Travel Ahoy!

the Praha metro

2008-05-14T01:38:00.000+08:00

one of the very cool-retro-sexy-funky-striking subway stations in Prague. Different stations had different colour schemes (one was all gold!), though not all stations had this. I loved them.

sleep well..

2008-05-05T10:02:00.000+08:00

We stayed on a boat one night, when we visited Halong Bay, about 3.5 hours from Hanoi. The UNESCO World Heritage Site is a large bay with innumerable limestone formations that are little islands poking out of the water. Its not quite certain how they are formed, though there is,mostly, a consensus that they are spectacular. (There are 0ver 3000 such islands including those in adjoining Cat Ba National Park)

We cruised around on the boat, ate, chilled, kayaked, and at night the boat was anchored at this spot, designated for boats to bob around overnight. It was quite beautiful, despite the occassional waft of diesel fumes and very distant (and very occassional) sound of a karaoke from one of the boats who believed that was the best way to spend your evening in such a beautiful place. It was a unique experience, and quite something else.

Bia

2008-04-21T16:26:00.005+08:00

The chairs squeak, almost bent out of shape by your weight. They are made of plastic, just like the tiny low stool in front of you that serves as a table. That plastic is worn, even a little stained. Your legs squeeze because you are low. But you could just stretch them out, resting on the edge of that greyness of the road. Then rest back on the only slightly precarious little chair and sip some cool beer. Its fresh, its tasty and its dirt cheap.

And who said there’s no ambience?
Look, there’s that cyclo passing by with a grumpy passenger doing a disservice to his holiday. That Vietnamese woman carrying her load, one of many, has a look of calm strength about her, tempered with world-weariness. Don’t miss the policeman. He’s appeared again, after taking a break. He stands there, seemingly immovable and unflappable, surveying the scene with obvious authority and apparent indifference. Wait for him to leave, and they will put your stools off the pavement, and back on the road. Another bike zips by and the blur leaves you looking at the beer-drinking across the road. Laughter, stories being exchanged, backslapping, contemplation, observation. Whoa! That was a loud horn. You’d almost stopped noticing the traffic noisily whizzing by you, weaving its way around tourists and vendors. Oh, there’s another scooter stopped in the middle of the crossing. Those girls haven’t quite figured out which way they need to go yet. The other scooters, bikes, cars and cyclos weave around them as they ponder the decision. They are about as bothered as the little bundled baby who has passed out on his mother’s shoulder as she crosses the street. The little girl at your shop, however, is having a bad day. She wails inconsolably in her brother’s arms. You look at her and make faces. She ponders you like a new toy before deciding you are not quite appealing. Her grandfather (?) soothes her.

But the guy next to you has caught your eye. He strikes up a conversation, soon listing out his ‘been there’ list around the world. Not much later he is making earnest efforts to tell you he, an American, hates George Bush as much as you do; and that ‘they’ are out to get all free thinkers and speakers in America. Whatever is this world coming to. But just when his conspiracy theories begin to sound paranoid and jaded, there’s this Israeli bloke on your right, recommending the sugar buns that smiling lady is selling. (5000 dong for two, and you take them). He tells you his name in almost perfectly accented Hindi, and proceeds to gush about your country where he spent six months. An enthusiastic Englishwoman tells you about the fair trade business she has set up in Rajasthan. She looks a bit like a hippie who has discovered Indian ethnic clothes, to good effect. The American is feeling left out, he nudges you with a comment about that very girl harking back to Woodstock days. The summer of love, he wistfully says, though you doubt very much he was there.
Somewhere between talk of India, America, Israel and Vietnam; Himalayan herbs, kind strangers, beautiful fabric and powerful Enfields, your mind stops to notice it all and smile. Isn’t this what its all about?
Oh, look at that- your next beer is in your hand. Its fresh, its tasty and its dirt cheap. Everything else is free.

bia hoi= fresh beer
Hanoi, Vietnam

Varna

2008-04-21T15:10:00.000+08:00

very cool piece on Bulgaria.
Um, do they smoke there?

The smile of Ta Phin

2008-04-19T23:40:00.001+08:00

That day, we hired a bike and rode around, above and below Sapa. It was fantastic, the freedom. About 15km from Sapa we visited a minority village called Ta Phin. Past the village centre, which is accustomed to and expects tourists (though we saw none), we went further out. The rather narrow road led us through terraced hills and occasional huts. Then we stopped. A tiny stream babbled, a man with his plough walked in the distance, a few buffaloes were herded away. D spotted an abandoned hut- it's porch a place for us to sit and do nothing in the shade.

This most delightful girl found us at the abandoned hut and lit up our biking break with her giggles.

readabout

2008-04-15T15:46:00.004+08:00

Some wonderful excerpts on unplanned travel in this article

"But why, I asked, would a robber of tourists be driving about with a
gigantic lorry-load of hay? Could we not just accept a simple offer of
hospitality at face value?"

"Let's drive to Russia," I said.
"Too far - we won't get back in time," she said
"Germany."
"Too dull."
"Corsica!""

"Having to spend an afternoon in a cafe on a rainy day, or at a station waiting
for a train isn't a hardship, its a a chance to become part of the rhythm of a
place, if only for a few hours. "

Two (inspiring?) pieces on very appealing train trips by the man in Seat 61 here and here.
And a handy piece on internet security on the go.

back and blue

2008-04-12T00:28:00.001+08:00

hanoi-halong bay-sapa-hanoi, and back.

hanoi ahoy!

2008-04-03T02:01:00.001+08:00

Its 1.40am and we're finally in bed. D is already deep asleep. It has been a long day. Work, lots of it. Home. Cooking. Cleaning. Packing. Charging camera batteries. Packing.

I planned to click and post pics of the house before leaving. Sorry, not happening. I wrote (wrote, like with a pen in a notebook) in office yesterday about how this feels like (and is, I suppose) the least prepared trip we are going for ; and how I don't really care too much- I just want to be there. Planned to put up that whole bit as a post. Sorry, thats not happening either. The notebook is still at work (I wrote this while the office server, after cruelly separating me from a morning's work, was on the blink).

Tomorrow at this time we will be fast asleep. In the Old Quarter of Hanoi. With a new city, a new country, a new people, new food, new drink, new sights, smells and sounds, awaiting us.
A new trip, and I can't wait.

See you after Vietnam!

what a shot!

2008-04-02T00:36:00.004+08:00

" He casually walked to the kitchen, picked up a pair of scissors, snipped the snake’s head clean off and stretched its open neck into a plastic cup "
here it is

vietnam resources

2008-03-22T14:50:00.008+08:00

Useful links on Vietnam/Hanoi : stuff used, come across or found cool during the Hanoi reading up.
- Savour Asia- food in Asia (hanoi, beijing, bangkok and others); also lots of info on Hanoi inluding itineraries, maps and more. Detailing on food is very good.
- New Hanoian- a 'community produced expat guide'
- of course, Travelfish.
- a Hanoi food blog
- on Halong bay
- an NY Times piece on wine and drink in vietnam ("He casually walked to the kitchen, picked up a pair of scissors, snipped the snake’s head clean off and stretched its open neck into a plastic cup")
- Ivivu- flights, travel and acco in vietnam
- an article on Hanoi's shopping, eating and staying options, plus some misc info (lots of relevant prices included)
- a great looking place to spend a couple of days a little while from Sapa. Looks like a wonderful retreat,if you have the time (and money).
- culture and art scene in Hanoi
- a guide to Bia Hoi joints in Hanoi

Forums/posts
- on halong bay acco & cruises- t'fish
- Sapa guide- t'fish

walk by the Vltava

2008-02-16T12:26:00.012+08:00

That day, our last, was cold. Very cold indeed. It was about 7 or 8 degrees at midday, but worse- the wind was biting. We stood at the ‘Dancing Building’, Frank O’Gehry’s undeniably iconic and undoubtedly odd attempt at a modern symbol of Praha. Across the road from it, on the bridge, we pulled our woolen caps further down, wrapped our arms around ourselves and walked on to the other side of the Vltava. We walked by the river all the way back Nove Mesto or New Town, founded as, um, recently as 1348.

It was a quiet walk. We spoke a little, but the silence came from the street we walked on. We passed 2 people in about a 15-minute stretch, I think. We saw building walls with paintings, brown autumn leaves scattered casually by the weather, boats tethered by the side, the little strip of land in the river called Marksman’s Island. Eventually we walked by the park behind what was then an Andy Warhol exhibition.

Writing this I sense it seems the walk will take us to some spectacular climax. It won’t, it didn’t- the walk itself was spectacular. It was also our last day in Praha, a city that blew us away and left us both becalmed and short of breath, seduced and smacked in the face in equal measure. Before we climbed the steps below the famous Charles Bridge to go back onto that bustling tourist strip of great beauty, we stopped. Just below the crowd, hardly few feet from the steps that took you back into the joyous madness we sat on a bench and tried, for the first time, hot wine.

A plastic glass of piping hot wine with cinnamon and a couple of cloves thrown in. The cold had not touched our hearts- we loved it, but in that bracing chill the wine warmed us and made us smile some more.

Prague, you have too much up your sleeve.

nature rules

2007-07-24T00:25:00.001+08:00

ta prohm

Angkor Wat

2007-05-17T21:41:00.000+08:00

Sunrise

2007-05-06T11:22:00.000+08:00

The sunrise at Angkor Wat is famous, the crowds head for it, you have to have the desire to wake up 3.30am to actually catch it in its entirety....and its all worth it. I would do it again, everytime I went.

the clicking competition

2007-04-18T09:55:00.000+08:00

more of the Clicking mania at Bakheng

Phnom Bakheng

2007-04-17T10:13:00.000+08:00

They say Phnom Bakheng is a circus. There aren’t any animals or magicians, but there’s still a crowd. The performance we have all come to see is by that old trickster, the sun. Here he sets on one side of the hill, as you stand atop it in the middle of a temple that goes entirely unnoticed. On the east side of the hill is the other act, the biggest draw of them all in this country. If you peer across the people and the considerable distance hard enough, you can make out Angkor Wat. The sun, admittedly, was quite gorgeous, but people-watching made for much better tourism here- not in the least because there were so many of them.

Next: pics of the photo-rush at Bakheng.

Siem Reap in numbers

2007-04-16T14:36:00.000+08:00

days/nights in Siem Reap : 5
times awake before sunrise : 2
sunsets seen : 3
hours in/around Angkor : 13+12+14=39
shortest day (hours) : 15
longest day (hours) : 21
hottest during stay : 38 C
days it rained : 1 (when we were asleep)
types of transport : 1

temples seen : 13
bas-reliefs, carvings : countless
giant faces in stone : don’t know
awe-inspiring trees seen : countless

baguettes eaten : 16
pizzas eaten : 6
amok eaten : 1
khmer curries/soups/dishes : 9
instances breathless with chilly : 0
kinds of fruit consumed : 4
beers consumed-small/large : 9/7
brands of beer : 4
sugarcane juice : 5

no. of phone calls made : 0
no. of times net accessed : 0
minutes spent watching tv : 1 (violence at Roma v ManU match on big screen at a bar)
interesting people met : 6
photos taken : 1534 !
videos shot : 4

all USD
room rate : $15
cheapest food item : $0.25 (1000r)
most expensive food item : $6
cheapest beer (can) : $0.75
most expensive beer (can) : $1.5
cheapest thing bought : $0.5
most expensive thing bought : $7

the rest of Day 1

2007-04-13T12:45:00.001+08:00

by D
It takes absolutely ages to get out of the airport. But that doesn’t change our mood. Coz yay – we’re traveling!

The tuk tuk sent by our guest house (free of charge) is waiting for us outside. The driver introduces himself. His name is Map. That’s right – Map. In retrospect, the tuk tuk was a great way to travel through Siem Reap. Maybe not too ideal in the rainy season. But perfect otherwise. It is far cheaper than a car and you have the wind in your face all the time. You can look all around you and everyone gets a good window seat! The ride to the guesthouse took us through dusty, dry land… but the breeze was cool so we couldn’t complain. Our eyes squinting in the sun were taking it all in. A lot of it reminded me of India. Mainly the dust!

We get to guest house. Say hello to Michael Gutmeyer (the manager). Unpack our luggage. (will tell you some other time how manic I am about unpacking – even if it is for a couple of hours at a place!!!!) and then we decide to catch a snooze before heading out. The snooze is about two hours long and we wake up just before noon! All woozy and hungry we decide to head out immediately for something interesting to eat.

Which is what we did. Eat something interesting I mean. I will leave it at that. This is too public a forum to discuss details.

The sun was bright and happy and shiny by then and it was way too hot for us to do anything so so walked back to the guesthouse. Which by the way , was just 5 minutes away from “bar street” the place to eat, drink and hang out…

We woke up a bit more refreshed and left at 4.30 to buy our 3 day pass for Angkor and also catch a bonus sunset, as our 3 days were going to start only the next day but we could be allowed in to the complex to see the temples if we wanted.

