Who’s in charge of continents?
Oct 16th, 2010, 02:09 PM
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Who’s in charge of continents?
On the plane, the tourists are decidedly older. Turkey is not the first country for Americans to visit. At least on this day, at this time of year, on this flight, there are more liver spots than backpacks
The cell phone towers and the minarets pierce the rain clouds as we drive from Ataturk Airport to the Asian side of Istanbul. Although I am sure other cities have an equal number of churches or synagogues, the minarets that announce the prayers also announce each grand dome of a mosque. With the open space that often surrounds the mosque, the people seem more religious here than in other cities.
We chose this hotel because we are taking an early flight the following morning from a different airport. After a 45 minute drive the cab driver cannot find the hotel although we provided him with instructions in Google Turkish and a map. He stops other taxis, truck drivers, and vans asking them where it might be. He almost knocks over a middle-aged woman. Pedestrians seem to be a common annoyance, like scampering roaches, and aiming for them an accepted sport. And although this is the Asian side of Istanbul, this area has a distinctly European look. It is basically a working class neighborhood on the Sea of Marmara that could be found in Spain.
We are greeted at the hotel by a very amiable young woman and the Turkish room clerk from Fawlty Tours. We are immediately plied with apricot juice and sweets. We drink and sample the food to indicate we are gracious guests. My credit cards do not work, even though I called them and told them we would be out of the country. AMEX has a new policy where they say it is not necessary to inform them of such movement. Andrea’s credit card works for some reason. The male accompanies us to the room to demonstrate how use the remote to turn on the A/C and heat but turns on the TV.
The hotel is new and modern. The bathroom is separated from the sleeping area by a wall that contains a Venetian blind between two pieces of glass. This interesting design is thwarted by an inoperable switch which is supposed to close the blind but has left the blinds in the open position. Yes, you can see what is going on and if you do not close the shades on the windows so can everyone else.
As we walk back to the front office, the owner stops us and we tell him how our credit cards did not work and the people were very kind about the situation. He becomes our new best friend and when I am on the phone with AMEX and MC, he pours some expensive cognac which I pretend it is more apricot juice since I do not drink but I cannot refuse his overture. I have not really slept in a day due to the 10 hour flight and now my knees are wobbly, at least my throat is warm. Hotel Park 156 is a compilation of amusing contradictions. We would recommend it save for the disabled or older seniors. Everything is on a hill and there are some steps as well.
The young woman tells Andrea that a drink is the answer to many of the owner’s problems. We tell him if ever comes to NY we will show him around. He says he has all personal information and knows where to find us. We walk around this working class neighborhood and head for the sea. We are an oddity, it is like tourists visiting anyone’s neighborhoods where there is no particular attraction. There are a score of ships riding high in the harbor and one that is listing. There are fresh fish markets where the mongers try to sell us fish, even though it is clear we are tourists. What would we do, fry them in our pockets? The mongers love posing with their fish.
We randomly choose a restaurant; the main criterion is that is crowded. We order two dishes that are variations on spiced lamb with a brown rice tinted by tomatoes, Turkish bread, a plate filled with tastes of four distinct salads, and extraordinarily hot roasted green peppers. Everything is very satisfying, fresh, and tasty, what for them are every day dishes. All for $14 and a tip. A little girl come to our table and stares at me. Maybe she has seen what Dick Cheney and an aged Richard Dreyfus on TV. Her mother whisks her away.
Speaking of other continents. You would think continents would be separated by great bodies of water, impassable mountain ranges, or some distinguishable characteristic? Something more than a speed bump or some bridge. It is the only major city in the world on two continents. Oh, are you staying on the Left Bank or North America? Are you staying in Manhattan or New Jersey? Maybe, that is not a good analogy. Who decides where continents begin and end? The same people who invented the continental breakfast? The place seems to be gerrymandered by politicians, but it is unclear to a new visitor who is the beneficiary.
