crazywonderful

I’m sitting here in Istanbul on a rainy Monday afternoon, so this will be a bit brief, but details of the last few days are as follows:
Friday afternoon Jeff and Pam and I left the school and headed over on the ferry to Istanbul. For the three of us and the car, it cost 3 million TL, so about three bucks CDN for a 30 minute ferry ride. Anything to do with cars in Istanbul is a complete and utter free-for-all, including getting yourself onto and parking on the ferry. I have gotten used to the driving (I have taken one or two taksis every day since arriving) and I have gotten used to having no seat belt, and I have gotten used to the honking (I like looking to see where each taksi driver’s thumb or hand has made an impression in the middle of his steering wheel) but I will never, ever get used to the way motorcyclists drive around this city. If I do not see one of them get killed before I leave I will be very surprised indeed. And they don’t wear helmets, for the most part, at least not on their heads. On their handlebars or between their feet seems to be the general rule. It makes me crazy. I want to pull on their ears and tell them to smarten up, for the love of allah. Friday night was pretty mellow, I bought my Fez Bus ticket and Pam and I hooked up for a little bit with an Australian woman named Sam and wandered around the Grand Bazaar.
Saturday I was on my own during the day, so I decided to go to the Basilica Cistern, this huge honking underground water storage cavern built by (I think) Emperor Justinian in the very long time ago century (You can tell when I don’t have my guidebook on me). So, underground cavern, damp, drippy, I negotiated the marble stairs (great in wet conditions) and walked about five steps into the cavern when the lights went out. (Did I mention the underground part?) I’m not sure, but I might have been praying there for a few seconds. Pitch black, and the place was packed with several tour groups and I could just feel the panic building. Then about ten seconds later the lights came on, and I refrained from clapping and nervously went on my merry way.
As I’m writing this, the 13:00 call to prayer is happening and the cafe proprietor is yelling into his phone right beside me, and when he is not yelling he is chasing stray cats out of the place, and there is some kind of altercation between a tour bus, a dolmus and a car on the road out front involving a lot of honking and gesturing, and men keep going by with big wheeled flat carts they are pushing, and they are yelling something, and I have no idea what it is, but I can’t help imagining it is “Bring out your dead!” in Turkish. I’m probably wrong on this one. I’m having a little bit of difficulty concentrating, but not too much. Also, I’m feeling a little giddy because on Saturday afternoon I bought not one, but TWO carpets (I can’t quite explain what I was thinking but I spent way, WAY too much money), and just this morning I was successful in returning the larger of the two (the one that was too big for my apartment anyway) which is kind of unheard of in Istanbul but I can now afford to fly home, and I have never been more relieved in my whole entire life.
Which brings us to Sunday, a day spent pretty much running around trying to fix The Big Carpet Mistake of Ought Four. Also, I hung out in Ortokoy for a bit with Pam and Toby “Runny Bum” Jones. Then I came home. The taksi dropped me off in front of the Blue Mosque around 21:00 and there was some kind of recorded performance going on in English, I think explaining the history of the mosque, so I sat down on a bench to enjoy it but I am one lone woman in Turkey, and every fifteen seconds (I am not exaggerating) a Turkish man was asking me how i was doing or if it was good for me. I left after about four minutes because it was either that or sucker-punch the next Turkish male who spoke aloud. (So much for the high ideals of travel promoting world peace.) While I have gotten used to the traffic and driving, I can’t get used to the constant harassment. Not that I want to. The going theory (not mine) is that Hollywood movies have led to the perception that all western women are easy, and all you have to do is say hello to one of us and we fall backwards, miraculously losing our pants and underwear by the time we hit the ground. Also, a Turkish man I met recently offered this explanation: “Turkish men. Very horny.” Whatever the cause, it is very, very fucking annoying, and by the time I get home from anywhere I have gone, I am a very tense ball of teeth-gritting man-hating nerves.
Where was I?
So I went home to Bonnydoon after the non-show and went to bed, and this morning I got up early to return my carpet, which I still can’t believe I was able to do, and I planned to go to Aya Sofya and the Turkish & Islamic Museum, but I forgot that pretty much all the touristy shit is closed on Mondays (and sometimes Tuesdays). Which brings us to me sitting here at the internet cafe. I can’t download photos from here, so Smugmug will have no updates for a while, but at least y’all know what I’ve been up to.
Thursday I’m off on the Fez Bus for the coast, so I’ll try to update along the way, but if I don’t, just imagine me having a really good time. Also, if you frequently imagine some random Turkish man asking me if he can ask me just one question, or making kissing noises at me, or telling me I’m unhappy and he can make me happy, that would probably be accurate too.