Stranded! -- Buyukada, Istanbul

Stranded!

Breakfast was a quick affair on Wednesday morning, as we had both a tram and a ferry to catch. No time to linger over luscious white cheeses and egg and jam and olives and honey and simit and –

I quaffed my coffee and nibbled a sulfite-free dried apricot. The seagull grudgingly posed for a picture and the breakfast woman (I must find out her name) said hello. Then we trotted down to our room on the fourth floor, grabbed our bags, cameras and coats, and squeezed into the moody elevator (whom I have named Myrtle).

“Wait! Did you want to take your book?” the thought popped into my mind right after Myrtle’s flimsy doors had creaked shut.

“No, it’s too heavy to haul around,” Cathy replied. “I’ll just relax on the ferry and enjoy the view.”   

Fair enough.

The tram was mostly empty. It was eight o’clock in the morning when we boarded, so working Turks were already at the job and non-working Turks were still happily slumbering. A few gloomy tourists dotted the seats, but the cold was keeping all but the most determined/crazy confined to their hotels.

“You’re never going to believe my posts when I write about how crowded public transportation is,” I sounded like a whiny little kid who was desperate for some manner of validation. “Every time you’ve been on the tram, you’ve gotten a seat. It’s never this good.” 

“Oh, I believe you. By the way, the weather in Buyukada is supposed to be cold, but clear. No rain,” Cathy told me as we rumbled along to Kabatas. “It’s far enough away to have different weather than Istanbul.”

“Cold, but clear. Sounds reasonable.”

We stepped aboard the ferry at eight forty and pulled away towards Buyukada, making brief stops at Kadikoy and a few of the smaller islands along the way. The ride was quiet, comfortable and peaceful. After the incessant noise and stimulation of Istanbul, anything and everything remotely quiet feels peaceful. From the stillness of the ferry, it was fun to watch the city just keep rolling by.

“It never stops,” I mentioned to Cathy about an hour into the journey. “I had no idea Istanbul would be so large.”

We arrived at the largest of the islands (“Buyu” means “big” in Turkish) at about half past ten and instantly noticed the nearly deafening sound of --

Silence.

No cars. No buses. No honking. No screeching brakes or screaming sirens.

 

*clop, clop, clop* went a horse’s hooves on the empty streets.

An old man rode past on his bicycle, bursting bags of groceries hanging from the handlebars.  

Biker! A biker who hasn’t been squashed flat by a demented Turkish driver! I want to hug him.

"My soul needed this,” I inhaled deeply (instead of hugging the biker, who might have misinterpreted the reasoning behind the my exuberant display of physical contact), blissfully filling my lungs with exhaust-free air. 

 

But Cathy was already striding on ahead of me.

I want to have that much energy when I’m sixty. 

 

We were on our way to a bike rental shop, but were stopped short by a gelato store that had mulberry-flavored ice cream in the window. 

“I have to try it,” Cathy curiously requested a single scoop. “Do you want something?”

 

“Ooooh, yes.” I contemplated the flavors. “Can I have the caramel in a cup?” I asked the server staying warm behind the glass. “I haven’t had gelato since Italy!” 

Intense ice cream ingested, we made our way to the closest bike shop and rented two rickety bicycles with baskets for the day. It appeared as if we were the only customers the bored looking men had seen all day, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we were the last. 

 

Why, you ask? 

Because the weather report had lied. We were pelted with icy rain and bludgeoned with frigid wind all day. All partially sane tourists hired horses and carriages to drive them around the island. 

 But I was in nature. There were trees. The air was fresh. I was surrounded by verdant grass instead of cold pavement and passed by panting horses instead of thundering buses. 

Cathy and I are Colorado girls and we were going to enjoy the nature by bicycle, damnit. 

Where all the horses are kept.

Their living conditions looked pretty shabby... which is usual for operations like this.

We walked, bicycled, walked, and took tea breaks and bicycled again until we'd finished our 15 km loop around the island.

Animals roam free across the Buyukada (it's not as if they can really go anywhere). I spotted the usual stray cats and dogs, but also sheep, horses and cows engaging in 100% free-range grazing.

Loop finished, we returned our bikes to the (still bored) shopkeepers, retrieved Cathy's driver's license and set about finding some lunch. We settled on a simple kebap place near the dock and drank ayran with our meal. As the weather looked slightly better, we decided to roam about for a couple of hours before our ferry left for Kabatas at three o'clock.

Unfortunately, our ferry did not leave for Kabatas at three o'clock. Our ferry was canceled and we were told to come back at five o'clock.

"It wouldn't be so bad if we had something to do. I wish I had brought a book," Cathy commented as we made our way back to a cafe to hide from the cold as we waited for the five o'clock ferry.

I drank hot chocolate with a shot of bailey's.

Cathy ate a turkish waffle covered with chocolate, kelva and fruit.

We cuddled up and listened to podcasts together. Dear Cathy, you are the best person to be stranded with. Ever. Thanks for having such a wonderful attitude (and for letting me sleep on your shoulder).

Listening to Savage Love in an Italian gelato shop whilst stranded on an island off of Istanbul. This is a memory I will keep for a very long time.

 We went back to the dock and joined the burgeoning mass of tourists desperate to get back to the city.

"All ferries are canceled."

Umm... what? 

"Excuse me," Cathy asked some girls beside us who spoke English and Turkish. "Do you know if there's another way back to Istanbul?"


"Yes, we will take a ferry to Kartal and then the bus to Taksim."

"Can we please follow you?" I put on my best desperate look. It wasn't hard.