Our pass was bought and a temple was chosen for the sunset. The trek up was long and tiring. I think the sun set was pretty. Pics say the rest.

The sun set and we trekked back down with the rest of the crowd. Got back to the guesthouse (I seem to be saying that a lot don’t I?) got cleaned up and then we were out for dinner. The plan was to wake up really early the next day so we weren’t too keen to stay up too late. So we crashed and put two alarms in two separate devices to make sure we wake up on time. At 3.30am. And leave on time. At 4.30am. We do wake up on time. In fact, we are so enthusiastic (read “insane”) that we wake up 3 / 4 times through the night to look at the time. In fact I remember A shaking me rather hard at one point and mumbling “wake up D. wake up. You get ready first.” I stumble out of bed and realize its 12 &%*$ing 30.

Oh well. That was day 1.

the bug has bitten

2007-04-11T12:42:00.000+08:00

by D
I love traveling with A. Possibly more than I love watching movies with him. But, maybe not more than eating with him. Siem Reap was meant to be a short break. A break from working hard and our everyday existence. And that’s what it was - a short break. Let me rephrase that – it was wayyyyyyy too short. We were back before we knew it… and now we are writing about it.

The day before a trip is always frantic. And the Saturday before our early morn (6am) Sunday flight was just that. Frantic and chaotic. There was general cleaning up of the house to be done (A’s mum was coming to stay with us 2 days after we were going to be back from Cambodia), couple of hours at the office to rush through, drinks to be had with a dear friend (in town just for a few days) and of course packing. And may I just add that the previous night had been way too long for me (and A – separately though!) and my head and body were trying to recover from all that through the day.

Ok this is getting really boring. Fast forward to the night. We did whatever we had to do and finally managed to get into bed at 1.30 am. Only to wake up at 3.30. We got to the airport on time and checked in and walked around like zombies. But super excited zombies. We were off traveling! Yay!

The flight was drowsy and uneventful. We got to Siem Reap Airport at about 8ish. And A took some pictures… something that he did a lot of over the next couple of days…

(to be contd...)

we're back

2007-04-08T12:40:00.000+08:00

...from a fulfilling, different, very hot and really memorable trip.

Freedom

2007-03-08T10:43:00.000+08:00

The numerous streets and lanes in old Chiang Mai. None of them seem particularly crowded. It isn’t really high season, and the feel is a little mellow. We cruise through them all on our bike (scooter), with no particular place to go, waiting for something to catch our fancy.

We stop at it the second time we pass it. The first time we noticed how bright and colourful it was, and how empty. In fact, totally empty. Now we stop anyway (or because of that?), and step into a bar that’s about the size of our living room.

His hair falls untidily till his shoulders. He shuffles his scraggy self across to us with a beaming smile, nodding his welcome. We have the solitary beer that we said we would. We chat with Selly, as music from the 70s plays. I ask what else he has to listen to, and he tells me to take my pick. That would be a DVD on Woodstock.

Selly says “Freedom” very often; only sometimes because he is referring to his bar, which is called the Freedom Bar. Subdued lighting complements its bright colours, which- almost needless to say- are red, yellow and green. There are Bob Marley images everywhere, and it almost seems natural that the owner looks a bit like the icon. When we leave, he gives us Freedom Bar stickers. I can’t get over how much he keeps grinning, and its not the foolish, insincere kind.

Two nights later its our last night in Chiang Mai. After bar hopping by the river, we’re back in the old city, cruising, looking for somewhere to have our last few beers. We see the Freedom Bar from afar, we notice that it is buzzing with people, and we’re glad about that- we’re not really thinking of stopping. But as we approach the bar, Selly stumbles out the door. His grin is exactly where we had left it the other day, his arms outstretched, wildly gesturing for us to stop. I brake, and stop almost at his feet. He greets us like long lost friends, and before we know it we are inside Freedom Bar.

The rest of the night is spent with Selly and a few of his pals. There’s Anna the pretty Scottish-Thai girl, Joe(?) the madly friendly Muslim guy who sells jewellery, even in India; there’s Meow (yes, like the cats), who works double jobs and has taken an off night from waitressing; Anna’s silent and almost surly boyfriend who bartends most of the night. There’s the tall, silent, odd friend who arrives from Pai (after Selly disappears for half an hour to pick him up). Its more like being at a party than a bar- we even help around with a couple of orders from customers!

Selly‘s had a few beers as well. His English isn’t the best, so his jaunty “Freedom!” sometimes serves as a “hello”, or a “cheers”, even a “can I bum a cigarette?”. It also serves as “bye”, when we’re leaving at about 4am. By then we have been handed a couple of Freedom Bar lanyards (for a tiny setup he sure has his merchandising organised!), emails IDs, and the name of a bar in Ko Phangan- that’s where we are headed- at which we can meet Meow’s boyfriend…of sorts.
But that is another story.

thailand in numbers-2

2007-02-26T13:19:00.000+08:00

meals in Thailand : 29
salads consumed : 6
instances breathless with chilly : 10, at the very least
kinds of fruit consumed : 2
bugs eaten : 2
sticky rice eaten : 1
beers consumed : 53 +/-
thai whisky consumed : 600ml

frightful flights

2007-02-22T12:15:00.000+08:00

A funny, if hope-it-never-happens sort of piece.

...ireland

2007-02-13T23:36:00.000+08:00

When I was young, I started- courtesy my brother- listening to The Chieftains. Mostly this lovely album that I have not tired of to this day, nor do I ever expect to. Recently, I found myself with a couple of albums of The Dubliners . They found their way onto my ipod.

More often that not, when I listen to them, I can't help but notice I am being moved or affected in some way or the other. To fall back on an unlikely cliche, it seems like they are... well, calling out to me. My desire to go to Ireland has increased many fold in recent months, in no small measure thanks to their quirky songs. Its almost like I expect to land in Dublin one day and be greeted by jolly, funny or melancholic music played by a folk band amidst red cheeked men and women and pints of beer. I know that is being cliched and silly, which is why I almost expect it.

As if to remind me of my myopic thoughts, I saw today an episode of Lonely Planet Six Degrees, set in Dublin. It stated at the outset its attempt would be to discover the 'new Dublin', transformed, as it has apparently been, in the last decade or so. What followed was fascinating at many levels, including one thread on the uprising of 1916 and how it was a seminal time in Irish history.
What it did not have- not one, fleeting minute of- was Irish folk music.

Oh, well. I suppose I must discover it for myself.

Siam Snapshot- deadly street tom yam

2007-02-01T00:08:00.000+08:00

Siam Snapshot- leaf& flame

2007-01-18T23:38:00.000+08:00

Wat Phra Singh, Chiang Mai

...a room somewhere- Bangkok

2006-11-22T19:44:00.000+08:00

After that search on the first night at Bangkok, we stayed at one of the places we had come across a couple of times during our research but could not get through to via email-bella Bella Guest house on Soi Rambuttri. We took an a/c room for Bangkok and the darned thing had no controls so we froze every night. The staff was about as friendly as the woman who lives across the hall from us here (that’s more or less as friendly as a sleeping frog).

Bella Bella was really pretty basic but the loo was decent and clean, and that was enough. The blankets were weird (warm but, strangely small), there was no mirror ( I shaved with some difficulty!), and there were no plug points! They’d charge you to charge your camera batteries and stuff downstairs! And oh, no TP either. Extra charge for that too!

Bella Bella House
Soi Rambuttri, off Khao San Road
Double with aircon- B520 (+one time use of plug point at reception B20, and one roll of TP for B10)

Siam Snapshot - toilet training

2006-11-10T13:30:00.000+08:00

Same Same

2006-11-08T23:09:00.000+08:00

Bangkok traffic is notorious, and with bloody good reason. One evening we forgot about this, and found ourselves in the fourth tuk-tuk we haggled with, begging for haste. This chap was quiet at first, and then got talking. The conversation was full of twists and turns, as was the drive. Here was the kind of driver who hated stopping, even if this was rush hour. Every traffic jam we came to, he would weave through the cars. When, inevitably, weaving was not an option, he’d just get off that road, into a side street and change the route. This happened again and again and again- it was confusing but bloody entertaining.

“You from?”
“From India”
“Oh, India!”
(Yes)
“Not many India people here”
“Oh? You don’t meet many Indian tourist?”
(What about the hordes of shoppers, I thought)
“India people no wonny”
“Sorry?”
“India people no wonny”
“Huh? No…worry?”
(oh…he means we Indians are a carefree lot)
His lifted his hand and rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign for bank notes.
“India people no money. No MONEY”
“Oh-no money! Ha!”
(Huh?)
“Ha ha! Yes, Indian no money…like Thai”
“Ha ha”
“Falang have money”
“Ha ha, yes no money. So you give us discount on tuk-tuk fare”
“Ha ha ha”
Lots of ha ha.
I realise now I’ve no idea what was so funny, actually. ‘We’re poor sods, you’re poor sods’.
Same same.

farang* - tourist/westerner in Thai

Siam Snapshot - 3.B

2006-11-07T23:14:00.000+08:00

Beach,Beer, Bliss!

Haven in a City

2006-11-06T23:19:00.000+08:00

It was a hot day- the hottest of our trip, it now turns out. Though it had not been half the day yet, we still arrived at Wat Pho hot and bothered. Stepping off our tuk-tuk, we looked up to a small, unimposing gateway. Behind it lay Wat Pho and, more famously, the Reclining Buddha. If there were two things a tourist brochure would tell you to see, this would be one of them. Kids played in the courtyard as we stepped through what turned out to be a bit of a side gate. Tourists milled around the ticket counter, waiting to buy the 50B (app US$1.25)ticket. Standing by the side of the main building, a commonplace structure, you could see glimpses of glowing gold through its meshed windows.

Before we knew it we were standing barefoot in the ordinary looking hall, quiet and still. In front of us lay the expectedly gigantic Buddha. Expecting it did not quite make it predictable, though. You’d think knowing you were going to see the biggest reclining Buddha would prepare you for the instinctive staring and gushing, but you’d most likely be wrong. For one thing, its huge- rendering the mundane structure that houses it completely irrelevant. For another, it glows in a slightly surreal way. It felt warm and quietening and cool at the same time, standing there.

Then we started hearing repetitive clanging sounds- one after the other, and overlapping as well. Just round the corner from the mother of pearl feet of the Buddha we saw people in an orderly, slow-moving file. They were dropping coins into metal containers lined up along the wall, maybe 50 or more of them. For a moment I thought that the 20B you paid to get the coins to throw into the buckets was slightly meaningless and just a mildly imaginative way of getting something for the renovation fund. But I stopped myself almost before the thought could form itself completely- nobody was forcing you, nobody even asked you.. but we still felt like doing it.

Yet, if the Reclining Buddha dominates Wat Pho, it shouldn’t. Stepping out, we spent the better part of two hours in its rambling grounds- stupas, temples and Buddha images everywhere you look, and especially where you don’t. In one of the wihaan, we were lucky enough to witness a monk initiation ceremony (though I’m not sure if that’s exactly how its described). It was peaceful and captivating, with the young monk’s family in rapt attendance.

There was a “nothing yet much” feeling about that time. I can easily see people saying there is little to see besides the famous figure that Wat Pho is home to, but I would tell them to give it just a few minutes. Walking around through doors and gates and corridors you could chance upon small treasures and quiet moments. We did, and it leaves the visit to Wat Pho as a cherished one in our minds.

Siam Snapshot - postcards

2006-11-05T23:32:00.000+08:00

Thailand in Numbers- I

2006-11-05T11:51:00.001+08:00

destinations in Thailand : 3
nights in Thailand : 13
days in Thailand : 13
hours in Thailand : 312.5

flights : 3
flights on time : 2
airports : 3
train journeys : 3
train journeys on time : 1
hours spent in trains : 39
cross-country km travelled : app. 2800km
boat rides : 3
days motorbike hired : 4
distance ridden on bike : app 200km
hours on a raft : 0.45
hours on an elephant : 1
types of public transport taken : 7

The Colour Orange

2006-11-01T14:10:00.000+08:00

I wonder if it is the calm of their homes that they reflect, or if the residences mirror their inner peace. I don’t know if spaces that offer solitude feed off their soothing presence, or if their equanimity is a result of tranquil surrounds. In all probability, monks and their temples share a serenity that transcends the both of them. Either way, the fascination they have always induced has somehow never prompted explaining, till now that I try and put it down in words.

Thailand brought this fascination back with a gentle force that could only be its own. It seemed we never tired of pointing out to each other yet another monk on the street, or one shopping or one ona cellphone or one ( I did not believe this!) smoking. But tire we never did. Sometimes we just looked, sometimes we greeted them the traditional way with a reverence touched by schoolboy-ish anticipation of their response. Sometimes we shamelessly whipped out the camera at the first glimpse of orange, other times we chastened ourselves, feeling like we were rudely prying.

