Picking up speed and falling behind

As I should've expected I'd be, I am hopelessly behind schedule on these blog posts. So here is a recap of my European trip since returning to Istanbul from Prague.

• October 27: Fresh off the plane from Prague I was pickpocketed in the Istanbul airport. Unbeknownst to me, my wallet hopped ship as I was riding the escalator down to the subway station. It wasn't until two stops later that I realized all my credit cards and far too much cash for me to have been carrying in one place were gone. Oi. Fortunately, I'd scanned all of Istanbul with my iTouch during the previous weeks for free wifi hotspots and knew the Best Western across from the Aya Sofya would be able to help me out. There, I was able to cancel my cards, send a few emails home, and afterwards begged the desk clerk to forgive most of the $100 phone bill I'd run up calling Chase and Visa.
• October 28: I flew to Rome on my Bill Bryson-inspired impulse trip to Italy. To my great surprise, my mom took me up my invitation to join me. We walked about 3,000 miles around Rome seeing and doing all the Rome things: Colosseum, Pantheon, Vatican, eating gelato.... After three days, we took the fast train to Florence where we spent two days and nights visiting The Duomo, Ponte Veccio, David, and the other tourist "Top Tens."
• November 3: Back to Istanbul. Carrying my wallet in my front pocket now.
• November 4: Brandon arrives! We meet at the airport and he surprises - nay, overwhelms -- me with the news that he'd sent an email out to the Camp Owatonna community about my pick pocketing experience. In four days, friends from all over the country had chipped in enough money to give to me to completely make up for the money lost in my wallet! I was stunned speechless. Talk about a family that cares.
• November 8: Istanbul is a dirty city crowded with cranky people and slimy carpet vendors (seriously guys, does it look I have a place to put a carpet in my backpack?). We decide to hop a night bus heading east to Cappadocia in central Turkey.
• November 8-11: Staying in the town of Goreme in the middle of the moonscape-like landscape that is Cappadocia. We take out ATVs on a tour of a couple of the valleys; rent scooters for the day and visit a few nearby villages; hire a car and driver with another Brazilian couple to take us on a day tour of the area; and become friends with several interesting other travelers.

While out on our day tour, we stopped in the Soganli Valley and ate lunch at a friendly, family-run pension. After, we walked the 1.5 mile loop that takes visitors by seven or eight 14th Century Byzantine churches carved into the valley walls and rock formations ("fairy chimneys" they're called). In one, we climbed up through an opening in the ceiling, up another level, and to the top floor of the rock-church. I was living out Fraggle Rock and couldn't have been more pleased.

While out on the scooters, we visited the small town of Mustafapasa, and old town which up until WWI was inhabited largely by Greeks. Now, the Greeks' remaining presence is in the architecture of the homes they left behind. As we walked the quiet streets, we meet Julie, a Californian with all the gregariousness of a Southern Bell. She was squatted down on the sidewalk eating pumpkin seeds with four other local Turkish women and invited us to join. As we munched on seeds and drank the tea the women brought out to us, Julie shared with us that she and her husband had purchased the hotel across the square (The Upper Greek House), spent the last two years expanding and fixing it up into a

boutique hotel, and now spend two months out of the year in Mustafapasa. She gave us a tour and showed us the secret underground rooms and tunnel they discovered after knocking down an old wall. They are still working on excavating the space but think the tunnel may run 3km to beneath a near-by mountain where there or may not be a lost underground city. To think, I get excited when I find lost change in my laundry bag.

Jack, Julie's husband, brought Brandon and I out to the field behind their place afterwards and showed us the underground church he'd discovered the previous week. While exploring another above-ground church, Jack said he'd seen an opening behind "that apricot tree over there" and when he looked closer he found a Byzantine church complete with ancient frescos and a looted grave that sits unknown to the tour groups.

Last night, we took the night bus to Antalya (ten hours) and then hopped another two busses to reach Olympos, this funky, hostel-laden little town in a valley moments away from 2nd Century ruins and the Mediterranean.

We're staying at the pension called "Bayrams" with about 5 other people (the hostel is a ghost town as it can house 200 guests). The property is filled with orange trees and for 22TL (~$15) a night we receive free breakfast, dinner, and Internet access.

