oh sweet bosphorus, how you elude me.

The ruins at efesus.

Istanbul

My rich and wonderdful trip to turkey is winding down. Many things have come to pass, including some Pamuk novels. I am currently in istanbul and going to the airport in the morning to catch my flight home. I have covered a lot of distance since my last entry, mainly spent in the back of a SUV eating baked pumpkin seeds and watching kilometers pass, as we toured through turkey. Gas here is absurdly expensive at $8/gallon. I also learned a lot more about our driver / shitty ass guide, Mutlu. Apparently inbetween his career as a goat herder, and long haul truck driver, he did a bid. 5 mos.

How do I know this? Well, we just happened to drive past the prison he served time in and he dropped it casually into the conversation. “Here prison, 5 mos.” Foto loco and I unanimously voted not to delve deeper into his sordid past.

Prior to dinner the other night in the charming and quaint village Alicante, he finally broke down having had too much of us and ran off in a tissy. I wasn’t to see him again until the next morning when he drove us to the airport, causing us to nearly miss our flight after missing TWO airport exits!

However dear reader, I am jumping ahead of myself. This was Mutlu’s 2^nd mutiny on the bounty Katzenstein and frankly, we were used to them (he had thrown a hissy fit 500km earlier and threatened to leave. He ended up getting food poisoning that night) That said, there was pretty much nothing that could ruin my night, for I was to sleep in a WINDMILL. That’s right. Renovated windmill. Quaint turkish town. BOO YAH. My bed was in the shape of a giant circle (where do they get sheets?) and the sat cable was 1000 channels deep (it would turn out that NONE of them were in English, I checked).

That morning I was trying to communicate with the hotel manager and find out how long it would take to get to the airport. Since HE didn’t speak English and I hadnt exactly mastered the Turkish, I eventually resorted to my Pictionary skills and busted out the moleskin I have carried in my back pocket this whole trip (thanks K) and started drawing.

Being the son of an incredible draughtsman, I was up to the challenge. If you have ever played Pictionary with me, (which would be once, at 4^th of july party, bc I absolutely HATE the game) you know that I completely fail at this game. And, indeed, I failed to intone the meaning of my scribbles to my friend at the hotel. My drawing of an arrow, a plane, and a watch made him only smile, perhaps thinking of yesteryears when pigs could fly.

I digress back to istanbul.

My dreams of a cross continental run were dashed in earnest today when I left the hotel with every intention to run across the boshporus, but was unable to locate a bridge that crossed the body of water, which separates asia from Europe. Is there a more apt body of water for me to “run” across? I think not, kind readers. I think not.

The run was not a total loss. I ran for a short bit until coming across a doner stand (gyro) and decided I needed a conciliatory treat. Then it was fresh pomegranate juice. Then it was another doner (different stand) and of course another juice (larger size) to wash it down. Before I knew it, I was back at the hagia sofia which my hotel is conveniently located is the shadow of.

Tonight foto loco went rug shopping and ended up buying several carpets, on a whim. After drinking two bottle of horrible Turkish white wine (is white wine ever good?) our host invited us to dinner with his friends visiting from Chicago. “Dinner” soon turned into a raki (read Turkish uzo) fueled party. We ate at a charming 4 table fish restaurant that is owned by a friend of “Carpet man”. There was a whole slew of characters at the table and by the second bottle of raki landed on the table, foto loco and I knew we had hit upon something special. A meeting of old friends who also happen to be the Turkish international carpet elite. There was, of course, “Carpet man” who was dressed impeccably and who was drunk instantaneously; his sidekick who talked about smoking pot and had hair down to his shoulders and spoke perfect English. Then there was the rogue german carpet dealer who gets air dropped into Afghanistan (wonder if he runs into Sebastian?) to find those coveted afghani carpets. Then there was the Chicago carpet crew, one of whom had grown up in Istanbul, befriended carpet man and his sidekick somewhere back in gradeschool. He had married an American and now lives in Chicago and runs the ULTIMATE Turkish carpet store. His two sidekicks were corn fed Americans who guzzled raki like it was miller lite.

It was a nice way to end the trip here, in turkey.