“If you’re 22, physically fit, hungry to learn and be
better, I urge you to travel—as far and as widely as possible. Sleep on floors
if you have to. Find out how other people live and eat and cook. Learn from
them – wherever you go.”
- Anthony Bourdain
* * *
ISTANBUL
California knows how to party. 2Pac is louder than the fifteen other voices in the shuttle as the
headlights light up one of those universal green road signs:
"İstanbul" with a white arrow. In
the city of L.A. Mounds of apartment buildings crop up in the blackness
around us. Where are we? The driver next to me drives with one arm, the other
clutching his phone that he shouts into, pausing every so often to assure me
that my backpack that keeps shifting over the emergency break "is
okay." He makes no attempt to alter his driving as we shoot through an
automatic toll. In the city of Compton. Neon corporation signs like Toyota
light the way as the city grows denser. Minarets spear the sky. We keep it rockin'. What's better than the first glimpses of a new country? We keep it rockin'.
I'd never been so
far away from home before I went to Istanbul the last week of February. The
past few weeks since then have been so congested with midterms and the onset of
unseasonably good weather in Paris that I've put off writing about it until now. For the last spring break of my life, I traveled with my friend Rebecca and her two friends from Notre Dame who are
teaching English in France, Allison and Kelsey. Uncharacteristically, I let the
others organize most of the trip. The night before we left, I packed and
watched a few videos in a last-ditch effort to learn at least one word in
Turkish. I hadn't been to a non-Francophone, non-Anglophone country in almost
two years, so I wanted to make an effort rather than assume that the whole world speaks
English (When people say that, I want to scream). But damn, Turkish is a lot
harder for an English speaker than French. Overall, I can only recognize 'thank
you' when it's written down, but I can't tell you how it's spelled or how it's
pronounced. I can also recognize rakı
and nargile, but that's only from
experience, not from any conscious effort.
Feelings of that
great French word dépaysement ran high, the feeling of complete disorientation in a foreign environment.
I’d never been in a country where I physically and culturally stick out so much
and there’s really no way in hell that I can be mistaken for a local. I couldn’t
decipher any of the language written on signs or maps, had not a clue about the
layout of the city, didn’t know what Turkish people ate or drank or did with
their time, didn’t know how to get plastic tokens for the tram, didn’t know anything
about Istanbul. I only knew about Islam, kebabs, the Bosphorus and Liam Neeson being
a sixty-year-old badass in Taken 2. The
city just never occurred to me. It’s probably the most humbling experience to
be among thirteen million people you know nothing about and who don't know much about you either. This is one of the reasons I want the career that I do
in study abroad; encouraging young Americans to have experiences out of their
tight isolated bubbles can only be the start to overturn how we’re perceived
(And I’ve certainly heard some not-so-positive words in my time abroad). We are
woefully underprepared for the future and most of the world, believe it or not,
is not a replica of the United States.
At our hostel in
the Sultanahmet neighborhood—the tourist epicenter surrounding the Blue Mosque
and the Hagia Sophia—I met a pilot from Ohio named Austin who’d been traveling
through Africa for weeks. He was so grateful to be back in a Western country
again. This struck me because I’d never been somewhere so completely
different from anywhere I’d been in “the West.” What is “the West” anyway? Can
it be defined with borders? What makes a place “Western” or “non-Western”? I
thought about that a lot during those four days in that city where East meets West and I don't have any answers.
On our first full
day, Sunday, we took a long boat tour to the tiny fishing
village of Anadolu Kavağı—the very first time I’d ever been in Asia! We chose a
fresh sea bass and had it cooked for us for lunch and then climbed up to the
Yoros kalesi, a castle in ruins with a panoramic view of Istanbul on one side
and the Black Sea on the other.
On Monday and
Tuesday, we went into the New Mosque, the Spice Bazaar, the Topkapi Palace, the
Basilica Cistern, the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia and the Grand Bazaar, where I remembered what a pleasure it is to barter. It
rained. It was cold. I had wishfully packed things like a swimsuit, sunscreen
and a light jacket—half-thinking that Google Images is real-time photography of
the current weather—instead of a warm coat and sweaters. None of the tourist
sites were heated as far as I could tell, so I channeled my brave inner Minnesotan and
sucked it up.