Tonight, we'll make the 5km hike up to one of the surrounding mountains to see the Chimera, the natural gas flames that have been burning 24-7 on the hillside for a millennium.

Burn baby, burn.

The Czech Republic -- October 21-27

A friend of mine from high school, Jess, is living in a small town 35 miles outside of Prague teaching English. I have spent the past week with her, visiting her high school and elementary classes, spending time with her gracious host family, meeting her friends and (soon to be) fiancé, and exploring Prague. Jess has lived here, in the oh-so-small and oh-so-charming town of Nyburk, for about a year and a half.

Coming from a stay in the gigantic, cumbersome, and generally unpleasant monster that is Istanbul, Nymburk felt like a dream town, like a swab of deodorant on a hot day, like a place that with the addition a few snow-capped rooflines and a smattering of glowing lampposts would be inches away from being a real life Thomas Kinkade image. Historically, there‘s not much to write about but with its blackened and acid rain softened town center, medieval city walls and moats, cobblestone streets, and cafes, Nymburk is a refreshingly European hamlet, growing from the disrepair caused during its Communist past.

I visited with Jess’s host family, the Bashas (incorrect spelling, I’m sure), a friendly family of four + 1 athletic parakeet (he ran around the living room each day, tossing and chasing a small mesh ball). Martina, the mother, prepared a traditional Czech lunch for us on Saturday: schnitzel and whipped potatoes, a mushroom and tomato soup, and cold shredded cucumber in vinegar and sugar. We washed down -- though it felt a bit more like burned down -- the meal with a shot of Becherovka. I’m not a drinker so I initially declined the offer to throw back what Martina described as “an aid for digestion.” As it would be, everyone in the family, including the 16 and 12 year old Basha boys, take a shot in the morning to, as Martina elegantly described, "get the system going.” Martina absolutely insisted I try a serving, especially since I hadn’t drank much of the prized Czech beer served with lunch (I mine as well have spat on the Czech flag), and I couldn’t say no any further without being impolite. So I threw back a shot of the cinnamon and licorice flavored gasoline. If you call burning a hole through my stomach down to my bladder “an aid for digestion,” then sure, it helped settle the meal.

Jess, her boyfriend Ondra, and I spent a day at Kutna Hora, a picturesque medieval village in Central Bohemia. Next to its impressive gothic cathedral, the number two destination is the Sedlec Ossuary, a Catholic church dating to 1400 that is decorated with the bones of 40,000 Black Plague and Hussite War victims. The result is a macabre sight: garlands of skulls, pyramids of legs and arm bones, and a central “chandelier” containing at least one of every bone in the human body. I looked around with grisly fascination for about 10 minutes before a large wave of “Creeped Out” washed over me. Before leaving I got a few good shots that I might use with holiday cards, however.

Great week in the Czech Republic! Thanks Jess for letting me tag along for a week and showing me your new home, the Bashas for a great meal, and Ondra and Ladia for hosting me.

See more pictures from the Czech Republic here.

Christmas card backdrop.

Tea Party

Turkey is a nation of tea drinkers. Cay, as it’s called (“chai,” as it’s pronounced), is a staple in every man, woman, and child’s daily diet. In my experience with it, the actual tea is not very exciting; no different than your average cup of Lipton. The best part about it, really, are the glasses it’s served in. They’re small, the same height as two stacked AA batteries, and have the same curved shape as a Betty Boop silhouette. There’s no handle and the daintily-sized rim has me involuntarily raising my pinky finger as I sip.

Uninspiring taste be darned, the Turks love it! While in the Grand Bazaar the other day, I watched couriers carrying hanging trays of tea weave their way in and out of carpets and dangling lanterns to waiting shop owners. A pot-bellied man in a red shirt serves tea to passengers on my 10-minute ferry ride between continents. I pass a crazy man on my walk to the bus station every day. He sits on a stool and sells breath mints, toe nails, and tissues. He too enjoys his tea.

What surprises me most about this obsession is that the public bathrooms aren’t more crowded. Perhaps the Turks have been blessed with large bladders; I know from my own experience that liquids pass through my system in exactly 14 minutes. I could never keep a business open and properly attended if I indulged in this cultural obsession as often as I see the Turks doing so. Maybe this explains the erratic driving: People gotta go, gotta go, gotta go.