They are a part of Thai culture like little else can claim to be, their presence seems to define the country’s personality. A Thailand experience is moulded by their unobtrusive aura. In many ways Thailand is them, yet they are much more than Thailand. They seem to transcend their surroundings, not being shaped by what is around them but by something that is entirely its own. Which leaves me grateful to the country, but also to something more…which I haven’t much of an inkling of.

Bangkok Central

2006-10-31T17:48:00.000+08:00

So.
We don’t claim to be genuine ‘backpackers’. We bum it out to a certain extent, or plan to; we look to stay in the cheapest of places (but also with a private bathroom); we outline budgets and do our utmost to stick to them (but are easily lured by frequent beers).
And oh, we don’t use actual backpacks or rucksacks.
Still, for most people going to Bangkok (and those not on weekend shopping trips), its well-nigh inevitable that you will see (and stay) somewhere near, or on, the famed Khao San Road.

We’d made a tentative reservation (i.e. no money paid), at a place on this strip itself. At the airport we realised that, in all my spreadsheet-supported preparation, I’d not brought along the address of the darned place! Slightly thrown off by that- and by an inexplicable fever that crept up on D- we asked for the taxi to take us to the street, moderately certain we would somehow locate the place.

9pm.
Dropped off at the edge of Khao San Road and realising that cars are not allowed on it, D’s idea of a strap-on-strolley was already vindicated. Slight uncertainty lingered and D’s watery smile defied her fever. We stepped into the crowd- for that’s what it was- and found that virtually unnoticed, our travels had already begun.
Soon, though, both confusion and exhaustion were pushed into the background. Almost immediately, we spotted- inevitably, it seemed- a fruit vendor. 10 Baht pineapple and watermelon made their way to our stomachs, in a trice doing justice to all the fruit-gushing we’d heard and read.
Now we could look around at Khao San Road.

This is no South East Asian capital, yet it is. It feels as if the street has one foot steeped in local flavours, stretching to put the other into international familiarity. One arises from obvious indigenous entrepreneurship, the other from the countless visitors that foster it. If ever there was backpacker central, this is it.

Here is yet another bootleg music shop providing a soundtrack for the scene, blocked only slightly by the food cart selling pad thai veg, pad thai egg, pad thai chicken. There stand heavily made-up Thai girls distributing fliers in the barest of leopard skin dresses, right next to the really wizened old man doing, apparently, nothing. That tiny bored looking table can get you driving licences, certificates, press cards and student IDs. Clothes stalls selling whacky t-shirts are lit by the bright neon signs above them, inviting you to find your home away from home, to get your laundry done for cheap or buy a VIP bus ticket to pretty much anywhere. Watch your bags, watch your out of place suitcase-strapped-on-a-trolley; you just missed another pair of sandal-shod feet. Dreadlocks and buzz cuts, blondes, brunettes, red heads and shiny pates. Bodies brush past, impervious to the rank weirdness of the surroundings, from days spent in them. Other trundle along like us, trying to take in what is, obviously, way too much to take in.

Tilt your head up and see dark windows of Inns and Guesthouses that rise silently above the shops; their (inevitably?) dank and dull rooms must be anything but silent. And there- we’ve found it almost before we even started to look. A boring beige building bang in the middle of this buzzing, blaring, colourful madhouse- our destination.

Um, not any more it isn’t.
We were already walking about, searching for the place we were to stay at, why not keep looking after we’d found it? For, interesting as the place may be, surely there was little sleep to be had here. We moved ahead, off-centre of backpacker central. Just past the tourist police station and 20 feet of surprising nothingness, we stepped onto Soi Rambuttri armed with the trusty stamp of traveller/tourist- our Lonely Planet guide. Here we would find, amongst many things, a bed.

13 days

2006-10-29T15:46:00.000+08:00

There is not much that’s tougher than trying to start a short scribble on a 13 day trip that you have just completed. Especially if you’re trying to fit it into a little capsule, painful as it may be to attempt a summary. But it’s what must serve as the appetizer.
Which reminds me, it might not be amiss to start by saying that the food in Thailand, true to reputation, was almost uniformly scrumptious. Its what holidays/trips can centre themselves around, so good meals to look forward serve as a cornerstone to good travels. In between bites of divine pineapple and tangy mango, happily familiar street noodles, curries in green , red and yellow, rice, Chang beer and merciless but rewarding chilly were glimpses into a Thailand that could be hectic, but only despite itself- more often, it was laid back to the extent of being nonchalant.

Wats (temples) that were oases of calm and peace whether we sought them or they called out to us. Bright orange robes, and the monks draped in them, lending charm to the most dull of city colours. Smiles that condemned rat races but rarely defied them. Characters adorning days- and nights- with their warmth, wit, cheer or even plain inexplicability. Stunning beauty that could not be escaped, that gathered us in its gentle folds and drowned us with fascinating nothingness; much the same way apparent nothings sent out vibes that crept up almost unnoticed till we were loathe for them to leave.

We found new experiences and sought out, most gladly, to relive old ones in new contexts. Cheap beer, mostly cheap food, cheap stuff to buy- all so cheap, ironically, that we went way over-budget! The only thing that wasn’t cheap was the experience- we’re still reeling from it, and I mean that in the best way possible.
Here’s to Thailand.

Chok Dee!

Thailand Travel Resources

2006-10-01T18:21:00.000+08:00

~ ALL THINGS THAILAND ~

I dived into Thailand Planning fully expecting truckloads of information on it. I wasn't disappointed. Apparently it is the most heavy thread on Thorn Tree, and thats a great place for information. I am constantly amazed, baffled and wishful after seeing how so many people have the time, inclination and sheer joy to write so much stuff there for, seemingly, just the heck of it. Outstanding stuff.
But this is not a post, its a bucket for resources if one is travelling to Thailand ( as I hope to do so more than once). So here goes.

TRANSPORT stuff
About the (new) Bangkok Airport- Suvarnabhumi. And this thread on it.

Train travel- the Thai Railways own site. Basic, not completely clear, but reliable for time tables at teh very least. Apparently you can try to book via email with them, though I haven't yet. Have a go at: passenger-ser[at]railway[dot]co[dot]th.
Also this site- more lucid.

On budget airlines- updated news, as well links to the lot of them.

GENERAL
The excellent swimmers at Travelfish- a great value site. Has tons of information, written crisply and casually. Nice interactive weather thingy, pleasant maps, decent features, and helpful comments section under the write-up for each place to stay- its great to read stuff from regular people who have stayed at a place. Explore it well, there's lot of stuff there easy to miss out. Register and get access to their free pdf guides. Constantly updated (one of the best things about them- on the fly updates)

Tales of Asia- by Tezza, seen muchly on Thorntree.

Into Asia- havent checked it out too much yet, but seems to have well presented info.

Thailand Travel Guide- cluttered, but lots of stuff.

TAT- the official site of Tourism Authority of Thailand

Sawadee- calling themselves the leading thai tourism portal. Go figure.

Chanchao's Thai Menu. A pretty good pdf document that talks about Thai food and goes on to not only give you the Thai words for food items, but also what they will look like on a menu (ie-in thai script)- go beyond fried rice is the idea, I think.

WEATHER
Weather by the Thai chaps themselves.
and this is daily weather updated by the Met dept.

FORUMS
Thorn Tree, of course. Also Travelfish's smaller community (but so also easier to navigate)

poo!

2006-09-29T13:55:00.000+08:00

Not only will we be landing at a new airport, we might be greeted by blue guardians

Did i mention...planning for Thailand

2006-09-25T13:57:00.000+08:00

Its confirmed.
These relatively cheap chaps will fly us to the famously chaotic, often seemingly predictable and nonetheless promising city that is the capital of the old Siam. This is now mere weeks away. Weeks, you hear?!
13 days and nights await us in Thailand, and three destinations within. There’s this desire to cram everything in and yet have an easy going trip. I have a feeling its not going to happen quite like that, but I cant wait anyway.

The Excel file for the trip has burgeoned into a few worksheets- an itinerary, accommodations for all three places, a budget, air fares everywhere (we’re actually planning to take only the one domestic budget flight), and now I am trying to compile the links I have discovered/devoured for future reference. Then there are the 52 emails, and counting, with different labels for them in the gmail account- but of the three not one place to stay is finalized yet! A handful of posts and replies on forums, lots of guidebook reading and web post scanning, very groggy mornings and black circles under the eyes…and its still 3 weeks away.

I love it.

Planning...

2006-09-20T13:59:00.000+08:00

The only problem with planning a holiday is planning a holiday. Its not the mechanics of the planning, but their effect. Its not the process of planning, but what it does to you.

Might as well be on leave. Take time off to plan your time off. Every review that I read, map I see, tip I find; every photo that is revealed, itinerary that is suggested, email that is required- each makes me want to do only all of this.

Work is all very well, but planning the journey is, for me, like beginning it; I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss out on enjoying the trip!

Day V- evening

2006-02-23T11:04:00.000+08:00

…but we are readying to leave, for that very light is dying, and we wish to make it onto the streets before sundown…

So ended my last proper post, weeks ago; just as D and I had reached Fethiye, what is now months ago. We had dumped our bags into the comfortable looking Ferah Pension up at one end of the main town, past the marina and a up a little hill.

We set out toward this marina now; I find I still need to tell myself that I am sauntering past a bay in the Mediterranean littered with yachts much the way streets I have lived most of my life might be littered with bicycles or auto-rickshaws. It is an observation I will revel in pointing out, to myself, over the next couple of days.

Almost immediately, after a few places named ‘The Yacht Hotel’ or something similar, we curiously trundle down steps that take us from the road overlooking the marina onto the planked stretch itself. It is lined with luxurious yachts; walkways lead to more of them- posh in all their Hollywood-fuelled (in our minds) desirability. It doesn’t particularly feel like we are in turkey anymore, if that could make sense. It feels like we are more in a getaway for the rich- maybe the south of France, or the Italian coast, or the Med- but wait, this is the Mediterranean. Soon we realise our walk is a pleasure we are not allowed. This dawns on us when a guard tell us we cannot go on to the walkways leading off. Of course, we know that- “yacht owners only” only gleaming steel plates is quite clear. As it turns out, we are not allowed on the main stretch we have just finished strolling across either- but we have finished after all, so we continue to the more ‘normal’ area.

Fethiye is slowly being bathed in the gentle light that an evening sun brings, gradually yet quickly moving to disappear behind the hills on one side of the bay. These distant, nameless hills are and odd mix of gold and pink, and we find ourselves on a broad gangway pretty much in the middle of the marina. It is more empty that it suggests it should, and it is flanked by local boats rented out to tourists. At its end towers a large green boat that we peer curiously into. It’s open central area, much like a dining room and the rich coloured wood all around, are alien to our eyes. We climb a step or two to look into it, and resist getting right on. But we do sit there awhile- a gaudy green boat here, towering Turkish flags there, glimmering water ahead.

We pass by the statue of Fethi bey, a local hero tragically killed while flying, early in the 20th century. Its in a tiny park by the promenade (if that’s what one is to call it), in the midst of boat-operator booths and stalls selling postcards, handsome stray dogs and cafes invitingly offering a beer, all in Pounds Sterling.

As we sit on a bench at nearly the other end of the marina now, a family returns from a day at sea, and in it. Their diving gear drips with water, their fair but tanned skin looking completely at home in this haven for British tourists. We wait awhile for the orb to disappear behind the hills, then walk away, heading into the streets of Fethiye town.

Day V- arrival

2006-01-12T17:52:00.000+08:00

Under clear skies and by windswept fields, gentle welcoming hills offering fleeting glimpses of blue between them, we come to the otogar at Fethiye- its size commensurate with the small-but-not-tiny-town feel that we get.

Tuna had told us to take the shuttle from the otogar, and ask to be taken to Ferah Pension. We wouldn’t have to pay. Um, ok then. Tuna is the owner of said place of residence, whom we ~~spoke to~~ communicated with in very basic English, before leaving this morning. The bus services seem to run these free shuttles (the same bus service that one came here by), and a half dozen of us pile into the mini van, a little befuddled.
There’s a surly bald English chap who has seemed generally unimpressed with life since we stopped and chatted for a smoke earlier in the day. He must find a place that will let him see the Champions League matches later that night and the next. There’s an old couple, older than our parents would be, and a young one who are surely not married. There’s an Australian girl as well, quiet and distant as hell. It is but a few minutes before we are passing by the marina, glimpsing yachts and water; but we’re more concerned about being taken to our pansiyon.

