2013 World Trip Part 6

The city was like nothing I’d ever seen before and I was thrilled with this because it was EXACLTY what I had hoped for.

We set foot outside our room not knowing anything about the city or where we were. My thought process was basically

                ‘Head in *That* direction, find a point of reference, dictate all future adventures according to said point.’

This was remarkably harder than originally thought. Having come from the relatively flat Australian terrain, Istanbul’s first noticeable difference (geographically) was its verticality. The place was built on a multitude of hills and our calves thanked us in aching waves for exploring the city. Our first stop was a currency exchange to be rid of the US Dollars we had accumulated to convert to the Turkish Lira to which the country was accustomed. Next, we bought a map so we could figure out exactly where we were, something we had made sure to ignore as soon as we set foot outside of our room.

Though convoluted, it only took the better part of twenty minutes for my masculine path-finding instincts to kick in and we zeroed in on our position on the map. Feeling confident, we made for a deli that was closest to the point we’d designated on the map. During the first lunch we had in Turkey, I made absolutely certain where we were on our recently acquired map. This was particularly hard to do on the street as they were populated with ‘helpful’ merchants that wanted nothing more than to ‘assist’ you for a small fee, no matter how much you waved them off. Setting a course for the nearest mosque, we paid for our brunch and headed off.

It just so happened that the nearest mosque was the ‘Aya Sofia’ – one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever laid eyes on. Honestly, I’m not a religious person in the least (at least, not yet) but being at the base of this enormous building, I felt obliged to pay my respects. In front of me lay this mammoth effort that people had forged years before and here I was fumbling with my phone and camera. We’d barely made it inside the walls of the place before I noticed Ian was lagging behind. I tracked where I thought he’d be and noticed he’d been held up by a local vendor of sorts. With much enthusiastic head shaking to be as polite as he could, Ian was handed a book and then returned it. Thinking this was a local custom he’d picked up that I’d somehow missed, I asked him to explain himself when we were finally re-united.

                ‘Yeah, so, the guy was handing me this book saying it was “Free! Free! Free!” no matter how much I told him “No”. The moment he gave it to me, he said I had to make a donation of 10 Lira.’

Lesson learned – don’t ever hold anything offered by a street merchant- we made our way into the complex. We’d only made it a few steps into the walled off area before we saw the signs that described the expected dress code. Ian met the regulations by I – in my shorts and thongs – failed to do so, so instead of breaching the inner sanctum with my sacrilegious dress-code, we wandered around the outskirts which I found to be equally as beautiful. 

The area we had found ourselves in was quite obviously the tourist district as the sheer magnitude of cafes and street vendors was uncountable. We retreated to the solace of a shady area of grass whilst we indulged ourselves in a sweet pretzel each, but it was only minutes before we were approached by someone.

                ‘TOUR! TOUR! TOUR ISTANBUL!’

There was no amount of waving that we could muster that was dissuading this man, and let me tell you, we tried. This well-dressed Turk wanted to know everything about us; from where we came from, to where we were going and everything in between. He seemed particularly interested in telling us about a certain river tour that showed us Istanbul in its beautiful entirety. Already tired from the flight and unexpected trekking through the city, we gave in and listened to what the man was explaining. He flashed an ID card hanging from his neck via a lanyard multiple times like it meant something to us. Out of sheer persistence, the man managed to rope us into the river tour he’d described earlier. We parted ways in pursuit of alcohol, as was our (my) priority.

We didn’t even have to wander far before we found an incredible café opposite what looked to be some sort of ancient museum (which later turned out to be a graveyard thanks to a very awkward self-guided tour). We indulged ourselves with a few beers and a concoction of bread and meaty chunks. Were staggered back a few hours later to the same area we’d met the tour guy earlier.

We were only two of a group of approximately thirty other tourists that had quite obviously fallen for the same routine that we’d been duped by. Turks, French, English, Japanese, it didn’t matter; this tour attempted valiantly to cater for all backgrounds. After an easy-going twenty minute downhill march, the group found itself at the boat (that I’d honestly been doubting existed since I bought the tickets).

Surrounding the docking area we’d been forced to congregate at were multiple street vendors with multiple choruses.

                ‘WATER! WATER! WATER!’ chanted one, thrusting chilled, bottled water in the air to punctuate his point.