I spent the afternoon at Topkapi Palace, a 15th Century walled castle, adjacent to the Aya Sofya. A series of Ottoman sultans lived here from the mid-1400s to the mid-1800s. According to Ottoman tradition, the sultan maintained a “see but never seen“ status. As a result, the Palace is not a single-structured castle like its European counterparts but rather a series of courtyards, pavilions, kiosks, sleeping quarters, and secret passageways designed to limit the contact the sultan had with, well, most anyone.

Many of Topkapi’s visitors are religious pilgrims, traveling from across the Muslim world to see some of Islam’s most precious relics. Kept in what are called the “Sacred Safekeeping Rooms,” are the Prophet Mohammed’s footprint, a hair from his beard (I wonder, how can it possibly be known that this belonged to him??), his tooth (again, how?), and sword, amongst other valuable antiques from Mecca. I don’t believe anything of spiritual substance can be found in material objects and found much of this this display as uncanny and unnerving as the gold-plated Pope bones in St. Peter’s Basilica. No part of Topkapi is more uncomfortable to visit than the circumcision room, however.

Old hairs aside, the real gem of Topkapi is its Harem, the living quarters of the imperial family and the sultan’s concubines. The harem housed as many girls and ladies-in-waiting as the sultan could support (this number often in the hundreds). Collected as slaves or given as gifts, girls entered the harem to be schooled in Islam and Turkish culture and the arts of music, dress, make-up, and dancing. If they demonstrated proficiency, they were promoted as ladies-in-waiting to the sultan’s immediate family and, if beautiful enough, to the sultan himself.

The couple dozen rooms on the open tour are only a fraction of the total rooms in this wing of the Palace but are exemplary of fine Turkish craftsmanship. The intricacies of the tile work that fill every wall and ceiling could occupy your attention for days! Despite the throngs of tourists from around the world, it’s possible to find quiet moments in Topkapi. I had 45 seconds to myself in a chamber in the Harem and felt, for a moment, what a life lived here may have been like: intensely luxurious and terribly, terribly lonely. Women here lived a life of strict tradition and ceremony. Mothers of the sultan’s boys were in competition with each other to have their sons chosen for the next throne. Young concubines were consistently on display and expected to perform to impress. Silence was observed in the outdoor courtyards. Meanwhile, the city, the Bosphorus, and the world passed them by from the other side of a gold-grated window.

East meets West. Tyler meets traffic.

When sitting in Istanbul's chronic and reckless traffic, the city has about as much charm as one of those bobbing clouds of swarming small, black flies that loiter in open fields; the ones that you inevitably pass through at least once a summer as you mow the lawn, walk the dog, or, in what is often my case, when you’re with a group of friends or co-workers you’re trying to make a good impression on. You spit, wheeze, gasp, and maybe stumble as the little buggers set up time shares in your ears, nose, mouth, and eyelids. Upon first arrival, Istanbul is like that.

With 20 million residents, Istanbul is Europe’s third-largest urban area, behind Paris and Moscow. The apartment that I have kindly be invited to stay in during my visit to the city is in Kavacik (say: kav-ah-jik), on the Asian side of the city and about five miles from Sultanahmet, Istanbul’s famous sightseeing area. The main drag through town is full of mini-marts, bakeries, fish stands, kebab stalls, and Turkcell cell phone outlets.

Learning the area has been an interesting challenge. The language barrier is a bit haırıer than I was expecting; I've meet few residents who speak any English. I am learning Turkish as best I can and making glacially slow progress. In the past day, my Turkish vocabulary grew to a whopping four words/phrases: “Merhaba,” (hello), “Lütfen,” (please), “Baklava,” (a delightfully syrupy Turkish pastry that I welcome at all hours of the day), and “Kayboldum,” (I’m lost). To say “thank you” is “Tesekkürler,” (say: te-shek-kewr-lehr) though something about the double “K” ties my tongue in a knot of spit and instant shame. Instead, I mumble “Tushekl….rr” or, in my fluster, assume a German identity and throw out “Dankeshane.” Since walking to Sultanahment is not an option, and a one-way taxi ride costs 30-40 Lira (approximately $20), I was left with no other option than to learn Istanbul’s impressively thorough and heavily-used public bus system. I understood the ferry route to cross the Straight but up until yesterday I been having trouble learning which busses to ride. To get to and from Üsküdar, I’d need a bus number.

