Istanbul, Turkey
Below are memories and stories worth sharing/remembering that I didn’t have time to post about before. This flight to Paris is the perfect opportunity to type, and I will upload once I have internet again.
HOTEL STAFF – TOURISM INDUSTRY We enjoyed our hotel and hotel restaurant staff. There were the same handful of men who ran everything and we saw them every day, pretty much anytime we were around the vicinity. The service we received was impeccable and we genuinely enjoyed their company.
We spent hours talking about silly things (like the one waiter who had to move closer to the hotel because he was always late for work or how another had to keep pushing off his wedding date because his fiance kept wanting an increasingly elaborate and expensive affair).
And we talked about more serious things as well (like the impact the fear of terrorism has had on their lives and livelihood). Last year at this time, they told us, the restaurant would have been packed with people waiting for seats. They said last year their hotel rooms were going for 200 euro a night (our rate was 55 euro). In the last five years, over 1000 new hotels opened in Istanbul and people still struggled to get rooms during the busy season. Now, many hotels and restaurants are closing and people are losing their jobs. They had to decrease their restaurant staff from 20 people to 5 people in the last year.
The manager told us that they had hired one woman this week but the circumstances were special. She had owned a nearby cafe that she ran with her father. The bad economy and her father’s very serious illness had caused them to lose the business. She had no options and came to them for work. Even though they are struggling themselves, the manager said they couldn’t turn her away.
One of the younger guys (the always late guy who they also picked on for his plethora of lady friends) said he hoped he would be able to keep working there. He said he loved the city but worried about the tourist industry as people were canceling reservations daily – citing travel warnings and fears of violence.
The things is, though, violence happens everywhere. And seeing the real life consequences of the resulting fear in a place like this for good, kind, hard working people was very eye-opening and disheartening. This conversation ended when our waiters noticed a young woman wondering past our hotel on the sidewalk. It was late and they thought she looked lost, so they went out to give her directions. Salt of the earth.
ISTANBUL AIRPORT First of all, airport security here is extensive. We went through a full luggage, passport and metal detector scan as soon as we entered. Passports were checked again at the ticketing kiosk. Then we went through another luggage scan and metal detector before heading back to the terminals. My hairpins set off the metal detector and I had to patted down. They asked me to step aside and called the woman security officer to perform – what I will described as – an EXTENSIVE pat down. I really felt like she owed me dinner when it was all said and done.
Passports were checked again before we could enter the seating area for our terminal and the tickets and passport were checked once more upon entering the plane.
My clothing really has not felt like an issue the whole time we were in Istanbul. As I said before, women here dressed in varying degrees of conservatism and it seems like a very “come as you are” kind of culture in the city.
The airport in Istanbul, however, is a big airport hub for the middle east with many different people from many different cultures flying through. Today, at the airport, I felt VERY uncomfortable. I was wearing a knee length navy blue dress with elbow length sleeves and a tank top underneath. I have worn this outfit to work several times and wouldn’t hesitate to wear it to church.
Despite what I thought was a reasonable travel outfit, I was literally turning heads as we walked through the airport. I was the ONLY woman either of us saw showing her legs. People were gawking and whispering. It was so bad that I stopped in a corner – before we even got to the ticket counter – and dug a pair of tights out of our luggage to quickly slip on. After that, I felt better and no one was so obviously staring anymore. Until we got in the ticket counter line, that is. We got in line behind two older couples.
One man looked me up and down with complete disdain, glared at my bare lower arms. He glared at Josh and shook his head at him. Then he got the attention of his wife (who was, obviously, fully covered) and she shook her head at me, too!
Thank goodness we soon realized we were in the wrong ticket line. This group of people were in a tour group going to Medina (and I’d guess this was a higher concentration of more religiously conservative people then anywhere else in the airport). When we found our correct ticket line people were dressed more freely and I even saw some bare arms on a few French ladies. Still no legs.
BATHROOM STORIES If you’d rather not read about me going #1 – keep scrolling. If you would like to hear me be completely culturally insensitive for a brief moment now is your chance.
Ok, first of all, most toilets I encountered in Istanbul were “normal” European style loos. You sit. You go. You wipe. You flush. Some toilets in Istanbul, however, were the kind you see more commonly in Asian countries.
It is essentially a glorified porcelain hole in the ground that you squat over. I had heard. But I had not seen. And, I definitely had not experienced until Istanbul.
The first couple of times I saw these toilets (and I use that word loosely) was at some of the older museums we visited. I opened the stall door, assessed the situation and decided to hold it until later on both occasions I was presented with the option.
Yesterday, on the ferry boat, I had to go during the first leg of the trip. I walked into the restroom and discovered – with horror – that I was dealing with another floor toilet. I decided I could hold it for another hour or so. In Anadolu Kavagi there were no bathrooms on the mountain and the restaurants near the dock required you to buy food. So, I couldn’t go there either.
I committed to holding my bladder for the entire six hour trip but on the ride back I just couldn’t hold it any longer.
