PLEASE READ THE ISTANBUL STORY BOTTOM UP
E.G EPISODE 1 FIRST.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Istanbul: Episode Three
Not forgetting that Turkey has borders with Iran and Iraq, I was hesitant to walk through the entrance of the hotel with metal detectors and strict security measures.
But for some reason there is a certain sense of calmness about the place.
A serenity that of course cannot be explained and is further mystified by the mosque calls five times a day. Coupled with the ever-audible seagull calls, it is a magical place.
And in the words of Forest Gump, “that’s all I have to say about that.”
But for some reason there is a certain sense of calmness about the place.
A serenity that of course cannot be explained and is further mystified by the mosque calls five times a day. Coupled with the ever-audible seagull calls, it is a magical place.
And in the words of Forest Gump, “that’s all I have to say about that.”
Istanbul: Episode 2
Okay, so the initial shock of the room has diminished, and I made peace with the fact that I am going to call Ipek Palas home for the next two nights.
I decided to venture out into the streets as it was after 7 pm and I was starving. Like a good tourist, I thought I would sightsee a little bit and then sit down for a quiet, yet local, dinner.
I think I managed three steps out the front door when I was approached by a fairly handsome, yet extremely slick, Turkish man in a pink shirt and suit. Although being warned by colleagues about the information gathering skills of the Turkish, he knew within 2 sentences that I live in the Netherlands, and continued in such fluent Dutch it made me self-conscious. I will spare you the details, but after a lengthy conversation I was rid of him and managed to buy some mineral water from a shop a block further (he followed me all the way).
Taking a brisk walk around the block cleared my head of the room-incident, the terribly disgusting kiss and the slick-pink-dude.
Being very careful not to get lost, I didn’t venture our too far, and soon found myself in front of the Ipek Palas again, still hungry. (Did I mention that slick-pink-dude tried to sell me a starter from “his” restaurant before I managed to escape?)
Going for the path of least resistance, I crumbled to his charms and sat down at a table literally on the street. Every time a taxi drives past I flinch and move my chair a little bit.
Now, I am a strong believer in that everything happens for a reason. And it has never been more clearly illustrated to me than everything I have experienced here. If I have not:
- been to the Indian plaza in JHB where every salesperson is your best friend
- almost been ripped off in Belgium by silly French-speaking opportunists
- experienced an authentic African market in Cameroon where you literally need a big black bodyguard, and
- of course spent time in Taiwan, which is way to complicated and un-understandable to explain here,
I would not have survived this evening.
Slick-pink-dude tried every trick in the book. From just bluntly bringing food to the table without you ordering anything, to suggesting a day out tomorrow with other Dutch girls that were sitting at the opposite table (of course only after they have already left, so his story could not be verified). He went on to enquire about a possible boyfriend, and subtly (not!) fishing if I knew any locals. I stepped into a couple of questions, but as with any game, soon got the hang of it.
I had some nice wine, a good dinner, and most importantly, a correct bill at the end!
I was proud.
After paying, and of course leaving a good tip, as he did try his best, he sent me on my way with the customary Dutch three cheek kisses.
Even after all that I have seen in my short life, and my subtle appreciation for different cultures, feeling his day old stubble against my cheek gave me the chills.
I decided to venture out into the streets as it was after 7 pm and I was starving. Like a good tourist, I thought I would sightsee a little bit and then sit down for a quiet, yet local, dinner.
I think I managed three steps out the front door when I was approached by a fairly handsome, yet extremely slick, Turkish man in a pink shirt and suit. Although being warned by colleagues about the information gathering skills of the Turkish, he knew within 2 sentences that I live in the Netherlands, and continued in such fluent Dutch it made me self-conscious. I will spare you the details, but after a lengthy conversation I was rid of him and managed to buy some mineral water from a shop a block further (he followed me all the way).
Taking a brisk walk around the block cleared my head of the room-incident, the terribly disgusting kiss and the slick-pink-dude.
Being very careful not to get lost, I didn’t venture our too far, and soon found myself in front of the Ipek Palas again, still hungry. (Did I mention that slick-pink-dude tried to sell me a starter from “his” restaurant before I managed to escape?)
Going for the path of least resistance, I crumbled to his charms and sat down at a table literally on the street. Every time a taxi drives past I flinch and move my chair a little bit.
