-girl! to Hillary for her concession speech yesterday. Because CNN is the one English language channel here in Istanbul, I was able to watch her delivery and performance, and i think the Dems are going to be all right. She was passionate, she adopted his “Yes We Can” slogan, and she really did urge her supporters to get behind the Big O. All in all, i stand by my vote to put her in a position of authority, but not as the Veep.

Anyways, enough “Amrican” – i am in Turkistan, and about Turkistan I will write. I just wanted it to be known that the first Efesus of Saturday, in an old tradition that says you raise a glass to the defeated – was dedicated to Hillary – who gave a speech good enough to make me like her for the first time in about 18 years.

 

Day 2 in Turkistan – Table for 5

It’s Friday night – day 2 in Istanbul. First stop is a performance by the Whirling Dervishes, sufi mystics who show their devotion to God by spinning around until they enter a trance-like stat. The show is in a beautiful room off of the main train station in Sultanamet, and lasts about an hour. They didn’t quite whip themselves into a frenzy. The second plan is to go into the main nightlife section of the city, Taksim Square, for some dinner and a whiff of what nightlife the city has to offer. We walk down the main strip, and like many moments in life, the choice that lands us at Cafe Krempen ends up changing the flavor of our trip.

Over chicken and mushroom crepes and the customary Efes, we strike up a conversation with the owner’s son, Raghip, a 24 year old, English educated Turk. When he finds out we are from the US, he asks us the question de jeur – Obama or McCain. I give him my customary answer. The conversation turns towards Turkish politics when Nads has a moment that would make all geo-centric Americans proud…She asks Raghip who the dictator of Turkey is. I looked at her, Efes spewing from my gaping mouth, waiting for the “just kidding!”, but it never came. So I did the only thing a politically conscious muslim-american can do when faced with this situation in a muslim country…I show her the back of my hand and tell her to be silent for the rest of the night…Just kidding! We all laughed at what would become known as gaffe #1, and shame did my work for me.

We ended up talking a lot about Turkish politics, and we asked Raghip how the country was handling the secular vs. religious tension. He told us a couple of things that I guess I naively found surprising. First he told us that Osama was “wildly” more popular than GWB. He feels that the Turks will reserve judgment on Obama for now, and I think he secretly suspects Obama is muslim anyways, because of stuff like this. He also sees the tide in Turkey drifting towards more conservatism. The current split is probably 70/30 in favor of the secularists, but that ratio is significantly more conservative than at its founding 80 years ago, even amongst the younger generation.

“We’re the only muslim country to get it right, and it scares everybody because they’ve never seen anything like us”, he told me. In Turkey, a man can go from masjid to the nightclub and back again – blending religious obligations with the zeal for a secular life. Preach on brother – here’s to more Turkeys!!

We also had some interesting conversations with the younger Mr. Raghip about life, love, and the morning after. He is dating a woman who is a year older, and believes that now that Raghip has a degree, a job, and some $, and its now time for the ring. He was asking Quag and I about what he should do, and how should he approach the pressure. I think we gave him some pretty solid advice. Which reminds me – I have a quick letter to write.

Dear Yeni,

I understand that you are a lovely young woman who has captured Raghip’s eye, and the two of you have enjoyed two good years together. However, I don’t see things working out between the two of you. It’s not him, it’s you. If you were an author you would be Nagatha Christie. He is only 24 for god’s sake, and he is not ready for the yoke. Like any young man, he has wild oats that are yet unsown, and given that he has a Range Rover, a full head of hair, and stands 5’7” tall (a veritable giant among Turks), he can have his pick of fields to plow. Again, he has enjoyed this time with you, and it is with great sadness that he bids you adieu. Please don’t call – nobody likes desperate…

Ok – back to the blog. So, after an adventurous dinner, we hit club Riddim. Yes, I think it’s a play on “Rhythm”, but since no one speaks my freakin language, it is another lost in translation joke that is absolutely impossible to confirm. When I asked people they just smiled and nodded and tried to sell me something. But inside Riddim, we experienced a phenomenon I had only heard about – the Turkish love of 80s music. Friends from work told me that Turkey was famous for 80s cover bands, so much so that they even had a sort of grammy awards for Turkish 80s cover bands. Inside Riddim, we got a front row view as the Turkish cover band belted out such tunes as “Sweet Dreams” from Eurythmics, “Enjoy the Silence”, from DM, and as a sweet encore – “La Bamba. Watching Europeans bob their heads to a Turkish band belting out Mexican pop hits – Twas surreal. Good times to be had by all.

3am and we close the night with a scoop of old freezer-burned ice cream, and ready ourselves to be up and out the next morning at 9:30 to cruise the Bosphorus.

