Travel is a form of escape as one author put it. I suppose it is escape from the familiar but it is also a running towards the unfamiliar. It's always fun to have a sense of the unfamiliar surrounding one when traveling.
In the Rome airport; I see the Turkish woman dressed so European-stylish and then the next moment realize she has put on a long wrap around dress and covered her head in anticipation of a return to Istanbul. From what I can see thus far, Istanbul is highly secular (which anticipates a very long discussion). Or it's fun to see an Italian gentleman on his cell phone, with hat and shades and scarf and a long coat draped over his shoulders like some Italian movie mogul as he wheels and deals over his cell while riding the airport bus out to the plane. Don't see alot like him in Ohio.
And by the way, who was telling me to not wear Nike and the usual jogging shoes that everyone and their brother wears in the States, cause to do so "will make you look like an American tourist." I got a nice pair of Merril shoes, but everyone in Istanbul is wearing Nike's and other jogging shoes. Or could it be that everyone I've seen in Istanbul is really an American tourist, if so, there are no locals. I think my Merrils are going to label me "tourist."
OK....so we made it no problem. You can all be spared the "I got to Istanbul but my luggage went to Rio" stories. Connection were easily made. Luggage arrived with us and magically turned up at the baggage claim. Our friend was there at Istanbul to collect us.
We were met by old friend Ken (who, with wife Betty) have lived in Turkey for 20+ years. The airport is extremely modern and spacious and there he was with the crowd outside the gate. A short taxi ride to the ferry boats and we board a ferry like one you'd see in NY or Seattle or SF and journey along the southern shore of the old part of Istanbul. I remarked that it rather looked like SF through the afternoon fog, haze. SF doesn't have the mosques that Istanbul sports but you sort of get the picture.
This is a massive city and the ferry boat trip to their home over in another sector of Istanbul gave me a sense of the meeting of East and West. If you want to get technical, I am now in Asia.
Later we walked along the seawall where you could see dozens of ocean going vessels waiting to take the Bosphorus up to the Black Sea. The Bosphorus is sort of the equivalent of 315 in Columbus during rush hour when 315 and I-270 meet in the northbelt. Only this involves huge ocean-going vessels and one-way ship traffic during certain portions of the day between the Sea of Marmara and the Black Sea.
Amidst jet lag we ventured into the market district of their suburb (here on the Asian side of the city). This part of town has an "every city" feel about it. Neighborhoods of apartments, no single family dwellings, the call of mosques at appointed hours, auto-clogged streets, many, many restaurants and coffee shops. (Yes, Starbucks is just up the block and somewhere is a Burger King since I've seen the billboards). We spent time along the harbor and then into the winding streets of the market district. Think .... "Short North" on steroids. They have so many restaurants and "no smoking" is the order of the day inside, so there are lots of outdoor seating for the smoking (and clearly, cold) patrons if they wanted it. We ate at one of our friends' favorite restaurants. Indeed it was excellent. Can't quite describe it but everything was wonderful as the waiters offered to shake my hand and give greetings to me and all my family and ancestors.
I needed some toiletries and so we ventured in a shop. They woman looked at my gray hair and announced that I had dry hair and should have some sort of hair conditioner. I told her that at my age I was lucky to have any hair at all. I don't think Ken translated as she proceeded to try and sell a few dozen other products to me. At the check out line I gave them my debit card which was easily run through the register. The clerk was delighted at the debit card which is blue and yellow from my local bank in Lancaster. "Those are my football teams colors!" the clerk marveled as he handed it back. And the large letters of FNB (Fairfield National Bank) on the card are almost the letters of that favorite team. (Fenner Bache) the team name!
I asked (via our translator) if that would net me a discount.
"Not at all sir!" was the reply.
Nevertheless, it's a small world when the debit card of one Ohio Bank can cause an Istanbul football enthusiast to offer me a hearty greeting in Turkish on the Asian side of Istanbul.
I told him, "Go team!"
"OK! OK!" he offered with a smile.
Bob
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