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.

"You sit there,"

9/26 - Sihanoukville, Cambodia to Chau Doc, Vietnam

7:30am - I enjoy my last breakfast at the oasis of calm that is the Rega Guesthouse (crepe w/ jam, bread, OJ, coffee). Check out.

8:00 - meet the bus driver, Xam, who will be taking me to the town of Kampot, the springboard town to Vietnam. I'm the only passenger. "Full yesterday," Xam says. Tyler's solo expedition continues.

10:00 - arrive in Kampot. Slide into a tuk tuk which will take me to the border.

10:45 - what started as pleasant tour through the Cambodian countryside rapidly errodes into an Asian reenactment of the 90's Windows classic: Oregon Trail. Only this time I did not stop at the general store to stock up on ammunition and axels. I consider asking the driver if we can hire an Indian before fording the overflowing rice patty.

11:45 - driver tells me to switch over to a moto driver, he'll take me over to Vietnam.

12:00pm - no tour buses at the border, or westerners, for that matter. International boundary line between Cambodia and Vietnam is a wooden stick. I walk into Vietnam with several gaggles of ducks. They don't need visas.

12:10 - arrive in Ha Tien. Driver attemps to bridge the language barrier in telling me there are no more buses leaving from Ha Tien to Chau Doc today. I need to go to Ba Chau, one hour away to get one, he says. "Ten more dolla," he says. I pay. Something seems amiss.

12:14 - thoroughly sunburned.

12:40 - driver transfers me to another moto driver who can take me to Ba Chau. On the way out of town he tells me Ba Chau is "very far," and I should just take the bus. I knew it.

12:50 - putter in to the Ha Tien public station where the 2:00 bus to Chau Doc is sitting. I thank my driver profusely and think of ways beyond smiling and giving him the thumbs up to show my appreciation for his honesty. I doubt he'd appreciate using my dental floss for his one front tooth....

2:00 - I share the bus with an unabashedly vocal market woman. Bus crawls out depot and moves at walking speed down the road. After 20 minutes of the bus attendant shouting out the door I gather we're trying to pick up customers. Slowly, we do.

2:58 - I see a sign above the driver advertising tickets for this bus at 45,000D. I'd been charged 90.000.

3:18 - large, purple unisuit-clad female vendor boards bus ata pit stop. Aggressively, she tries to sell me throat lozenges.

5:30 - arrive in Chau Doc. Bicycle rickshaw pedals me to my hotel: the Hang Chua II. I wonder what happened to the Hang Chua I.

6:00 - at hotel. Nearly out of Dong. Set out amidst night fall and lightning-filled sky to find ATM. Fifth one's a charm. Fearing I'll be stranded there I withdraw maximum amount allowed.

7:12 - shower off the dust, dirt, and odd duck feather and fall asleep halfway through a pack of M&Ms.

9/27 - Chau Doc to HCMC

7:30am - 15 passenger bus leaves from hotel. "You sit there," the driver instructs me, pointing to the single open seat in the last row between 3, gruff looking men. One of them strokes my arm as if to see if my skin were real. "The best leather Ipswich has to offer," I say. He chortles and looks away.

2:00pm - haven't felt either of my butt cheeks for nearly four hours. No hope of sleeping as we safari-drive our way over the rock tumbled roads of the Mekong Delta region. I figure my best shot at minimal comfort is to go completely limp and roll with the punches.

2:15 - HCMC.

2:35 - I check back into the Phoenix 74. I never thought I'd feel happy to be back in Saigon.

In a land of food, and skinny people

After feeling "templed out" in Angkor I hopped on bus (2 actually) for Sihanoukville, Cambodia. The small port town on the center of the coast has grown in the past 30 years from something of a nothing town in the middle of Khmer Rouge territory to a popular tourist destination Khmer and backpackers alike (the 3-lane main road, the only one in Cambodia, is a testament to that). I'm staying at this great little guesthouse called "Rega." My room opens up to a garden courtyard and on the upstairs is a French-inspired cafe. I've enjoying morning crepes and coffee while looking out onto the ocean.

I've spent a couple days exploring the town and found some small book shops, several unique restaurants run by members of the town's large ex-pat population, and some relaxing beachside cafes. I also signed up for a SCUBA class at one of the local dive shops. I've spent the last two days out on a rickety little boat 1-2 hours of shore learning how to mainain nuetral buoyancy, clear my mask of water, and navigate using a diving compass. Breathing underwater wasn't as strange a feeling as I expecetd. Considering that divers, liking industrial shipping containers, are strapped up, weighted down, tubed in, and zippered close with meticulous detail, I couldn't not feel safe. Being the only one in the class (though their were other divers and snorkelers on the boat trips) I received one-on-one attention. Unfortunately, visibility at the reefs was poor at best due to the rain and winds. The water calms down and lightens up in October, I was told.

I'm leaving for Vietnam tomorrow, entering via Ha Tien (the southernmost border crossing and western entry to the Mekong Delta region. I've made myself a fairly detailed itinerary for Vietnam and plan to stick to it. This style of "who knows where next" traveling is not my exactly my style. Meeting up with other solo travelers, as I had hoped I would, has not been easy thus far. I've found from conversing with other backpackers that they've found the same. Because hotels are so cheap and numerous here people spread out. Opting to pay the extra $2 for the air conditioned single than stay in hot dorm rooms. Nevertheless, I've been able to do/see just as much alone as I would be able to with a group. With the constant stream of tuk tuk drivers throwing their services at me and street children trying to sell me trinkets I rarely feel alone!

A storm is rolling in and I'd better wrap things up here at the internet cafe (last night the entire town lost power during a storm). There's a another coffee stop down the road that looked tasty which I think I'll explore.