Becoming a Guide -- Istanbul, Turkey

Sunday was full and fantastic. I left Çasim’s apartment around nine o’clock and started walking to meet Maud.

The crisp air was heavy with exhaust and cigarette smoke. It carried the sounds of car horns, bus horns, motorcycle horns and all things tram related.

I don’t much like walking through Istanbul.

Walking through Istanbul, I avoid stepping in filthy puddles that have formed in the cracks of the sidewalks. Rubbish and shit swim in the pooling puddles and I start to understand exactly why it’s so important to remove shoes before entering homes.

Walking through Istanbul, I see kestane, blackened corn on the cob and bread stands selling a strange manner of Turkish pretzel. I love the smell of kestane . Marrakech in spring smelled of orange blossoms. Ireland in spring smelled of buttercups and cow manure.

Istanbul in winter smells of kestane and kebab.

Walking through Istanbul, I am shoved this way and that, higgledy-piggledy down the street. Cars do not stop for pedestrians, motorcycles do not stop for pedestrians and pedestrians do not stop for pedestrian. People do not wait for passengers to exit the tram before piling in – no indeed, they force their way in as the passengers try to squeeze their way out. It’s a frenetic muddle of elbows and shoulders and toes on heels on toes on toes. I’m aggravated.

IT WON’T KILL YOU TO WAIT! I wanted to scream as a car squealed over a pedestrian crosswalk, forcing me to skip, hop the final few steps or be taken out.

In Rome, all I had to do was make eye contact with drivers and they would slow down. Here, I make eye contact and drivers floor it. And honk. God, all this honking is making me crazy. Filling my brain with pushy, hurried, angry hullaballoo.

Walking through Istanbul, I keep my eyes to myself and my smile hidden. A misplaced smile or a half-second glance can result in lines such as these –

“My love! How will I sleep tonight? My love?”

“I have been waiting for you – and not only ten minutes!”

“If I wasn’t gay, I would get behind them.”

These silly attempts made me giggle at first, but now they just make me feel objectified and exasperated.  

Do they really think that those lines work? Who in the history of the world has ever been seduced by “I have been waiting for you more than ten minutes!”?

Walking through Istanbul, I see burkas, headscarves and long, tailored coats. So many women move through the city in shapeless black, elbows and knees only revealed when they jab and stab in the tram. I also see stylish shoes and form fitting jeans, revealing a more western influence. Thick eyeliner and lipstick the color of blood adorn most feminine faces and men flaunt thick black moustaches. I love me some facial hair, but I find typical Turkish ‘stache style tasteless.

Walking through Istanbul, I see Maud. As does everyone else. Maud is a striking character everywhere she goes and she stands out even more in Istanbul. Tall, beautiful, blond, fit and moving through space with a confident stride, every Turkish male looks up from whatever he's doing to check out my hot Dutch friend.

“American hug!” I engulfed Maud. “Found you this time.”

“Sorry I’m a little bit late.”

“It’s not a problem. “

“Yeah, but I feel bad,” she insisted. She was feeling bad for being five minutes late.

“It’s fine,” I said, wondering what Raman (my Indian friend) would think of Maud.  

“What do you want to do?” she asked as we dodged and ignored Turks, avoided puddles and tried not to step on sleeping donut dogs.

“How about starting at the Blue Mosque and going for a walk?”

“I’m good for anything.”

And Maud was good for anything. Except the whole finding things part. Maud is astonishingly not good at the finding things part – worse than I am, as a matter of fact.

“Where do you think we turn here?”

“God, I don’t know.”

“Do you think it’s this bridge or the next?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Do you want to walk back or try our luck continuing on?”

“You decide.”

In my entire experience as a traveler, this situation has never happened. EVER. I’m always the one who has no idea where I am. I’m always the one who follows guides (through couchsurfing, volunteering or free walking tours). When I go walking alone in strange cities, it is generally aimless wandering and an exercise in nonattachment.

I can’t get attached to the idea of finding anything because I know I probably won’t. I walk with the idea of walking and just appreciating what’s around.

But walking with Maud forced me to pay attention, take initiative and make decisions in a way that is quite unfamiliar and uncomfortable for me. I’d only been in this huge, hectic city for a week and a half and I found myself responsible for finding bus stops, special streets and monuments.

I’m a guide. This is so f*cking bizarre. I like it.

  

Also, Maud is just loads of fun to walk with. She’s carefree, game for anything, loves walking, is incessantly chatty and takes time for her photography. As she shares my struggle with orientation, she’s entirely nonjudgmental when I make silly mistakes and we have to backtrack for half an hour. 

"That's how I find the best things. Getting lost." 

I love exploring with people who don’t mind being lost.

 

As the airport English group had to reschedule due to a work conflict, Umit had arranged for Maud and me to meet with them at five o’clock pm on Sunday. To leave enough time for Istanbul’s notoriously bad traffic, we found (I found) the stop at one thirty, drank girly coffee at an adjacent café and boarded 145T at 2:20.

It was nice to have someone to talk with on the bus.

Umit’s family is visiting, so Seher and Umit’s sister prepared a delectable dinner of chicken, bean soup and various vegetable dishes. Maud got a first-rate experience of a first-rate Turkish/Kurdish family and an excellent meal. Then the airport group phoned at five, saying they were waiting downstairs to drive Maud and me to the café where we would practice English and drink chai. As the last session had been stressful and unstructured, Umit sent me off with two sheets full of questions I could ask – one related entirely to sports (a great topic for Turkish men) and the other related to the use of frequency adverbs.

“How often do you eat fast food?”

“How often do you go to the cinema?”

“How often --?”

This session was much better than the last, and I discovered how valuable it is to have another fluent English speaker present. When the students start speaking Turkish, I don’t have to sit awkwardly and wait for them to finish or to rudely interrupt. I can simply speak with Maud and wait encourage them to join.

Two of the students drove us to Maud’s hotel by the Blue Mosque. We bought juice, drank Van Gogh, ate chocolate and enjoyed our night in Istanbul.