Everyone knows that Istanbul was once called Byzantium (Byzantion to the Greeks) and Constantinople and that Thrace ends at the European border of the city. They changed the names when it was cheaper to do so. They did not need to issue new business cards and letterhead and people did not have to write in their annual Christmas letter of an address change. I hope they do not change the name again in the next two weeks when we return for a longer stay in Istanbul. We have reservations and I would hate to have trouble finding a hotel again.
The cell phone towers and the minarets pierce the rain clouds as we drive from Ataturk Airport to the Asian side of Istanbul. Although I am sure other cities have an equal number of churches or synagogues, the minarets that announce the prayers also announce each grand dome of a mosque. With the open space that often surrounds the mosque, the people seem more religious here than in other cities.
We chose this hotel because we are taking an early flight the following morning from a different airport. After a 45 minute drive the cab driver cannot find the hotel although we provided him with instructions in Google Turkish and a map. He stops other taxis, truck drivers, and vans asking them where it might be. He almost knocks over a middle-aged woman. Pedestrians seem to be a common annoyance, like scampering roaches, and aiming for them an accepted sport. And although this is the Asian side of Istanbul, this area has a distinctly European look. It is basically a working class neighborhood on the Sea of Marmara that could be found in Spain.
We are greeted at the hotel by a very amiable young woman and the Turkish room clerk from Fawlty Tours. We are immediately plied with apricot juice and sweets. We drink and sample the food to indicate we are gracious guests. My credit cards do not work, even though I called them and told them we would be out of the country. AMEX has a new policy where they say it is not necessary to inform them of such movement. Andrea’s credit card works for some reason. The male accompanies us to the room to demonstrate how use the remote to turn on the A/C and heat but turns on the TV.
The hotel is new and modern. The bathroom is separated from the sleeping area by a wall that contains a Venetian blind between two pieces of glass. This interesting design is thwarted by an inoperable switch which is supposed to close the blind but has left the blinds in the open position. Yes, you can see what is going on and if you do not close the shades on the windows so can everyone else.
As we walk back to the front office, the owner stops us and we tell him how our credit cards did not work and the people were very kind about the situation. He becomes our new best friend and when I am on the phone with AMEX and MC, he pours some expensive cognac which I pretend it is more apricot juice since I do not drink but I cannot refuse his overture. I have not really slept in a day due to the 10 hour flight and now my knees are wobbly, at least my throat is warm. Hotel Park 156 is a compilation of amusing contradictions. We would recommend it save for the disabled or older seniors. Everything is on a hill and there are some steps as well.
The young woman tells Andrea that a drink is the answer to many of the owner’s problems. We tell him if ever comes to NY we will show him around. He says he has all personal information and knows where to find us. We walk around this working class neighborhood and head for the sea. We are an oddity, it is like tourists visiting anyone’s neighborhoods where there is no particular attraction. There are a score of ships riding high in the harbor and one that is listing. There are fresh fish markets where the mongers try to sell us fish, even though it is clear we are tourists. What would we do, fry them in our pockets? The mongers love posing with their fish.
We randomly choose a restaurant; the main criterion is that is crowded. We order two dishes that are variations on spiced lamb with a brown rice tinted by tomatoes, Turkish bread, a plate filled with tastes of four distinct salads, and extraordinarily hot roasted green peppers. Everything is very satisfying, fresh, and tasty, what for them are every day dishes. All for $14 and a tip. A little girl come to our table and stares at me. Maybe she has seen what Dick Cheney and an aged Richard Dreyfus on TV. Her mother whisks her away.
Speaking of other continents. You would think continents would be separated by great bodies of water, impassable mountain ranges, or some distinguishable characteristic? Something more than a speed bump or some bridge. It is the only major city in the world on two continents. Oh, are you staying on the Left Bank or North America? Are you staying in Manhattan or New Jersey? Maybe, that is not a good analogy. Who decides where continents begin and end? The same people who invented the continental breakfast? The place seems to be gerrymandered by politicians, but it is unclear to a new visitor who is the beneficiary.
