Krisia's place...

last update: Sunday, May 12, 2002

Last Monday, April 29th, the 9th day of Ridvan, I made the decision to join some friends on a long weekend trip to Turkey. We had Thursday off, which was the 12th day of Ridvan, and I managed to get permission for Sunday off as well. We got a great deal which was for airfare, hotel, breakfast and airport transfers, and 3 friends of mine were looking for a fourth for their group. So on Tuesday, Bahiyyih from Belize, Tahirih from Brazil, Elly from Australia and I booked our trip. We had found out that some other people were taking advantage of the offer, Sara from Honduras and Sheeda from Oklahoma were also doing the same thing and 4 guys, Jack Power (a.k.a. John, a.k.a Gabe), Farzan, Paul (a.k.a. Omeed) and Amin were also going. Sheeda and Sara and the guys had already booked and were staying in the same hotel so we decided to stay in that hotel as well. However, when we called the travel agency, that hotel was full and we had to get a 3* hotel for the same price as the 4* one we had chosen. It wasn't too far away so we decided to go with it, since our other choices weren't all that great. Thursday morning at 10, the 10 of us piled into a sherut we had booked and headed for Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv for our flight. 

So why were we going so early? No one really knows for sure. The flight was at 4:30 p.m., the airport was an hour and 45 minutes away, we needed to be there 3 hours before check-in. There had been some confusion along the way anyway, at different times in the last 3 days, our flight had been scheduled at 3:00, 2:00 and 4:30, each group with different information and leading us to believe that we were all on different flights.... "What carrier are you flying? Air Anatolya? So are we! Our flight's at 3:00... your's is at 4:30? oh ok, we'll see you in Turkey" Conversations like that. Until in the sherut we realised that we were all on the same flight, after all Air Anatolya can't really have all that many flights from Tel Aviv to Istanbul right?

So we are in the sherut discussing the fact that we are hours early and there was really no reason to have left so early, when Paul, who has been sitting quietly in the front seat, turns around and says "I'm sorry guys". Now we felt really bad. Here he had arranged for a sherut for all of us and we're complaining. The sherut pulled over at the side of the highway, about 10 minutes outside of Tel Aviv. I don't know about anyone else, but I was confused. I mean, ok, we were complaining, but that's no reason to get the driver to pull over. Everything became clear a second later when he said "I'm sorry" again, and explained, "I drank a litre and a half of water before I left home. I gotta go." And hops out of the sherut, steps over the low railing into the grassy median strip, and relieves himself, with a carload of laughter behind him, and a highway-ful of traffic directly in front. We were all now in an even more cheery mood and full of laughter, which Paul good-naturedly joined us in. Ready to start our trip.... Well as soon as the checkin counter opens, because we still had an hour and a half to wait....

So without any major international incidents, we go through the mandatory pre-check-in interrogation and luggage check, check in, walk through all the metal detectors, removing keys, wallets, chewing gum wrappers, belts, and whatever else sets them off, and we end up on our luxurious Air Anatolya flight direct to Istanbul. 

At this point I was thrumming with excitement. This would be my first time returning to that beautiful city since I left in July 1991. When I left I knew I would be back, and I knew it was like my second home. Since then I've lived in Barbados, Trinidad, Canada, Bermuda (again) and Israel. I was a 16-year-old the first time I arrived there, and now I'm 28. Many of the people I knew then, I hadn't been in touch with since I left, and I had seen no one. It was a chapter of my life that changed it and changed me, but there was no connection to it since then. I had gone online the night before and had in my notebook contact numbers for my host families and about 4 or 5 friends that I wanted to be in touch with and was able to find telephone numbers for (thanks to google.com!). Other than that, I was wandering blind into a city that I had known long before like the back of my hand and I had no idea what to expect.

We were flying over Turkey, admiring the snowy mountains and glassy lakes, the colourful patchwork quilt of farmland below and the cottony clouds billowing around us. Suddenly, the aircraft started to shake. Turbulence... no problem. I've flown enough to know that it happens, sometimes worse than others, and if it lasts too long, the pilot will gain some altitude or get around whatever is causing it. It was hard to explain this to the really sweet Philipino Jehovah's Witness lady who was in the seat next to me. One minute we were involved in pleasant conversation about the scenery, the next she has my arm in a vice-like grip and has somehow managed to commandeer my seat belt with the other hand. The seat belt light comes on, recently-served food and drink are bouncing off tray tables and into the aisles, passengers are screaming, and the seat belt light comes on. The pilot announces (in Turkish of course - since on the stewardesses and I can understand...) that we are having turbulence and will gain some altitude to avoid it. The English translation goes unheard amidst the screams of frightened passengers. It wasn't all that bad. There were a couple of air pockets, and pretty shaky flying, but the screaming of a couple of nervous fliers did nothing to calm everyone else down.... So after about a minute or so of this, and a minute is a long time to be held in a vice grip with screaming in your right ear, we made it out over the cloud we were in, and the air was smooth. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief, for me it was as much for the silence as for the smooth ride again. A few seconds later, as we all faced the front of the plane in our seats, still buckled in, obedient to the seat belt sign, the door to the lavatory opens, and a shaken Amin stumbles out, as if expecting to see a catastrophe. Holding his pants up with one hand, the other grabbing the wall for support, he looks around, sees that we are all still there, we are still in the air and all is well. He raises both hands in a celebratory manner, and the whole planeload of passengers break out into relieved laughter and applause. Poor Amin! I will leave you to imagine what was going on in the tiny little airplane bathroom as the aircraft bounced around, listed left and right dropped a few feet in air pockets and finally gained altitude. Suffice it to say, the next passenger who needed to go, opened the door, looked in, and changed his mind. The bathroom remained vacant for the rest of the flight.

