Thanks to a generous Christmas gift of a new laptop, I am able to blog once again!
During my break, I spent time with family and friends in the States, but more on that later. At the moment, I write to you from my hotel in London. We're staying in Westminster, to be more precise, and we're close to fab shopping and historical sights! We're within walking distance to Buckingham Palace as well as Baker street, the sight of Sherlock Holmes mysteries.
I've been sick this week and it's been rainy, so I haven't adventured as much as I'd like so far. I did pick up a great book of walking tours and have been eagerly planning activities for the upcoming weeks. We're hoping to go to Camden Town tomorrow, a place that was suggested to Brian. I'm afraid I don't know much about it, but I'll let you know as I discover.
The hotel staff and the few locals I've met so far are friendly and sweet. Of course, I truly appreciate being able to communicate easily, though we did meet one Scottish fella and he was a little hard to follow.
The cars-going-the-opposite-way difference didn't seem too confusing to me, until a few days ago. Around our hotel, there are many one way streets and I think I became used to that. I started to confidently stride across the street when a loud horn startled me out of my daze and I saw one of those famous red double decker buses in my lane. I gave an amazing backwards flying leap to the sidewalk and nervously laughed, as the people on the curb rolled their eyes. I haven't made that mistake again, so far lol.
I'm posting a picture from my window of the park that's across the street. It's usually bustling with people so I've been reading or people watching next to the window this week.
Fun coincidence-- My favorite American buddy is here as well! We had dinner with her last weekend and I always look forward to hanging out with her. I'm hoping she'll join us in Camden too!
Friday, February 1, 2013
Friday, November 9, 2012
Gun shy about customs
A few weekends ago, Brian and I went to the Grand Bazaar with two of his French teammates. The ladies are very fashionable and heard there were terrific shopping spots. It's a really fun and bustling place. Before we went, I had assumed it was like a flea market and I was so wrong! It's this incredibly large building with alleys that stretch in every direction. I'm not sure how big is it, exactly, but I felt like we walked for miles! You can definitely spend hours there and we love every excuse to go back. There are actual store fronts, open stores, tea places, and stuff everywhere you look.
One thing about the Bazaar is you get to haggle. I say 'get to' but to be honest, it made me a little uncomfortable. Everyone said if they give a price, offer half (or less) of what you'd be willing to pay and work your way up. Frankly, I don't know too much about a lot of the products and I didn't want to be insulting. Brian was terrific at it and was a great negotiator, so I'd defer to him.
There are men beckoning for you to come to their establishments every few feet. I think they paid young men (or maybe it's the nephews' job) to say "oh you like leather? I'll take you to this great store! A friend of mine owns it and he'll give you good prices!" We were told it may be best if you wander until you find the store that you want rather than following a runner. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
One girl really loves purses and was told you can buy fabulous imitations. I'm not really familiar with Gucci and Prada, so I can't tell the difference to begin with. They were talking animatedly about their shopping vices, saying they could spend thousands on purses and shoes. They asked me what I'd spend thousands on and I enthusiastically replied "Ooh, books!" They just stared at me...I was out of my league with these French fashionistas. Ah, priorities.
So we enter shop after shop of purses, then one of the girls decides it's a better idea to walk up to one of the runners and ask him. He takes off through the crowd and we take so many turns. A lot of the stores look exactly alike and nothing is in English, so I start repeating in my mind "Ok, left, left, right, left" in hopes of remembering how to get back to the exit. Most of the Bazaar is inside and he took us down an alley to a small courtyard. We go into a nondescript store in between a carpet place and a jewelry store. We walk in and it's a tiny place full of knock offs. Purse lady was enthralled and they start explaining to me that you have to find a really good fake, because otherwise, customs will seize it and you get into trouble. She brought a Prada card from another purse to put into her fake so it will pass. (They say this is a real, licensed bag, etc)
Naturally, I start to get nervous. Brian and I step outside and we agree it totally looks like the kind of place that customs agents will swarm at any moment and again, I'm terrified of Turkish prisons. We mill about for a bit and then I notice the cardboard covering the second floor windows. I say "oh great. That's where they keep the poor women who have to sew those fakes." Just about then, Frenchie number two bounds out of the door and says "Guys! You have to come in!"
Brian rushes in, fearing that they stole Frenchie number one, when they move the wall. There is a hidden staircase and Brian grins at me before following them upstairs. I think "oh good lord, please don't let me die here, they'll never find our bodies." Of course, this is where the really good stuff is and the girls are thrilled. Brian and I look around a bit before finding seats, where we nod at options with glazed over eyes. I finally understand the hell husbands go through in dressing rooms, poor things. An hour and hundreds of dollars later, we finally leave and everyone is happy. Especially me, because that meant it was lunch time!
One thing about the Bazaar is you get to haggle. I say 'get to' but to be honest, it made me a little uncomfortable. Everyone said if they give a price, offer half (or less) of what you'd be willing to pay and work your way up. Frankly, I don't know too much about a lot of the products and I didn't want to be insulting. Brian was terrific at it and was a great negotiator, so I'd defer to him.