Everyone knows that Istanbul was once called Byzantium (Byzantion to the Greeks) and Constantinople and that Thrace ends at the European border of the city. They changed the names when it was cheaper to do so. They did not need to issue new business cards and letterhead and people did not have to write in their annual Christmas letter of an address change. I hope they do not change the name again in the next two weeks when we return for a longer stay in Istanbul. We have reservations and I would hate to have trouble finding a hotel again.
Oct 16th, 2010, 03:40 PM
#6
Welcome Adu,
you know cold is right. who are you fooling, sitting in asia and writing as if it was europe.
glad you are making this (i deleted the adjective here) attempt to write a "how i spent my summer vacation" report. Cold received an "F" from his teacher because he never got around to writing one. either he was overwhelmed or he is a laudable procrastinator.
Will you give your itinerary so that we wait with expectation or will you surprise us everyday, writing from places like Sivas, kutahya, afyon, diyarbakir, Tunceli, Hopa?
You must write everyday, of'course, but never about ballons, underground cities, how aphrodisias seemed nicer than ephesus, and why Turkish pigs have wings (they just fly off and you never see any of them.)
Hope everything goes well. sorry about the few more days of rain.
OC
you know cold is right. who are you fooling, sitting in asia and writing as if it was europe.
glad you are making this (i deleted the adjective here) attempt to write a "how i spent my summer vacation" report. Cold received an "F" from his teacher because he never got around to writing one. either he was overwhelmed or he is a laudable procrastinator.
Will you give your itinerary so that we wait with expectation or will you surprise us everyday, writing from places like Sivas, kutahya, afyon, diyarbakir, Tunceli, Hopa?
You must write everyday, of'course, but never about ballons, underground cities, how aphrodisias seemed nicer than ephesus, and why Turkish pigs have wings (they just fly off and you never see any of them.)
Hope everything goes well. sorry about the few more days of rain.
OC
Oct 16th, 2010, 09:54 PM
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Thank you Jubi and Peg. The others are jealous, illiterate brutes.
Cold
At least I left the country.
Stu
What is a wife for except to use her as a shield. Suha remembers you fondly. He looks like Salmon Rushdie.
Other
We are in Urgup now and I will soon write about things exotic, at least to me, tonight.
Cold
At least I left the country.
Stu
What is a wife for except to use her as a shield. Suha remembers you fondly. He looks like Salmon Rushdie.
Other
We are in Urgup now and I will soon write about things exotic, at least to me, tonight.
Oct 17th, 2010, 11:01 AM
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Adu
...don't forget to spend a few hours at Anadolu Kavagi, last town on the Asian side heading north to Black sea. The views from the old fort looking out to the end of the Bosphorus to the entrance of the Black Sea are historically dramatic.
There are more than a few restaurants for lunch at A.K. Being an A.K. yourself you'll be right at home. One hawker is forever standing on the street waving a skewer of uncooked shrimp. If I recall, that was a very good place (upstairs) for lunch...then walk it off by hiking to the fort..not very far (level until you reach the hill).
You'll have time to catch one of the later scheduled ferries back to Istanbul
Say hello to Suha for us..he probably still has our pictures as he always took Polaroids of his guests. Yes, indeed, there is a resemblance between Sal and Suha!! May have been some scary moments for the latter during Fatwah days. Does he still prefer to be called "Bill"..?
stu (hug your wife for me!)
...don't forget to spend a few hours at Anadolu Kavagi, last town on the Asian side heading north to Black sea. The views from the old fort looking out to the end of the Bosphorus to the entrance of the Black Sea are historically dramatic.
There are more than a few restaurants for lunch at A.K. Being an A.K. yourself you'll be right at home. One hawker is forever standing on the street waving a skewer of uncooked shrimp. If I recall, that was a very good place (upstairs) for lunch...then walk it off by hiking to the fort..not very far (level until you reach the hill).
You'll have time to catch one of the later scheduled ferries back to Istanbul
Say hello to Suha for us..he probably still has our pictures as he always took Polaroids of his guests. Yes, indeed, there is a resemblance between Sal and Suha!! May have been some scary moments for the latter during Fatwah days. Does he still prefer to be called "Bill"..?
stu (hug your wife for me!)