The highlight of our time in Turkey was when we were fortunate to see Istanbul with a local, Atıl, the brother of a friend in Paris. Over two days, he brought us to
his university, Taksim Square, coffee shops, tea gardens, rooftop bars, most of
which were in non-tourist areas far from the city center, while introducing us
to rakı, ayran, chai tea, Turkish coffee, salep and nargile. It was so much fun to have an authentic experience in this city I knew nothing about. I’ve
never had so much tea in my entire life.
It always starts off with a car here. Greece is the only foreign country I've driven in and I love it. With less than two minutes of paperwork, instructions and a seventy-euro fee (
last time no one even asked for a valid driver's license), we sped away from the airport in Heraklion along cliffs in our tiny red Toyota, elated to have a touch of American freedom usually stunted by the practicality of the Paris métro (Not that I've ever wanted to sit behind the wheel in Paris. Ever.). Orange sellers in shacks dotted the highway along the north coast en route to the Venetian port city of Rethymnon and I thought, what if I quit grad school and sold oranges on a Greek island? I'm still holding that as an option.
Our hostel was in the Old Town of Rethymnon and not accessible at all by car. The only worker was a little day-drunk and had holes in his pants, but hey, no judgment. We didn't stay in our hostel really at all other than to sleep and use the outdoor showers, which was a little unsettling knowing Holes-In-His-Pants was floating around somewhere. We ran to the port to catch the one Cretan sunset we'd see on this trip and had dinner along the water with "a dessert on the house" which was fruit and
ouzo, neither of which are dessert in my vocabulary, but are always welcomed. And we saw stars-
in the sky. I can't remember the last time I saw those.
The next day, I drove us west to Georgioupolis to go
horseback riding. The "road" up to the ranch was more of what I'd imagine the ground to look like after a giant avalanche goes by. Water from puddles washed up over the hood and it's a miracle that I didn't lose any teeth on the steering wheel. A Belgian named Kristi greeted us enthusiastically outside the stable and within a few minutes we were on horses. The last time I rode a horse, I think I was three and it was a pony. But it didn't matter. I got so used to it that I can only describe as like driving a car that has opinions. We rode down the mountain through a river, olive groves, mulberry trees, lemon trees, a marina and the little town of Georgioupolis. It was so peaceful to feel the sun on my face, the scent of olives in the air, and have no technology in my hands. I may live in a big city, but I think my heart is in these sorts of quiet places.
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| Fortress of Rethymnon |
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| Georgioupolis |
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| Georgioupolis |
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| Georgioupolis |
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| Rethymnon |
There are few things that I hate more than alarms. The intercom on the ferry jolted us up only a few hours after I'd fallen asleep and the sky was still black. I have no idea what time it was. Normally, if I have no engagements for the day, I'll sleep until the afternoon, so this was just unpleasant. We threw our shit together and took the train into Athens to the touristy Plaka neighborhood. Thankfully the others weren't so anti-morning and were able to navigate. I, on the other hand, napped the first chance I got.
At the Acropolis, I was denied my customary EU student discount, even though I showed the bitch woman working my EU student visa. She wanted to see my student ID. What is more official than a sticker stamped by the French government in my passport issued by the American government? Apparently the plastic card with a worn-off picture of me that I left in Paris. Every other place in Europe has accepted my visa. I'm the type to just eat a raw steak even if I ordered it well-done, so it was surprising even to me when I started raising my voice at the employees and saying things I shouldn't have. But she shouldn't have denied me.
I'll never forget the first time that I saw the Eiffel Tower and wondered why it was brown and not black like I'd pictured. Something is always a little off when you see famous sites in person for the first time. Standing beside the Parthenon, it looked exactly how I'd pictured it but then again, not at all. Was it bigger? Smaller? Older? Newer? I still don't think what I saw has registered in me.
We went to the new Acropolis Museum nearby and tagged along behind a tour group with bodyguards who we presumed were EU delegates in town. Overwhelmed by statues and dates and facts and pottery, we left in a state of straight-up delirium. We drank coffee and shopped and ate dinner for the rest of the evening in the company of traditional Greek music. Or something like that. I was tired.
If you read till the end, congratulations. It was long, and I apologize. For all of my pictures, head to my
Flickr.
Love,
Rachel