The Uskudar bus depot -- the stop across the Bosphorus from Sultanahmet - is not so much a terminal as it is an open area of pavement and hassle, thick with the threat of being juiced like a fresh fruit between a parked vehicle and a bus rounding a corner with all the nimbleness of an elephant (I am nearly sure some of the inexplicable random puddles in the streets are the remnants of unfortunate souls who’ve been reduced to an oily pulp, having been flossed between bus passings). The six lanes of traffic, flood of taxis more dense than a spring salmon run, shouting fast food vendors, and scores of covered bus pick-up points were all more than I could digest on my first arrival in Uskudar. I must’ve asked 10 people but with no resolve. I raised a white flag and hired a taxi.

Of course, seemingly large challenges are always appear worse when we’re willing to be overwhelmed by them. Well, not I! Yesterday, I pulled out my Blue Bible (the Lonely Planet guide to Turkey), looked up “I’m lost” in the glossary, and marched into a local magazine shop with map in hand. I left a minute later with the bus number and appropriate fare info (1.50TL). Gee. That was an anticlimactıc solution.

During the past four days, I’ve enjoyed seeing up close the Hagia Sophia (or “Aya Sofya” or “Church of Holy Wisdom“), the Blue Mosque, and the Grand Bazaar, three of Istanbul’s top tourist draws. I explored the first two with my mouth agape, awed with each of their histories, (mostly) well-preserved details, and with the sheer pleasure of being at the converging point of the Eastern and Western worlds. I am so happy to have a quiet, safe, place of my own to return to. Perhaps coming home to watch Jay Leno zip line through rings of fire kills the athenticity of my time in one the Western world's most historically important cities, but I enjoy ending a day of satisfying sightseeing with mediocre American cable. Thank you, Jay.

I still have a lot of Istanbul to see but I think exploring the city in bite-sized chunks and at my own pace will make my visit much more enjoyable.

Until next time, Teshekk…lrr!

Istanbul

Merhaba! Hello from Turkey! I am here in Istanbul, one week into a two-month exploration of Turkey. After a very enjoyable summer working at summer camp for boys in Maine, I am taking a rain check on the American recession/my own job search, using the slumped economy as an excuse to itch my wanderlust (though to be fair, I could have legitimized any number of ridiculous reasons to hop on plane: pollen count, ominous cloud shapes, unappealing day-time cable programming…).

I am traveling alone for the month of October. Thanks to the generosity of a friend of a former co-worker, I am staying in an apartment in Kavacik (say: kav-ah-jik), a neighborhood within the Istanbul city limits, about five miles from the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, and other famous Turkish landmarks. I have two weeks to explore the area before leaving for the Czech Republic, where I’ll spend one week visiting a high school friend who works as a high school English teacher outside of Prague.

After a week in Eastern Europe, it’ll be back to Istanbul where, at the beginning of November, I’ll be joined my good friend Brandon. We will then have one month to explore the country as we see fit. Though we have no strict itinerary, I expect we’ll pay visits to: Ankara (the capital city), Trabzon (a Black Sea port town in the northeast region), Cappadocia (the area in central Turkey famous for its conical rock formations), and the Aegean coastline. Some Greek island hopping will be also be a must!

Late. Very Late.

Whoops. I'm home (and have been for a year).

During my final week in Vietnam I raced up the coast to Hanoi, spending a rainy afternoon in the antique walled city of Hue (where a friendly rikshaw driver escorted me to his favorite vegetarian restaurant) and enduring another 14-hour bus ride. Hanoi is a much more friendly city than its southern sister. With numerous gardens, charming French quarters with quietly buzzing cafes, and tree-lined avenues, Hanoi was quick to befriend me.

Unfortunately, while Hanoi was deserving of a thorough exploration on foot, I was running on steam and eager to be State-side. Traveling solo, while very much rewarding in its own ways (and I recommend it), is exhausting. I was hot. I was lonely. I was over the initial charm of Vietnamese slow drip coffee with sweetened condensed milk and wanted, almost more than the comforts of home, a grande coffee served to me in a paper to-go cup.