Ferah Pension is the cutest place as yet. Wait, let me be less lazy and more real. It is the only place that shows character, that immediately says something about itself. And Ferah immediately says that it is warm and weird. Everything about it is quirky, odd and smile-inducing. The dog that looks like he can’t decide whether to growl, bite or greet, so he simply looks away. The numerous plants hanging in the dining area that almost makes you think that it is not open-air. The many, many plants hanging in the dining area that are welcoming in their green-over the-lovely-wood table way. The cluttered bar/food counter at one end that seems like it is well-stocked, and a bachelor’s. The tiny sofa, the different types of upholstery and curtains and drapes and throws and meaningless fabrics. The little door that shows us the mess that is the home of Tuna and Monica…
Our room isn’t too bad either. There is something about it that is more inviting than the previous two, but I can’t be sure what. The walls are a white that is both clean, and Mediterranean. The wood on the bed, drawers and shelf is cheerily brown and fresh. There are two windows- the mess of green and bits of asbestos visible from it notwithstanding- and windows with light are always a good thing.

But we are readying to leave, for that very light is dying, and we wish to make it onto the streets before sundown.

Day IV- on the road

2006-01-03T16:55:00.000+08:00

The roads are wide, clean and level. There are vast fields with thin trees leaning by the side of the road; hills and valleys seemingly made only of an odd combination of rock and vegetation; towns that seem smaller than they are, with neat one or two-storey houses and a generally quiet feel.

We are travelling through the day today, about 300km. From Selcuk to a short stop at Aydin to change buses, then out of the Aegean region via Mugla and so to Fethiye- a yacht-port and on the beaten path tourist town on the Mediterranean. The nearly 6-hour bus journey through the day seems like a bit of a waste at first, as precious daytime will whiz by. But the ride itself is pleasant- relaxing, even; the ‘on the road’ feel making us happily aware, again, that we are travelling.

The 10minute stop at Mugla is not enough to order lunch, but just about enough to pick up a sandwich and a half each, and start to chomp standing on the vast expanse that is the Otogar. It feels like you are at a very high place, where rolling mists and peaks in the distance would not be amiss. There are none of these, of course, but it is cold, breezy and interesting, in a very mundane sort of way, to stand there a while.

-a deserted ferris wheel we spotted behind the otogar-

And so we go on, with short naps, photos, conversations and sachet-coffee, to our last destination- one we know the least about, know the least of what to expect from. Except, given we are reaching the coast, we can only wish for a bright southern sun.

what is this place?

2006-01-01T19:16:00.000+08:00

I am terribly excited by the thought of new places, people, cultures and sights. For the longest time my resume had, under ‘interests’- the item “the idea of travel”. Today it can be whittled down to the one word; travel seems to have become a more real possibility (since moving to Singapore in 2005). I still deeply wish to see many places back home in India, but for now I look at different points on the map and can’t restrain my greed. Hence the attempt at making my motto “travel now, save later”.

This is where I write about the places I go to, want to see, or research about. the food we eat, the alcohol I always try to try. This is also where I post the better pics of the many, many I take. The trips may not be too frequent, but I yearn to write about my experiences, because I always feel I never observe enough. What I do notice and feel, I wish to write down.

I hope they are as interesting to others in cyberspace who stop by.

who is this guy anyway?

2006-01-01T18:45:00.001+08:00

-A- (or 'shakester'),while on his travels, is greedy about experiences and takes an absurdly large number of photos. In life, he is rather fickle and indecisive. He very often has ten things to write about, but eventually posts on an eleventh, or nothing at all. He is also slightly schizo, as is evidenced in the other blogs he writes at.

In one, he co-exists with his better half, D. There they write about their (now not so new) life in Singapore, food, beer, whisky, movies, books, the city they have moved to, and miscellaneous ramblings and rants. In the other, he pontificates on many things sport and cricket, which he thinks a lot about but writes much less.
Shakester also has the ability to say in 20 words that he can say in 10. Erm, you might have glimpsed that in this paragraph.

Day IV- decision making

2005-12-27T11:44:00.000+08:00

At some point we realise that 2 days in Selcuk is one day too many. There’s Ephesus, and then there’s nothing much else in Selcuk proper. So that’s why people use it as a base to see things around, as far as 3-4 hours away. One of these is Pamukkale. White, strange, famous, much talked of and postcards-everywhere Pamukkale, with its white rocks and spa like calcium-laden natural waters used to heal the body since the Greeks figured it out. That’s what we will do, we decide.

Till we figure the costs. It is about Euro100 for the two of us for the whole day-trip, and thats way too expensive. An extended period of deliberation happens, where fundamental philosophies clash with pocket practicalities. We are never (never say never, but still, this is pretty much never) going to be in Selcuk again, a few hours from the place that heralds ‘tourism’ in Turkey in most any brochures you’d care to glance at. Money comes, money goes. Travel now, save later. Borrow now, travel now, repay later. What's a little more debt compared to seeing a unique part of the world you are so close to? The clichés are endless. The bank account is not. I must wrench my heart away from Pamukkale, while D is more ok with the whole thing.
“Sorry, ___, we won’t be taking your tour”
“We also won’t buy our tickets to Fethiye from you, because you’re charging us 4-5 liras as commission for two tickets that we can walk out of your hotel and across the empty and cold area outside and buy from the bus company”
“We are also a wee bit disappointed by your place, so we will not give you the India cushion covers we got as possible gifts”
“We are returning to our room to prepare our devious bottle of coke and go buy our tickets”

Tessekur ederim, anyway.

Day IV- a long walk

2005-12-22T08:17:00.000+08:00

Lunch was enough to set us off, and since we could not see any mini-buses or anything else to take us back, we started walking toward the highway, deciding to take in the remnants of some ruins that fell outside the site area, and then see the Grotto of the Seven Sleepers before heading back to town. As it turned out, the remnants struggled to be even that, and were at a distance from the road, and barricaded. We marched on, insistently making our way around the hill toward the Grotto, though we hardly even knew what it was. After walking for more than a while, and past several bends in the road that we resolved would be our last, we finally stopped. There was the odd taxi going past us, so surely there must have been something to see somewhere up ahead, but we’d be damned if we were going to keep walking indefinitely, with no end in sight nor idea of what it was we were going towards.
So it was like this. We had walked right by the hill, and were parallel to the highway that went back to Selcuk, except the prospect of walking back all the way to the turn in the road and then going toward the highway was not a particularly enticing one. So in some sense of misguided- and frankly, minimal- adventure, we decided to walk across the field that separated our road and the Highway. Since there was an inviting path (above) just where we had stopped, it seemed to make complete sense. We walked on it, past orange trees and bushes, with grey clouds and silence accompanying us. After a few minutes, we passed a little outhouse. Tied to poles there were a handful of dogs. Angry, wild-looking inhospitable dogs that bared their fangs and barked and pulled at their chains to get a go at us. We quickened our step-though at first D was quite enamoured by them. “One gets free, D” I said, “and we’ve had it”. To date, she insists I over reacted. I insist I had vivid images of dogs canines sinking into vulnerable parts of my body, and merely reacted accordingly.
After that, we cut through bushes and bramble and reached the main road, and walked on the nicely laid-out avenue named for Dr Sabri Yayla (who thought laying out the tress lining it many years ago), stopping along the way to see the pathetic and depressing remains of one of the Seven Ancient Wonders of the World- The Artemis Temple, that has but a pillar to show for its original 128, and finally reaching dull ol' Selcuk town where- horror of horrors!-a decision awaited us.

turkey trip musings

2005-12-20T10:51:00.000+08:00

But the trip was not only about lunches, dinners and tourist Sight 1,2,3 (or ‘locations’, as we could not help calling them). It is a satisfying but easy thing to fall into- a chronological blow by blow account. But there are other things one thinks about, looks back on, and will write about. Probably after the ‘days’ are over... or maybe in between.

I suppose this is just to say one fully intends to, and will, write on whatever comes to one’s mind- which may or may not always fit in with the day by day accounts.

Day IV- lunch

2005-12-19T12:42:00.000+08:00

Lunch was not particularly significant except it was the only reason we left the site at Ephesus. If we could have eaten something, anything within the site itself, we would have, and remained at the Grand Theatre till sundown. But our stomach grumbled, and rumbled, and we walked out eventually just past 3pm, and past this absurd sign.
Across from which we settled down and hungrily ate gozleme, which we had not tried before. They were moderately satisfying but nothing spectacular. Thin and crepe like-and stuffed with meat or cheese- they were drier version of kathi rolls back in India, except there was no tangy green chutney with them, only ketchup and mayonnaise.

Day IV- the Grand Theatre

2005-12-15T12:43:00.000+08:00

What was, without any doubt at all, the most moving time of our day at Ephesus, was the time we spent toward the end. Some tourists/groups enter from the side we exited, and so come upon the great construction pretty much as the first thing in Ephesus. Maybe that leaves them sufficiently awestruck for the rest of the tour, or maybe it renders everything that follows less impressive, or both. We entered from the north end, and so, through statues and pillars and temples and inscriptions and stunning restorations, came to the very end.
The Grand Theatre took us like a sandstorm would a desert nomad. It entered our view, then our thought and made its way inevitably but movingly, to our emotions. It might just be rock and rock, but in it lies the ambitious grandeur of people who did not know the M of machines, but for whom the S of spectacular was all too frequent. In it lies the capacity to hold 25,000 people who could behold a spectacle and hear people talk far below with no electronics. In it lies the wonder of today, at the amazement of the past. In it lies the ability, at the very least, to make two people want to sit there for the longest time and just look at it.

(there's D!)

And then , weeks later still say very little but smile inwardly when they see photographs of themselves at it.

Day IV- Efes

2005-12-13T12:44:00.000+08:00

We’re in a small run-down red car that serves as the shuttle from Jimmy’s Place. It’s a free shuttle, and it’s a shuttle to go to the one place that justifies the existence of Selcuk town on the tourist map.

Ephesus.
The site for Roman ruins is one of the largest in the world. And why not- Ephesus, or Efes, has been around since around 5-600BC, seeing people and civilisations come and go.
Its cold here as well. Not as cold as Istanbul, but not as sunny as our last day there either. We make our way past the YTL15 tickets booth and milling guided groups, into the site. On our left is an imposing but inviting hill, one of many that from one side of this ancient city. Ahead us the land stretches out for a bit before disappearing behind the curve of the smaller hill on the right. There is enough about the history of Ephesus that can be read, the stories behind the ruins, the imagination they provoke.
But what is ours entirely to absorb is the place, and being there by ourselves. Don’t mistake me, for all of the 5-and a bit hours we spend there, we are surrounded by tourists. Mostly large groups, being herded by guides who any or all of loud, interesting, showy and hurried. We are on our own pace, though- innumerable groups start after us, pass us by and disappear towards the other end, while we linger here and there, explore some rocks and sit on others, take photographs or just stand around, trying to take it all in. That the sun comes out soon after we enter and stays with us for the day is a blessing we are truly grateful for- suddenly everything looks richer.

I am surprised at how I have little to say about Ephesus now. Unless you are a history buff, you are not going to see it from an entirely historical perspective. Most likely you will enjoy the walk; be awed by the incomprehensible age of the things around you, by unfathomable and countless stories hidden in writings and rocks alike, by beautiful and imposing structures, by the desire to build them- of a kind that will never come back.

One has done no justice to this with words, so maybe you could go check out the photos, they might do a tad better.

Day IV- arrival

2005-12-06T12:45:00.000+08:00

D does not sleep too well, but thanks to her shoulder and lap I don’t do too badly. We wake to faint morning light and a bus that has stopped for coffee and breakfast. It is just past 7am, and we try to call Jimmy’s Place again. This is where we are to stay, and we have not gotten through to them since Istanbul. Now we get through, but we might as well have not- the chap at the other end has absolutely no idea what we are saying. We get the café owner to help us, but he is not too good with English himself, so it’s a bit of a disaster. We shrug our shoulders and get back into the bus. Instead of 30-45 minutes, we arrive in just about 15 minutes. The bus is going to carry on, so we are the only two to alight on a deserted strip of road in the blandness that is Selcuk town.

Moahammed spots us and asks us if we have a place to stay. Then, he is trying to sell us the very place we are already booked in! So soon, after a walk of under 5 minutes we have made our way through the deserted otogar, the deserted marketplace behind it to a relatively quiet and dead hotel- this is Jimmy’s Place. The chap at the reception nods- this is who he just incomprehensibly spoke to a while ago. Soon we are in our room, hurrying to bathe and get ready so we can catch breakfast before the free shuttle which leaves about 9.30.

Day III- 5,4...3 degrees?

2005-12-02T23:01:00.000+08:00

One tram ride, quite a bit of walking and a metro ride later, we are at The Otogar, which is as sprawling as it supposed to be. There are over 100 offices here, companies running buses to pretty much anywhere in Turkey, and to parts of Europe. It would be great, wouldn’t it, to buy a ticket for Prague or Greece or something from here? I suppose so, but at the moment we are clutching our jackets and making our way to the large and brightly lit office of the Metro company, where- yet again- almost no English at all leaves both of us fairly unsure as to what to do with our bags. Finally I check them in, smiling back at the man who asks and is pleased to hear “India”. That’s great buddy, but what’s happening to my bags? Nothing, it would seem. They lie right there and we are asked to move on.
Dinner is at a totally random lokantasi across from the main Otogar, and consists of bread, mixed vegetables and meatballs with lots of Oil. In fact, it is the oil fest season, we are told, and this place is not a lokantasi but an oilkantasi.
Or something.
The bus is pretty comfortable, and are served coffee and cake(!)- believe me, that is something unheard of in India. It is cold outside, and I love that. D doesn’t so much, so she stays in when we make a stop on the Asian side of Istanbul. I get off, with a dozen others who are reaching for their cigarette packs, and the biting cold hits me hard. When we return we are to learn that this day was probably the coldest of our stay- about 9-10 degrees in Istanbul.

