But first… we have just returned to Istanbul from our trip across the Turkish
countryside, but before we can go into detail about all of that excitement, we
have the previous week to take care of first. So here goes.Christmas, Christmas, Christmas…one
of the advantages of staying with an American, is that you are privy to such
events as setting up the Christmas Tree and Christmas party.
The Friday before last was a big day for us
as we got to help Hande and Collette set up the Christmas tree which was decked
out with Turkish Santas (Remarkably like American Santa, but with even more
zealously painted blue eyes), lights, and garlands.
Indeed, we added our own little Pinocchio to
the mix, which we picked up in Italy.
That night we listened to Christmas music,
which prepared us for the Christmas party which we had been invited to the next
evening.
Saturday morning, we met a really
nice Turkish fellow named Ali on the ferry to Eminonu (a neighborhood on the
European side). We bought tea, and the
tea man (Chay man) thought we were buying for all three of us sitting at a
table. We cleared that up, but when we
noticed Ali only had a 10 YTL bill, we offered to pay for his tea, but he was
having none of it. After the tea was
served (it is served in a little clear handleless glass with two sugar cubes,
and a tiny spoon all on a little tea plate, as you can imagine its warm on the
hands) the three of us engaged in a lovely conversation, albeit one quite
hindered by the language barrier.
On Saturday afternoon, we
explored the grounds of Topkapi Palace, which provided many a photo opportunity, that
you will no doubt see once we reach India. We also met this awesome little cat that was
so starved for attention, that he followed us for a good ten minutes. The grounds were beautiful, and seemed to be
a well known makeout spot-- which is particularly worthy of note, as we had
read that public displays of affection were frowned upon, and we have been
forced to duck into mosques to meet our requisite daily kissing levels.
On our way
back from Topkapi
Palace, we were waylaid
by the usual carpet-sellers, but one of them was particularly tactful. As we
passed he called out “Let me guess, Americans?” We smiled and nodded and walked
past him. He chased us, as they normally do, and said he just had one question
(sure). We stopped long enough for him to ask us “what is the one thing that Turkey is most
famous for?” Andrew guessed, surveying his store, carpets. No, not carpets.
Alex guessed tea. Nope, not tea. Well, we weren’t very good at the quiz game,
so he gave us the answer: Hospitality. Alex said “No, I don’t think so.” She
really did, and he insisted it was. She continued that it couldn’t possibly be
the most famous thing, but he held
strong. So, we had allowed him his sales pitch and were preparing to continue
our walk when he changed tactics, asking us about our travels. We ended up
telling him about our travels an eventually this cool website,
couchsurfing.com. “That sounds cool,” he said, “can you write it down for me?”
And like that, we were ushered into his store. We knew we had been had, but
also knew we admired his persistence and didn’t have enough money for a napkin,
let alone a hand-woven carpet.
He sat us
down, and Alex wrote out the web address for him. We continued chatting, and
eventually his brother joined us. He was much older, and had traveled the Asian
continent extensively. He also had no qualms about sharing his knowledge, which
might have been annoying if it didn’t turn out so useful. When we told him we
were going to India, he told
us we needed to get our visas before we left Turkey. “No, no, maybe for Turks,
but we’re American. EVERYONE loves us!” …we thought smugly. We chatted a bit
longer, and eventually (after over half an hour) Alex said “well, we should get
going.” The first guy replied, “Well, we should sell you something.” He
laughed, knowing that was highly unlikely at this point. As we walked away, we
agreed the older brother was crazy, but we would still look into this alleged
Indian visa thing. Once we got home, we quickly searched and discovered that
our thirty minutes had been well-spent…turns out Americans need a visa to get
to India….who
knew?
That night
Collette and Hande’s friend Amy was throwing her second-annual Christmas party
and we were invited. One interesting
thing about parties here, is that the cost of alcohol is so high, that if you
want to drink some at a party, you have to bring it. After a quick stop at the grocery store to
purchase four beers (they are 2 Lira each, which explains our discretion) we
were off. The party included a 5 lira
gift exchange, for which Andrew and I had purchased really cool colorful
ceramic bowl/vases for at the local Kadikoy market. We wrapped these in a beautiful bag we had
saved from the Migros grocery store, and Collette topped them each with a
Christmas bow. It is very likely that
people were hoping not to get our gifts, when compared to the others on the
exchange table…after several hours of eating wonderful chocolate, candy, and
some of Hande’s homemade burek, (let us tell you she can cook!), it was time to
open the gifts. Everyone traded numbers
and we opened our presents excitedly. We
laughed happily when Andrew pulled out a black scarf. We had been bargaining at the bazaar for the
last two weeks, but were unable to find one we liked at a great price, now here
was one for free. Then we opened
Alex’s…and groaned. She had received a Ping-Pong
ball gun, at least we thought happily, that Andrew’s dad might like it, he is
after all a supporter of the NRA. It was
still better than the two people who received a bar of chocolate (at least
according to Andrew). We are going to
keep the Ping Pong ball gun and regift it later…so watch out.