A three-day, two-night boat cruise around Ha Long Bay refreshed my spirits, though. The thousands of stone islands that are scattered around this World Heritage Site are an impressive site and deserve at least two full days to enjoy (not the half-day jaunt that many of its visitors give).

I met an American couple at the Hanoi airport. I struck up a conversation with them as we checked our bags. The Seattle-ites (?) had enjoyed a three-week tour of Vietnam and we learned we had the same flight schedule. Seeing what only could've looked like a scrawny (I lost about eight pounds in the previous month) and exhausted boy, they offered to let me be their guest at the Incheon and Tokyo VIP Clubs. So, in South Korea I enjoyed the very plush Asiana Airlines lounge complete with free meals, hot showers, massage chairs, and western media, and in Tokyo I munched on free sushi at the Northwest Club. Unfortunately, we were split into separate lines at the Seattle customs and I lost track of them on the other side.

Great trip. Exhausting and challenging but, alongside the rigor, memorable and fascinating.

Quick Update from Ha Tien

I've been moving north through Vietnam fairly quickly these past few days and am now in Ha Tien, a riverside town halfway up the coast. I left HCMC on Tuesday for Dalat, a mountain town five hours north of the city. There I met Tony, a 28 year old British guy who'd just gotten off the same bus. We were both the only solo travelers at the station and agreed to find a hotel together.

I enjoyed two nights in Dalat, a city favored by French colonialists for its temperate climate and mountain setting. They renovated the town into a mini Swiss Alps ski town (sans the skiing) and the Swiss/French chatau style is mimicked in more than 2000 of Dalat's building. Tony and set out on a walking tour setting our sights on the cable cars just outside of town that offer nice views of the region. After about 7km of walking on the road and dirt trails through the woods, we reached the cars. (right: Dalat cable cars, me enjoying the low dew point in Dalat)

We both decided two nights in the quiet town would suffice and left on the Thursday morning bus for Nha Trang. After a beautiful drive down the winding mountain roads we arrive in the steamy beach town of N.T.. Tony and I walk along the beach which is larger, better manicured, and more attractive the Cambodian beaches though largely empty of tourists. A roundabout 6km walk to the Cham Towers -- a 6th century temple outside of town -- turns out to be not worth the effort. At the same time we decide to see if we get on the night bus out of N.T.. We get the last two seats. (left: mountain pass down from Dalat; Nha Trang)

At 6am, after a surprisingly decent 11 hours on the sleeper bus we arrive in Ha Tien. We check in to our hotel (at $3.50/night each I'm starting to like having Tony around!). I sleep for another for another hour before exploring. Except for meeting for lunch, Tony and I go our separate ways for the day.

I quickly grow to like Ha Tien. The city of 70,000 was largely spared the bombings of the Vietnam War (called the "American War" here) and has a beautifuly intact old town (which has been named a World Heritage Site). The streets are lined with comfortable, open air cafes and clothing/tailoring shops nearly outnumber the moto drivers. Intrigued, I walked into the polished, two-story building of "A Dong Silk," the first respectable-looking tailorI passed. An employee quickly met me and answered my questions about tailoring. She invited to me sit down and start looking. I told it'd be just that, looking. Because these Vietnamese tailors and seamstresses can literally make anything, they present their customers with style magazines. I picked out a few styles from J.Crew and GQ that I liked and before I knew it was I choosing fabrics, silk linings, buttons, and having my measurments taken! For a very reasonable price I am having made one full suit made of grey, pinstripe (%65 cashmere/%40 wool); one herringbone-style blazer; one casual blazer; and a very nice semi-formal blue striped cotton shirt. I'll go in tomorrow at 2:00 for a fitting. I wasn't expecting to spend this extra money but I figure I'll pay at least this much for one decent suit at home. Plus, A Dong (see their website: www.adongsilk.com) will keep my measurement on file and should I want another suit in the future all I have to do is call them up with the style and fabric I want and they'll whip me up another suit/blazer/shirt.

All for now. More from Ha Tien soon.