"Yes," they said as they raced towards the rapidly filling ferry.

Cathy and I struggled after them, but were quickly left behind. Luckily, we managed to reach the ferry right before the ropes were loosed, paid three liras each and took our seats on the upper deck.

At least it was beautiful.

 We landed in Kartal about half an hour later.

I had no idea where I was or how to get back -- this was a part of Istanbul far outside of my comfort zone. I called Umit and did my best to calmly and reasonably explain the situation.

"UMIT!" I am never traveling without a phone again. 

"Hi Aimee, how are you?"


"WE'RE STRANDED IN KARTAL!"

"What?"

"WE'RE STRANDED IN KARTAL!"

"What?"

"How can we get from Kartal to the Blue Mosque?"


"Take the bus to Cevizlibag. From there, you can take the tram to the Blue Mosque."

"Which bus?"

"500 something... it should go straight there. Just ask someone."

"Okay..." I hung up the phone, feeling scared and overwhelmed.

Cathy smiled at me. I was so happy that she was smiling.

We ended up getting mildly lost only once, as people poured out pity all over us and did their best to make sure we got off at the right stops.

The bus was packed. The traffic was unbelievably congested.

"Now you'll believe me when I talk about how bad transportation is in Istanbul," I exclaimed half-triumphantly, half-bitterly.

Three hours later, we arrived at our hotel.

We drank alcohol.

Cathy took a shower.

I pulled the covers up over my face and went directly to sleep. 

F*cking Kartal.

Kadikoy Market (Cathy goes to Asia!) -- Istanbul, Turkey

Cathy joined me for breakfast bright and early. I put my laptop away and listened to her dreams about her daughter slacklining between telephone poles, her husband shaving off half his mustache because he lost a bet, and herself having to apologize for a snide remark she made when she was 13. 

I’m going to miss breakfasts with Cathy.

After she'd caught me up on her amusing and mildly disturbing dreams, I caught her up on the day's plans.  

“So, if we leave in half an hour, we can make it to Eminonu by nine o’clock. Then we ride the ferry from Eminonu to Kadikoy and hop on bus 8A for the Tuesday market. This site says it’s a lot of fun and the Asia side of Istanbul is cheaper than the Europe side.  Ummm... 4000 booths, so you’ll have a lot of options. Yes...” I opened my laptop again and took a picture of directions I’d found on a travel forum. I was a little nervous about the day’s excursion because I’d never been to Kadikoy and wasn’t sure how to get from the bus stop to the market. 

I’ve been in Istanbul for two months now. I can do this. I’m comfortable enough with the public transportation system to make it work. 

“This will be your first time in Asia,” I told my friend as we boarded the large, comfortable ferry for Kadikoy. “Extra bragging rights.”

We struggled a bit to communicate with the bus driver about our stop (no one seemed to understand what I meant by “market”, and I was anxiously beginning to think I’d invented the whole thing). However, we finally managed to make our way to the massive, tarp covered space filled with people selling kitchenware, produce, spices, clothes and bedding. As it was still early (and Turkish people are allergic to mornings), we had the market mostly to ourselves and it felt wonderful to browse about without feeling pressed on all sides by other bickering shoppers.

Cathy purchased some Turkish olives, Russian olives, spices, strawberries, cat leggings, a Turkish coffee pot, hazelnuts and some particularly fine looking tomatoes. We traded off hauling the bags about and I enjoyed exploring the zoom of my new lens.

Burdened with bags of goodies, we trudged down the street until we found a bus bound for Kadikoy. I introduced Cathy to iskender kebap and drank the most delicious ayran I’ve had thus far.

In Morocco, they have bowls of cumin and salt. In Turkey, they have bowls of chili and thyme/oregano.

“It’s so creamy... fluffy...salty... oof, this is sublime. Okay, so my goals for this October are to learn to make fluffy ayran, to ferment my own boza and to cook perfect Turkish rice.”

We spent the next half hour walking through Kadikoy’s version of Istiklal Street, and Cathy bought some hazelnut butter and red pepper paste to take home to her family. I looked at the jar of paste warily, wondering whether or not it would fit in her large, but not limitless suitcases.

It’ll probably be fine. You’re just too sensitive to this sort of thing. Because your life has to weigh less than 25 kilos.

Logs stuffed with honeycomb.

French meringues seem very out of place in Istanbul.

We caught the ferry back to Eminonu, dropped the day’s spoils off at the hotel (probably drank a cocktail), and settled into our respective corners to write. Then we took the tram to Tophane station and spent an hour and a half exploring the Museum of Modern Art. There were a few pieces I enjoyed, but we agreed that the majority of the art took itself a tad too seriously for our taste.

“This whole super-serious thing seems to be part of Turkish culture. You should watch the television here. The only time people laugh is when they’ve finished crying and are laughing out of relief. Because his father changed his mind/she’s a virgin so they can get married after all.”

We were kicked out of the museum at closing time (but our brains were full, anyway), and I took us on a trek up tall hills and through narrow alleys to Istiklal street. For hamsi in the fish bazaar and to experience to vibe of the night crowd.

Hamsi was delectable (night crowd was less so). Crunchy, drizzled with lemon and wrapped in rocket, I wish they came in bags so I could eat them like potato chips. The only drawback was that delectable hamsi tends to linger, and the longer it lingers, the fouler it becomes.

Hamsi burps two hours later are decidedly not delectable.   

Epic saga of cold. We went back to the hotel. Because it was simply too cold to do anything else.