The next
day, Sunday, Andrew finished his first draft of a screen play that he actually
likes, and we ran our first six mile run in a little over an hour (pretty
impressive achievements for us). In
anticipation of his birthday the next day we made a Strawberry Hande Pie. Alex was adamant that it wasn’t even
deserving of the name Hande Pie. That
didn’t stop her from eating three pieces, complaining with each bite. That night, Andrew was sequestered in the
bedroom, while Alex and Hande conferred over birthday plans.
Andrew’s birthday
dawned bright and clear. The first thing
that greeted our eyes was an awesome Turkish sign that Hande made and hung over
the door way. Next, Alex made him a
breakfast of Strawberry Hande pie, Cereal, and Cinnamon Toast. For lunch Hande provided an amazing meal of
traditional Turkish foods, including a garlic sauced ravioli, a vegetable and
potato stew. Afterwards, Collette drove
us to a Carrefour / Mall. Carrefour is a
French grocery store, that Valerie introduced us to in Paris.
It resembles a Wal-Mart, without all the un-shod toddlers and low
prices. We did some grocery shopping,
with highlights in the candy aisle, and then caught a bus back home, where
Andrew had a gift waiting for him from Hande.
She had compiled three CD’s worth of Turkish music with a promise of
even more to come. Shortly thereafter,
the three of us (Collette was meeting us later for dinner) caught a Dolmus to
our surprise destination…the movies (in ENGLISH!). Andrew’s face almost split in two he was
smiling so much. Interestingly, when you
are issued a ticket in a movie theatre in Turkey, they assign you a
seat. Apparently there is no seat
request system, they just fill up the theatre starting from the back. To add to the confusing system, the ticket
man gave us the wrong end of the stub, so we didn’t even have seat numbers to
go off, but thankfully it wasn’t a full theatre, so we were ok. We watched the Golden Compass. Alex had smuggled in the candy she had
purchased earlier in the day, and Andrew happily chewed his way through the
movie. There was also an intermission
halfway through the movie. It wasn’t the
fade to black from the olden days, rather they just turn off the projector and
sound for ten minutes, and everyone gets up and rushes to the bathroom or the
snack room. Altogether an excellent
movie-watching experience.
After the
movie, we still had time before Collette came, so we headed to Starbucks, where
Andrew chewed on the packets of sugar and Hande and Alex shared a latte. Later when Collette finished working we met
at her favorite restaurant in Kadikoy.
They spent 20 minutes explaining the food to us, which as all the
Turkish food has been was wonderful.
Dolmas, Hummus, Spicy Eggplant, Taboule (sp?), bulgar riceballs,
pomegranate salad, etc. We were able to
make a plate of any combination, and they weighed the plates. We also ordered a Kebab (it was served with
grilled onions and peppers, kind of like a Turkish fajita plate). Afterwards, we were delighted when Collette
ordered the most bizarre dessert sampler we have had. It consisted of candied Walnuts (which had
been candied so long the shell was edible), candied olives, candied pumpkin
(our favorite), candied eggplant (Alex’s least favorite), and candied
tomatoes. Afterwards we went home and
made brownies. We ended the night
discussing last minute plans for making a trip to Kapadokya the next evening,
and our trip to the Indian consulate in the morning.
We woke at
the crack of 8 the next morning and sleepily made a trip to Bostanci where a
fast ferry would take us to the European neighborhood Kabatas. We hopped on a dolmus to get to Bostanci and
followed our system of determining when to get off. Essentially if more than 60 percent of a
vehicles inhabitants get off at a stop, we get off too. A few times this hasn’t worked for us, but in
each of those instances, the bus driver, or a friendly passenger has beckoned
us back onboard. Anyhow, we took the
fast ferry to Kabatas, and surprisingly it was really fast. We only had time for a short nap before we
arrived. We hopped on the funicular up
to Taksim square, and promply went the wrong way. This wouldn’t have been an issue, except we
had to be at the consulate before 11:30, as that is when they stop processing
visas. We hurried back in the correct
direction, and stopped at a photo shop to have our passport photos made. They were awful, in fact if we commit a
crime, Andrew is certain these are the photos they will use to show our
fugitive status. We arrived at the
Indian Consulate, which Andrew laughingly pointed out was right next to the
7-11, an oblique Simpson’s reference that Alex just grimaced at before hurrying
him along to the consulate. The consulate was on the 7th floor of an
apartment building. The security guard
didn’t seem to worried that the people in front of us went around the metal
detector, and that it beeped when we went through. We piled into the obsolete elevator and rose
to the 7th floor. Taking a number, we happily sat down and watched
CNN-India. When our number was called,
we confidently strode the window and handed in our papers. While they only took American dollars, we had
read online that the fee was $50/person, payable only via US currency. As we had $100 remaining from the US, and it
was safely in Andrew’s money belt, we simply felt as though we were blessed and
the sun was shining on us. Turns out,
it’s like Ireland’s
sun, it is simply a precursor to the rain.