There are men beckoning for you to come to their establishments every few feet. I think they paid young men (or maybe it's the nephews' job) to say "oh you like leather? I'll take you to this great store! A friend of mine owns it and he'll give you good prices!" We were told it may be best if you wander until you find the store that you want rather than following a runner. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
One girl really loves purses and was told you can buy fabulous imitations. I'm not really familiar with Gucci and Prada, so I can't tell the difference to begin with. They were talking animatedly about their shopping vices, saying they could spend thousands on purses and shoes. They asked me what I'd spend thousands on and I enthusiastically replied "Ooh, books!" They just stared at me...I was out of my league with these French fashionistas. Ah, priorities.
So we enter shop after shop of purses, then one of the girls decides it's a better idea to walk up to one of the runners and ask him. He takes off through the crowd and we take so many turns. A lot of the stores look exactly alike and nothing is in English, so I start repeating in my mind "Ok, left, left, right, left" in hopes of remembering how to get back to the exit. Most of the Bazaar is inside and he took us down an alley to a small courtyard. We go into a nondescript store in between a carpet place and a jewelry store. We walk in and it's a tiny place full of knock offs. Purse lady was enthralled and they start explaining to me that you have to find a really good fake, because otherwise, customs will seize it and you get into trouble. She brought a Prada card from another purse to put into her fake so it will pass. (They say this is a real, licensed bag, etc)
Naturally, I start to get nervous. Brian and I step outside and we agree it totally looks like the kind of place that customs agents will swarm at any moment and again, I'm terrified of Turkish prisons. We mill about for a bit and then I notice the cardboard covering the second floor windows. I say "oh great. That's where they keep the poor women who have to sew those fakes." Just about then, Frenchie number two bounds out of the door and says "Guys! You have to come in!"
Brian rushes in, fearing that they stole Frenchie number one, when they move the wall. There is a hidden staircase and Brian grins at me before following them upstairs. I think "oh good lord, please don't let me die here, they'll never find our bodies." Of course, this is where the really good stuff is and the girls are thrilled. Brian and I look around a bit before finding seats, where we nod at options with glazed over eyes. I finally understand the hell husbands go through in dressing rooms, poor things. An hour and hundreds of dollars later, we finally leave and everyone is happy. Especially me, because that meant it was lunch time!
Thursday, November 8, 2012
I swear, I am NOT a drug smuggler!
This happened about a month ago and we're leaving the country next week, so I feel safe blogging about this adventure now. Unfortunately, there are several adventures that seem to suggest something insidious, but those will follow.
My trouble with customs in Turkey began when I had two prescriptions sent here. Neither are controlled substances in the US, but they are not available in this country. My insurance company and doctor decided it would be a good idea for me to have ninety days worth, as we'll be travelling so extensively. These are in my name, but when my parents mailed them, we were still in France, so we suggested sending it under Brian's name to the hotel in Istanbul.
Once I arrived, I contacted the US postal service with our confirmation number, trying to see how far they had gotten. They told me that they did indeed arrive in Turkey, had cleared customs, a delivery was attempted once, then they went back to the Turkish post office. Unfortunately, that was as far as they could help me.
This status remained the same for two weeks. I became great friends with the Concierge desk, as I'd spend an hour or so each afternoon with them as they tried calling various offices in Turkish. We couldn't seem to find my medicine. I asked the USPS to try to recall them, but again, was told that they could not.
Finally, after twenty-three days, my friend, the concierge, called my room with great news. They located the office! I needed to pick the medicine up in person, and if I came down right now, I might be able to make it there before they close.
I grabbed my passport, all of the cash I had, (three fifty lira bills), and ran downstairs. The valet told me he knew what was going on and said that we were heading across the city to a rough spot of town, so he'd ask the driver to stay with me as long as necessary. That worried me a bit, but the hotel taxi drivers are all friendly, and sweet fancy moses--I needed this medication. In the taxi, I slipped one fifty behind my passport, in this special wallet I have for it, one fifty in my pocket, and one in my purse.
Istanbul is extremely large. It's like the entire bay area, but all considered a single city. We drove for about fifty minutes, finally ending up in this industrial area with lots of warehouses. After asking directions three times, we found the building. My driver assured me he'd wait in the parking lot and wished me luck. (I was very glad for this, because I hadn't seen another taxi for miles.) Although, I was concerned about the fare amount because I didn't have any more cash in the room and they don't accept cards. It was 48.90 just to get there.
I go into this building that I can only compare to...maybe a DMV office from the 70's..in Honduras. Luckily, even though it was a balmy 78 degrees, I had the idea to wear a long sleeved turtle neck and slacks. I didn't see any women the entire time I was there, though lots of men gave me funny looks. Not in a sexual or threatening way, more of a "what do you think you're doing here?"
I get in line, clutching the small piece of paper the Concierge was so thoughtful to have given me, with instructions in Turkish as to who I was and what I wanted. I gave it to the man at the window and he began rapidly speaking in Turkish. I apologized in English and he called for someone else. Again, he reads the note, then speaks to me in Turkish. Seriously. The third guy finally tells me to leave this office and go to the big creepy warehouse behind the building.
