Istan"buly Belly"
TURKEY | Tuesday, 16 June 2009 | Views [605]
Three nights in Turkey is meant to provide us with some downtime after four days in Athens hiking around all the ancient sights we can fit in followed by 22 hours of travelling (overnight) to make it there. This includes two stops during the night - one at the Greek border and one at the Turkish border to get our visas. Both are very long stops so no surprises then, that we get very little sleep. We are provided with some free entertainment though as the American mother in the cabin next door has forgotten her passport, the daughter is crying and having a hissy-fit, the father is trying to keep everyone calm, and they are all questioning why the authorities won’t just accept a photocopy of her birth certificate?! The Doctor and I try not to laugh too loudly and ponder upon what would happen if a Turk tried to enter the USA without a passport. Probably wouldn’t be heard from again is my guess. In the end the daughter and father leave the mother alone at the Greek border at three in the morning to make her own way back to her passport and meet up with them later! As if to seal her fate, the father yells to her from the train - “I gave you ALL the credit cards!!” - audible enough to give any would be muggers in the general vicinity all the information they need to pick their next vulnerable target.
After pulling into Istanbul station at 11am we make our way to our pre-booked hostel, which is a tram ride and a steep hill climb away. Upon declaring our arrival, The Emo behind the desk flicks through his notebook before saying with complete lack of sincerity “Sorry, we don’t have your booking”. The Emo does not look at me, possibly because I have steam coming out of my ears, and my well-known ‘lips clenched’ face on. The Doctor, slightly more diplomatic than I, prompts him to check if there is anything else available. Finally taking some action, The Emo discovers that the current occupiers of the twin room are checking out today, and yes, we can take that room in an hour. Grudgingly, I follow The Doctor out into the streets of Istanbul once more, when all I want to do is rest. The sun is beating down; my nose is blocked up; I feel a headache coming on…as well as another tanty (see previous post). Complaining to The Doctor that I desperately need to lie down in some air conditioning and sleep this pain away, we trudge back to the hostel, with every step I take in the stifling heat jarring the pain accumulating in my head. Climbing the four floors to our room I feel as though I am barely holding myself together, waiting for the sweet relief of coolness and comfort. Opening the door to the room is the catalyst of my explosion. I see something resembling a prison cell - two mattresses lying on a concrete floor, a table and a chair...and...and...that’s all. That’s all??!! Where is the air-con? How can they not even have a fan in a country that is this hot? I know this hostel is supposed to be ‘alternative’ and ‘arty’ but what can they possibly have against beds? Lying down on one of the mattresses I immediately sink into the middle of it, as though it is eating me alive; the springs dig into my ribs. I am convinced that this is a fifty year old mattress that has been scavenged from the side of the road under the principle of ‘reuse, reduce’ and I realise that I can not stay in this room if the throbbing pain in my head is going to be relieved. Quite distressed I now start bawling. The Doctor looking rather concerned declares that he is going out and will return with a fan. I am quite sceptical as to where he is getting this ‘fan’ from in suburban Istanbul but manage to fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Cold air blows on my face and I wake up to see The Doctor has actually managed to buy a fan! My hero.
Our final day in Turkey pays homage to the disaster of the first and is filled with a calamity of errors. Stopping at a Turkish sandwich joint for lunch I point to one menu option asking “What is this?”. Sandwich Guy points to the lower part of his stomach and says “Beef”. Bit of an odd gesture, but beef, yeah, yum, one of those please. We watch as he cooks our order on the grill in front of us and...wait...that beef looks suspiciously like…liver! (I know this from childhood experience). Fortunately he doesn’t force me to eat it like Mum used to, and this time cooks some minced beef. After this near-miss I totally forget my strict ‘no salad washed with water’ rule and munch away on this huge sandwich to my own detriment later on.
Drawing near the end of the final day of sight-seeing, we are in Turkey’s equivalent to the Forbidden City, Topkapi Palace. Strolling through the harem I start to feel a slight cramping sensation in my stomach, like the warning signals of something unpleasant about to occur, but try to wish it away. Eventually I am forced to deal with the situation as the pain becomes quite severe. Luckily we just happen to be right near the bathroom and as I rush in I know exactly what this is - food poisoning. I can’t believe that this is happening today, when we are due to board an overnight train in a few hours. Train toilets are quite disgusting at the best of times, but having to spend all night in one, having my business splashed all over Turkey’s train tracks, sounds like a nightmare. Oh, the humiliation! Praying for this pain to go away I am forced to make about four more pit stops, and pop a load of Immodium. Willing myself to feel better I insist that I am okay to move on to the Blue Mosque. We walk (well, The Doctor does, I shuffle) down to the mosque and I realise that I was oh so wrong. I need to leave, and need to leave NOW. Desperate to get back to the hostel (how ironic, I couldn’t wait to leave it only this morning) we hop in a cab, momentarily get caught in a traffic jam (panic!), and get dropped not at the door as urgently required, but at the bottom of the steep hill (argh!). As The Doctor attempts to pay the 25 lira fare, The Cabbie hands the notes back to him saying “No this note no good”, pointing to a small tear in one. We scramble through our belongings for the extra money that we have - and can’t find it. A$40 lost. The tension in the cab escalates quickly as The Cabbie keeps repeating “Pay in Euro, give me Euro”; The Doctor pleading “This is all the money we have”; and myself yelling “Where is all that money I gave you!”. After what seems like an age of this to and fro, my stomach overrides all other concerns as I put my hands to my head and announce in desperation loudly “I CAN NOT SIT HERE ANYMORE. I HAVE TO GOOOO!”. The Doctor appears rather flustered and exits to let me out. At this point The Cabbie must think we are calling him on his scam and walking off as he suddenly pleads “Ok, ok, this money ok”.
By boarding time, the Immodium has worked a treat and I am safe to move about in public areas once more. At the last minute The Doctor reminds me of the Turkish Delight I had wanted to buy - quickly forgotten in my explosive gastro state. He ventures off to find some for me. The Turkish Delight is delicious but alas I have to say that Turkey itself was no delight for me.
[The day didn’t get any better for The Doctor either. Once the Bulgarian border officer had his passport, he could not seem to believe that The Doctor is Australian. Border Officer questioned his birth place of Sydney, asked for further ID, and meticulously scanned the passport photo page, and The Doctor’s face, for any anomalies. The fact that he had been approved for several other countries visas, including the UK, didn’t seem to convince Border Officer either. Coming from multicultural Australia it is amazing to discover just how ignorant some people still are when it comes to ethnicity. I wondered if Border Officer really believed that The Doctor was planning on evading the authorities and living illegally in Bulgaria of all places.]