The woman at the desk, looked at our papers and informed us that we
needed to get a “Note Verbal” from the US consulate prior to obtaining an
Indian visa, and we needn’t bother coming back that day as they stopped
processing visa’s at 11:30, and there was no way we were going to get the note
verbal before then. She instructed us to
ask the woman at the front desk for the address to the US
consulate. Feeling a bit dejected we
walked to the front desk, and requested the address. The woman looked at us, and said she could
give us the address, but it wouldn’t do any good because the US Embassy doesn’t
issue note verbals. We asked her what we
should do, and she said “Nothing, you won’t be able to get a visa.” Then she
picked up the phone and called the woman who had sent us to her, and proceeded
to chew her our for telling us to go to the consulate. The initial woman came to the front desk and
essentially reinforced that we would indeed not be able to get a Note Verbal,
but we could try, and if that failed we should ask our Consulate General to
call the Indian Consulate General. The
trip back down the elevator was not nearly as funny as the trip up.
In the lobby, we looked at the
map to determine where the American Consulate was, four guys including the
security officer surrounded us and attempted to help us find a location which
was not on our map. They directed us to
the local bus station, and we went and looked for the neighborhood on each of
the bus signs. Alex decided it made no
sense to go to the US Consulate without confirming that they did indeed issue
note verbals. Using a calling card, we
contacted them and they said they would issue it, and that it could be issued
between the hours of 1:30 and 3:30. With
that, we located the correct bus and began our ride throughout Istanbul.
We watched the maps on the passing bus stops to determine when we were
getting close to the correct neighborhood.
In Istanbul,
there are two employees on each bus, the money collector and the driver. The
collector generally sits next to the driver.
When we got close to the neighborhood, Andrew took the paper which had
the address of the US
embassy on it, and asked the money collector where we should get off, not
knowing, he passed it to the bus driver who was already driving while reading
the newspaper. Thankfully he put down
the newspaper and looked at the address…the bus slowed to a crawl. He told Andrew the American Consulate was
coming up which Andrew only understood after the man behind the driver
translated what he said. Then another
woman tugged on Andrew’s sleeve and indicated that she would be getting off at
the same stop and to follow her, which Andrew didn’t understand until a man
behind her translated what she had said.
Andrew sat back down. A few stops
later, the bus driver and the second translator told us this was our stop, the
woman wasn’t budging, but we decided to take the majority vote and get
off. The translator indicated the large
white building up on the hill was the consulate, which was confirmed when we
saw the US
flag flying.
We trekked up the road towards
the consulate, feeling weary. Back home
Hande had volunteered to go by the bus stops to obtain tickets for a bus to
Selcuk, and Collette had reserved a room for us at a hotel recommended by
Amy. As it was the start of the holiday
of Bayram, we were half hoping by now that all the buses were full. (We later
found out that it was indeed full, and we were able to rest our lazy bodies in
bed that night.) At the consulate, we
were the first in line, and after a relatively painless trip, aside from the
$60 fee and warnings about diarrhea, we emerged into the sunlight and left
American soil clutching what we thought was a note verbal.
Fast forwarding to today, we woke up even earlier than we
did last time and traveled by ferry and funikuler back to the Indian
Embassy. The security was equally as lax
and we were able to get our number in line quickly. As we sat down, a friendly guy asked if we
were American. We said yes, and he
gravely informed us that the paper we had in our hand was not a Note Verbal and
that he had received the same paper, as well as a 12 year old memo which
explained the US
embassy did not provide note verbals for any reason. Indeed he had been to the consulate yesterday
where they refused him a visa for the second time. He was only back today because he had heard
persistence was the only way to get through the giant wall of red tape. You can imagine how we felt. His number was three before ours and we
listened as he spoke to the same woman who had rejected us before. She was in the process of sending him back to
the US
consulate, when he uttered the magic words “someone else has done this”
followed by a request for “an interview.”
Now for the last twenty odd years we have dealt with bureaucratic systems,
both of us have felt that huge rush of anger when someone has told us that if
they did something for us, then they would have to do it for everyone. We never
believed them….but in this case, it was true. We had read similar blogs, and knew that
Americans had been able to obtain a visa from this office. The lady informed the fellow that he would
need to wait for the boss to arrive, and then he would be able to speak to him.
She recognized us from our previous
visit and informed us that we would also be able to speak to him. We waited for another thirty minutes, when she
called out “We will see the Americans now.” The three of us trooped to the window on our
best behavior, ready to plead or beg. She
simply said, we will grant the visa.
This is the first and last time we will do such a thing. Then she began processing our
applications. After processing Alex’s,
she requested a $70 fee….unfortunately we didn’t have $140 dollars. Alex raced down to the street below, certain
that if she didn’t get back in time, the lady was going to change her mind and
not issue the visa. Fortunately, she was
able to get the cash, and we were victorious in getting our applications
accepted, after the woman reiterated it was the last time she would ever do it.
So there you have it, and next…updates
on the week before Christmas, to present.