 

Day 1 – Istanbul

Day 1 – sans bag. I have been up since 5:45, reading in the bathroom so I don’t wake up the snoring donkey. When she does get up, Nads attitude about as fresh as her 48-hour chuds. I remind her it is her jinx that put us in this position in the first place. She curses at me using the same Indian word I used at the girl yesterday…which leads me to believe it IS a real swear!

The very first sight we see on our first sight-seeing day is the Obelisk outside the Hippodrome – this one, not this one. That spurred a nice long conversation with Dr. Quag about the true definition of an obelisk. Ranks right up there with the explanation of why salted water boils faster than non-salted.

Great 1^st sight though – it is the oldest artifact in Turkey, dating back to 1500 BC. We followed this up with the Blue Mosque, then Aya Sofya, and Topapki Palace. Day closed out by a stroll through the bazaar, then a night planned to include a performance by the Whirling Dervishes, and a trip to see the nightlife.

A couple of general observations about Turkey: It’s very European, but almost nobody speaks English. I don’t mean enough to have philosophical conversations about Heidi vs. LC – I mean the taxi driver can’t get you to the hotel. Aside from the questionable fashion sense, the harsh accents, and the general d’baggery exuded by the Eurpoeans, the Turkish themselves have adopted a lot of Euro habits (sadly, using deodorant isn’t one of those habits…). Most of them smoke, including a lot of women. As an example, our hotel room has 3X as many smoking room as non-smoking. Also, curiously went almost the entire day without seeing a hot Turkish woman. Many of them take grooming tips from Hena, but that aside – I was expecting striking features, but no.

Some things are as annoying in Turkish as English – Rachel Ray, Hillary, and Tyra Banks. And some things are funny regardless of the language – Underdog and Porky Pig. Even at 6:30 am- funny.

The younger generation seems to lean secular – some of the younger women dress conservatively, but not overly so. Women are out and about – you see them holding hands with men and there don’t seem to be any issues.

It took almost the entire day to see someone darker than ourselves – we saw 1 black child…not sure who he belonged too.

My Indian heritage was insulted twice – first I went into a clothing store and was looking at a golf shirt. I thought the price was a little high, so I said no thanks, and the guy tells me, “I have to tell many Indian people – you will find this shirt cheaper, but it will not be the same quality.” Thanks jackarse – by the way – THAT is the shirt I am looking for! Insult #2 – at the bazaar, a guy quotes us a price then says, “ok – lets start bargaining.” We told him we weren’t much for bargaining, and he says, “no, no – I know people with your face color – you are good at bargaining.” So I realized we are getting screwed because these guys will quote a dudhpakh one price, but quote us a higher price because they expect us to bargain them down harder. For the bad bargainers (like Eva who always tries to bargain by getting a price then asking how much it would be to buy 5 of them…shockingly it turns out to be 5X the original quote) – but for us bad bargainers, we end up paying more for items, or we have to work harder to bargain them down more, which reinforces us as cheap. Bastards.

I met a guy named Mustafa selling lamps. He asked me if I thought Obama was going to win. I said for sure, he thinks it is going to be McCain. I asked him if Obama won, would it change the world’s impression of American people. He said maybe – he would have to see if Obama followed through, but he thinks the world would be more open to an Obama-America than a McCain version. We traded cards, and I told him, “Mustafa, when Obama wins in November, I am going to wake up the next morning and think of you and you better make good on your promise to see the new US.” There was a lost-in-translation problem because he got creeped out and said, “but please don’t think of me for any other reason.”

The city is beautiful – from everywhere you can see the water. Very San Francisco’ish in that it has a suspension bridge connecting parts of the city, and beautiful coastlines (similar temperatures too). It is also very clean – no litter anywhere, which is shocking because you can’t find a trash can. Anywhere. There also doesn’t seem to be a lot of poverty. We didn’t see but 1 homeless person. We heard there was a 2^nd one, which started an interesting conversation. We were having lunch, and a cat strolled by. The owner of the café starts complaining that the cat comes by and eats 1 kilo of chicken a day, and it was owned by a crazy man down the street who was a “fake muslim.” I asked him what a fake muslim was, and he said he can spot one a mile away. I asked him what he thought of me.  I passed  Guy has no clue.

So – 6:45 pm on day 1 here in Istanbul, and word is that our bag is due to arrive at our hotel any minute. And Bag finally arrives!! Sweet. Seriously BA – nice work. Of all the bags that go unrecovered every year – you have to find ours!

 

Ready, Set, Launch?

