Istanbul (August 17th): I'm coming home.

[parasitegirl]

August 17,

My last morning in Istanbul was here.

(once again the link for photos for day 7-10 http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137290&id=644629953&l=d6ec884c4f )

 

I woke up, packed a little, and went up stairs to the breakfast-roof.

 

I looked out over all the other tourist hotels and hostels, at all the other tourists eating their breakfasts at their rooftop terraces, and past it to the water.

 

I love water.

 

I also love coffee, feta cheese, olive paste, tomatoes, grapes, bread, yogurt with honey, so all was good. I don’t love bees landing on my honey, but like the carpet men, it’s nothing personal. It’s what they do.

 

 

I walked to Zeynel Abdin Cumbus to try, once more, to buy zills. They were open.

 

I indicated the heavier zills they were selling, dismissing the light, decorated, tourist zills. I indicated I was looking for onces like that but bigger. They brought out bigger.. I placed the small zills on the counter and the larger ones next to them. I made a show of moving the large zills so there was a space between the two and pointed to the empty space. Did they have that size? Medium.

 

All out, getting more in in September…they’d check the other location. I told them I know, location two was aaaaallllll out as well.

 

I put on the small zills and proceeded to play. They were “one-holers” instead of “two-slots” but I liked the weight and subdued sound. The man behind the counter was suitably surprised and pleased by my playing.

 

How much? 15 Lira.

 

15 Lira! I could buy these, with the ugly/beautiful shirt I had been debating…with 1-2 lira to spare! SCORE! BUY BUY BUY!

 

Then I went to the Yeni Cami (The New Mosque…it’s free!) and enjoyed the coolness of the mosque. I exited to take pictures of the multitude of pigeons.

 

I walked one more time through the Spice (Egyptian) Bazzar and ended up talking in Japanese with a vendor of Turkish sweets. I ate for free and gave him my card.

 

It was still before 11, so I headed back to the hotel to shower and checkout.

 

I settled up at the front desk, paying in cash, and double-checked my shuttle time. I pulled my now heavy suitcase towards the front desk for them to keep until I departed.

 

Now with only my Akbil, my camera, some bottled water, and 6.45 Lira, I went out. I tool the tram to the funicular and set to walking back to my hotel and shopping a little.

 

The day before I’d asked Gonul if she knew what was up with the yellow fist graphiti. She asked me what I was talking about…so I took some photos of it on my last day.

 

I ate menemen with cheese, and drank Ayran, at a small café and payed with the card (a small 8 lira plus tip). I clicked and walked…

 

Near Eminonu I proudly bought the ugly shirt.

 

I decided to walk around the Egyptian Bazzar one last time, to window shop at the store with three floors of sewing bling. I had bought copper charms there earlier for some upcoming projects.

 

It was then that I started ducking down doorways I hadn’t notices before.

 

It was then that I found myself walking down, down, down, stairs past tiny store after store of…beads…sequins…acrylic fringes…rhinestones…It literally took my breath away for a moment. I filled my lungs and looked around. With less that 2 Lira in my wallet, I was surrounded by the one thing I’d insisted I’d wanted to buy while in Istanbul: more than costumes, I’d wanted to buy raw materials for costumes, and here there were stores underground and above. Stores everywhere on this tiny street just steps beyond where I had walked days before.

 

I laughed. I hadn’t known I’d come back to Istanbul before, this was a pretty huge sign recommending I return again. A huge, bead-encrusted, sign.

 

I had arrived and I was leaving.

 

I took two pictures of store fronts, to remember the area. If you’re going there it is Marputcular Cad. The well known store is listed on Meisoon’s guide to shopping in Istanbul and is at #4, but that street has many doors leading to underground shoping, and many stores on the street. If you go there, caress the huge baggies of beads and whisper “Ozma, she will come for you.” gently to them.

 

Laughing to myself I went back to my hotel. I bought a Fanta, for the sugar and water I now needed, and sat in the front lobby waiting for the shuttle. Suleman was working on updating the webpage, but last I checked it was the same I’d used when I booked myself in at the Hanedan Hotel.

 

My shuttle came.

 

I rode in the back as the shuttled when from hotel to hotel until it was full. I talked for a while with an older Swedish gentleman who had been invited to travel by a Turkish Woman he’d met in Sweden…and he didn’t regret it. We talked a bit, looked foolishly out the window, and talked.

 

We passed the absurd “Thumbs up” Sansung statue near the airport.

 

The airport was, thankfully, uneventful, although my plane was delayed an hour.

 

I purchased the required honorable gifts for my co-workers.

 

I sat with the cute Japanese boy and a new Japanese girl who had also been traveling solo. We looked at eachother’s pictures, talked fashion, compared cel phones…but were all in separate areas of the plane. We went past some more security after waiting and were separated.

 

An Egyptian guy chatted me up and fed me crackers…and was suitably amused by my ability to say thank you in Arabic. He asked me questions about Japan and I answered them. He told me he was single but he planned to be married in the next year, but he hadn’t found the woman yet. He wondered if we could get our seats moved together, but I doubted it…it was a full flight running late. Besides, I told him, the girl seated next to him might be his future wife. He laughed.

 

We boarded our flight. I waved goodbye to him.

 

I slept a little on the plane. They had a (bbc?) audio radio series (a mockumentary) following Flight of the Choncords (pre-tv show) which I listened to at least twice (because I kept falling asleep).

 

At the airport the cute boy bid me farewell and told me he’ email to see when I was dancing in Nakameguro because a trip from Yokohama to Nakamegru is do-able…but that he’d need a few weeks to rest up from travel. I haven’t heard from him and don’t hold my breath. I never got his card…although I do have a card from a carpet man in Istanbul with a Japanese girl’s name and text address written on the back of it.

 

I rode the train home with my luggage (which had not been over the weight limits). On the train I clicked pictures and uploaded a few to my Facebook. I sent out ただいま！texts to announce my return.

 

Around 4PM I exited at my station and walked to my apartment, stopping at a convini to buy enough food for that evening and the next morning) on the way.

 

I was home.

 

I tossed off my sweaty clothing, I luxuriated in my own, familiar shower, and relaxed. Tomorrow I would be back to work. In two days I would start three nights of restaurant shows. In seven days I would be giving a speech in Japanese and leading a workshop…but for now I was home. I sunk into that sensation you get when you return, that sensation where the reality of what you’ve done and where you’ve been is still with you before the unreality of having gone somewhere snatches your travels away from you.