(source: pixiv)
Flying out there tomorrow!!
You jelly, bitches?
Princes Islands. Istanbul, Turkey.
May 23rd Journal Entry continued:
It was overcast when we boarded the ferry and more than a bit chilly, but I wanted to sit outside. The tour guide had us all sit together; and it felt like an elementary school field trip.
The Indian boy settled into his seat and immediately began to chain smoke and down cups of very strong çay/tea. Our guide pulled a glossy car magazine out of his bag and leafed through it, while the honeymoon couples snuggled together and ate snacks that they had picked up at the boat terminal.
The wooden bench seats were not very comfortable. I stood at the railing for a long time and snapped pictures.
The trip lasted about 90 minutes and the boat stopped 4 places (a busy harbor on the Asian side of Istanbul and 3 of the smaller Princes Islands) before our destination in Buyukada.
Buyukada was large, but about half of it appeared to be wild, green and covered in cypress trees.
The guide arranged for us to take a short tour of the island by horse cart (no cars allowed). I was worried that I would be paired with the unpleasant Indian boy, because we were both traveling alone. Thankfully, the guide wanted three people per cart, so I happily joined the Moroccan couple in a brightly colored “surrey with the fringe on top.”
The driver flew up and down the hilly streets, jostling us around in the back as we craned our necks to catch a glimpse of the sea or a majestic house from under the fringed roof of our cart.
At the top of the island we drove through a nature park, which was pretty much deserted expect for a group of teenagers lounging on the grass drinking beer. They gave us dirty looks as we trotted past and it was a little unnerving. I wouldn’t have wanted to encounter them in that isolated park alone! We passed an unused playground with ponies tied to the swing set and slide.
The Morrocan husband spoke a little English, but his wife none. And as I speak no Arabic or French, we tried to converse in stilted English. He urged me to visit Morocco and offered to give me their address, adding “You are Welcome!” They were very friendly, but with limited language, we soon ran out of things to say and enjoyed the rest of the ride in silence. The horse cart dropped us off in the center of the village and we went our separate ways for an hour of free time.
I wandered up one of the steep, winding streets and discovered wooden houses, each more exquisite than the last. Some were in pristine condition, with lush gardens behind imposing gates.
Others were dilapidated with sagging roofs and peeling paint. A few were abject ruins.
It was quite sad to see these once grand residences neglected and rotting, but still holding onto their privileged view of the sea.
Even the ruined houses had an air of mystery and grandeur to them. A crumbling marble pillar or sagging coffered ceiling gave me a glimpse of what they must have looked like standing tall, proud and glorious in the Mediterranean sunshine. I would love to go back to the Princes Islands with more time to explore these historic beauties.
The group reconvened for lunch in a charming little fish restaurant on the water. A stray cat sidled up to my chair and reached up to paw my leg, begging for fish. I indulged the little guy a few pieces before the waiter returned and frightened him away.
The Indian boy was late for lunch and turned up his nose at the plate of aromatic mezze/appetizers.
“I can’t eat THAT food,” he informed us. I wondered if it had something to do with his view of Turkey, which he readily shared with me on the boat ride out.
“The Turks are bad people; you should not associate with any of them,” he told me in an arrogant tone.
“Why not?” I queried.
“They are not friendly and not honest,” he said. When I challenged this and told him that all of the Turkish people I had met were very nice, he puffed on his cigarette and looked bored.
After the satisfying lunch of fried fish and salad, we had a few minutes of unscheduled time to relax along the waterfront and let our food digest before boarding the return ferry. I found a quiet spot where stone steps go down to the water and laid on my back soaking up the sun. It was wonderful, but I found myself wishing that Mark was there to “max and relax” with me.
The guide let us choose our own seats on the crowded return ferry. So, I snagged a spot on deck near the railing. A retired American couple came to sit by me and I chatted with the wife about their trip so far. She said that her favorite place was Cappadocia (which she mispronounced). She marveled that after a dinner in the countryside there, they were given fat, fresh lemons to squeeze over their hands.
A minibus met us at the ferry terminal and dropped me back at Hotel Divan. I managed to stay awake long enough to grab a strange fruit cake/scone type pastry for dinner and talk to Mark on the phone. I fell asleep watching TV around 7pm. At 9pm, the phone rang. It was a woman’s voice saying “Hello, Erika?” in heavily accented English.
“Um, Yes, this is Erika.”
“Helloooo Erika, here is your Mummy!!” Apparently my Mom needed help using the phone at their rural hotel and had asked the desk clerk to make a call for her. After a brief chat with my parents (assuring them that I was fine, the tour bus had delivered me back to the hotel as planned, all was well, etc.), I closed my eyes and slept like a baby. “Mummy” would have approved.
Syrians flee imminent assault on town
Tanks surround Maarat al-Numan ahead of military offensive, prompting an exodus of residents from the northern town.
15 June 2011
A headboard with history.
More UChicago rising fourth-years pursuing international travel fun!
So…a couple things going on here. See that guy? He has two guns next to him. See that awesome stone thing in front of him? That’s an aquaduct (how freaking cool). See those bottles? We are pretty sure that you could give this guy money and play some sort of shoot the bottle thing. He was praying though, so we didn’t interrupt him. That and there’s the fact that two white boys would have been shooting guns at an ancient aquaduct in front of a giant mosque with a guy who most likely didn’t speak english…in Turkey.
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