                ‘MELON! MELON!’ shouted another. He didn’t wave his produce in the air, but he was pretty much explaining his wares in one word, so he didn’t have to. Also nearby was a guy with a range of different BB guns. A few metres in front of him lay a variety of punctured balloons and shattered glass bottles. He simply stood in front of his ‘stand’, smirking. He let the scene describe itself.

Boarding, we made our way to the uppermost of the two levels the boat had to offer. It was covered by a shade cloth, though this was quite obviously an afterthought – the craftsmanship spoke volumes. Soon, we were headed out to the deepest water of the river that divided new and old Istanbul thanks to some hearty engines. The tour guide tried hard to provide a commentary that was thrilling, but it was largely lost on me. I was more interested in the behemoth of a man that attempted to sit in front of me. I say ‘attempted’ as he had his ass as far back in the seat as possible, and yet was still sliding off thanks to his back fat. It was rather amusing to watch.

The entire cruise took around two and a half hours. By the end of which, Ian and I had filled our quota of ‘Istanbul by Water’. Though cool, the views of Istanbul did not hold the thrill we were promised and we soon found ourselves hanging at the front of the boat, watching as the bow sliced through the waves. 

We passed under both Bosphorous Bridges, went past multiple mosques, palaces and clubs and at one point were headed towards the Bosphorous before we performed an eloquent 180° and headed back the way we’d come.

On the way back, we found ourselves passing a monument Ian and I felt personally connected to – Maiden’s Tower. 

You see, back in 1999, a little movie by the title ‘The World Is Not Enough’ was released – the finale of which being set in the bay we were currently chugging over in our oversized boat (I say over as it occurred in a submarine). However, prior to boarding this, Bond – yes THE Bond – was held captive in Maiden’s Tower by *SPOILERS* Elektra King in a Turkish torture device. Bond being Bond, he managed to escape, save his boss, kill his captor and escape to the aforementioned submarine. One thing we couldn’t help but notice was just how small the tower looked in real life compared to the movie. In the movie, he scaled several stories of stairs to confront Elektra. In reality, the entire tower looked – at maximum – three stories tall. Scorned by Hollywood, we took our places once more at the front of the boat and were periodically sprayed with Northern-Hemisphere salt water until we returned to port.

Once there, we faced the un-aided climb back to the tourist district we’d come from. Initially panicked by the prospect, I soon calmed down once Ian reminded me that we’d essentially come in a straight line from the Aya Sofia to the bay and could return the same way. Realizing that common sense had left me during the river tour, I followed as Ian led the way. A few labored steps later, we found ourselves at the same place we’d initially been harassed to join the tour and true to form, another man repeated the process. We waved him away (multiple times) telling him we’d just rejoined the mainland from the tour he was advertising (multiple times) and hastily made our way in a direction he was not. Soon, we found ourselves hungry and surrounded by restaurants. It was not a terrible position to be in.

We obviously chose the one with the most attractive girl at the front. After being seated and confronted with menus, we noticed with simultaneous throat clearances that the prices in Istanbul had dramatically increased from what we’d been accustomed to in Cambodia. Jabbing at the most expensive thing at the menu, we settled into the ‘House Red’ and sunk into our chairs. Another reality check ensued. A week prior to this, we were in Adelaide, preparing to leave the country. Now, here we were, about to eat steak cooked in front of us with Cognac-fuelled flames whilst the sun set behind hulking mosques and the evening call and the evening call to prayer rang out over Istanbul. Following this, we finalized the meal with an espresso (for me) and Turkish coffee (for Ian). Ian quickly realized the Turkish coffee wasn’t his particular cup of tea. Yes, I just made that pun.

The staff at this particular restaurant were overly friendly and it didn’t take long for me to realize that it wasn’t just for the fact we were buying the most expensive things on the menu. It was after our complimentary shots of liqueur were laid in front of us at the table with a ‘knowing grin’ did I realize that the staff believed Ian and I were a couple. And who was I to argue? Here were two adult(ish) men, indulging in the same meal with red wine as the sun set over Istanbul. It also dawned on me that as long as Ian and I realized we weren’t actually together (though we’d be AMAZING together, but that’s another story) and the staff didn’t cotton on, I was completely OK with this if we were receiving free stuff.