Some fitful dozing later, we wake to realise we have stopped. The bus is not moving, but we are. Lo and behold, we are on a ferry! We had no idea this was part of the journey, so the novelty of it is interesting, as is the hot cup of cay we share above on the deck. Outside the sitting area, it is much, much colder. We somehow brave a photograph where we both look as if it is our very brains that are freezing, then D goes back inside while I, inexplicably, stay outside to click photos of water below us, rushing by in the darkness. There is a biting wind and my sweatshirt and jacket combination is woefully inadequate, but there is something about it that I am enjoying. I go back just as my digits threaten to fall off.

Day III- cheers!

2005-11-30T11:55:00.000+08:00

We stumbled along, groping with the LP map around what was unequivocally Backpacker Central.

From the Spice Bazaar we had walked to Eminonu to catch the tram, entered it on the wrong side of the tracks and had an official tell us to jump them to the other side, and finally were back in Sultanahmet. This is ‘our’ area, but we’re staying a little away from this hub of pensions, hels, hotels, travel agencies, even The Four Seasons. Yet none of this seems at all like a market or like the complete and noisy chaos it should be. Maybe that’s cause it is only about 6.30pm- most people will still be out taking in the sights, not trudging back to their rooms or bars. Yet. We eventually locate Cheers!, right next to The Backpacker Bar, and go into the former solely because it is called a big favourite with backpackers in the LP. In the event, it doesn’t really matter- it is too early for either to have any people. Cheers! has one guy who probably runs the place, and another who looks like he is 16 and straight from a German punk-heavy-metal club. Shockingly, there is death metal blaring.
Of course that changes soon enough, as we sigh into our chairs on the tiny first floor which we have all to ourselves. It must be quite a place when it is full (which it might be in a couple of hours), but we quite like this as well. At 5Euros a beer, it doesn’t seem cheap though, but the beer is big and the place is quiet. We can look out and see the boards for names we had read so many times- Sultan Hostel, Orient Hostel…
The beer is refreshing and soothing and tasty, but soon we leave to pick up our bags from the Hotel and make our way to the Otogar or Bus Terminal. We’ve decided to not take the Metro company shuttle that leaves way too early at (report 7.15) for a 9.30 bus, and taking TTP’s trusty step by step guide, we are off.

Day III- bazaars

2005-11-27T18:25:00.000+08:00

The Grand Bazaar is typical yet no bore. Coming from the West, I can see how this would be more eye-popping than it would be for an Asian, particularly and Indian. Think Palika Bazar In Delhi or Heera Panna in Mumbai, but more organised in some ways, much more colourful, and mostly very friendly. We wander around, relaxed and interested. Fortunately we are not looking to shop beyond the odd souvenir for ourselves and lubbed ones. We did not, somehow, take more than the odd photo- though the colours offer great subjects…

Unfortunately we can’t find a place to eat. The one- not so cheap lokantasi (where we decide we will share a dish) has little left- it is 3pm and way past lunch time. We walk out, and after buying some shot glasses (yay!) onward to Spice Bazaar. But our eyes and stomachs are aware, and at 4pm, we see this place:
and have these
They’re pretty good, filling and we are satisfied. As usual, on our walk toward the Spice Bazaar we are running a bit tight for time- so no photos are taken of the bustling street, the very small-town India feel of the roads (streets?) we walk on- with cleanliness thrown in- the number of interestingly-faced locals and kids(this is not probably the usual route to the Spice Bazaar- that’s from the Eminonu side). Eventually we reach the Egyptian Market or Spice Bazaar.
It is gorgeous. There’s nothing to it, really- but it seems to be in a cavernous few corridors with high ceilings and the subtlest of smells wafting past your nose- not assaulting it, just gently teasing it. Then we notice shop after shop of spices. There’s some other stuff, sure- the inevitable and gorgeous nazars- but mostly, there are heaps of spice- cardamom, cumin, saffron, Turkish saffron, pepper, chilli, paprika, oregano…..(check out these pics)

We see, we smell, we think that we should surely pick up something from here. We meet Dr Avijit Dutt, a Bengali in London who buys spices here all the time (?)- either orders them through people or buys them when he comes, like this time on a conference. And he is not joking- looks like he's buying enough to last a year! We, instead, look for soap- D buys a bar of olive soap. Olives? They are way more expensive than you’d think- and then eventually two kinds of chilli powder. ( we have yet to use them- but can’t wait!)

understanding

2005-11-26T12:50:00.000+08:00

I met someone from Turkey some time ago.
Someone from Istanbul, someone who belonged to the place where I had had such a wonderful time in my life. There was this moment where all my learning of different cultures, different peoples and different places came together in a freeze of observation. I saw, in that little time, the beauty of meeting someone from a a different place in a wholly new light. One that gave the conversation the glow of satisfaction, the warmth of joy, the happiness of strangeness and familiarity.
I had to stop myself from sounding foolish, when I tried to make him understand what my visit to his country meant to me. How the country that he was trying, already, to justify and defend, had given to me such a special period of my life. How his country was such a deeply wonderful part of my recent past.
And when he told me he was going to visit India soon, I was overjoyed with the prospect; with the possibility of helping him have anywhere near as wonderful a time in my country as I did in his.

Day III

2005-11-23T17:48:00.000+08:00

This day, Monday, is the brightest. It is also the lightest in terms of things planned.

We set out in the wonderfully warm sunshine towards the Arkeologi Muzesi or the Istanbul Archaeological Museum only to find that it is shut today. We’d somehow missed this from our agenda, but I assure D we will see it later. On the way back. Instead we sit down in Sultanahmet park, that atmospheric patch between Ayasofya and Blue Mosque. Here we write our postcards.

It was the most satisfying and happy 30-40 minutes, and I can’t really explain why. I suppose it was nice to put down in a few lines what it had been like, to know you were writing back to proud family…and there just is something about sitting in a foreign land and writing a postcard that is incredibly romantic. The fact that our spot was surrounded by history, and so gorgeous, only made it more perfect. We absolutely loved it.

Not being able to find the office for Metro (one of the better known bus companies) to buy our ticket for the night, we postpone it and make our way toward The Grand Bazaar. On the way, we bump into Ismail and Mahmut from our hotel, off on some errands. Though they seem a bit busy, as soon as they learn we haven’t bought our tickets yet, they lead us all the way back to Divan Yolu themselves to the agency that sells the tickets. Inexplicably, and incredibly sweet of them- and heck, we’d already checked out actually. With two tickets in our pockets (the little knapsack, actually) and 72 lira (or 72 million lira) lighter, we move again toward the Grand Bazaar. It’s a pleasant walk, and soon enough, we reach tourist-trap central.

Day II- night

2005-11-20T06:55:00.000+08:00

Istiklal in pictures

That is not coke. well, not only coke. :) But that is a coca-cola sign in the background.

This place (left) was playing Coldplay but it looked too pricey so we looked for LP-listed 'Madrid' except we never found it and happily discovered tiny Cafe Pi instead (right).
This guy at Cafe Pi was probably a student, knew no English but was very friendly, and looked a lot like our friend Deba- in fact, from the back, exactly like him. No, really.
smack opposite Cafe Pi we ate, very late, and a litle buzzed, at Musa Usta Adana Kebap Salonu where the beans were absolutely nothing at all, but the eggplant was pretty decent. They charged us for the water, the rogues.

Day II- evening

2005-11-19T15:00:00.000+08:00

We walk out of Suleimaniye Camii to a great sight. It is the beautiful game, and it is being played on concrete by a clutch of youngsters aged anywhere between 8 and 20-something. It’s the kind of sight you’d see in India with a makeshift bat and stumps stuck in the mud, or drawn on a wall. One of them sets on our way (we are looking to go to Eminonu)- it would seem its just one long street. As we begin the walk, we notice yet again the deserted look this street, too, wears. It is nearing iftar time again. We chance upon an open shop and buy some water and coke for later, and continue on what seems to be a completely dead stretch- shutters are down and doors are shut. It is only after a while do we realise that it is also Sunday- so this market is shut for the day anyway. It is a great walk- all downhill, all cobblestoned, and ~~hardly any~~ no people. It feels like we are in a ghost town, or survivors from some alien attack or something. (Calm down, my friend)

At Eminonu, D finally has her first doner kebap. It is only Day 2, but she’s been thinking about these (very cheap) snacks since we began planning on Turkey. It sure is cheap- only YTL 1.5, less than one Euro! She likes it but less than she hoped- the bread is crusty (though soft from the inside), and it takes a toll of the roof of her mouth!

Walking on in front of the Yeni Camii, and the now beautifully lit mosque we have just visited in the distance, we come to the Eminonu bus stand to take the good ‘ol T4 bus to Taksim Square, and so back to Istiklal Cadessi.

day II- suleimaniye camii

2005-11-17T05:53:00.000+08:00

Actually, this was not on our original list of things to do. We had thought we would visit another mosque besides the most famous one, but had left it open. Early signs had suggested the Rustum Pasa Mosque- which has been often described as small but exquisite.

But the Suleimaniye Camii demands to be seen up close. Imposing and unforgettable in the Istanbul skyline- particularly so during sunset- it is a quietly confident presence. An emperor calmly but irresistibly summoning a commoner from afar. It may sound corny, but really- seeing it from a distance you just can’t ignore it.
To be honest, seeing it up close doesn’t do justice to its distant majesty. The compound is relatively small, its gardens appearing meagre and less manicured compared to what we have seen earlier in the day. The Mosque towers above, many of its cluttered domes lost with the craning of heads. But we step in (which we did right away, as soon as we realised we could), and take in our breath. The walls are not intricately done up, nor are there grand arches and domes. What there is, is light. Golden, flowing light. Light from the high ceiling to touching height above us. Light from countless little bulbs, but you would think they’re all glowing candles. For once, you don’t really to have imagine how this must have been when there was only flame to light it up.
It is time to sit, quietly, and take it in. The people praying, awash in such dramatic lighting, the silence, the calm…except I don’t. D does, but I try to take photos, because I know we don’t have time for me to do both.

Outside it is grey and sombre; and not just the sky. Of the tombs in the east side some are ornate and important, many nameless, and all tragic. We don’t know exactly what it is, but both of us feel this terrible sadness all around- as if this is not just ancient history, but an all too recent and heartbreaking past. We don’t venture everywhere here, for it feels like we are intruding, rudely prying on strangers’ intimate moments. It is arresting, but we must not linger…

day II- afternoon

2005-11-15T16:09:00.000+08:00

We listen to the LP-again- for lunch, and find ourselves on a tiny street just off Divan Yolu. Karadeniz Aile Pide & Kebap Salonu is a small place, and at this time of day not a very crowded one. Ravenous, we quickly order what turns out to be scrumptious lentil soup. Soon after, D’s Iskender Kebap (ok, now this is famous) and my payneer pide arrive. We launch into them with unabashed gusto, and I officially decide I love Turkish pide and the cheese they use on it. D is a little disappointed by her dish- especially following the hype around it. We are served by a completely spaced out but smiling chap- and we keep recalling that these people- cooking, serving, smelling food are hungry all bloody day. It’s a tough call, and we admire their relative cheer.
The only sore point is this American trio sitting behind us- a mother with her daughter and daughter’s boyfriend. The girl, in particular, was the kind that conformed to the stereotype we are always told is not genuine- loud, fake-sounding and generally irritating. Her poor mum.

After a quick trip to the hotel room to stock up on, ahem, essentials (we will now return only at night), we are back at the tram station heading two stops away to towards Beyazit, and then to that mosque we have only seen from afar- the Suleimaniye Camii. It is late afternoon now, so we must hurry, under grey clouds and fading light.

We have been told, alternatively, that it better to alight at Beyazit, and also at the next stop- University- and then walk to the mosque. Getting off at the former, we get a bit lost- roaming around, there's Beyazit Camii right there, which is small but inviting in a non-touristy, full-of-character way (we don’t have the time though). Then (futilely) saying “Englisje?” many times in the pigeon-filled expanse outside Istanbul University. Then through a crowded local market, and we are- apparently- very close.

On this last stretch we are guided by a young couple- surely college students and so into each other- who are walking toward us; but seeing they can not really explain the directions to us (they know pretty much no English at all), they promptly turn around and lead us to the final turn in a smiley but mostly quiet walk. And suddenly, past shops selling rubber, stockings, nargilehs, apricots and god knows what else, we are on a quiet cobblestoned street and at the back entrance of our destination.