We arrived in Istanbul. I had never actually flown into Ataturk Airport before. When I went, we flew to Ankara, spent a couple of days there in orientation, and then took a train to Istanbul. Flying over the city, it came back to me in a rush, where everything was, what bus to catch where, how to get the seabus to the Asian side... things I didn't know I had forgotten about. The neighbourhood where I lived for the last 7 months there, was right next to the airport, and I was able to see how much it had grown, and how many new buildings had gone up since then. Istanbul had really grown in that 11 years. 

We disembarked, purchased our Visa stamps (except Sara, who, for the first time, found having a Honduras passport to her advantage!) and made it through immigration. Collected the few bags there were to collect, and headed out. We were met at the exit by our Flying Carpet tours representative. She soon realised that we were all travelling as a group, and once we had everyone corralled, she checked our names off her list. We were the last for our bus. She looked at us and said, "who is Nanda?" [the name of our hotel], and the 4 of us raised our hands. "who is Zurich?" [the other hotel], and the other 6 raised their hands. "I have a surprise for you. Merit Antique Hotel. Five stars. All of you. Come. Hurry." The realisation came slowly... "all of us?", "yes, come now." We went. Ta-da! we'd been upgraded. 

On the bus ride to our hotel, I sat next to the window and absorbed the sights and was flooded by memories. There was the bus stop where I had to change buses to go home. There was the mall where Kristin and I used to go to hang out. There was that baklava place that had the best ones! A lot had changed though. There were a lot more buildings in between. There were more shops, more cars, more people. There were a lot more trees than I remember. Maybe because back then I was coming from Bermuda, and this time I was coming from Haifa, I don't know. But it was the Istanbul I remembered. I started then to think about how I would spend the next evening, 2 days and one morning - not nearly long enough!

We arrived at our hotel, and were dazzled by the beauty. Right in the heart of the old city. The metro right outside, 5 minutes' walk from the Grand Bazaar, 5 minutes' taxi ride from Taksim and Beyoglu and all the cool stuff. Four metro stops from the Blue Mosque and the Ayasofia Mosque. It was ideal.

We were shown to our rooms, Ba and I were sharing, and it was great. The beds were like heaven. Down comforter, down pillows, and a mattress TDF! Sara and I are convinced that that's where the extra 2 stars came from. The bed. The satellite t.v. and radio in our room, and the swimming pool and gym downstairs were nice touches, but we didn't think we would use them at all.... we were going to explore Istanbul!

My Turkish came back to me as though I had never left. From the time we were in the airplane, if I heard something in Turkish, I automatically spoke Turkish back. It was great. I remembered words I didn't even know I knew! I didn't have to think about it. It didn't feel like any time had passed. There was a distinct pattern to all the conversations then, and for the duration of the trip:

Other Person: [something in Turkish]

Krisia: [appropriate reply in Turkish]

OP: eyes bugging out Where are you from?

Krisia: Bermuda

OP: Where did you learn Turkish?

K: Here. I lived here for a year 11 years ago.

OP: Wow, you're Turkish is very good.

K: Thank you. (and sometimes adding) Yours too! :)

So that was generally the reaction to me speaking Turkish. In many cases it was also followed by an offer of tea, a lower price than that which we had already bargained, or some other warm gesture. They liked it :o)

So it was about 7:30ish and we decided to go to Taksim. Taksim is a huge square, and from it there are a number of streets radiating. One of them is called Istiklal Caddesi. It is all pedestrian, very wide with cobblestones. There is a tram that runs up the centre of it and it is lined with clothing stores, bakeries, restaurants, cinemas and a variety of shops. It's a popular place to go and hang out and a large part of my year in Turkey was spent walking up and down Istiklal Caddesi. The area is known as Beyoglu. There are also a large number of lanes that run perpendicular to it, which also contain more shops, discos and stuff. And a few of the places are small malls. 