Oct 17th, 2010, 12:05 PM
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It seems Suha is comfortable with the name Suha. You will have wait for the details of day three, but tonight Suha's assistant Esin sang many American standards and traditional jazz tunes in English and Suha was videotaping the whole preceeding.
Thank you all, except Stu, Cold, and Other for the compliments. I hope to day two later.
Thank you all, except Stu, Cold, and Other for the compliments. I hope to day two later.
Oct 17th, 2010, 12:28 PM
#17
Adu, we are not dreamy eyed young females. We do not dish out compliments. Coming all the way from new York to listen to jazz does not deserve adulation. Cold may not agree with me, because it is probable that he would have thought that Esin was playing turkish country. (which, she possibly was)
Oct 17th, 2010, 02:07 PM
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Day 2
The plane is nor big enough for American asses. The seat on the plane from Istanbul to Kayseri, is so narrow, that if they shot an episode of that show Lost in this aircraft I would still be wedged in there. I am afraid when I stand to exit I will leave my pants behind.
Pegasus Airlines gives two safety lessons, a video where eight year olds are the flight attendants and passengers, too damn cute, and the other by the live crew. The woman giving the live version is speaking so quickly it is difficult to know whether she is speaking Turkish or English. I think she just auctioned off the drunk in 12B and the aircraft itself.
We are headed for Cappadocia the land that time and water eroded. Some of the strangest rock formation and landscapes on earth exist in this region and that, of course, is the main and sole attraction. An American behind us says to his wife, “I think I see a fairy chimney.” We are flying at 15,000 and some how I am sure he can. The marketing arm of the Cappadocia Chamber of Commerce must have come up fairy chimneys. They are in a predicament as to how to describe this unique geology and topography. Too clinical no one would come. But if they employed an exact description for some of the formations and said “Cappadocia, the home of 80 foot rock phalluses, some with windows when people lived in them” it would only appeal to a certain type of person, so they go with the Disney approach, cutsey-poo inoffensive nonsensical description of fairy chimneys. The rocks are a mesmerizing collection of shapes, sizes, and combinations. And in one way, they look like a cemetery for a pottery class gone terribly wrong.
We are supposed to return the rental car with the arrow pointing to the big red “E” for empty. The tank is empty and we fill it for ninety dollars! Ninety dollars! The gas station attendant gives me a consolation prize, a small box with pictures of horses on it. Naturally I think there is a crappy plastic horse inside but it turns out to be tissues. I am not sure the connection between horses and tissues and I am not sure I want to know.
We take an extra 30 minutes to find our hotel Esbelli Evi. One reason is we are stupid, the second is the Esbelli sign is so small you think they were running a safe house and Anne Frank is in the attic. More abut Esbelli, the owner Suha, and his gregarious assistant Esin later. They are major characters in this leg of the journey.
After checking in, we head for the Goreme Open Air Museum. The people who once lived in these caves were Christians and painted frescoes of religious figures and symbols on the walls and ceilings around the 12th century although the caves had been occupied since the 4th century. One piece of local propaganda states that people lived in nearby caves until the 1960’s. This tradition has been resurrected in the United States and is called the Tea Party Movement.
There are also burial chambers and, of course, the former residences of the skeletons. All are carved out of the strange stone formations. The tourists pass from one cave to cave like crazed medieval Avon ladies. The place is flooded with Italian, British, Spanish, German, and since we are on the Asian side of Turkey, Japanese and Koreans tourists. There are no busloads of Americans, as far as I can tell on this day. One Spanish woman offers us an unsolicited warning that they caves ahead are crowded with other Spaniards. A German man sees my walking stick and asks me to fix his. It takes about three seconds and his wife proclaims me a genius. German standards have fallen greatly. My favorite group of tourists are some elderly Italians who are forced to wear yellow and blue neckerchiefs so they can easily be spotted when lost. They look like Boy Scouts fulfilling their obligations for their final merit badge.