Day II- a topkapi affair

2005-11-14T14:37:00.000+08:00

7.15am
It is drizzling outside. Our second breakfast is had, still on the terrace, under a small canopy. The rain is very slight, or kin-min as D has always called this sort of drizzle. By the time we set off, it has stopped, but grey clouds hang overhead far more suggestively than the day before. We are headed for Topkapi Palace (just behind the Ayasofya), and like good LP and TTP readers, we mean to get there early to grab a spot in the first set of people allowed into the Harem. Pre-Topkapi info in short:

It is a Palace, a huge palace.
Ottoman.
Functional till early 20th century.
It contains palace grounds, different buildings of the palace, the famous Harem and a treasury Museum.

These last two are tickets over and above the YTL10 to enter the Topkapi Palace grounds. All told, if we are to buy tickets for the three of them, we’d spend about 45Euros between the two of us (!). So the treasury has been, already, struck out. Shrugged our shoulders, we did, back home deciding this. On a budget one has to live with these things.

At the ticket counter, I start to waiver. Weakness creeps in- “Should we just go the whole hog, D?”. Dither. Counter reached. Main entry obtained. Step back. Dither. Stand. Look at other person. “Ah, f*** it”. We buy the Treasury ticket, and we shall not regret it. In a flash we are at the Harem entrance, buying the ticket there. People have audio guides, outsized cellphone-like things that you can punch numbers into and listen to relevant info. But this is a guided tour (as part of the ticket), and we are first in line at the Harem Door. It is not 10am yet.

The Harem is exactly that- a large area that used to house all of the Sultan’s women. Including his mother. In fact, she was the one who would choose women for him. With hundreds (literally) to choose from, I doubt he could complain- in fact there were so many that many of them entered as virgins and stayed as virgins. There were no males allowed (except the princes who were in secluded quarters for fear that all the women would try and kill of others’ sons!). All the guards were eunuchs. Black eunuchs from Africa. The only male in the place was the Sultan. It sounds all funny and bizarre now but walking through the rooms, bathrooms and corridors, with the guide (who is excellent) telling you beguiling stories, the extent of strangeness and disconnect from that time, that world, that way of living, truly boggles the mind. D listens to all the stories closely, I less so- I am busy trying to take pics. The tour is over in less than 3/4ths of an hour, but it seems longer- in a good, immersed way.

Outside, the palace grounds stretch out all around us- manicured gardens and beautiful trees- old, old trees. There are tour groups everywhere but the palace is huge enough to let you ignore it- it is divided into sprawling ‘courts’. We stroll through the edge of the Second Court, almost alone, waiting for a loud guide-voice and its owner to pass us by before continuing on to the Palace kitchens, ming vases, gifted model ships in gold and silver and a cold, sleeping dog. I am feeling tired today, I don’t know why- like body-ache sort. But I brave on!

There is the very ornate Divan Salonu or Imperial Council Chamber where the Council would discuss matters of sultanate-shattering importance, and the Sultan would sit behind a grill and listen in. History, it would seem, can be universally sleep-inducing. Or at least on guards.:)

The Third Court houses the Treasury, but before that we walk to a display of some religious items. Curious but not overly excited, we are both amazed by some of the things we find. These are called the Sacred Safekeeping Rooms. Decorated by iznik tiles that we have already gazed at in the Harem, it has the holiest of things- Prophet Mohammed’s sword, tooth, footprint in clay, his leather sandals and strands of his hair , a carved door from Mecca besides much more. Most of these are scarcely fathomable, and thus fascinating.

When we finally make it to the Treasury (all four halls of it), we are so thankful. Of course neither the Sacred Rooms nor the Treasury Museum allow photography (aaargh). At one point we decide to jot down some of the things we have seen in the museum lest we forget them (forget exactly what we saw that is, not the visuals themselves). So here you go:

- an 86 carat diamond surrounded by 49 other diamonds. SPECTACULAR. That’s it. It is the world’s fifth largest and is called the Spoonmaker’s Diamond because it was found in a rubbish dump and purchased by a peddler for three spoons! By the way, D ‘wants’ it. Sure. You won’t be able to sell me and get one of the 49, forget the big fella.
- The famous Topkapi Dagger- I wish I could hold it. (this was what the film in ’64 was about, and the film in 2006 will be)
- A HUGE sword that could be upto 1400 years old, or at the very least 600 years.
- The arm of St. John the Baptist. Yes, the arm. It is cased entirely in gold except the back of the palm where you can see the ~~fingers~~ bones. Next to it, his skull. Bizarre, to say the least.
- Mega sized ‘pendants’, aigrettes, lots of ornate thrones, gorgeous medallions from all over Europe, a whole dish full of emeralds…the list goes on.

The Fourth Court has beautiful views of the Marmara Sea and the Bosphorous at its north-eastern side, while from the other end you can look out to the Golden Horn and see the striking Galata Tower.
This is from a marble terrace with a pool and a couple of structures that are covered in beautiful iznik tiles. Entire walls are covered in these lovely- and expensive- tiles.
It is the back end of Topkapi Palace, and soothing despite some crowds. We take photos, get photos taken, and start to feel hungry. Somewhere on the other side of a long but pleasant walk back through the all the Courts lies lunch. If we aren’t so hungry, we might just linger. But it is about 2.30pm (we walked in at 9.30!), and we must leave these beautiful, sprawling, grand grounds for less lofty purposes.

writing woes

2005-11-13T18:00:00.000+08:00

There is way too much to write. I cannot stop myself from writing to the extent of detail that I am, for I want it to be as much blow by blow for those who read it as for us- and I am really enjoying it. But this also means I am progressing slowly, and the fear of things fading from freshness is all too real, already. What is one to do.?
Write write write, I suppose. There won’t be so many posts per day for every day, sure- some might just have the one- but there is so much to write about. Small tidbits and remembrances that strike me on the bus and in the bath and as I lay down to sleep- and where will they all end up? As fragments of words and thoughts in time or will they get articulated?
Sigh….

Day I- neyle meyle

2005-11-11T13:01:00.000+08:00

Nevizade Socak is a tiny- and by tiny I mean very narrow- street off Istiklal that is chockfull of meyhanes or taverns. One literally falls into the other, chairs and tables are all but on the walking area, and the party-feel is wonderfully communal. Lonely Planet zindabad- we end up at a tiny place (aren't they all?) called Neyle Meyle. What follows is a boisterous and loud meal (by the people around us- we were quite quiet, in a smiley way). Of the gentleman and two ladies next to us, only one knew a smattering of English- it wouldn’t have mattered, the way they were going through their raki. Behind was a much louder and bigger group, headed by a large, ruddy cheeked and loud man- Bora Ozbuk is Turkish, settled in New York, has no kids and absolutely loves cats. Between them, they managed to give us some tips, a few toasts and lots of jolly laughs.

The meze tray (we’d read about these) is truly delightful. Mezes are Turkish appetisers (mostly cold, also hot) that are eaten with bread and invariably fill you up. We finally choose two- feta cheese and a spicy meze that is only vaguely reminiscent of salsa, but much finer in texture. It is outstanding- sharp, zingy and oh-so tasty. This is all washed down with one each of what seems like the national beer- Efes.
Mental note: resign yourself to a watering mouth while writing about meals.

The night has been quite cold. We make our way to Taksim square and return in the tourist-famous T4 bus, that connects Taksim (and so, Istiklal) to Sultanahmet. Between the substantial cold and satisfied exhaustion, there is no time for any journal writing or pondering. We fall into a deep and blissful sleep. We have seen some of spectacular Istanbul, and are quite taken by it- tomorrow the rest of it beckons.

all Day One photos

Day I- Istiklal Cadessi

2005-11-10T17:47:00.000+08:00

There is something atmospheric about the walk on the bridge- it is not the most picturesque, certainly not beautiful in a conventional sort of way, nor really soothing; but it leaves us with a smile on our face. A smile and enough of a mood to decide to walk to Beyoglu, the suburb that houses the bustling street of Istiklal Cadessi- the ‘place to be’ in the evening. (Cadessi is pronounced Jadessi)

We walk much more than we expect, some of it in the wrong direction, before a couple of university students boisterously and gregariously lead us back and onto the single street that will take us there. It’s a single street alright, but it stretches on, going uphill. We labour across, passing the Galata Tower that is meant offer spectacular panoramic sights- its Euro3.50 entry made sure it did not make it to our list. The street (we now know believe it was Galipdede Cadessi) is mostly deserted, we realise that’s because its nearly iftar time- when most people of this city will have their first morsel of food/ drop of water since before sunrise. It is a phenomenon that we will marvel at many times to come in the next week or so, particularly because of how widespread this Ramadan (Ramazan) fasting is. We pass a shop overflowing with exquisite glass lamps- that this photo does no justice to- and after a while, the street is lined with innumerable shops selling music instruments- some only guitars, others only percussion. Outside them, people are breaking their fast as we reach the very bottom end of Istiklal Cadessi.

The next two hours or so are spent walking up, down and off this bright, bustling and terribly charming 2km long cobble stoned stretch. Every little while, the mass of people- sans vehicles- is cutely disturbed by a rattling old tram that runs two stops from Tunel at the bottom, to Taksim Square at the top of Istiklal. It is red, tiny and I have the urge to hop on to- it moves slowly enough to do so- and hang for a stretch, but better sense (?) prevails.
There are lots of people- well dressed, good looking people, families, youngsters. The feel is terribly European ( I find it amazing how often I feel something is “so European”, but I have never been there), and of course, geographically, we are in Europe. Oh, and there are what seems like hordes of rockers. No, I really do mean rockers. Leather jackets, long hair, guitars slung over their backs, some punkish, some metal-ish, guys, girls…surely there is some club or something here.

We even pass Galatasaray Square (Galatasaray FC, anyone?), but therein lies a photograph I postponed and eventually never took. There are shops- all kinds of shops, restaurants, bars, confectionaries, bakeries and two Loos of The World- McDonald’s and Burger King. How many people do you know who use fast food joints like these as public rest rooms? None? Ok- either you’re founder member of the Supreme Bladder Control Club or you’re terribly scrupulous. Or you’re lying. We, on the other hand, are honest upstanding global citizens who acknowledge the worth of these establishments, and our own kidney shortcomings. So there.

At about 9.30, post the consumption of a little personal vodka, we decide to finally go to Nevizade Socak (a street we have already surveyed in our tiring walk), but before that we must change some money. Yes, we are short again- changed too little this morning. What do you know, the changers are shut. One, then the next and the next- and it is not even 9pm yet! Just as we have, for the third time, reached the end of the road (ah, I love this language), we despairingly ask a policeman who sets us off on a two minute walk that fattens the wallet and ensures dinner will not be just the one dish between the two of us.

Day I- The Golden Horn

2005-11-09T08:24:00.000+08:00

We take the tram to Eminonu, and walk through the subway. Come up the steps and you see water. Grey water under grey clouds with lots of people in the foreground. I am not sure what hits me first- the mass of people, bustling, chatting, hurried; the seagulls flapping out noisily over choppy grey water; the sight of fishing rods, so many of them; the vista of Asian Istanbul across the Bosphorus on one side, and the north half of European Istanbul across the Golden Horn; the boats and ferries cluttering the water like the transport hub that it is.

Then the other sights- hawkers sitting on the pavement selling completely random tings- from beads and nazars to underwear and socks; vendors with fresh fish being grilled and literally thrown into sliced loaves; the outpuring of people from the turnstiles at the ferry entry.

It is here that the Istanbul skyline that so fascinated me is truly visible. Take a 360-degree turn and take in seemingly endless city- a mass of low-lying buildings all clustered together; rising out of them, in every direction, are minarets. Entire tall minarets, the tips of others, solitary minarets and clusters, all searing into the sky, but gently, like beacons, like a signature, like grand, confident statements the the city is making.

And just behind, towering over Eminonu and its bustle is a smallish (by what we have seen anyway) mosque (only later are we to realise it is Yeni Camii). Despite its imperious closeness, it loses out in the sights stakes to a mosque further away, the distance adding to its charm- even from this far it seems huge and spectacular in the dying light, and we are unsure which one it is- maps and readings suggest it is Suleimaniye Camii.

Taking all this in has been a few minutes, but the first ting we have to do is buy an akbil. This is the key-like pass which works on buses, trams, the metro and even local ferries. Locating the akbil both, however, is quite a task- we never did lpick enough Turkish before coming, and despite roaming around with the LP open to its language page, it is a while, and many walks in and out of the underpass by the Galata Bridge, before we finally find it. The signs only say gunluk, haftalik, aylik...
So we are lucky to get a young boy (“Ingilizce?”, we ask, and “so-so” comes the reply) who helps us out understanding we don’t have to buy a daily, weekly or monthly pass, just a normal one (not specified in the signs) is available as well.

