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.