It is hard to imagine living in a cave with your family, in-laws, and animals conducting the most natural and intimate of human activities.
We eat in the town of Goreme, as we will find out it is the custom here to eat on a terrace overlooking the scenery. This night we are given a long warm Turkish bread called lavash which bears a resemblance to the Indian bread naan. You spread some butter and then sprinkle on the Turkish version of parmesan cheese. It is fabulous. I had the grilled meatballs and Andrea orders a casserole with pastrami. Pastrami is a regional food and a legacy of the Armenians who once lived in the area. While the fava beans in the casserole were excellent, pastrami in a casserole to this Jewish NY’er is simply awful. We are given bakalava as a free dessert and the woman who served us is delighted that Andrea is tying to speak Turkish and introduces us to the owner, who is also delighted. They meal once again, save for the few strips of pastrami, is fresh, well prepared, and satisfying.
The Turks we have encountered so far, are simply the warmest hosts we have met in any country.
Our hotel room is a cave. The high vaulted ceiling with ornamental ribs and an open clothes closet in the wall are all carved from stone. We are careful not to fall out of bed and crack our skulls even though the floors are covered with a wood veneer. The bathroom is thankfully modern and commodious. (I like using that word to describe bathrooms.) The owner of the Esbelli, Suha has purchased 23 abandoned buildings over the years and converted them into a hotel with a refined but a most congenial atmosphere. To get to the room we must walk up and down stairs, around turns, and through a tunnel been carved from stone. It is not for the disabled, seniors with limited movement, or Americans without a GPS.
Suha is a slight man, who resembles Salman Rushdie. When I mention this to him he says he will avoid Iran. He is justly proud of his establishment and plays classical music and jazz during all the waking hours. He fondly remembers our Stu Tower and has read his book The Wayfarers. (Stu you me something for the plug.)
Suha’s assistant is the effusive Esin which means inspiration in Turkish. She has an easy laugh and is immediately likeable. She attended Marshall in West Virginia where she received her masters in musical composition and will be attending SUNY Buffalo next year for her PhD. She is a composer and a jazz singer. We tell her that we will show her New York and give her all sorts of hints on how to save money. She is the daughter we never wanted and I am afraid we will end up paying for her education, if we are not careful.
The plane is nor big enough for American asses. The seat on the plane from Istanbul to Kayseri, is so narrow, that if they shot an episode of that show Lost in this aircraft I would still be wedged in there. I am afraid when I stand to exit I will leave my pants behind.
Pegasus Airlines gives two safety lessons, a video where eight year olds are the flight attendants and passengers, too damn cute, and the other by the live crew. The woman giving the live version is speaking so quickly it is difficult to know whether she is speaking Turkish or English. I think she just auctioned off the drunk in 12B and the aircraft itself.
We are headed for Cappadocia the land that time and water eroded. Some of the strangest rock formation and landscapes on earth exist in this region and that, of course, is the main and sole attraction. An American behind us says to his wife, “I think I see a fairy chimney.” We are flying at 15,000 and some how I am sure he can. The marketing arm of the Cappadocia Chamber of Commerce must have come up fairy chimneys. They are in a predicament as to how to describe this unique geology and topography. Too clinical no one would come. But if they employed an exact description for some of the formations and said “Cappadocia, the home of 80 foot rock phalluses, some with windows when people lived in them” it would only appeal to a certain type of person, so they go with the Disney approach, cutsey-poo inoffensive nonsensical description of fairy chimneys. The rocks are a mesmerizing collection of shapes, sizes, and combinations. And in one way, they look like a cemetery for a pottery class gone terribly wrong.
We are supposed to return the rental car with the arrow pointing to the big red “E” for empty. The tank is empty and we fill it for ninety dollars! Ninety dollars! The gas station attendant gives me a consolation prize, a small box with pictures of horses on it. Naturally I think there is a crappy plastic horse inside but it turns out to be tissues. I am not sure the connection between horses and tissues and I am not sure I want to know.
