Turkish Delight

The buddymollys are settling back into our cozy German lifestyle, having returned more than week ago from our 10-day Turkish adventure.

The trip itself was an epic journey consisting of a weeklong Yoga retreat in Kabak Valley (deep south, along the Mediterranean coast) and a whirlwind two-day scramble through Istanbul.

We feel the whole journey is too much for one blog entry (we know your short attention span, readers) so I will take the book-ends, telling the tale of the start and end of the journey and Jeremy will expose the creamy Yoga center in a later entry … e-oh-oh! Stay tuned!

Additionally, we have no photographs of this part of the journey because day 3 of our yoga trip, while on a small fishing boat, Jeremy and I inadvertently decided to give up our travel camera as an offering, in which the gods of the sea accepted with might, pulled down the depths of the Mediterranean and are currently wading in our captured memories.

Ho hum.

Airport Mayhem

To begin, a few short weeks ago, we boarded a train to Nuremburg to catch our Turkish Airlines flight to Dalaman airport in Southern Turkey, with a quick change-over in Istanbul.

Our first flight left a half an hour late and circled above the Istanbul airport for another 30 minutes due to a traffic jam. We, however, distracted by the awesome airplane food, failed notice the delay. (That’s right, not only do they feed you on the short flight, but the food is also good!)

With only two scheduled hours between our flights, we were in a bit of a rush once we landed. And little did we know you needed to purchase a visa and then (and only then) go through passport control.

By the time we finished all of these tasks and continued through the endless lines, we had six minutes to get through security and make our flight.

Only one thing to do in a situation like this – run.

Apparently running through an airport raises some suspicion (who knew?) and numerous people attempted to stop us. Jeremy ignored most, continuing a few strides ahead of me. At one point I pointed out our flight number on the television screen to a frantically waving “airport security guy” at which time he gave me the international signal for “run like the wind.”

How we made it through the screening area without being stopped and searched, I’ll never know. We placed our backpacks on the revolving belt – ran through the metal detector (both of us beeped), grabbed our bags and continued the sprint. The guards watched us the whole time, heads cocked, jaws dropped a bit, foreheads wrinkled and face that read “what the ...? ” – but oddly, no one tried to stop us.

We found our gate, which had changed again, so we ran the few steps to the newly changed gate number as the shuttlebus door was closing. A hearty “wait!” opened the doors once again and allowed us to enter.

Sweating and exhausted, we checked to make we didn’t lose anything, then high-fived to our success. We were on our way.

We landed in Dalaman a few hours later and stepped into the hot Turkish air. Although it was well after 9 p.m., the summer heat was upon us – and we couldn’t be happier.

We hopped into the cab that was waiting for us and began the hour-and-a-half trek to the Kabak Valley, which was an adventure in itself. We picked up and dropped off numerous friends of the cabbie, changed cabs, a leopard print 4-runner being the latter, and held on for dear life while driving down steep mountain roads. At one point, we were left in the car while the cab driver made a house call. (Feel free to raise your own suspicions about this …)

At last – around midnight, we arrived to our destination and were welcomed as if we were family. Thus began another chapter.

Nobody’s business but the Turks

After the week ended we made the same trek back to Dalaman Airport for the short flight to Istanbul, arriving early Sunday afternoon.

As we stepped into a cab bound for our hostel, an earlier suspicion about cab drivers was solidified - techno music is, in fact, the theme music of Turkish cab drivers, and those white lines in the middle of the road, mere suggestions.

The costal drive to the Old City left us mesmerized by the amount of people lounging up on the grassy knolls. We both independently thought of Kapiolani Park in Honolulu on a holiday weekend … times 100,000.

The smell of grilled kebabs permeated the air and small children floated in makeshift hammocks. As we looked to the left, numerous mosques poked out between buildings every few blocks.

Our first stop was the Blue Mosque. The cascading domes and six slender minarets of the mosque dominate the skyline of Istanbul, and the 20,000 blue tiles (hence the name) fixed to the high ceiling of the inside was just as impressive.

