Little Big Move

As I head to the terrace for my last breakfast in Istanbul I feel confident. Istanbul may be my arrival and departure point, but my plan involves more exotic locales and this is my first "big move" in the larger picture. A bus to Izmir, a minibus  to Selcuk and on to the magnificence of Efes (Ephesus).

I know it sounds daunting, but being the brilliant traveler that I am, I shrewdly booked the trip the previous day. It was here that I learned an important caveat about travel: many times it is the little move that can mess you up .

I had wisely booked a ticket to Izmir and a ticket to get me to the place where I would make a bus connection to Izmir, the Istanbul Autogar.  I knew that the Autogar (bus station) was a good distance from my quarters in Sultanmet. As I buy the ticket I am  informed with gravity that I must be here at 3pm, so that I may catch  the minibus that will take me to the 4:30 pm bus to Izmir.


Perfect. Being the cautious person I am, I show up at the cafe next door at 2:30 pm. By 2:50 I am parked luggage and all in front of the travel agent. At 3:05  I poke my head into the Travel Agents office. I am immediately  told "don't, worry he will be here". They are having lunch, and not only do I feel bad for interrupting, I note a pang of hunger as I inhale some of their delicious gnosh.

The delicious scent of their lunch sets off my peckish alarm. I remind myself that I need to grab a donair/shawarma/gyros before getting on the bus to Izmir. After all, I still have time to spare and the street food here is cheap, fresh,  ubiquitous, and delicious.

Around 3:30  I make another inquiry. Still nothing. The information I have is  that the next bus to Izmir is 12 hours later, not an appealing option. Tic toc.At 3:45 I have convinced myself that there is a serious possibility that I might not make this bus. I open up my guide book and begin considering options. Tic toc , 3:50 pm. By now I'm angry and hungry and I'm pretty sure that the odds of making this bus are pretty small.

Finally a minivan rolls up at 3:55.. By now, I've given up all hope and I'm pissed off, I hurl my luggage into the minivan. I spend the rest of my ride wondering if my stupid bravado has destroyed my beloved laptop, which is unfortunate because the ride is awesome, a weird combination of a French Connection car chase in a minivan and a wonderful tour through the real heart of Istanbul..

I begin to feel bad because I can see that the driver is doing everything he can to get me across Istanbul. I end up feeling worse because I know that I didn't buy travel insurance and I am now on a deathride to the autogar.

Astonishingly, we make it in one piece to the autogar.  It is 4:38pm. Even more astonishingly my bus to Izmir awaits.

I throw my luggage in the hold (more gently this time) and off we go with seconds to spare.

While I'm grateful that I made this bus, I lament the fact that my donair plan has gone astray.

Nonetheless, I tell my growling stomach to shut up and enjoy as we make our way out of Istanbul.

A few moments later I notice a refreshment cart being wheeled down the aisle, like an oasis on a bus. Complimentary snacks on a bus??? I tuck into some biscuits and coke for dinner as I brace for the road ahead.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

 I once read a great post at http://travelswithtavel.com/   that compared traveling with falling in love.

But I would say that travel is more like dating, sometimes you want to get it over early, sometimes a one night stand is enough and sometimes you wish you could be together forever, and when you realize that you can't the goodbye becomes tearful.

Of course when traveling, there is always another "date" around the corner.

Thusly it was that when I left Istanbul it felt like a tearful breakup. The people and the city have a certain elegance, at once humble and dignified, towering and welcoming. The overwhelming sense of hospitality I have found here is both familiar and flawless.

"My Mom would like this place",  I think to myself as I mutter my goodbyes.

Tomorrow I jump on a bus for the long ride to Izmir, where I will transfer to a bus to Selcuk. From there I will go to Efes (Ephesus). Mostly I blame The Siren for this arduous sojourn. She gave me a book for my birthday that chronicled The Best Places To Travel On Earth.

So off I go in search of The Ruins Of Ephesus and Merrymana . (The Virgin Mary's House)

Apparently, my next "date" is going to be hot, and if she isn't it is all Brewers fault.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

Istan - tastic

It took a few jetlagged days, but the magnificence of Istanbul has penetrated my conciousness.

Hip and timeless, historic and  sophisticated, modern and ancient. This place is a crossroads of humanity, an historic locale where everything meets everything.

Sure, I could try and explain in detail the stunning beauty of The Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, The Hagia Sophia, The Basilica Cistern, The Grand Bazaar and The Galata Bridge, The Spice Bazaar, not to mention The Archeological Museum.I'll leave it to others to do that.

 I generally prefer to walk and Istanbul is a perfect a locale for a traveler on foot, as each of the above sites are within walking distance of Sultanahmet.

With a population between 12 and 16 million, Istanbul could qualify as the largest city in Europe, if not for the fact that it sits on the border between Europe and Asia and clearly one could spend weeks here before conquering Istanbul fully.

