The Taming of the Shrew: The Ferret Does Istanbul
Another overdue piece, I actually visited Istanbul Nov 17th - 27th but due to my computer dying for a couple of months, this got put on hold. Nonetheless, details of my exploits in Istanbul to visit the student ex-Lifer regular who reappeared after a year of almost complete absence with 'So when exactly are you coming to visit me?' have finally arrived.
- I assumed my flight couldn't be as entertaining as the last time I flew alone. And I was right! Most of my experiences involved saying Turkish words so that nobody could understand them (kof-tay? Kerf-ter? Eh) and sitting next to an elderly Turkish man who sounded angry at being offered a paper in Turkish, demanding the English paper. He was grumpy at me too, for every tiny inconvenience. Until he twigged I was English. Then I became his best friend, constantly interrupting my film watching to ask how to pronounce things in his paper. I think I preferred him grumpy. Then all I got was his evil stare....
- This might come as a shock to people reading this but I don't speak Turkish. I thought you'd probably expect this working at the foreign arrivals desk, and so no, speaking slower doesn't help. Because the only thing Hazal taught me before I left was 'I love you' and right now that's the opposite of what I want to say. Grrr. (On the plus side, I now understand how frustrating it must be on the other foot, when the English' natural response is to speak loudly and slowly annunciating each word, like that'll make a massive difference to someone who can't speak a word of the language).
- A sign saying what you cant take with you at the baggage reclaim, a bit late now but ok: Guns. Gotcha, fairly obvious. Aerosol sprays. Cos im gonna hijack a plane with a can of lynx, but fine this is nothing new. 'Radioactive Waste,' oh come on this is getting ridiculous.
- Usually foreign food isn't a problem, if it moves and you show me how I'll give it a crack (once). Turkey, however, is something a little more difficult; they have stomachs of steel, feasting on meat that they've left lying around for the past week and using spices to lend it flavour (and all the home grown kebab meat can't prepare you for, at least we have some health and safety guidelines). The food may often be delicious but you do fear that time when the bathroom comes calling... Though admittedly I think the cause of my early stomach pains was the plane food. Either I became accustomed to the diet very quickly or that in-flight kofte was a bad idea... This theory would be confirmed on the flight back when I had the option of Chicken or a Kebab, and they were all out of chicken. I mean, what's the worst that could happen, right?
- There would be more photos but Hazal is a little deletion happy, anything where she's unhappy with how she looks – which is just about every photo of her – feels the wrath of her fingers. I kept her away from the camera as much as possible.
- I'll be mocking her for this phrase later but Turkish delight made outside of turkey “tastes wrong.”
- Hazal doesn't quite understand romantic gestures. Sure she may complain if you give her roses, but it gets worse. Half a Turkish delight in mouth, a romantic gesture for a kiss. But a kiss from Hazal is like a kiss from a hungry animal. I never thought someone would need advice on the basics but odds are if you're drawing blood you're doing it wrong...
- I still suck at it, but I have now successfully blown a few smoke rings (thanks to Sus for showing me the theory) ^_^
- Istanbul is a little strange given the mix of Muslim middle eastern influences and Europe. One mistake I made in planning my travels involved one recent law change, passed 2 days before I arrived that saw alcohol prices double. It still is nowhere as bad as Malaysia, but I cant help but wish I'd got here a little sooner.
- Now I consider myself fairly good with languages - I mean, not speaking them. Can't do that for shit but - I can often determine its origins by the look of the words and the way its spoken. French, Italian and Spanish aren't too hard to discern, I can tell the difference between Japanese, Chinese, Korean and sometimes Thai too both when written and spoken. I can say if something is Latin or Cyrillic or Arabic based, but Turkish? :-/ Arabic comes into it, probably Greek too, it sounds fairly Russian, and some words certainly look fairly Latin in their origins but it does seem fairly unique, even making up their own words for things like 'the internet'... Apparently it derives from the Ottoman dialect, which when the empire receded, so did the languages influence. What's left is a version modified by Attaturk, the countries founder, who apparently sat down with a group of elders and decided to make a bunch of words up.
- I've visited a number of churches in my travels and most aren't worth specifically mentioning other than the gorgeous architecture, but the Hagia Sofia is one that definitely does. You see, it started life as a church in the 11th century, but somewhere along the lines got turned into a mosque (apparently given to the Muslims by Saint Peter, HAHAHAHA); angels faces got plastered over and minurettes slapped beside the old church walls. Then they discovered mosaics and architecture belong to times as early as the ancient Greeks. So 'fuck this' they thought, too many cultures colliding in this car crash building so lets open a museum. Bizarre...
- The Americans like their coffee large and tasting as little like coffee as possible. The Italians like theirs small and strong. The Turks follow suit, except they prefer to leave the granules in for their coffee culture... (and since you're supposedly never further than a 10 min walk from a busy 'Starbucks' in central Istanbul there is definitely something of a coffee culture).