We take an extra 30 minutes to find our hotel Esbelli Evi. One reason is we are stupid, the second is the Esbelli sign is so small you think they were running a safe house and Anne Frank is in the attic. More abut Esbelli, the owner Suha, and his gregarious assistant Esin later. They are major characters in this leg of the journey.
After checking in, we head for the Goreme Open Air Museum. The people who once lived in these caves were Christians and painted frescoes of religious figures and symbols on the walls and ceilings around the 12th century although the caves had been occupied since the 4th century. One piece of local propaganda states that people lived in nearby caves until the 1960’s. This tradition has been resurrected in the United States and is called the Tea Party Movement.
There are also burial chambers and, of course, the former residences of the skeletons. All are carved out of the strange stone formations. The tourists pass from one cave to cave like crazed medieval Avon ladies. The place is flooded with Italian, British, Spanish, German, and since we are on the Asian side of Turkey, Japanese and Koreans tourists. There are no busloads of Americans, as far as I can tell on this day. One Spanish woman offers us an unsolicited warning that they caves ahead are crowded with other Spaniards. A German man sees my walking stick and asks me to fix his. It takes about three seconds and his wife proclaims me a genius. German standards have fallen greatly. My favorite group of tourists are some elderly Italians who are forced to wear yellow and blue neckerchiefs so they can easily be spotted when lost. They look like Boy Scouts fulfilling their obligations for their final merit badge.
It is hard to imagine living in a cave with your family, in-laws, and animals conducting the most natural and intimate of human activities.
We eat in the town of Goreme, as we will find out it is the custom here to eat on a terrace overlooking the scenery. This night we are given a long warm Turkish bread called lavash which bears a resemblance to the Indian bread naan. You spread some butter and then sprinkle on the Turkish version of parmesan cheese. It is fabulous. I had the grilled meatballs and Andrea orders a casserole with pastrami. Pastrami is a regional food and a legacy of the Armenians who once lived in the area. While the fava beans in the casserole were excellent, pastrami in a casserole to this Jewish NY’er is simply awful. We are given bakalava as a free dessert and the woman who served us is delighted that Andrea is tying to speak Turkish and introduces us to the owner, who is also delighted. They meal once again, save for the few strips of pastrami, is fresh, well prepared, and satisfying.
The Turks we have encountered so far, are simply the warmest hosts we have met in any country.
Our hotel room is a cave. The high vaulted ceiling with ornamental ribs and an open clothes closet in the wall are all carved from stone. We are careful not to fall out of bed and crack our skulls even though the floors are covered with a wood veneer. The bathroom is thankfully modern and commodious. (I like using that word to describe bathrooms.) The owner of the Esbelli, Suha has purchased 23 abandoned buildings over the years and converted them into a hotel with a refined but a most congenial atmosphere. To get to the room we must walk up and down stairs, around turns, and through a tunnel been carved from stone. It is not for the disabled, seniors with limited movement, or Americans without a GPS.
Suha is a slight man, who resembles Salman Rushdie. When I mention this to him he says he will avoid Iran. He is justly proud of his establishment and plays classical music and jazz during all the waking hours. He fondly remembers our Stu Tower and has read his book The Wayfarers. (Stu you me something for the plug.)
Suha’s assistant is the effusive Esin which means inspiration in Turkish. She has an easy laugh and is immediately likeable. She attended Marshall in West Virginia where she received her masters in musical composition and will be attending SUNY Buffalo next year for her PhD. She is a composer and a jazz singer. We tell her that we will show her New York and give her all sorts of hints on how to save money. She is the daughter we never wanted and I am afraid we will end up paying for her education, if we are not careful.
Oct 17th, 2010, 02:20 PM
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Not bad. Not bad. You can be happy you are not staying in a cave hotel during the height of summer. We were told the room would remain cool. It was a frigging sauna.
See if you can find your way to the hill that overlooks Goreme. Great views but a bit of a climb.
See if you can find your way to the hill that overlooks Goreme. Great views but a bit of a climb.