Istanbul itself is a European capital of culture. It bridges the gap between traditional culture and modern living the same way it bridges the gap between Europe and Asia. We lost ourselves in these traditions our first day, wandering through the city, barely breaking the surface, listening to the “calls to prayer” and watching locals mix with tourists.

The next day we explored the Grand Bazaar. Fitting name, the place is HUGE! (31 thousand square meters to be exact.) Vendors vie for your time (and money!) offering goods ranging from jewelry to ceramics to carpets and textiles.

“Hayır, teşekkür!” (pronounced “Hi-yur Tesh-sheh-kewr” Meaning: no thanks) became our mantra as we fought our way through the bazaar, looking for our only desired purchase – an authentic backgammon board (referred to as Tavla in Turkish.)

We chose one store with an impressive selection of boards and began our game of good cop bad cop, (starring Jeremy as bad cop and myself as good cop.) After showing us a “designer” board, the vendor started the bidding at 180 Turkish lira, which is about $120.

Jeremy: “20”

Vendor: “160”

“20”

“140”

“20”

“100”

“20”

In my good cop role I stated, “Maybe we could spend a bit more, what about 40?”

“20,” said Jeremy.

The vendor then showed us the “designer” logo on the board (one he obviously nailed on himself…)

“20,” said Jeremy.

The vendor then turned to him and said “You do not want this board,” pointed to me and said “You want this board.” He then explained that we would never find a board that cheap in all of Turkey.

“20,” said Jeremy.

Not willing to pay his final offer of 80 Turkish lira, we said ““Hayır, teşekkür” and stepped out of his store. He followed us a few steps and shouted “Don’t talk to those Americans, they have no money!”

This made us laugh as we turned the corner, easily losing the vendor who chided us and once again finding ourselves in a madhouse of Turkish goods.

We continued our stroll a few streets from the Bazaar and found the exact same backgammon board for 25 Turkish lira. (score!)

We then saunter through the equally impressive spice market, ate the best döner kebab of our lives and shopped for hand-blown glass tea sets, and fancy tea to put in it.

The Dylan Experiment

Later that night, we tried our luck at the open-air theater on the outskirts of the New City. On the flight over we read Bob Dylan was playing the only full day we happened to be in town. (Fortuitous, no?) And, as to be expected in a tiny 2,000-folk venue, the concert was sold out.

So we pulled a drawing of our friend Jeb out of Jeremy’s sketchbook, turned him over and wrote “Need 2 tickets” on the back. Jeb always brings us luck. We also added a “bitte” (German for “please”) for extra luck.

The sign got a ton of laughs, numerous smiles, one sad face and various offers ranging from 500 Turkish lira tickets to the “cheap” ones of 180. (We weren’t packing that much cash and were forced to decline.)

We took a break, as sign holding can really make you thirsty, and picked up a few beers and a bottle of raki (the official “firewater” of Turkey) at a local grocery store.

We opened our beers and continued our ploy for tickets. If anything, we thought, the sign was an awesome social experiment. Numerous people from all over the world stopped to talk to us and we even became a meeting point.

“Hey, I’m right next to the two people holding the Need 2 tickets, bitte sign.”

“Oh yeah, I just passed them, be right there.”

Our last-ditch attempt came 5 minutes before show time. We repositioned ourselves right by the entrance when a young couple came up offering us tickets – for less than 100 Turkish lira each. We didn’t have assigned seats, but were able to sit on the stairs. (A fire hazard for sure in the states ...)

We hid our unopened bottle of raki under a bush and entered the venue. (The bottle was still there later …)

The concert itself was amazing. Dylan rocked the harp and showed that music truly is a universal language. For almost two hours, the crowd swayed in unison and sang along.

Dylan ended the night singing “How does it feel?” We ended the night at a hookah lounge, relaxing on pillows, smoking apple-flavored tobacco out of a water pipe, and asking ourselves the same question.

The conclusion: like a rolling stone.