Alright – day of departure, and a couple of last minute errands. Get a haircut – check. Gym – check. Bank run – check. Travel electrical-converter – check. Get some Immodium for Nads – check. Lunch at Lenny’s – check. Curse in some obscure Indian dialect at annoying 15 year old chick – check! Don’t worry, she definitely earned it, and I don’t even think it was a real swear – just sounded good. Recall Nads’ last trip to Egypt and India.and get 2^nd box of Immodium – check.

Finally at JFK, ready to blow out of here. Nads starts saying – oh, we should’ve packed some extra clothes in an overnight bag in case they lose our bags. Haha – don’t jinx us. Our flight is about 90 minutes delayed, and who do I have to Indian swear at to get a drink around here? 90 minutes in, and still nursing my first mini red label. After a few choice words later – I am restocked, ready to fly, and have Charlie Wilson’s War humming on the small screen. As an aside – this full day of cursing has made me realize that most people know when they are being cursed at, regardless of the language used. Not necessarily a bad thing, just an observation.

About 2 hours into the flight I am napping soundly thanks to timely refills, and all of a sudden I hear Nads shout, “OH MY GOD!” I look over and there is a fat old dudhpakh man sitting on my wife’s lap. But, not being the jealous type, I readjust my sleep mask and crash once again. He had removed himself by the time I woke.

Land in London, and we are scrambling. 12 minutes to make our connection. For Nads and I, it was like our own version of the Amazing Race. Snaking our way up the aisles the second the seat belt light goes off, bolting around people, racing through the terminal, up the escalator, around the corner, towards the connecting gate, only a lame security guard stands between us and our improbable feat…and rejected at the gate. Flight closed and we have to rebook. Luckily Hena was able to get us rebooked on a Turkish Airways flight an hour later. Hena was probably the billionth Indian we had seen in the 8 minutes we were at Heathrow – something in the water over there. One entire flight crew were Indian women, and I got caught glancing in their direction – really more out of curiousity then anything else – and Nads gurgled a couple of Indian curses at me. I am sure she used my word…

Back to Hena – cute girl, but some grooming issues. She was rocking the Errol Flynn mustache, and the Mufasa sideburns. Maybe helps explain why she had rings on every finger but the important one. But – she did get us rebooked, and promised to do her best to get our bags on the flight.

Finally on Turkish Airlines, and on our way. After seeing the plane, I fully expect every Turkish man I meet to be about 4’10” tall given the amazing dearth of leg room on these flights. Seriously – by far the most cramped flight I have ever taken. That and the B.O would have been bad enough, but the gods blessed me with a screaming baby girl right behind me. Dear little Sonu. She was screaming like someone was beating her ass, and her parents just laughed and chup-chup’d away. They finally intervened when she stood up on their chair and began hitting me in the head with a pair of headphones…for the 3^rd time. When she finally fell asleep I wanted to turn around, smack her and start screaming in her ear…but I am not immature like her. So I squeezed in a 15 minute cat nap before she woke up and started again.

Of course when we land – only 1 bag makes it. The Nads jinx is alive and well. “We’re never going to get our bag back”, Nads whines about 10 minutes after we realize it’s not on the plane. Right back with the jinx again – she just doesn’t get it. The “lost bag specialists” at BA have no idea where our bag is. “Maybe tomorrow. We will hope”, they told me as we left. Sweet. On the bright side – it really feels like all the guys are about 5′ tall!

[Contents of the lost bag as reported to British Airways – 1 pair Jimmy Choos, 1 pair Minolos, 1 Canon XLR digital camera with zoom lens, 1 fully stocked men’s toiletry kit with the full Burberry line, 1 pair Brutini men’s shoes, 10 pairs Victoria’s Secret chuds, and of course the bag itself is very, very valuable.] Sure hope that bag turns up because BA is going to owe us a boatload of money to replace all of “our” goods.

Get into the hotel in time to grab a late dinner with Quag and Eva, followed by a mint-flavored Nargila (hookah), and off to bed by 1 am. Ex-hau-sted.

 

A Historic Night!

By the time we go to bed tonight, Barack Obama will be the first black presidential candidate in the history of this country.  I am a big Obama fan (as is my momma) -  but fan or not, this is a big deal for all of us.  Hopefully Billary will stop destroying this party. 

To me it’s not about “the smartest guy”, though I think Obama can definitely lay claim to that title - it’s about being inspired.  I want to get EXCITED again about a politician, rather than choose the least of all evils.  I remember the first time I got really excited about politics – it was because of this speech.  It was because of this speech.  Reading them now – love him or hate him, Jesse gets the blood flowing.  I want to be part of this movement.  I want to follow when leaders like this lead.  I imagine its what my father (if he were white and in the US at the time) would think of this guy. 