So our group went to Beyoglu. (For all intents and purposes, from hereon in, "the group" refers to the 6 girls. The guys did their own thing for the whole trip. We hardly saw them). We hopped into 2 taxis and 4 minutes and a harrowing ride later we were there. I was also reminded how crazy the driving in Istanbul is!

We wandered up and down the street. Wandering in and out of stores. Everyone marvelled at the prices, which were a little hard to translate into dollars.... The exchange rate is $1 = 1,350,000 Turkish Lira. Yes, one million, three hundred and fifty thousand. All of the bills have at least 5 zeroes so it is hard to distinguish between 5000000 lira and 50000000 lira. But it's like the difference between $3.00 and $30.00. Big difference. This was coupled with the fact that sometimes when you ask the price they leave off the last 3 zeroes. So if the price is 8,250,000, they would say eight thousand two hundred and fifty, or better yet, eighty-two fifty. Figure that out! It was totally confusing and a lot of fun.

We went for dinner in a nice restaurant in Beyoglu. I missed Turkish food a lot in the interim years. It was nice to be able to share the places I remember liking and the food I remember enjoying and the things I liked to do, with others and have them enjoy them as well. We went back to the hotel and I made some phone callse. I got in touch with an old friend, Tolga, and we arranged to call again and set a time so that we could see each other again. I thought it was too late to call my host families, so I went up to my room and called for a 6:30 wake up call so we could be the first down to breakfast and enjoy our Istanbul adventure. Despite the excitement, we sank into our beds made luxurious through the sacrifices of countless young goslings, and slept peacefully.

Friday, May 3, 2002

Wake up call came, and sure enough, the 6 of us were first to breakfast at 7. The traditional Turkish breakfast of fresh breads, boiled eggs, cheese, cucumber, tomato, cereals, yogurt and plenty of fresh fruits was served and supplemented with the more western omelette bar, sausages, hash browns and other stuff. We ate quickly, washed it down with some good Turkish Chay and got ready to go. I called a couple of my host families. One of them was no longer living there and had no contact information. The Baha'i family I had stayed with was all over the place. My host brother (who was 11 at the time) was preparing to graduate from the university of Florida, and his mom was already there with him. His father, who I spoke to, was on his way to catch a plane to join them. I got their e-mail address though. The other family I managed to reach. My host sister (who had been 14 and is now 26), invited me to dinner that night. She said I could bring one or 2 of my friends and we would surprise the family. 

We headed out to the Grand Bazaar. Shopping was fun, bargaining in Turkish, exploring the areas of the Bazaar - leather, silver, gold, clothing, spices, everything, was cool. We walked through the Kapali Carsi (covered bazaar), out into the Grand Bazaar and all the way through to the Spice Bazaar. Then we went back to the covered bazaar and bought a few things, and found our way to the ferry terminal. I was trying to share with everyone in the group the experience of the different modes of transportation. For Kristin and I when we were there, a fun activity was taking one form of transportation after another, getting out wherever it was going, or somewhere that looked fun on the way, and exploring it, then trying to find another way home using different transportation. With buses, trains, metro, tram, ferry, subway, sea bus, minibus, dolmus and as a last resort, taxis at our disposal, we had a great time. Obviously we didn't have time to do that with only 2 full days, but we did sample a large selection of modes of transportation. So anyway, we caught a ferry across the Bosphorus, enjoying the sights along the way, castles, forts, and of course, mosques. It was beautiful.

In Kadikoy, on the Asian side of Istanbul, we caught a dolmus to Erenkoy. from there we walked to the main street with lots of shops and stuff. This area is more like what people are used to in a European city. It's kind of funny that the Asian side is more European, and the Europe side is more Middle Eastern... Anyway, we walked around until our legs hurt, then caught a minibus back to Taksim. Everyone was exhausted and was having fantasies about our down pillows at the hotel, so we went home for a nap. 

Dinner with the Urfalilars.

We arrived home at about 6, giving us about an hour before we had to leave for dinner with my host family. When I called, my host sister said that I could bring 1 or 2 friends (i think 6 dinner guests at short notice would have been kind of overwhelming), so Ba and Sara agreed to join me. 