In the next building, I entered this hallway with exposed light bulbs and yellowing wallpaper. I think, thank god I bugged the desk so much, at least he really knows my name now..in case I disappear. I get into line and repeat the process. This man gives me a stern look and says I have to pay a fifty lira customs tax. I pull out the bill from my pocket, receive a receipt, and he tells me to go to another line. Once I get to that window, he reads my papers and gruffly tells me to sit down and wait. I wait until a man comes in and points at me to come, then I follow him into an interrogation room. It was a tiny room with a table and two chairs on either side. We sit and he starts asking questions in Turkish in a demanding tone. I repeat four or five times that I don't speak Turkish and that getting louder isn't going to help. By this point, I'm frightened and my eyes are tearing up. He says something then leaves me alone in the room.
Maybe ten minutes go by and then another man comes in, holding a small USPS package. I spot my father's beautiful handwriting and eagerly nod--yes! That's mine! He opens it and says, "these are drugs."
"Yes, there should be two prescription medications." I carefully answer. He then asks to see my doctor's prescription for them. I panic slightly because--I gave those to the pharmacy! There was an envelope in the box and I opened it. It had some official looking letterhead from my insurance company, with the medication names, amounts, and my doctor's name, so I gave it to him.
He read them for a few minutes and then the questioning began. Essentially, the issue was that these medications were not available here, they were prescribed to me, and addressed to Brian. He wasn't with me and since we're not married, we had different last names and of course, no marriage certificate like the man requested. It was a large quantity of foreign 'drugs' and I couldn't prove I knew Brian.He asked the same questions over and over again, with me repeating the same answers. Forty minutes later, I'm weepy at this point, and he asked to verify my passport. I struggle to pull it out of the wallet and out pops my hidden fifty lira bill. He roars at me, insinuating I'm trying to bribe him. I break out bawling and plead for it back--it was an accident and for god's sake, I need it for the taxi ride home!!!
I know I was a mess at this point (one of the medicines is for anxiety, after all), so he tells me to come back and either bring my husband, or a copy of his passport and our marriage certificate. He walks me out of the room, back to the lines, and releases me. I fled down the hall out to the parking lot and fling myself into the taxi. The driver looked concerned and asked if I got my package. I woefully say no, we take off towards home, and I call Brian in tears. We make arrangements that he'll come back with me on Friday.
Due to traffic, I knew the bill would be over the remaining 100 lira I had, and I really wanted to tip the nice driver. I explained and asked him to stop early and point me in the direction of the hotel. He was so kind, he quietly turned the meter off and took me all the way home. We did finally get my medicine and the front desk actually clapped when I told them.
My trouble with customs in Turkey began when I had two prescriptions sent here. Neither are controlled substances in the US, but they are not available in this country. My insurance company and doctor decided it would be a good idea for me to have ninety days worth, as we'll be travelling so extensively. These are in my name, but when my parents mailed them, we were still in France, so we suggested sending it under Brian's name to the hotel in Istanbul.
Once I arrived, I contacted the US postal service with our confirmation number, trying to see how far they had gotten. They told me that they did indeed arrive in Turkey, had cleared customs, a delivery was attempted once, then they went back to the Turkish post office. Unfortunately, that was as far as they could help me.
This status remained the same for two weeks. I became great friends with the Concierge desk, as I'd spend an hour or so each afternoon with them as they tried calling various offices in Turkish. We couldn't seem to find my medicine. I asked the USPS to try to recall them, but again, was told that they could not.
Finally, after twenty-three days, my friend, the concierge, called my room with great news. They located the office! I needed to pick the medicine up in person, and if I came down right now, I might be able to make it there before they close.
I grabbed my passport, all of the cash I had, (three fifty lira bills), and ran downstairs. The valet told me he knew what was going on and said that we were heading across the city to a rough spot of town, so he'd ask the driver to stay with me as long as necessary. That worried me a bit, but the hotel taxi drivers are all friendly, and sweet fancy moses--I needed this medication. In the taxi, I slipped one fifty behind my passport, in this special wallet I have for it, one fifty in my pocket, and one in my purse.
Istanbul is extremely large. It's like the entire bay area, but all considered a single city. We drove for about fifty minutes, finally ending up in this industrial area with lots of warehouses. After asking directions three times, we found the building. My driver assured me he'd wait in the parking lot and wished me luck. (I was very glad for this, because I hadn't seen another taxi for miles.) Although, I was concerned about the fare amount because I didn't have any more cash in the room and they don't accept cards. It was 48.90 just to get there.
I go into this building that I can only compare to...maybe a DMV office from the 70's..in Honduras. Luckily, even though it was a balmy 78 degrees, I had the idea to wear a long sleeved turtle neck and slacks. I didn't see any women the entire time I was there, though lots of men gave me funny looks. Not in a sexual or threatening way, more of a "what do you think you're doing here?"
I get in line, clutching the small piece of paper the Concierge was so thoughtful to have given me, with instructions in Turkish as to who I was and what I wanted. I gave it to the man at the window and he began rapidly speaking in Turkish. I apologized in English and he called for someone else. Again, he reads the note, then speaks to me in Turkish. Seriously. The third guy finally tells me to leave this office and go to the big creepy warehouse behind the building.