- We stayed in a place called Kilyos, which roughly translates to 'the middle of nowhere;' set along a winding road, almost an hour from the heart of Istanbul, through the woodland (surprisingly this bit isn't bollocks, there really is some woodland) lives an old military base, now a small university campus next to a quiet beach. Stray dogs roam the streets searching desperately for scraps of food (or a pat on the head), jelly like blobs populate the beach, and hungry students populate a bar no longer allowed to serve alcohol so instead started making pizza.
- When I mentioned visiting the Cemberlitas bath, I was quickly told its not that interesting unless you actually take a bath. When I pointed out that was the plan, her eyes lit up. For me, the idea of a Turkish bath is iconic as the kebab, and what Turk would not be proud of this noble tradition, passed down for hundreds of years? But think about it a little more carefully and you'll realise that what you're actually asking for is to have your cock scrubbed down by a naked, hairy sweaty man whose only joy lies in flinging you across the marble floor like a ping pong ball. 'You'll be fine' she says, laughing.
So I'm led up to the changing area and told nothing, but assumed what I was to do; the room - with worrying windows I might add - doubling as my locker. And then down and out into the main hall, through the vault door and into a circular structure of marble with an area to lie down and gaze wistfully at what I suspect was a grey mould on the domed ceiling. This place was hot and humid to the point you can barely breathe, I mean the rainforest's of Malaysia has nothing on this. The rainforest doesn't ask you to sit on a scorching hot marble table, only just cool enough to prevent your body from getting first degree burns for half an hour whilst you pant and sweat your heart out, all the whilst wondering how many other fat man's balls have sat in that spot.
I'm brought back from the brink by a hairy Turkish sumo wrestler, barking at me to get up and move. Bath time. I catch him glancing at Hazal's handiwork on my pink painted nails. “I go gentle on your soft womanly skin yes?” he says, shortly before splashing scolding hot water over my face. Commence the initial sandpaper scrubbing, then there's the body 'massage' where they try to wind you in amusing ways, seeing if they can find rolls of skin you didn't know existed. Off then for the hair, “more shampoo I think eh,” he jokes, slapping on a load. Hot water to wash off. Cold water to cool off. Hot again for what I can only assume was for his personal amusement at my reaction. And throughout it all, it is oddly relaxing. I mean sure, its always a little painful having a burly Turkish man try to tie your arms into a knot, but I leave feeling fresh and alert. Status barriers feel broken down. I was lying next to a member of the Taiwanese consulate in Istanbul, happily making idle conversation; when you're naked waiting for the dark haired version of Austin Powers' 'fat bastard' to prepare his next victim, none of that matters. The masochist in me approves, its worth it in the end. And by the end I mean once you've left. - I am a beer drinker. Give me some time alone and I will eventually scout out a place for good beer, and Istanbul is no exception, discovering the 'taps' chain which is very much like an American microbrewery with an attached bar next to the Bosphoros. To the sounds of electro covers of Michael Jackson's 'Billie Jean,' I tried the Hefeweizen (essentially a wheat beer not too unlike Hoegaarden) and a smoky amber ale which was pretty unusual (made by smoking the ingredients, I'm slightly reminded of smoked kipper but not in a bad way) but definitely a bar highlight just for being unusual, and I realise this really isn't a beer loving nation. It's a nice change but nothing I would rant over, but likely the only place you'll find something that isn't 'Efes' or the worse than 'Efes' lager you can buy back home. The beer lover rampages on!
- Turkish people are loud; peddlers wont just ask you to look at their wares but then loudly proclaim 'why?' when you tell them you aren't interested, and there's an over-abundance of testosterone leading to the popular belief that 'Turkish women are crazy.' I think this was problem was best highlighted in Topkapi when Neil (Hazal's Boyfriend) and I was approached by a ten year old Turkish girl and asked if we were married; what kind of bearded freaks of women do you get down here?!?! Alex, I think Hazal's been training me for you as well, pointing out the sluts, their hangouts, and teaching me how to ask them for sex...
- The Turkish require a compulsory military service for all men, to be completed upon finishing secondary school, deferred for university students. The night before they all go out and celebrate in a rather curious patriotic manner; they all drive around, sitting out the car window waving flags around in celebration. But as I suspect was the case with the group I saw, celebrations involve drinking, which can ultimately lead to some pretty bad driving and a lack of ability to determine the difference between celebration and just being a dick to all the other traffic. Fortunately our friendly bus driver was a bit of a nutter when it comes to the rules of the road - I mean what kind of driver takes his shoes off, sticks his feet up on the dash and asks the nearest person to drive - so we still made good time...