From the hotel we took a bus to Bakirkoy at 7 p.m. Usually this ride is about 30 minutes. I remembered this from the time I was living there. I totally forgot that it was Friday evening and there were times when that same trip took 3 hours because of traffic. We were lucky, it only took about an hour and a quarter. Sometime along the way I struggled to remember whether we were supposed to be there at 7:30 or 8 p.m. There had been a lot of back and forth on the phone, and all day I had been thinking 8 but at that point I had a sneaking suspicion that it was supposed to be 7:30. By then it was about 8 anyway and we still had to take a taxi from Bakirkoy to Bahcelievler, where they lived. We jumped out of the bus and ran to the taxi stand and it was at that point that I realised that the little piece of paper with the address and phone number was on the table in the hotel room. I remembered the street name though. It's kind of funny... Deli Huseyin Pasha Street. "Deli" means crazy in Turkish, so it was the street named after crazy Huseyin Pasha. The only problem is that no one ever knows where this street is and they always think you are making up the name, or that you got it wrong because you can't really mean "deli" right? Some things don't change in 11 years. The taxi driver had no clue where to go. He pulled up next to a minibus and asked for directions. As we drove along side by side, the minibus driver leaning over his front seat passenger shouting directions to our taxi driver who was half listening, half avoiding the pedestrians and other vehicles, we realised that it was futile. The taxi driver couldn't listen and keep up at the same time without causing a major accident. So he let the minibus get in front, and at the next stop sigh they tried again. The light turned green too soon, so the minibus driver instructed our taxi to follow him, took a detour off his route, and in a typical display of Turkish friendliness, showed our taxi driver the way to the street. It was only a few minutes away from where we were but it was such a nice gesture.

Now we were on the right street but I couldn't remember the street number of the house.... 32... I think. He dropped us off at 32, it was NOT the house, I knew that for sure. Oh yeah! It's 37... that should be just a few houses away and across the street though, so we got out and paid the taxi driver. At this point it was nearly 8:20 and I was more and more sure that 7:30 was the agreed time. It had also gotten really cold! So I call from a payphone, somehow I remembered the phone number, a combination of learning it 12 years before, and calling it once that morning. Anyway, she confirmed that it was 37 and we told her we'd be there in a minute.

We crossed the street. If 32 was on the other side, this should be either 31 or 33 right? Wrong. It was 65!!!! A young boy in his teens walked by and I stopped him to ask if he knew where 37 was. He told us to hold on, ran across the street to ask at the store, and they didn't know. He told us to wait again, then ran to the building we were at to make sure of the number. He then ran to the next building to check the number. He came back and informed us that the next was 63, so if we went that way we would get to 37. It was cold, and we were still blocks away from our destination! So we huddled together for warmth and jogged to the apartment. Sure enough, it was the same familiar place.

We finally arrived, and my host family almost had a heart attack. Sergul hadn't told anyone exactly who was coming. She had said it was a special guest and had instructed her mom to cook all my favourite foods, but no one could get it out of her who was coming. So they were quite surprised. It was great to see them all again. My host parents, Sadiye and Ugur, were still the same.

My older host brother, Serdar, who had been 18 when I was living there, was now 30. When I knew him he had long curly hair that he never combed and drove his mother crazy. He never studied and that drove his father crazy. He was always teasing his younger sister and I and that drove us crazy. Now his hair is short and he's balding. He's a civil engineer and working at his father's company. He was very pleasant, and still funny. Not nearly as irritating as I remembered!

Sergul, my younger host sister, was 14 when I was there. She was ok, and at the time was the only one in the family who spoke English. Every now and then when she felt like it, she would stop speaking to me, leaving me stranded with no translator. Other than that we got along well, we shared a room for the 4 months that I lived there, and she was a typical 14 year old, and I was 16. Now she is engaged, and I met her fiance. She is also an engineer and works at her father's company. She has grown into a beautiful and pleasant person, quick to smile and laugh.

Sergin, my youngest host sister was almost unrecognisable until she said something. When I knew her before, she was 10, and had a deep, throaty voice. The voice was still the same, but now she's 21. The little kid who would constantly disturb me no matter what I was doing, is now in university studying graphic art, if I remember correctly. She also speaks English now, and is just as outgoing as always.

Ahmet, my younger host brother was a shock. He was upstairs in his room when I came so I didn't see him right away. When I was there he was 10. His favourite pastime was scratching my arm, if my skin was dry it would turn white and this would amuse him to no end. He was a small kid, short and skinny, shorter than all his friends his age. They called him down to dinner, and the 6-foot 20-year-old handsome young man who came down the stairs was totally unrecognisable until he smiled!

We all had a great dinner together. My host mother had spent all day making my favourite foods at Sergul's request. There was manti, dolma, baklava, ice cream... it was all good. We caught up on each other and chatted for hours. I hope Ba and Sara weren't too bored. Some of the conversation was in Turkish, some in English. They were impressed with my Turkish. When I left their family it was still 7 months before the end of my time there and my Turkish had been halting at best, and I was still too shy to speak much to anyone.

We had a great dinner and conversation and some chay, then Serdar took us in his sportscar to the taxi stand and gave the taxi driver special instructions to take good care of his friend Krisia from Bermuda and her 2 friends. It was great.