So onward we went to Istanbul.
After docking and getting off the ship, Mike pushed me in front of him and said, "I think you should walk in front of me while we're here."
"Why?" I asked.
"I don't know; I'm not sure I trust this place. It'll be easier for someone to snatch you if I can't see you."
"Should be okay if it's a cruise excursion," I mentioned. But alas, I walked aimlessly in front of him.
But that didn't happen for long: Istanbul gave better vibes than we had anticipated. The city was surprisingly clean and its people honest, polite, and amiable. We noticed this upon entering Ayasofya ("Hagia Sophia"), our chosen restaurant for lunch, and a small shop where Mike purchased postcards.
Ayasofya (Ah-ya-SO-fee-yah): once a Byzantine church, then a mosque, and finally a museum whose interior was simply indescribable. But I'll make an attempt: grand, cryptic, oddly enchanting, historically-flushed... One can discern its Christian subtleties among its Islamic features. And it seemed there was no battle for attention between the two. In this place, one's religious roots didn't seem to matter.
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End sappy moment. Mike and I spent a good chunk of time here since there was no hurry to head back to the ship. Then, when we felt like it, we went across the way to the Blue Mosque and snapped some photos. Then we moseyed back ship-ward to feed the hungry monsters in our bellies.
"How about this restaurant?" I asked Mike.
"Nah," he replied.
"Maybe this one?"
"Eh.."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Doesn't have the right feeling."
"Alright, let me know when you have the 'right feeling.'"
Then, a few minutes later, he found it. It wasn't fancy or interesting, but it "felt right" with Mike. We enjoyed outdoor seating with beautiful weather until a herd of blond women wearing bug-eyed sunglasses sat at the table next to us and began chain smoking. We asked to switch our table indoors, and the men running the restaurant gladly accommodated. They even helped us get an Internet connection on Mike's iPhone. And didn't charge us for bread (see "Rome" post).
Anyway, that's not incredibly interesting. But I'll continue because I have a duty to telleth this story.
After lunch, Mike and I continued ship-ward down a street that screamed "TOURIST!"
"Sir!" A man said to Mike, pointing at his own chin, "You need barber?" He was referring to Mike's beard that I never let him shave off.
"She won't let me," Mike replied.
The man looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I am, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying facial hair. We continued.
After being pestered some more to "eat this" and "buy that," we stumbled upon a tiny gift shop. Looking at the rack of postcards outside of it, we noticed a man in his 30s coming out of the shop.
"If you want, I can mail for you," he told us.
Mike and I paused. Did we want to trust him with our family's and friends' addresses?
"I already have postcards from British family. I have an hour before it closes," he elaborated. He was referring to their post office.
Well, what can one really do with the information on a postcard? Probably the worst that could happen would be misplacing it. So, we went along with it.
We followed the man into the shop and he sold us five Turkish stamps. With care, he placed them onto the postcards for us, and he and I waited while Mike wrote out four postcards. He began questioning us about our purpose here.
"We're just tourists from a cruise ship," we told him.
"Ah, you are not staying long?" He further inquired.
"Nope, we have a couple more hours and then we head to Izmir."
"That is all?! There's so much in Turkey, more than two day's worth." He went on to tell us all the amazing things about his country, and then revealed his travel quests to visit every man-made and natural wonder, from the Pyramids to Victoria Falls. I told him I was in Egypt right before the revolution, and then asked him, "How much of Turkey is Muslim?"
"Ninety-five percent," he told me. I was shocked. Turkey seemed pretty stable and civilized for what I knew of Muslim countries. In the States, we tend to knock Islam for having obnoxious teachings, particularly those allowing men to treat women like the dirt on an ass's hoof. Egypt is, I think, 85% Muslim, and all we hear about is rape. The media's portrayal, and my multiple close calls to getting ripped off there, helped form my Muslim schema. Boy, was I wrong to do that based on such isolated situations.
It was wonderful having a chat with him, a respectful man. Mike finished his postcards and we thanked him profusely for his help.
"When we come back, we'll visit your shop again," Mike told him. We shook his hand and left.
On the way to the ship, we had to cross a bridge to get to the other side of the dock. Just before the bridge it began to get windy, and at one point my dress flew up just enough to reveal, well, just enough. Mike and I noticed another way to get to the other side without being molested by vendors, so we took that route.
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| If you look closely, you can see hookahs at the restaurant tables. |
Well, here we got molested by more restaurant workers. They were nice people, but we had enough for a day. Mike kept his arm around my backside, giving me a little push past the men.
"Whoa, whoa, sir!" One of them stopped us and pointed to Mike's arm, which was sitting slightly above my "butt-ocks" (Forrest Gump), "Not good; keep to yourself here."
"It wasn't touching anything bad," Mike said.
The young man ignored him and looked at me, "What's your name?"
I told him. "Nice to meet you," he responded, shaking my hand and holding onto it. Mike was waiting and I looked over and laughed. The restaurant worker kept looking at me while holding my hand, periodically shaking it more. That wasn't different from Egypt...
"Nice to meet you, too, but we have to go," I told him.
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"Want to...?" He pointed to the inside of the restaurant.
"Just ate," Mike said.
"Okay, okay. Have a good day," he said to us humbly and relaxed.
Mike and I continued toward the ship, hopped on, and relaxed the rest of the day.