I slowly marched to the toilet. I had an internal pep talk going the whole way – You climbed a mountain today. You ate baby octopus once. You are a strong, smart, Lumbee woman, whose great grandmother chopped wood in her 70s. You CAN squat over a hole to pee.
The concerns that run through one’s mind while squatting to pee over a floor toilet on a small ferry boat are unique and full of expletives.
I worried I would fall on the floor toilet. I worried I would fall off the floor toilet. I worried my cell phone, still in my pocket, would fall into the floor toilet. I worried I would pee on my clothes. I worried I would pee on my legs. I worried I would not be able to stand once the peeing was finished. I worried about older ladies with bad knees. And children with bad balance. I worried how someone might poop in one of these things. I worried how easy it must be for men to pee in a floor toilet and what kind of a message that sends. I worried about the patriarchy.
And by the time my mind was emptied of worries, so was my bladder. Still squatting, I looked around for the toilet paper.
There was no toilet paper! Not only was there no toilet paper, but there was never even an intention of toilet paper. Its not like the roll ran out and sat empty on the floor because someone forgot to replace it. Toilet paper was never supposed to be there. That was abundantly clear when I discovered that – within reaching distance of my hunched over little body – was a water spout and a small bucket that had a handle and a lip (like the kind used for pouring paint). Of all the indignities!
I just squatted there for a minute unsure of what to do. Then I remembered that we had rushed through breakfast that morning and I hadn’t finished all my raisins. Like a Turkish Gretal, I had wrapped a handful of (plump and delicious) raisins in a napkin and shoved them into my pocket before leaving the hotel.
It wasn’t Charmin, but it did the job. This post is dedicated to all those raisins I had to sacrifice and toss on the bathroom floor.
Part of the fun of going new places is trying new things. It is important to understand why things are the way they are and respect and appreciate cultural differences. I think it is extremely small minded (particularly given my Native heritage) to assume that the Western way of doing things is the best way of doing things. However, you will never EVER convince me that a floor toilet on a ferry boat is superior in any way, whatsoever.
MAKING ENEMIES
Other than the floor toilet (which I wholeheartedly consider my enemy), we had almost entirely positive interactions with people. Everyone here was so kind and there were few people trying to scam you like we experienced in Rome and other big U.S. cities.
There is always one bad apple, though, and this one guy was rotten to the core. Many of the tourist sites (not just here, but all over) have people who attempt a scam as you are walking inside. They start walking with you and telling you about the site and where to go and they just keep walking and talking with you until they have essentially forced you to accept them as your tour guide. If you let it go on too long before telling the scam-artist to scram, they will still demand payment for the help and information they have provided.
We knew this happens so when a young man approached us as we rounded the corner at the Basilica Cistern, we kept walking and did not engage. He was relentless and just kept following us – demanding we speak to him and tell him where we were from.
We were in line for tickets with people in front of and behind us and he still wouldn’t let up. There was nowhere we could go and we were already in line. So I said, “We’re from the US, but we don’t need a guide. Thank you.”
He was angry now and continued to question us about why it was so hard to answer his question and did we know how rude it was not to speak back to him and were we really that scared of him and did we think he eats tourist for lunch (his English was really very good!) and why in the world would we come to his country to learn about his culture and feel entitled to be so rude and ignorant. We did not engage and just continued being silent.
He was actually getting really worked up and was making a scene. We didn’t want him to follow us inside, so when it came our turn to go to the ticket booth we just ducked out of line and continued down the street.
The next day, we were walking in that same area and my eyes met his. He rushed up to us and exclaimed “Well, we meet again!” We said no thank you and kept walking. He shouted that he wanted to talk to us. We continued to walk but he continued to follow and tried to block our path on the crowded street.
“I want to talk with you about why you would come here and then not want to learn about our cultural.” He put his hand on Josh’s shoulder and Josh pulled away and grabbed my hand to keep walking. Really the best policy is not to engage, but at this point I had enough.
I pulled away from Josh and turned around to face the guy directly and shouted “NO THANK YOU! LEAVE US ALONE!” Which, surprisingly, worked. We did avoid that corner for the rest of the trip, though.
MAKING FRIENDS As I have written before, Istanbul was full of really nice, friendly people. We literally had one bad interaction among hundreds. One great interaction we had was at the Topkapi Palace. Josh let out a big yawn while sitting on a bench and a sharply dressed man walking by chuckled and asked “are you tired?” We laughed and said yes, it had been a long day.
He recognized our accents and asked if we were from the U.S. which struck up a conversation. His name was Recep and he was originally from Turkey but now lives in Charleston, S.C. He travels through N.C. a lot on business and his best friend owned a restaurant that we used to go to in Chapel Hill.
He was very kind and asked us if we had any questions about the city. He gave us tons of advice and even told us to give his name at a restaurant (which we never made it to, unfortunately) for a great table and a discount.
We saw him later in the city and he shouted “Hey, North Carolina” as we passed.
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