In the next building, I entered this hallway with exposed light bulbs and yellowing wallpaper. I think, thank god I bugged the desk so much, at least he really knows my name now..in case I disappear. I get into line and repeat the process. This man gives me a stern look and says I have to pay a fifty lira customs tax. I pull out the bill from my pocket, receive a receipt, and he tells me to go to another line. Once I get to that window, he reads my papers and gruffly tells me to sit down and wait. I wait until a man comes in and points at me to come, then I follow him into an interrogation room. It was a tiny room with a table and two chairs on either side. We sit and he starts asking questions in Turkish in a demanding tone. I repeat four or five times that I don't speak Turkish and that getting louder isn't going to help. By this point, I'm frightened and my eyes are tearing up. He says something then leaves me alone in the room.
Maybe ten minutes go by and then another man comes in, holding a small USPS package. I spot my father's beautiful handwriting and eagerly nod--yes! That's mine! He opens it and says, "these are drugs."
"Yes, there should be two prescription medications." I carefully answer. He then asks to see my doctor's prescription for them. I panic slightly because--I gave those to the pharmacy! There was an envelope in the box and I opened it. It had some official looking letterhead from my insurance company, with the medication names, amounts, and my doctor's name, so I gave it to him.
He read them for a few minutes and then the questioning began. Essentially, the issue was that these medications were not available here, they were prescribed to me, and addressed to Brian. He wasn't with me and since we're not married, we had different last names and of course, no marriage certificate like the man requested. It was a large quantity of foreign 'drugs' and I couldn't prove I knew Brian.He asked the same questions over and over again, with me repeating the same answers. Forty minutes later, I'm weepy at this point, and he asked to verify my passport. I struggle to pull it out of the wallet and out pops my hidden fifty lira bill. He roars at me, insinuating I'm trying to bribe him. I break out bawling and plead for it back--it was an accident and for god's sake, I need it for the taxi ride home!!!
I know I was a mess at this point (one of the medicines is for anxiety, after all), so he tells me to come back and either bring my husband, or a copy of his passport and our marriage certificate. He walks me out of the room, back to the lines, and releases me. I fled down the hall out to the parking lot and fling myself into the taxi. The driver looked concerned and asked if I got my package. I woefully say no, we take off towards home, and I call Brian in tears. We make arrangements that he'll come back with me on Friday.
Due to traffic, I knew the bill would be over the remaining 100 lira I had, and I really wanted to tip the nice driver. I explained and asked him to stop early and point me in the direction of the hotel. He was so kind, he quietly turned the meter off and took me all the way home. We did finally get my medicine and the front desk actually clapped when I told them.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
The Conrad, Hilton Istanbul
Let's talk about the Hotel.
It's very large with stunning views of the city and of the water. It's on it's own street, kind of a long private drive. There are perhaps ten guards posted along the street, and more are near the entrance. Before advancing to the hotel, all vehicles are checked for car bombs. They use a sweeping wand and detectors to look under and around the car and they check the interior and the trunk. Car bombs are a real issue here and detection is standard around the city. You walk into a revolving glass door that has a large vase of flowers in the middle and a chandelier lights the inside. Before you can enter further into the lobby, you must pass through metal detectors and bags are inspected with an x-ray machine, just like the airport. (This screening also occurs at malls and restaurants.) I'm getting used to it and I do feel safer with the checkpoints, but it's a little unnerving that they're even required. However, I'm still uneasy with the soldiers, police, and guards. They are armed with AK-47s and wear bullet proof vests. I'm glad they are equipped to handle any insurgents who may be similarly armed, but still..
There are three restaurants located within the hotel, a chocolate shop, an incredible jewelry store, Women's and Men's salons and a gift shop that carries Turkish souvenirs. There are indoor and outdoor pools, tennis courts, a fab gym where you can book sessions with personal trainers, a spa, saunas, and a jogging trail.
Due to the length of our stay and the number of rooms the team requires, we have some pretty sweet upgrades. We have member access to the top floor, which is the Executive Lounge. Sweet and savory snacks are served, there is open access to wines, beers, sodas, gourmet teas and coffees--all inclusive with the membership. The lounge has a marvelous balcony that is a wonderful place to go in the evenings and watch the boats pass. I'm currently inside the lounge; I come up for an hour or two each day and write or read with a cup of tea. I'm the youngest person I've seen here by far. Last week, a couple was politely asked to leave as they weren't members. They glared at me and asked if I was a member and the hostess just waved at me. You give your room number to the host before you're allowed entry and they check the list. They know me now and let me pass freely. It's a cool feeling.
Our room is spacious and has a lovely bed with down blankets and pillows. If you don't like the pillows, you can choose one of a dozen types they provide from the pillow menu. There are robes and slippers, heated towel racks.. The hotel handles our laundry and it comes back pressed, folded with tissue, and sealed inside plastic. Our socks have never been fluffier. I don't really use the mini bar, especially with the lounge access. We do use room service, which is directly from the menus from the restaurants.
I've been having some mail issues, and have spent quite a bit of time with the concierges. Everyone knows me here and I try to smile and acknowledge the staff. Some people I've witnessed completely ignore them, as if they don't exist. I think being friendly has helped, I'm certain that they provide excellent service, but they've really gone out of their way for me. The hotel has a fleet of taxis and a gentleman who wears a top hat and tails will tell them where to take you. He and I are a little more familiar than he is with other guests (he can be very formal). He smiles at me and says "Good morning Madame Katz, where are we off to today?" (The room reservation is under Brian's name and it's a Muslim country, so we just go with the name.)