Our generation has our Kennedy.  We have a more palatable version of Jesse Jackson.  The smartest guy is the guy who knows he needs to surround himself with guys who know more than him.  The smartest guy’s job is to take information, process it, and make intelligent, moral decisions.  We have Barack.  We have hope.   

Go Barack – and Go Dems in ‘08!

 

Off to Turkistan

 

So to celebrate our 2nd anniversary – me and the Nads are off to Turkistan with a couple of friends (see above) for a 10-day jaunt across the quasi-euro country.  The plan is as follows:

June 4 – Fly out to Turkey via London (little anxious about long flights, but nothing that a little Tylenol PM administered by 2 fingers of “Dr. Daniels” can’t cure).  Arrive in Turkey to randevouz with Punita.

June 5 – June 9 – Istanbul.  All the regular sites, some apple tea, some hookah, a cruise along the Bosphorus with stops along various fishing villages, a little Turkish bath action.

June 9 – fly to Izmir, then rent a car…a stickshift car.  And drive to Ephesus.  The fact that the State Dept has an entire page devoted to driving in Turkey doesn’t make me super eager to get behind the wheel, but given our other transport (and driving) options, I might be the best man for the job. 

June 10 – Travel around Ephesus.  Friends at work said this was the best set of Greco-Roman ruins in the world.  The whole world! 

June 11 – Drive to Kusadasi.  It’s a beach town that is about an hour from Ephesus.  There are some other smaller towns along the way – maybe a lunch stop?  Already excited about the food!

June 12 – Drive to Bodrum.  Another beach.  Which begs the question why are we driving from one beach to another?  Different beaches…duh!

June 13 – Bodrum beach time

June 14 – fly back to Istanbul late.

June 15 – back to the grind.

I can’t take any credit for the wonderfully planned itenerary.  That was all wife.  I planned India, and never, ever heard the end of it.  It was too cold.  It was too hot.  The horseback riding hurt her ass.  Etcetra.  Etcetra.   But I digress - she did a GREAT job in between working crazy hours to set up what looks like it will be a great trip for the 4 of us. 

Stay tuned for posts about the trip, to see if we stick to the itenerary, for all the funny stories, blah blah.  I will try to post at various intervals (if you subscribe to the RSS feed over ———-> you will get updates (I think that’s how it works).

Until then – ciao bella (that is “adios” in turkistanese!)

 

Kiva! Kiva! Kiva!

So I touted the merits of loaning money through Kiva in this post, and Nads and I have funded one round of loans.  If you don’t know about Kiva – shame on you!  They are an organzation who facilitates loans to 3rd world entrepreneurs at zero percent interest rates.  Their repayment rate has been phenomenal – something like 97% which just goes to show that many of the world’s poorest are looking for a hand-up, not a hand-out.  Repayment plans take from 6-12 months usually, and when all the funds have been repaid, the original lender can re-lend (hopefully) or remove his money.  You lose a little rate of return, but the difference in the lives of these struggling entrepreneurs is life-changing.  Nads and I have already started to see our loans repaid.  Here are the 4 entrepreneurs we lent to:

1.  Nasreen Akhter’s Group.  A loosely formed group of people from the same village in Pakistan who are looking to expand various businesses.  The lead woman – Nasreen, believes strongly in the value of education, and all 4 of her daughters go to school.  Only one of her school-aged children, her son, does not attend school, because his help in the family business is indespensible  It’s great – on February 29, they posted a request for $1,300 for various ventures.  On March 1, their request was fully funded, and by March 15 – about 6 weeks later – they had their money.  They have paid back 17% of their loan.

2.  Marlon Javier Arestogui.  A Nicaraguan rickshaw-wallah who needed $175 to improve his rickshaw.  He wanted to make some repairs, and “add a touch of elegance” for his riders.  He requested the funds on March 1, was funded the same day, and by  March 15, he had his money.  He has already paid back 21% of the loan.

3.  Getina Mwaibare.  A Tanzanian woman who is raising 6 children (4 of her own, and 2 nieces) needed $875 to purchase utensils and ingredients in bulk for her barbeque chicken business.  She originally borrowed a sum through Kiva for the initial seed money for the business – she paid that off, and now she is looking to improve.  She listed a request for the money on March 1, and by March 15, she had the cash.  !0 weeks later, she has paid back 17% of the loan.

4.  Kwegata Wakimese Group.  A group of 5 female entrepreneurs in Uganda who use the money for various home-based industries.  They were seeking $1,825 on February 29, and they too had their money by March 16.  10 weeks later, they have repaid 17% of their loans.

I am sure Nads and I will leave our money and re-lend, especially if we experience the same repayment success that Kiva has experienced across all entrepreneurs.  So for all of you thinking – “we want to do something good for someone, but we are a little lazy and unmotivated.”  Just click here!