Now, I am a strong believer in that everything happens for a reason. And it has never been more clearly illustrated to me than everything I have experienced here. If I have not:
- been to the Indian plaza in JHB where every salesperson is your best friend
- almost been ripped off in Belgium by silly French-speaking opportunists
- experienced an authentic African market in Cameroon where you literally need a big black bodyguard, and
- of course spent time in Taiwan, which is way to complicated and un-understandable to explain here,
I would not have survived this evening.
Slick-pink-dude tried every trick in the book. From just bluntly bringing food to the table without you ordering anything, to suggesting a day out tomorrow with other Dutch girls that were sitting at the opposite table (of course only after they have already left, so his story could not be verified). He went on to enquire about a possible boyfriend, and subtly (not!) fishing if I knew any locals. I stepped into a couple of questions, but as with any game, soon got the hang of it.
I had some nice wine, a good dinner, and most importantly, a correct bill at the end!
I was proud.
After paying, and of course leaving a good tip, as he did try his best, he sent me on my way with the customary Dutch three cheek kisses.
Even after all that I have seen in my short life, and my subtle appreciation for different cultures, feeling his day old stubble against my cheek gave me the chills.
Istanbul: Episode 1
I should have known… Ipek Palas (read palace)….
As always, I went for second cheapest. I booked the hotel on the internet, thinking “How bad can it be?”
Actually the story starts at the Conrad Hilton – Istanbul:
After living in style for two nights at this fantastic hotel where staff never walk in front of you, are always there, yet invisible, and 24 hour room service, I left the life of luxury and went on my journey for the “real” Istanbul.
A taxi ride with a doubtful driver (reminding me of the joke: "My grandfather died peacefully in his sleep, unlike his passengers screaming in horror"), I was safely delivered to the Ipek Palas.
Checking in seemed ok, the front office clerk rattled on about guided tours, breakfast on the terrace and other useful (yet confusing) information. I was guided to my room by a very young (what is the legal age for working in Turkey?) boy-man, and as he opened the door…
I experienced a shock that I have last felt when I arrived in Chiang Kai-shek airport in Taiwan. Complete and utter shock. This must be the smallest hotel room in the world. Similar to the Trainspotting bathroom being the filthiest.
A taxi ride with a doubtful driver (reminding me of the joke: "My grandfather died peacefully in his sleep, unlike his passengers screaming in horror"), I was safely delivered to the Ipek Palas.
Checking in seemed ok, the front office clerk rattled on about guided tours, breakfast on the terrace and other useful (yet confusing) information. I was guided to my room by a very young (what is the legal age for working in Turkey?) boy-man, and as he opened the door…
I experienced a shock that I have last felt when I arrived in Chiang Kai-shek airport in Taiwan. Complete and utter shock. This must be the smallest hotel room in the world. Similar to the Trainspotting bathroom being the filthiest.
Sure, I booked a single, but still.
The bathroom is bigger than the room. One could consider moving the mattress to the spot before the shower; it might create more ambience.
Since the boy-man was still standing in the doorway I calmly requested if they have any other (read bigger!) rooms available. Nodding in understanding, he picked up the internal phone and called the front desk. After rambling on in Turkish, he assured me that I could have a double room for 10 euros per night extra. Fantastic! But, I said, (not hitting my head against the same rock twice), I would like to see it first. Yes, he said, no problem. And left.
Calling loudly after him like a real American tourist, I asked again if I could see the room. Now? Yes, he assured me. And left. Again. Without me.
Completely confused, as I was still startled by the passionate (read wet) kiss he planted on my right hand just before his swift departure, I went downstairs.
Assuming (my fault, I know!) that the front office desk person was on the other side of the mentioned telephone conversation, I asked him if I could see the room.
The answer was clear and in English: The hotel is full. No double or any other rooms available. At any price.
I felt like throwing my hands in the air and shouting “Wo ting bu dong!”
Hey, it worked in Taiwan…
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Progress report
Since I have been here the following has happened:
- The flight I used to take to Douala, Cameroon, crashed. Two MTN employees on board
- I spent a night in hospital due to... well, I am not sure, but I was damn sick
- My friend was mugged at gunpoint in the centre, and his laptop, wallet and my 3G card stolen
- I have not yet managed (since last night) to block the 3G SIM card due to ridiculously poor service from Vodacom.
Oh, and now as I am typing this I am colouring my hair at home, as there is a power failure in the area where I had a hair appointment.
T.I.A!
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