It has been a mind boggling experience of opulence. I am thankful to be here, not just in these luxurious accommodations, but also to get goodnight kisses. I know the time will come where I won't be able to accompany Brian so I enjoy the time I'm here with him.
It's very large with stunning views of the city and of the water. It's on it's own street, kind of a long private drive. There are perhaps ten guards posted along the street, and more are near the entrance. Before advancing to the hotel, all vehicles are checked for car bombs. They use a sweeping wand and detectors to look under and around the car and they check the interior and the trunk. Car bombs are a real issue here and detection is standard around the city. You walk into a revolving glass door that has a large vase of flowers in the middle and a chandelier lights the inside. Before you can enter further into the lobby, you must pass through metal detectors and bags are inspected with an x-ray machine, just like the airport. (This screening also occurs at malls and restaurants.) I'm getting used to it and I do feel safer with the checkpoints, but it's a little unnerving that they're even required. However, I'm still uneasy with the soldiers, police, and guards. They are armed with AK-47s and wear bullet proof vests. I'm glad they are equipped to handle any insurgents who may be similarly armed, but still..
There are three restaurants located within the hotel, a chocolate shop, an incredible jewelry store, Women's and Men's salons and a gift shop that carries Turkish souvenirs. There are indoor and outdoor pools, tennis courts, a fab gym where you can book sessions with personal trainers, a spa, saunas, and a jogging trail.
Due to the length of our stay and the number of rooms the team requires, we have some pretty sweet upgrades. We have member access to the top floor, which is the Executive Lounge. Sweet and savory snacks are served, there is open access to wines, beers, sodas, gourmet teas and coffees--all inclusive with the membership. The lounge has a marvelous balcony that is a wonderful place to go in the evenings and watch the boats pass. I'm currently inside the lounge; I come up for an hour or two each day and write or read with a cup of tea. I'm the youngest person I've seen here by far. Last week, a couple was politely asked to leave as they weren't members. They glared at me and asked if I was a member and the hostess just waved at me. You give your room number to the host before you're allowed entry and they check the list. They know me now and let me pass freely. It's a cool feeling.
Our room is spacious and has a lovely bed with down blankets and pillows. If you don't like the pillows, you can choose one of a dozen types they provide from the pillow menu. There are robes and slippers, heated towel racks.. The hotel handles our laundry and it comes back pressed, folded with tissue, and sealed inside plastic. Our socks have never been fluffier. I don't really use the mini bar, especially with the lounge access. We do use room service, which is directly from the menus from the restaurants.
I've been having some mail issues, and have spent quite a bit of time with the concierges. Everyone knows me here and I try to smile and acknowledge the staff. Some people I've witnessed completely ignore them, as if they don't exist. I think being friendly has helped, I'm certain that they provide excellent service, but they've really gone out of their way for me. The hotel has a fleet of taxis and a gentleman who wears a top hat and tails will tell them where to take you. He and I are a little more familiar than he is with other guests (he can be very formal). He smiles at me and says "Good morning Madame Katz, where are we off to today?" (The room reservation is under Brian's name and it's a Muslim country, so we just go with the name.)
It has been a mind boggling experience of opulence. I am thankful to be here, not just in these luxurious accommodations, but also to get goodnight kisses. I know the time will come where I won't be able to accompany Brian so I enjoy the time I'm here with him.
My Food was Lost in Translation
Judge all you'd like, but I'm in Turkey for ten weeks and sometimes local cuisine...I just miss some good old fashioned American junk food.
Ordering food at the small places is always a lottery for me. The larger restaurants usually have servers who speak some English and the menus are in English.We typically eat in lovely, fancy places as the team has a ridiculous daily food allowance. These are the type of places where a server wears a full suit, places your napkin in your lap for you, and heaven help you if you try to pour something into your own glass (the horror!) The wine and water (sparkling or still--never 'flat') I am getting used to, but occasionally I'll order a coke (glass bottle, a tiny cousin of the American or Mexican version) and even that I can't refill into my own glass. I was lucky enough to take years of etiquette classes and I consider myself versed in international manners, so I don't have too much trouble and can hold my own in the fanciest of places. I'm going to be so spoiled when I return to the states--I'll wait patiently in the cab for the valet to open my door, for a waiter to be assigned to our party only, and apparently, I will be the thirstiest at the table.
Sometimes, dinners with 'citrus foam' and 'saffron infused' and 'cheap' wine that's priced at $80 a bottle gets to be old. (I'm telling you, I feast like a queen here--thank you, Bank!) Maybe once per week, I'll sneak away and have a secret lunch that I eat in shame, hiding the take away bag inside a larger nylon one as I walk through the gilded hotel lobby. I rush up to my room and wonder what mystery the bag holds--as indeed, it's always a damn mystery. A couple of blocks away from the hotel, there's a complex with some American fast food. A Burger King, Pizza Hut, and the KFC from my dreams are nestled together, a Mecca for the obese and my secret lunches.