As I write this I am sitting on the Asian side of  the Galata Bridge, drinking a beer. The Galata Bridge is a favourite spot for locals to fish. Underneath the bridge is a bunch of bars and restaurants. As I quaff my pint, I find something comical in seeing sardine sized fish being pulled up by unseen anglers, a sort of piscatorian marionette show.

Of course, no trip to the Galata Bridge is complete without ordering a fish sandwich from one of the boats. At four lira ($2.50cdn) it is a local fave, and even on this miserable day these dudes are busy moving serious volumes of product.

I stand in line, lay down my cash, and am quickly rewarded with a fresh bit of fish on a fresh piece of bread with fresh onion and a delicious sauce. Simple, but fantastic.

Satiated, I head back to the bar for another pint and as I sit under a bridge watching people above fish as trams go by every few minutes, I can't help but think to myself; this place works, as I lament the state of affairs in my own hometown.

Noting that my lodging is a continent away, I cut the evening short and head back to my hotel room . As I hop on the tram, I can't help but think that Istanbul must be the easiest town to visit on the planet.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

"OH"

On my first morning in Istanbul I awake to a dreary day of flurries and rain. I remind myself that these are the risks one takes when traveling in non tropical climes in December and January. Hell, it is entirely possible that my entire trip could be plagued by crappy weather.

I am plagued by doubt.

Like almost every hotel on this trip, a free breakfast is provided. For a budget traveler like myself, this is a big bonus. I drag my jet lagged carcass upstairs for the guaranteed grub.

Breakfast is nice. Cheese, olives, tomato, hard boiled eggs, cucumber, some delicious potatoes, and best of all really, really fresh bread. Except for the Nescafe. I notice an outside deck, and in a feeble attempt to wake up I pour another Nescafe and step out for a smoke.

Through the cool morning drizzle all my doubts instantly disappear. I mutter "Oh" to myself. The view before me addresses all my trivial panic in a visual instant. To my right is The Blue Mosque, The Hagia Sophia, and beyond that Topkapi Palace and to my left is an endless array of cobblestoned history.

"OH" indeed. Feeling buoyed by the view, my doubt melts away as trust in my instincts swells. I put out my smoke and choke down the last gulp of Nescafe.

It is time to head out.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

Istan - Bull

All through my journey from Toronto to Istanbul I have been trying to shake a sinking feeling, a creeping inclination that I have chosen the wrong location, that my reason for traveling is not solely about seeing incredible places. I suspect my formative purpose has been usurped by a neurotic need to impress others by gathering exotic stamps on my passport.

Of course the fact that I took an ill advised afternoon nap and woke up late does nothing to assuage the feeling that this whole thing is a mistake. As Cayelle drives me to the airport and throughout my journey, I allow my rushed feeling to morph into a personal inquiry into my judgement.

I chide myself for becoming complacent and lazy, for taking this experience for granted. I feel that my overconfidence may bite me in the ass.

By the time I land in Istanbul, the feeling in my heart is palpable. I've gone too far and I don't really know what I'm doing here.

Turkey is a VOA (Visa On Arrival) country, so I have to line up for an entry visa before clearing customs. Above me is a large board that shows the entry fees for about 100 countries. As I wait in line, I peruse the board and compare prices. Many EU and Arab countries are free. For countries that pay, the top rate is twenty bucks, with two exceptions: The Maldives and Canada.. For some reason Canadians are charged $60 along with the Maldivians (?)

The reason for my gouging may elude me, but the gouging itself does nothing to improve my nicotine deprived mood, however it is not as if I have choice. I fork out the $60 US and move to the customs lineup; which is huge. My position is made even more bleak by the fact that four women push by me to join family members ahead.

In the moment I am quietly outraged, but I later learn that it is perfectly acceptable in the culture. Women are allowed to jump the cue ahead of men. Oops.

While the visa lineup moved briskly, customs was slow. After clearing customs, I head into the baggage area, grab my suitcase and enter the main concourse.

I'm tired, cranky and in dire need of a smoke.

Fortunately, I paid for an airport pickup. I like a soft landing, but amongst the sea of dudes holding up names on signs I fail to see my own name. Screw this. I'm tired and cranky and I need a smoke.

As I draw in my nicotine fix, the dreariness of the night envelopes me. The rain is relentless, and I feel like a wayward soul in a strange deluge. I stamp out my smoke and head inside, where I immediately am forced to accept a new truth.

You don't get in or out of a Turkish airport without passing through security. Shoes, belt off; laptop out, remove jacket, empty pockets.

I'm back in the terminal, but a tad flummoxed.. I pull the number of  my hotel from my bag and head to the tourist information booth.

The dude there calls the hotel, the hotel calls the dispatcher, the dispatcher calls the driver and eventually I land at the hotel.

But I still can't shake the feeling that I'm somehow off course, like a lost kitten in the rain.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com