Then we are walking on the Galata Bridge. The sun is setting behind us now, behind the mosques. There are more people fishing here, many more. Cars, buses and small lorries (like tempos) whiz by but I still can’t remember them being as noisy as they surely must have been. Below you, and to the left and right, ferries ply the increasingly choppy waters of the Golden Horn (the finger of water that divides European Istanbul).
We stop a moment, taking this in and clicking photos. The sun is inching its way behind the Suleimaniye Camii (for that is what the grand mosque in the distance is), and you understand where those postcards have been shot from. It is as if the mosque was made so it would seemingly swallow the sun every evening, first basking in the glow then leaving an outline that couldn’t be better were it painted on.

Day I- yerabatan spook

2005-11-07T11:07:00.000+08:00

The Blue Mosque and the Ayasofya- both of them have drained words out of me. You’d think they would do the same to one’s travel senses, but post-lunch there is renewed vigour. Sultanahmet is full of tourist sights, which is great because you can walk from one to other even if you are unfit louts like us. The two imperious monuments call out to each other, and further north, behind the church/mosque/museum is Topkapi Palace which we shall visit tomorrow. Right now we make our way towards the top of Divan Yolu, where right round the corner is the entrance to the Yerabatan Saray Sernici.

Going down the steps we know what to expect in this underground place. Called also the Sunken Palace Cistern, it is literally that- a cistern that is seriously huge. Why would a water storage tank underground be of any sight-seeing worth is anyone’s guess. Well, for those who have not been there, at any rate. What will we see besides space enough to hold 80,000cubic metres of water? (80,000!)
There is a warm glow about the place as we reach the last flight of stairs; nothing in particular yet everything as a whole captures us. We see walkways disappearing into the relative darkness, brightened only by atmospheric lighting. People are milling around but the noise is minimal- being underground in this sort of a place seems to make hushed whispers obviously normal.

On either side of the walkways that take you deep into the 2.4 acre area (!), are 336 marble columns rising out of the pools of water they are meant to house. For something as mundane as water storage, it is strange that there is so much attention to detail, but who are we to complain? The columns themselves are imposing and beautifully carved, but the feel they create is what this place is all about. We keep telling each other what a great ‘location’ this would make- as in, a location for filming- and sure enough it has been used in From Russia With Love.

A few minutes into the walk and we hear spooky music. Well, in all fairness the music was probably not spooky by itself, but listening to it there was another thing altogether; also, we couldn’t quite figure out where it was coming from. At one end of the Cistern, past a few places with little fish and innumerable pennies for wishes (what is this thing of throwing money into water for you wishes coming true- I’ve seen it in so many bloody places but I haven’t the faintest what’s the thinking behind it)…we come to the two Medusa heads that are placed here for no apparent reason; and for definitely no reason that has occurred to anyone, one head is upside down, one is lying on its side (and both look moderately ugly in their greenish sliminess).

On our way back we realise the music is live music, and is being played at the café just by the exit. It is a lovely place to sit awhile (especially cause there aren’t benches around for you to sit elsewhere) with a cuppa, music and the seemingly endless glowing pillars; except at nearly 2Euros a cup of tea, it isn’t something we’re going to be doing. It must be about 5pm by now, and we are going to make our way to Eminonu, the port at the famous Golden Horn, by the Galata Bridge.

cistern photos

Day I- lunch

2005-11-05T06:48:00.000+08:00

By the time we leave Santa Sofya (yes, that’s another name for it), our stomach’s are rumbling. LP recommends a place east of the area, towards the train line and Marmara Sea, frequented by locals (always the best kind); but we still haven’t changed money (!) so we are back to main street where the tram is. We are seeing it by day, and everything g looks different. This is Divan Yolu, the main street in Sultanahmet. On it run trams, buses, cars and lots of people either side. Divan Yolu is the old road to Rome, with the Milion- a marble milestone from which all distaces in Byzantium were measured at one end- it is soon to become a favourite stretch.

We decide to eat at a place right on it, next to the tram stop. You’d think that would be noisy and fumy and irritating, but you’d be wrong. Baran 2 is a lokantasi. These are small eating places, with tray-fulls of dishes that a chef stands over- ask him what's what, pick one (or two or three), ask for rice as well if you want (or there is guaranteed to be free bread at your table, and lots of it), and off you go.
The rice is tasty, though there is nothing in it- a little salt, what I suspect is olive oil and fattish grains of rice, but not sticky. With it I have spinach, which is mild but rather tasty; D has a meat thing and patlican dish with her rice. The former is ok, the latter she likes- even I taste it and its quite nice. With it we have a yogurt thing (basically, raita-curd and cucumber, watery and more sour than either of us would like). We exceed our meal budget (a max of 10Euros between us), but I am entering ‘doesn’t matter, D eat as much as you want’ mode; she is less reckless right now. Come to think of it now, it sounds like we would exceed our budget with that lineup, bang in the middle of tourist central- but its ok. D resolves to be more aware while ordering- the budget is her look-out, sort of. Hmm. Best of luck, D.

Day I- ancient & divine

2005-11-03T13:07:00.000+08:00

Sultanahmet Camii or The Blue Mosque was built by the eponymous Sultan Ahmet I, an Ottoman emperor set to outdo the nearby Hagia Sophia. As you exit his creation, this is the view of Ayasofya that greets you. A few steps on and you are right the middle of two of the most famous sights of Istanbul. Looking back, the grandeur of the Blue Mosque seems more complete- almost like this is how you were meant to see it- standing at Hagia Sophia which it was built to overshadow. (or as –d perfectly put it a “main dikhata hoon” or “I’ll show you what we can do” sort of thing).
Its very history is head-shakingly different. Built as a church about 14 centuries ago, it was the grandest in Christendom till about a 1000 years later when Rome gave the world St Peter’s Basilica (when do we go to Rome, now? hmmm…). Almost a 1000 years after it was made, Sultan Mehmet converted it to a mosque. Not 500 years later, the great Ataturk finally declared a museum open to all. So what is it today- a church? A mosque? A (mere) museum?

From the outside, it might not matter much. The (squat) exteriors are impressive but worn out- and Mehmed Aga (architect of the Blue Mosque) certainly succeeded in ensuring his creation a stone’s throw away has more of the sheer wow-factor. But neither Aga nor his emperor could have even hoped to match the sheer grandeur housed in the Church of The Divine Wisdom. (Sancta Sophia in Latin, Ayasofya locally or Haghia Sophia in Greek).

We enter with our Lonely Planet in hand, making sure we follow its guide to the imposing second door. But step from it into the inner narthex, and you might as well shut your guidebooks awhile. High up above us, crowning the entrance to the main hall, is a glowing, beautiful and terribly old mosaic- this is Jesus as Pantocrator, or ruler of the world.

Standing by that third door, we have an inkling that we have can expect more of this- after all, Ayasofya is said to have 30million tiny tesserae or gold mosaic covering its walls! Stepping in through the door takes to us to a sprawling area, and a sharp intake of breath. I realise now our step slowed, almost but not quite, to a halt. Little stumbles and feet-drags support me as I take in a 360-degree view of the most magnificent of spaces.
Then we notice the scaffolding. It is expected, yet disappointing- renovation work means the scaffolding, extending from the floor to the dizzyingly high ceiling, will remain for a few years to come. It’s a pity, but believe me- the scale is still not lost on us. Its dark and grey outside, and dank and dark inside as well- but if anything that adds to the sense of deep history. We look around us imagining- scores of people, hundreds of candles and lamps, flowing robes and all powerful royalty. And we know that even then, all of these would only add to the splendour of this place, feed off it, not dominate it.

This splendour comes alive, almost literally, when we walk around- it sometimes feels like the walls are living things; their many colours and golden glows made by incredibly skilled hands hundreds of years ago. Then there is the wonder that comes from looking around and feeling you’re in a church one moment, a mosque the next- but always a place with a deep force. At one end we come to the most incredible of parts- a little niche in the wall, ablaze in light- the mihrab, signifying the direction of Mecca. Above it, high on the wall a shining mosaic of Madonna and child. The walls, or what they say- take your pick as to what to marvel at.

The corridors on the side have little tombs, a wooden high-chair, prayer rooms, intricate metal work and walls. There is also a little hole in the wall- stick a finger in, if it comes out moist you’ll be cured of ailments- or so they say. Except at the hole, people were sticking their thumbs in and doing the ‘try to make a full circle with it’ thing. Either way, D manages to do it- so expect a new and renewed D!
The best part of the second level is probably the walk to it. A narrow passageway with light and shadow- the kind from a period film set- where D sees impressive people and robes and horses, I see dark intrigue and hooded conspiracy. I almost believe the light is torchlight, that any moment we would hear the clip-clop of horses on stone, carrying someone important up. At the end of the walk up we reach the second level- here there is more grey light from windows, and less mystery. But there is much to see that is closer, intricacies that are more wondrously evident.
The high windows are like the kind in a video game (Prince of Persia, anyone?)- I must lift D for her to peek out. But the view is almost transporting- Ayasofya’s own domes fill up the frame, while in the distance is the Blue Mosque- it is a proximity that might have been born of envy or one-upmanship, but our world, our time, is much the better for it.

our ayasofya pics

Day I- minarets ahoy

2005-11-02T14:17:00.000+08:00

It is cold. The small-ish bed has been cosy. The really small loo has hot water, which is even better. Its not raining, we happily note. The tiny windows from our room look out to a shimmer of water in the distance obscured by lots of trees and a fire escape. In fact, ours is the Fire Escape room (or our room is the fire escape, as D puts it). We try to bound up the steep-ish stairs from the second floor (third floor) to the terrace. It is tiny, I start to notice, but my eyes are searching for the terrace views that all hotels and hostels in this area promise. I see the greyness first, begin to notice the cold just before I turn to see something that will follow me through this trip.
Minarets. 6 minarets hold the famous Blue Mosque as if in their womb, against a dank grey sky. It’s a hushed moment before D looks up, and we both gaze awhile, before starting to feel the cold.
Breakfast is by our side on one of three tables- the others are empty- not strange given we are the only guests right now! The sheepishly smiling Mahmut (not hotel boy nor manager nor waiter yet a bit of all maybe) puts down our plates, and despite expecting this, we both squeal as un-foolishly as we can. There’s a basket of bread, and each plate has slices of tomato and cucumber (unpeeled), a couple of ready-cups of cheese, butter, jam and honey, a boiled egg and there, in all their joyous blackness, lie olives- a heap of them telling us that we are in Turkey (which, along with Syria, produces over 50% of all world olives).
The cold is a little disconcerting- we have not come prepared for this, but it’s too late to ponder that. The bustle of the night has disappeared, giving way to desolate streets that flank the Hippodrome-the little garden like strip just outside the Blue Mosque that formed the body of last night’s carnival atmosphere- but between the streets are groups of tourists. Atmeydani or the Hippodrome might have been the “centre of Byzantium’s life for 1000 years and of Ottoman life for another 400” (LP) but little remains to suggest that sort of splendour ( it was looted by soldiers of the Fourth Crusade as they sacked all of Constantinople, a Christian ‘ally’ city).

Yet, rising above the shuttered-down shops and milling tourists are two impressive obelisks. The Rough-Stone obelisk hardly warrants acloser inspection, but the Obelisk of Theodosius demands curiosity. It was carved in Egypt in 1450BC, and brought by Emperor Theodosius to Constantinople in AD 390. You’d know it was Egyptian anyway, but thinking how old it is makes us stand there a little longer, then getting a photo of ourselves, if not a very good one.

Two mornings later we would be standing here again, marvelling at how different giant blocks of stone can look in bright sunshine.

Evading our first, and extremely polite carpet seller (dressed in a dapper suit, no less), we enter the Blue Mosque. I have already craned my neck enough times for it to be apparent to D that the minarets fascinate me. This trend shall continue. Hordes of tourists are ushered in to the mosque, their shoes in plastic bags- surprisingly we are told not to bother with headscarves.

The interior of the mosque is the oddest mix of crowded chatter and absorbing calm. I suppose that is a trait I often notice in religious monuments- theytake in all the people that visit them and render their numbers irrelevant with their grandeur, peace or beauty. The Blue Mosque manages to welcome you with a bit of all of these. The interior is fascinating- its intricate work, the blue tiles (from where the mosque gets its popular name), the beautiful calligraphy, the gapingly high hall with its columns. We both wish it were entirely empty, to have it all to ourselves.

Instead, we walk out to find the sun has peeped out a little, behind us. We walk around the main courtyard of the mosque before moving towards its exit, knowing we must take in the view of this place from afar.