First, I'd like to point out that although the words are in English, no one speaks English here. Sure, it says Whopper on the board, but I cannot fathom why they don't understand when I say that! I've been reduced to holding up my fingers to correlate to the meal numbers and pointing out the door. They roll their eyes at me, walk back to the board and point to the picture. Yes, I'll vigorously nod, or we play the lean and point game. No, no, to the right! Over, over--wait, you passed it--go back! No, not back to the first one! Whopper! Whopper! Geeze, I'd settle for any of the cheeseburgers.
Second, it says Whopper, but it's all different. The patty looks irregular, hand shaped, perhaps? The ketchup tastes different, yellow mustard doesn't seem to exist here, it's all Dijon, even the bun is different. I've had some tasty fries abroad, but not the bastard children that you find at Burger King Turkey. Thin, pasty, and so pale. Did I mention they are served with mayonnaise? Bleh.
I was in for a shock last week, when I unwrapped my Whopper (it even said so on the wrapper-success!) and reached for my book. I took a bite without looking and spit it out so fast--the meat has gone bad! They tried to poison me! Upon further inspection, I realized they gave me chicken, because clearly 'take away' sounds like 'chicken' in Turkish. (It doesn't, I looked it up.)
Pizza Hut wasn't any better. I pointed at the picture on the menu and out the door, when three different waiters were frustrated because none spoke English. Finally, to my mortification, one started shouting in Turkish at the families eating! A young girl shyly spoke in halting English to me, and translated my request. Do you know how she translated? She pointed at the picture and out the door.
KFC...I had such high hopes. This one had all of the items listed in Turkish, so that was fun for me. I saved my potatoes and gravy last, wanting to savor the instant, gritty flavor that reminded me of so many dinners at the Lodge... Imagine my sadness when I discovered it was a cup of gravy, and not even the gravy from American KFCs. The biscuits were not their signature flaky biscuits, but a hard roll. If you've ever seen the South Park episode where KFC was banned in Colorado and Eric has to go to a Methadone clinic to break his addiction...well, that episode is starting to make more sense to me.
Ah, it's lunch time for me now, so I'm off to have some lentil soup and a panini. Oh the injustice of it all ;-)
Ordering food at the small places is always a lottery for me. The larger restaurants usually have servers who speak some English and the menus are in English.We typically eat in lovely, fancy places as the team has a ridiculous daily food allowance. These are the type of places where a server wears a full suit, places your napkin in your lap for you, and heaven help you if you try to pour something into your own glass (the horror!) The wine and water (sparkling or still--never 'flat') I am getting used to, but occasionally I'll order a coke (glass bottle, a tiny cousin of the American or Mexican version) and even that I can't refill into my own glass. I was lucky enough to take years of etiquette classes and I consider myself versed in international manners, so I don't have too much trouble and can hold my own in the fanciest of places. I'm going to be so spoiled when I return to the states--I'll wait patiently in the cab for the valet to open my door, for a waiter to be assigned to our party only, and apparently, I will be the thirstiest at the table.
Sometimes, dinners with 'citrus foam' and 'saffron infused' and 'cheap' wine that's priced at $80 a bottle gets to be old. (I'm telling you, I feast like a queen here--thank you, Bank!) Maybe once per week, I'll sneak away and have a secret lunch that I eat in shame, hiding the take away bag inside a larger nylon one as I walk through the gilded hotel lobby. I rush up to my room and wonder what mystery the bag holds--as indeed, it's always a damn mystery. A couple of blocks away from the hotel, there's a complex with some American fast food. A Burger King, Pizza Hut, and the KFC from my dreams are nestled together, a Mecca for the obese and my secret lunches.
First, I'd like to point out that although the words are in English, no one speaks English here. Sure, it says Whopper on the board, but I cannot fathom why they don't understand when I say that! I've been reduced to holding up my fingers to correlate to the meal numbers and pointing out the door. They roll their eyes at me, walk back to the board and point to the picture. Yes, I'll vigorously nod, or we play the lean and point game. No, no, to the right! Over, over--wait, you passed it--go back! No, not back to the first one! Whopper! Whopper! Geeze, I'd settle for any of the cheeseburgers.
Second, it says Whopper, but it's all different. The patty looks irregular, hand shaped, perhaps? The ketchup tastes different, yellow mustard doesn't seem to exist here, it's all Dijon, even the bun is different. I've had some tasty fries abroad, but not the bastard children that you find at Burger King Turkey. Thin, pasty, and so pale. Did I mention they are served with mayonnaise? Bleh.
I was in for a shock last week, when I unwrapped my Whopper (it even said so on the wrapper-success!) and reached for my book. I took a bite without looking and spit it out so fast--the meat has gone bad! They tried to poison me! Upon further inspection, I realized they gave me chicken, because clearly 'take away' sounds like 'chicken' in Turkish. (It doesn't, I looked it up.)
Pizza Hut wasn't any better. I pointed at the picture on the menu and out the door, when three different waiters were frustrated because none spoke English. Finally, to my mortification, one started shouting in Turkish at the families eating! A young girl shyly spoke in halting English to me, and translated my request. Do you know how she translated? She pointed at the picture and out the door.