- For varying reasons; weather, buses not arriving, Hazal deciding that she should probably study for at least one exam, I got stuck around the university campus for a while. A short stroll down the beach to see the wondrous crashing of the waves against the sand, until I realised I was so cold I couldn't feel my face. And when it started to rain, well that was it. Mad dash inside to sit with Neil and the other teachers as they graded papers, cackling cruelly at some of the answers given and the inferences the author must not have been aware of. Now I’ve seen the other side of the university/student relationship, and it can be cruel...
- So I was taken to a pint at a local bar that Neil cant go to with Hazal any more. She hates it but I loved it; a smoke filled dive bar in close quarters pumping out classic rock whilst cute girls serve you beer before you ask for one, refilled before you're finished. Cos the options are just beer or stronger... End the night with a doner kebab. They don't have to hide the taste with hot sauce here!
- I don't know much about the Ottoman empire so visiting Topkapi, the home of the Ottoman sultans for most of their reign of tyranny, seemed like a perfect opportunity. And the most important thing I learnt? The Ottomans were some of the biggest trolls in all of history. If the ridiculous amount of gold wasn't silly enough - gold and diamond adorned hip flasks and shot glasses carved out of a single stone - their historical artifacts sealed the deal. The prophet Mohammed’s shoe. Moses' staff. Mohammed's mothers jacket. Various prophets beards. I mean really? People believe a stick still in perfect condition survived for 5000 odd years? Someone just made a fortune selling a polished stick they found lying on the ground...
Addendum: Shit Hazal (and co) says
- “You'll like my boyfriend. He's English so you have to get along.”
- “Turkish people are ugly, cant dress well, cant sing, cant speak properly, are conservative, religious and make lousy coffee. Welcome to Istanbul!”
- Day one: “so when are you next coming to visit?”
- “I'm not a bad person! I've done nothing wrong! But...”
- “Black people are wrong. I mean look at their skin colour, tell me that's not wrong. Irish people are wrong. Just the super white ones. Oh, and ugly girls. We were born to be pretty. And not short, shorter than me? Yeah, That's wrong. And the way you open cigarette packets; its just...wrong” - And it didn't end there.
- “I should like what I see.”
- “I cant wear gloves. Put them on take them off... So much work.”
- “I'm bored. Are you ok? Are you bored?... I'm bored...” (repeat every 30mins or so)
- “Why do you wait for cars?! Just cross the road!”
- “Geoff isn't talkative... You're talkative! Visit with Geoff!”
- “Why do you have to sleep?” (pause) “I'm tired”
- “I just love smoking. (admiring her smoke) How beautiful...”
- “He found his way out when lost in a rainforest, I think he'll be fine navigating a university campus” - Neil on me walking around Bebek alone for a couple of hours.
- Hazal: 'Where's my underwear?'
Neil: 'Have you looked in the drawer?'
Hazal: '...No'
Neil: 'Are they there?'
Hazal: '...Yes...' - “(I smoke because) I have too many brain cells.”
- “brace yourself, Hazals sisters coming” - Neil
- “I don't eat” - Ezgi (Hazal's sister)
- Hazal: “Whats this?”
Neil: “That's a tea towel. You clean with it” - Ezgi: “why is it extra virgin (olive oil)”
Neil: “well, someone planted an olive tree in the virgin Mary, and every often they tap it to obtain some”
Addendum 2: Warnings to Geoff
- Don't let hear near 'Desa' (clothing chain)
- Learn to love Starbucks
- If in doubt, you're wrong, even if you aren't.
- She loves dogs really
- She will try to get you to call waiters 'my love,' and if you're lucky that's all you'll say...'
- For someone so innocently violent, when it comes to hair or fashion she suddenly becomes surprisingly gentle...
- Get used to women's fashion. Odds are you'll be the one carrying the handbags.
- Wear a jacket with large pockets. She likes to borrow them when her hands get cold.
- Compliment her on her eyebrows often. Particularly the way they dance gracefully around her forehead letting everyone know exactly what she's thinking.
- If you have long hair, you're a woman. Penis or not.
- She may be shy to start, but once she's started she's bloody hard to get off the stage. Seriously. Like impossible. The microphone hog will get angry if anyone tries to take it off her for their song. And if there's a second microphone she'll take that one too, just for herself. And if the songs finished she'll keep on singing. Sometimes not even words... The owner of the bar asked her for the microphone and she said no! (I liked that guy, even if he did keep calling me James Hetfield). People didn't just stop applauding, they bloody left! Boyfriend included! And this was all sober! They ended up having to turn her microphone off! And when she finally gave it up she tried to sing louder than the mic! She starts drinking again, I'm there.
- If you suggest walking the punishment is painted nails.
- If you want her to leave your food alone, put on plenty of mustard.
Hi Thomas. This is Hazal and Neil. We deactivated our Facebook accounts, but you can reach us via e-mail. Thanks for this. :)
ReplyDeleteneil.warrington@boun.edu.tr
hazal.yener@boun.edu.tr