There are tall autumny trees whose brown-gold leaves leave an imprint in every view. We turn our backs on them and their imposing host under a grey sky, knowing we will come back, knowing we will pass this mosque everyday. Knowing, in awe- and gladly. Walking out of the northern gate takes you very nearly to the doorstep of Ayasofya, our next sight.

our blue mosque pics

Day Zero- eat

2005-10-31T20:30:00.000+08:00

By the time we check in, unpack, washup, change some Euros with Ismail Hakki at the hotel (money changers are going to be shut now, we still don’t have liras) and leave, we are starting to feel tired from the flight. I guess it was about 2am for us by then, and instead of hunting, we went to a place recommended for its cheap backpacker-friendly food- Doy! Doy!, or “Fill up! Fill up!” is stone’s throw from our ~~hotel/~~ ~~pension~~ room, and though its much blurbed rooftop (“we have terrace”-of course this photo is from the daytime) is shut for the night because of the cold, we troop up three flights of stairs and past a considerable number of travellers eating to finally see our first menu. It is full of kebaps. Not kebabs, not kababs, but kebaps. But we don’t order any.

D calls for a mixed meze plate (mezes are Turkish appetisers, usually cold but sometimes hot, served with bread), I can't help but ask for a veg pide, or turkish pizza. There seem to be more than a just a couple of vegetarian items, so my prospects don’t look too bad- as always, this perks D up, who feels happier eating with that knowledge.

Our first meal is delicious. The pide is tasty, not least because of its differently familiar cheese- aromatic, a little salty and sour and very juicy. Now I know the food posts are going to be a tough ask- my mouth has been watering the past two minutes. D’s mixed platter possibly pleases her even more- there are about 6 mezes in it, and three of those- yes, three- are patlican (eggplant) based. We expected this, but to actually see it is, I can only presume from D’s squeals of excitement, a big delight for her. And there are fatly cut green olives- perfect first meal after all we've heard.
We follow it up with a glass of Turkish kahve (coffee), which, I must admit, only the bravest coffee lover must try- it is seriously strong. It would be our first, and somehow, unfortunately last, Turkish kahve.

We were satiated but also passing out by now. Abandoning plans of roaming the night market we had made our way through some time ago, we return to the hotel and crash out in no time.

Day Zero- merhaba!

2005-10-30T11:51:00.000+08:00

Ataturk Havalimaani is the first time we have landed ‘abroad’ together- we even flew to Singapore separately. It is late evening, past 5pm local time, as we stride through the very regular looking walkways, the occasional smile to fellow passengers recognised from the frantic running at Doha. We’re in the pretty short lines for immigration; I step up first and say “Merhaba…?...yes?”.
That’s hello in Turkish, and the official smiles and gives me the correct pronunciation. That’s the first of many ‘merhabas’ we shall hear. He pulls D’s leg a bit about retaining her passport, and then sets us off with a cheery “gule gule” (gewleh gewleh).

The Lonely Planet says Istanbul airport charges about a Euro for the use of trolleys, so we more or less abandoned the idea of one. As I bought a bottle of Smirnoff for the trip, though (another cost saving measure), Devika retrieved a trolley from somewhere- and no one was paying anything. Ahead of me in the line were two 30-ish Turkish men, with their allotted quota of two litres of spirit. We’d bumped into them a few times since Doha, and by the time I told them we could take more booze for them on our quota, they had passed ahead.

One of the best resources for turkey travel, particularly the capital, is the TTP. So we’ve got some extracts to add on to the trusty LP. Very useful of these is the step by step guides of getting from the airport to the main tourist accommodation area- Sultanahmet- which we fish out and begin to follow. At the exit we are hit by the cold. Its chilly, but there will be time to feel that later! We notice the same young chaps, one of whose parents and family have come to receive him with hugs and kisses terribly reminiscent of IGI Airport. The other, smiley fellow smiles at us yet again asking where we’re headed, and if by taxi. When we reveal our great plan of guided Metro-tram travel, he says we could go together; as I hurriedly stuff the Smirnoff into one of the bags and lock it.

Our new found companion has never used the Metro either (isn’t that a little odd?) As we approach the ticket counter it dawns on us just how spaced / unused to this we are- we have not changed our money! Asking him to carry on, we turn to head back to the main airport- but wait, he will have none of it. With the first of many “its not important”s from him, he buys our tokens before we can say Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. Shaking our heads, we follow him- bewildered and embarrassed, if smiley.

Istanbul seems to function on a combination many modes of transport- the metro, tramway, buses, ferries, suburban train and taksis. The partly underground metro- entirely so for the 6 stops we travel on it- takes us to Zeytinburnu, the starting point for the surface tramway which will take us to where we need to go. There are no money exchangers around, and our tram tickets too are bought by Ufuk, a ship captain. We feel even more foolish, very grateful and quite taken aback by it all.

It is evening now- the sun is setting so everything we see is in quickly- fading light. Like the little glimpses from the airplane suggested, the city seems to be quite low lying. We see nothing more than a few storeys high, but whether that is normal or only in the areas we are passing through remains to be seen. Neither the tram nor the Metro is air-conditioned (which is a big change from Singapore)- though of course the weather means we don’t need it either. The roads are like you’d expect any big city’s to be- fairly crowded, well lit buses, possibly fewer cars than I’d have thought. Ufuk must go to meet his girlfriend- whom he charmingly refers to as ‘my darling’, a couple of stops after ours, but gives us his number in case we need help in Istanbul, particularly with transalations. We bid him adieu after thanking him profusely and happily. Email ids are exchanged and the PA system informs us that we have reached Sultanahmet.

The cold comes in a chilly breeze and we dump our bags on the side and look up, but the first sight that greets us is brightness in the night.
We don’t quite know it, but are suitably impressed- the hotel is priority, though. We eventually did ~~not do what we said~~ book through the net, though without any payment. Hotel Antique offered us a room for 30Euros a night with a free one-way airport transfer thrown in- and we figured what the heck- saves us the bother. We found this through the Rough Guide on the net, and few mentions in the Thorn Tree forums- but it doesn’t feature in the Lonely Planet. We have the address though, and the map of Sultanahmet in the LP orients me with where the street is, or at least the general direction of it. Or so I thought. Five minutes walk west of the tram station and we are accosted by a street café manager.
“My friend, can I help you…”

He proceeds to give us detailed directions to Hotel Antique which seem a little at odds with my understanding of the map. Given his complete lack of any ulterior motive (he did not try to sell us carpets or get us to eat at his place), we followed his instructions till we reached the previous tram stop. Make that “the previous tram stop”! Surely this could not be right. A couple of more people were asked for directions- a little difficult, the communication given they had not even a smattering of English at their disposal. The fourth person was a shop owner standing disinterestedly. He took the book from D’s hands (where the address was scribbled), promptly turned back into his shop, picked up the phone and called the hotel to figure out where they were. Lo and behold we have the correct direction! Back exactly to where we had begun, (encountering the café chap again who was baffled that his directions were wrong and very reluctantly let us on our way), we pass what we now know are the turrets of the Blue Mosque lit up for the festive season; and find ourselves, all of a sudden, in the midst of a bright, bustling and noisy street market. More like a carnival, actually. We manoeuvred our way past innumerable food stalls, almost as many kebab skewers and countless people eating something or the other and eventually, about 40-45 minutes after getting off the tram and lugging around not-real backpacks like backpacks, we arrive at Kucuk Ayasofya Cadessi, and the tiny, tiny 3-storey thing professing, against the odds, to be a Hotel.

We did not come expecting a mansion and do not get one. But the room looks adequate, the loo is clean and though they both are as tiny as the facade suggests they’d be, it doesn’t really matter right now; for finally, at about 8.30pm on October 14, our stay in Istanbul can officially begin.

Day Zero- off!

2005-10-28T08:35:00.000+08:00

7.45am flight. Aim to reach by 5.45. Sleep at 3 (don’t even ask!), wake at 5am. Bathe. Tingle. Re-check bags, all the important stuff. Am quite an under-confident traveller. Actually, I don’t know because I am a non existent traveller. Only my third ‘international’ trip, including my move to this place- D’s fifth, maybe. Call the cab company (we have never called in a cab till now in Singapore)- after making D hold for 5 minutes they happily say they don’t have a cab to send. Er, ok. Call the next, get a cab. Its there in, like, two minutes. It’s a gleaming white Mercedes. Beat that! (there’s a long story about taxis and merc taxis that I have been planning to write for a while, but haven’t. Basically flagging down a Merc Taxi costs the same as any other, but we have always just missed them- by few seconds, or by one place in the queue- repeatedly).
So here we finally are, being driven in style to the airport, thinking if this is not a sign then what is? What a start to the day, the trip, the nerves.

Singapore’s Changi Airport is a delight. It is huge, sprawling and extremely efficient (from whatever we have seen of it), with hundreds of shops, cafes and a few bars. There’s so much space I can’t imagine it ever feeling crowded. We’re through everything in no time at all, and change some old Traveller’s Cheques (USD) and our Sing dollars into Euros. Aren’t planning on using my newly acquired debit card there, so it’s the whole budget in Euros- hard cash(gulp)! Lazily making our way to Gate no. C23, we pause- ridiculously- at the free Internet stations. Who would have mailed us in those few hours? That’s right, no one. In the Boarding Lounge we start scribbling our little journals.

Board Flight QR 639 at 7.15 or so. The flight leaves at 9.30. Close to two hours late. Welcome to Qatar Airways, we think. I proceed to watch Batman Begins (again) while D sees Mr&Mrs. Smith, which she can’t describe as ‘crap’ enough, followed by Bollywood’s Page Three. Then we both synchronise and watch the absurdly interesting The Jacket, only for time to run out with us about twenty minutes from the end.
Only a few hours into the 8 hour flight does it strike us that reaching late for a 1.5 hour stopover at Doha means we’re going to be almost half an hour late for the connecting flight to Istanbul. We look, understandably, to an air hostess for reassurance.
Us: “excuse me, we have a connecting flight to Istanbul that leaves at 12noon (Doha time). Looks like we’re going to be late but they’ll hold the flight, right?”
Her: “I don’t really know, sir. There’s a large group going to Cairo I know, but I don’t know about Istanbul. If there aren’t too many people….”
Us: “but…they…can’t…I mean…aren’t there others..but…”
Her: “If you reach the flight only 15-20 mins late it should be ok, but I am not sure they will hold it beyond that.”
Thanks, honey. It is 12 noon right now, we are still in the air and the flight is supposed to have left a couple of minutes ago. Your ignorance is real comforting.

As it was, we are part of about half the rest of the passengers who were running out of the plane for connecting flights they are late for, or getting late for. We’d tried to decipher one of the languages we heard, suspecting it was Turkish- sure enough they were along with us being herded manically to the next plane sans any real check in, boarding passes thrust into our hands.

Soon after (but enough for the flight to leave even later than it was supposed to- an hour in total), the next thing in our hands is the lunch ‘menu’. Chicken, beef or fish? Thanks, but you need to find me a vegetarian meal. It was bloody tasty though, the pasta I got- am not so sure about D’s meat dish. Oh, guess what- no alcohol on Qatar Air. That’s the price of cheap tickets, we think glumly. This flight is cheaper- no personal movie thingies, so all hope of catching the end of The Jacket disappears with the trashy movie that appears on the common screens.

D dozes a little. I look out a little, trying to coordinate the map they keep showing on the screen with which part we are flying over now. Cappadocia, maybe? Closer the Black Sea, probably. I nod off and wake to see Istanbul is 200-odd km away. Those whiz by, quite literally, in a plane. I nudge D awake, and I’m gland I’ve got the lucky end of the draw- the window seat on the second half of the flight. We peer through the sunlight and see water far below. Little toy ships- is this the Marmara or the Bosphorus? Then tiny matchboxes come into view, with- are those minarets? I don’t know, but I see the runway, and with that bump come smiles.

We have touched down in Istanbul, Turkey.

truth, truth and statistics

2005-10-27T09:09:00.000+08:00

numbers don't always tell the story, they say, but they're fun indicators, aren't they?

THE TURKEY TRIP IN NUMBERS

nights in turkey : 10
days in turkey : under 10
hours in turkey : 238.5
towns visited in turkey : 3

flights : 4
flights on time : 0
airports : 3
types of public transport taken : 6
cross-country km travelled : 1886
long bus rides : 3
nights in a bus : 2
ferry rides : 3
swims : 3
distance walked on the trip : app. 50km

meals in turkey : 29
kebaps consumed : 6
patlican (eggplant) dishes tried : numerous!
pides consumed : 7
olives at a meal : 11 times
lokum eaten : 2
cups of cay consumed : 7
beers consumed : 28
raki consumed : 90ml
vodka consumed : 750ml

historical sites/monuments : 9
museums : 2
beaches : 1
islands seen : 12?
mosques seen : countless
minarets pointed out : countless
oldest thing seen : 400-something BC

weather on arrival : 15 Celsius
coldest during stay : 9.7 Celsius (!!!)
hottest during stay : app 22 Celsius?
average Istanbul temp : 15.02 Celsius
(during our days there)
cloudy days : 2
sunny days : 8

phone calls made : 2

phone calls received : 0

no. of times net acessed : 0

no. of hours tv watching : 0

interesting people met : 11

email ids/contacts : 5

postcards sent : 9

photos taken : 921