KFC...I had such high hopes. This one had all of the items listed in Turkish, so that was fun for me. I saved my potatoes and gravy last, wanting to savor the instant, gritty flavor that reminded me of so many dinners at the Lodge... Imagine my sadness when I discovered it was a cup of gravy, and not even the gravy from American KFCs. The biscuits were not their signature flaky biscuits, but a hard roll. If you've ever seen the South Park episode where KFC was banned in Colorado and Eric has to go to a Methadone clinic to break his addiction...well, that episode is starting to make more sense to me.
Ah, it's lunch time for me now, so I'm off to have some lentil soup and a panini. Oh the injustice of it all ;-)
Monday, September 24, 2012
Istanbul has been fun
Brian and I went to the sixth largest mall in Europe this weekend. It was insanely large, with six levels and a roller coaster inside the mall!! We spent the day shopping amongst familiar brands like Loft, The Row, and a Victoria's Secret that was strangely dark..like movie theater dark. I was ecstatic to see a Converse store as I need a new pair of walkabout kicks, but apparently I have an extremely common shoe size and they were out in the three styles I wanted.(School just started here, so I think that had something to do with it.) Still, Brian was able to find some pieces to expand his professional wardrobe and we had a very enjoyable time.
On Friday, I joined the team for dinner at BAR 360, a rooftop place that turns into a nightclub between midnight and five am. There are places here that with your admission, you are allowed entry to breakfast after six at the same location! The team works really long hours, usually they get home after nine, so I'm struggling to adjust to dinner between ten and eleven. (It's currently four pm as I type this, and I'm just now thinking about lunch.) We shared sushi roll appetizers and bottles of wine before our meal and were entertained by some bizarre 'dancing'. A young lady did a fantastic hula hoop routine that reminded me of something off 'America's Got Talent.' One of her later numbers was accompanied by two assistants. The assistants LIT HER HULA HOOP ON FIRE and she continued her routine. It was crazy and the crowd went wild. I was duly impressed, and Ezra, our Turkish team member said it was very unusual and not anything she had seen before.
Three of us left 'early' around three am and like usual, we took a taxi home. I had thought the drivers in Paris were dangerous, but wow!! We went down the wrong way on a one way street and the driver shrugged off our concerns, saying 'That is the street we need, down there. It is oh-key." The Turks use their horns every couple of minutes. A driver explained as we drove down the middle of the yellow dotted line that separated two lanes-we became imaginary lane number one and a half- that the horn lets other drivers know we're coming-HONKKKKK. And there are no seat belt laws!! The drivers don't wear them and most of the taxis we've taken haven't even had them in the backseats!! I find that I travel easier with my eyes tightly closed, gripping the seat back in front of me, wedged against Brian or the door. The drivers seem to get exasperated every time I'd gasp, which is quite often. Now I just tell myself it's like I'm on Space Mountain in Disneyland. It's a fluffin' nightmare and Brian and I both agree we're grateful that at least we don't have to drive in this madness.
On Friday, I joined the team for dinner at BAR 360, a rooftop place that turns into a nightclub between midnight and five am. There are places here that with your admission, you are allowed entry to breakfast after six at the same location! The team works really long hours, usually they get home after nine, so I'm struggling to adjust to dinner between ten and eleven. (It's currently four pm as I type this, and I'm just now thinking about lunch.) We shared sushi roll appetizers and bottles of wine before our meal and were entertained by some bizarre 'dancing'. A young lady did a fantastic hula hoop routine that reminded me of something off 'America's Got Talent.' One of her later numbers was accompanied by two assistants. The assistants LIT HER HULA HOOP ON FIRE and she continued her routine. It was crazy and the crowd went wild. I was duly impressed, and Ezra, our Turkish team member said it was very unusual and not anything she had seen before.
Three of us left 'early' around three am and like usual, we took a taxi home. I had thought the drivers in Paris were dangerous, but wow!! We went down the wrong way on a one way street and the driver shrugged off our concerns, saying 'That is the street we need, down there. It is oh-key." The Turks use their horns every couple of minutes. A driver explained as we drove down the middle of the yellow dotted line that separated two lanes-we became imaginary lane number one and a half- that the horn lets other drivers know we're coming-HONKKKKK. And there are no seat belt laws!! The drivers don't wear them and most of the taxis we've taken haven't even had them in the backseats!! I find that I travel easier with my eyes tightly closed, gripping the seat back in front of me, wedged against Brian or the door. The drivers seem to get exasperated every time I'd gasp, which is quite often. Now I just tell myself it's like I'm on Space Mountain in Disneyland. It's a fluffin' nightmare and Brian and I both agree we're grateful that at least we don't have to drive in this madness.
Our Hagia Sopia Sunday
The Hagia Sophia Sunday
Brian and I went on an afternoon adventure with two of his teammates from Tunsia. Jacem has spent time in Istanbul before, so he acted as our guide. We took a taxi to the old city and wandered through some neighborhoods on our way. We passed the Spice Bazaar, but didn't go in because we could literally spend an entire afternoon there. Due to my fair skin and freckles, the vendors always call out to me in English, which is kind of funny, except that I stick out so much. We passed a plant stall and I wanted to pick up some seeds for my father's garden. This led to a long discussion about customs and FDA and Ag board limits, which in hindsight, I really should have known better. I'd like to think my momentary diztiness was thanks to my pure excitement. I keep having 'holy cow' moments--I'm in ISTANBUL!!