Once we’d paid, we left the amazing restaurant to the satisfied smiles of the staff, happy to oblige the international gays. Now knowing the layout of our general vicinity SLIGHTLY better (and I must emphasize the word ‘slightly’) we headed back to our hotel room. Though the sun was setting, the traffic was no less suicidal and the street vendors no less vicious with their sales attempts. If anything, there were more vendors out and about in the failing light as the temperature cooled . Knock-off shoes and rugs seemed to be the most prevalent of all wares and needing none of either, we made it back with our wallets (and their contents) unscathed.

The shower rocketed multiple geysers of hot, steamy water onto my skin once I was back at the hotel. I could honestly feel the water cut through the layers of sweat and grime that had accumulated underneath my clothes during the course of the day. Though I felt slightly safer in the water, I retained a shred of common sense and refused to drink the water of a foreign country whilst in the shower – as was my custom at home. The scalding water became a distant memory as I sunk into my bed, one day in Istanbul down, with another to come and no more insight into what it would hold.

I awoke sluggishly – as was quickly becoming normal for me – to a new day in Turkey. A persistent man was already up, dressed and screaming in the street a refrain that was as meaningful to him as it was annoying to us. We were yet to see any civil unrest or evidence of riots where we were, but this man seemed adamant to bring a small trace of them to us. With his disturbance of the peace noted and our willingness to riot against them growing, we made our way back onto the streets of Istanbul, still with no clear idea of what we were going out to find or why.

We headed in the same area we’d found dinner the night before and instead found multiple restaurants advertising breakfast which wasn’t entirely unexpected due to the fact that it was still morning. We found the most appealing of the lot and made a beeline for it. By the ‘most appealing’ I mean the one that didn’t have a guy out the front shoving menus in people’s faces, forcing them inside through intimidation. One inside, we were faced with a room-wide buffet of pastries, fruit, meat and yoghurt.  Mouths watering, we dove in for firsts, seconds and thirds. Appetites sated, we topped the whole ordeal off with strong, black coffee (good coffee being hard to come by in Cambodia) and left.

With no particular destination in mind, we decided to let the alleyways guide the way. After following a noticeable decline for more than a few streets, we found ourselves confronted by a stone wall. We traced it to an opening and found ourselves confronted with an enormous park. The park was filled with rows of various flowers and grassy knolls – all of which accentuated by a small accumulation of rubbish at one point or another. We moved past this, not giving it a second thought. Our minds were occupied with conversations of Pokemon and other ‘meaning-of-life’ topics. It was only really at that point that I realized how prevalent the fictional animals were becoming on our trip. Completely satisfied with that thought, we found ourselves at the opposite edge of the park from where we’d entered. The view we found was stunning.

We were standing in a small café teetering precariously on the edge of a hill. We were quickly ushered to small, wooden, hilariously uncomfortable seats by the gruff staff that had obviously drunk their fill of the incredible view and were now more interested in sucking tourists’ pockets dry. The café on a hill was facing the river we’d ventured on the afternoon before, and gave us a full view of both Bosphorous Bridges and everything in between. It was at this incredible point in our journeys that both Ian and I decided to test the limitations of our internationally capable phones and called home.

First and foremost, I called my girlfriend. This wasn’t the first time I’d called her on the trip but it was the first time I’d hit her message bank. It dawned on me that even though we were in relatively similar time zones, she was still in the real world, having to deal with things like ‘shift-work’. Failing to contact her, I touched base first with my sister and then my parents. My sister unleashed her barrage of tactful insults as is her duty and then proceeded to recommend apple tea and Turkish delight, both of which had failed to form blips on our radars of things to do for some reason. After a prolonged conversation with my parents – my father misunderstanding a delay between my speaking and his hearing it as an incapability of me being able to understand him at all, leading him to speak in drawn out sentences as if I spoke a different language – we left our table and worked our way to the grandiose buildings the park surrounded – the former royal palace.

AND THAT'S A WRAP FOR ANOTHER THRILLING INSTALLMENT OF MY LIFE!

Seriously though, stop trying to live through me. 

Stay tuned!!! 

Follow the link to part 7:
http://ponderingoblong.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/2013-world-trip-part-7.html