But I digress, the Hagia Sophia.. It was built as the largest Catholic Church in Europe in 534 ACE, and then in 1174 was converted into a Mosque by the then ruling party. In the early 1930's, it was made into a museum and it's spectacular. There are paintings on the walls and ceilings of the Madonna and Child, of the Archangel Gabriel, of St. John the Baptist.. In Islam, they do not depict any faces whatsoever, so the Islamic art is beautiful and intricate words in Arabic. I think that it is wonderful that when it was converted, they did not destroy the Christian art and that it has lasted through the centuries. It was humbling to be in a place with such history and religious significance to so many. They say that it was covered in gold accents and jewels were once on the walls. Centuries ago, they were stolen or sold to fund wars so all that remains are the incredible facades. I took some pictures, so please check out the meager album on my Facebook page. Many of the Christian depictions are actually large mosaics; the talent and skill of making these are astounding.
Beyond the main sanctuary, there are a number of surrounding buildings. After walking through the Supreme Door (only the Emperor was allowed through it), we came across the baptismal chambers. It had a large tub carved of stone, and Brian-the-Jew exclaimed "Look at the size of that hot tub!" Even our Muslim friends shook their heads, and I hope the whole experience was enlightening to him. I tried to explain and teach him things and I think he learned about other cultures, haha.
After the Hagia Sophia, we went to a sacred tomb that held the graves of daughters, sons, and wives of the Sultans. Before entering these holy places, you must remove your shoes and women must wear a head scarf. Luckily for me, they had some to borrow and Miriam showed me how to wear it. Jacem explained that as a sign of equality in death, grave stones must not be raised more than 30 centimeters above the ground, if you are a Sultan or a beggar. The walls were adorned with prayers in Arabic, the calligraphy was stunning. Beautiful chandeliers hung above, and silk draped each coffin. These tombs are scattered around Istanbul and are the resting places of Emperors and their families.
We had lunch in a restaurant over the Bosphorus River in a seafood place that had incredible views. It's common here that when you go to a fish restaurant, the servers proudly bring over a table filled with different kinds of fish. You then get to choose which creature you'd like. It was a little different, but Jacem informed me that it's the norm here and you just don't look them in the eyes...
It was a great afternoon on a wonderfully warm and sunny day. So far, so good in Turkey
Brian and I went on an afternoon adventure with two of his teammates from Tunsia. Jacem has spent time in Istanbul before, so he acted as our guide. We took a taxi to the old city and wandered through some neighborhoods on our way. We passed the Spice Bazaar, but didn't go in because we could literally spend an entire afternoon there. Due to my fair skin and freckles, the vendors always call out to me in English, which is kind of funny, except that I stick out so much. We passed a plant stall and I wanted to pick up some seeds for my father's garden. This led to a long discussion about customs and FDA and Ag board limits, which in hindsight, I really should have known better. I'd like to think my momentary diztiness was thanks to my pure excitement. I keep having 'holy cow' moments--I'm in ISTANBUL!!
But I digress, the Hagia Sophia.. It was built as the largest Catholic Church in Europe in 534 ACE, and then in 1174 was converted into a Mosque by the then ruling party. In the early 1930's, it was made into a museum and it's spectacular. There are paintings on the walls and ceilings of the Madonna and Child, of the Archangel Gabriel, of St. John the Baptist.. In Islam, they do not depict any faces whatsoever, so the Islamic art is beautiful and intricate words in Arabic. I think that it is wonderful that when it was converted, they did not destroy the Christian art and that it has lasted through the centuries. It was humbling to be in a place with such history and religious significance to so many. They say that it was covered in gold accents and jewels were once on the walls. Centuries ago, they were stolen or sold to fund wars so all that remains are the incredible facades. I took some pictures, so please check out the meager album on my Facebook page. Many of the Christian depictions are actually large mosaics; the talent and skill of making these are astounding.
Beyond the main sanctuary, there are a number of surrounding buildings. After walking through the Supreme Door (only the Emperor was allowed through it), we came across the baptismal chambers. It had a large tub carved of stone, and Brian-the-Jew exclaimed "Look at the size of that hot tub!" Even our Muslim friends shook their heads, and I hope the whole experience was enlightening to him. I tried to explain and teach him things and I think he learned about other cultures, haha.
After the Hagia Sophia, we went to a sacred tomb that held the graves of daughters, sons, and wives of the Sultans. Before entering these holy places, you must remove your shoes and women must wear a head scarf. Luckily for me, they had some to borrow and Miriam showed me how to wear it. Jacem explained that as a sign of equality in death, grave stones must not be raised more than 30 centimeters above the ground, if you are a Sultan or a beggar. The walls were adorned with prayers in Arabic, the calligraphy was stunning. Beautiful chandeliers hung above, and silk draped each coffin. These tombs are scattered around Istanbul and are the resting places of Emperors and their families.
We had lunch in a restaurant over the Bosphorus River in a seafood place that had incredible views. It's common here that when you go to a fish restaurant, the servers proudly bring over a table filled with different kinds of fish. You then get to choose which creature you'd like. It was a little different, but Jacem informed me that it's the norm here and you just don't look them in the eyes...
It was a great afternoon on a wonderfully warm and sunny day. So far, so good in Turkey
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