when in rome

I've never been a "touristy" person. No part of battling other foreigners for a chance to get your point-and-shoot in front of theirs has ever appealed to me. I'm not a fan of crowds and am very serious about my personal space. Despite trying to hold true to myself, however, I realized last week that being in Istanbul isn't like traveling in the United States. One, I can't say when the next time I'll be back will be once I've left, and two, we're talking ancient history here. Seriously. This is the stuff you see on the History Channel. So I gave into the fanny-pack wearing map-wielding mentality and made a conscious decision to make a list of the sights I want to see here and decided to attempt to check them off.

The problem with this, I've realized, is that there are two types of tourists. Group A conducts extensive research. Frommer's Travel Guide? Check. Lonely Planet Travel Guide? Duh. Any other book/pamphlet/review/blog/publication related to your area/sight of interest? Done and done. Group B, on the other hand, assumes that things will be presented upon arrival. Perhaps a tour guide will be available or, even better if you're cheap, maybe everything you thought you wanted to know will be explained in pictures plastered somewhere.

I belong to Group B. The reasons are complicated but suffice to say, I'm lazy and still too stubborn to give in entirely to the tourist thing. What I've realized quickly is that there's a big difference between perception and reality when talking about history. So, what follows is a quick list of the few places I've seen in the past four days, my original perception of them, and the reality.

Grand Bazaar.
Perception: Picture the movie Aladdin when he's singing about bread or something and dancing through the streets. I'm imagining stands supported by cardboard or a few random bricks with friendly, yet ripe, shop keepers hustling their goods as best they can.
Reality: A mall-like atmosphere. Clean floors, clean walls, clean shops, clean shop keepers. Beautiful architecture based on what appears to be pretty sound engineering. Shop keepers who can speak key phrases in at least three different languages. These phrases include: "Are you an angel?", "A beautiful day for a scarf, no?", and "For you, I have a special price." And these are not ripe shop keepers. In fact, they all smelled pretty good to me.

Grand Bazaar

Clean space, clean people. Boring.

Basilica Cistern.
Perception: Massive underground system of tunnels, pipes, and other dark and inherently creepy vestibules seemingly leading nowhere but inevitably leading to some room of doom with skeletons still shackled to the wall (Ok, maybe my hopes were a little high on this one, but a girl can dream, right?).
Reality: None of the above. No secret tunnels or passageways. Points, though, were earned for the Medusa heads (I would tell you more about them, but because I belong to tourist Group B, I really have nothing to tell you).

This place was as beautiful as it was difficult to capture on film. 

Medusa I.

Medusa II.

Sultanahmet Camii (Blue Mosque for my unworldly friends).
Perception: I'm picturing a multi-level room with small doors and smaller windows. Ornate details. Roped off areas. Stone floors. Oh. And it should be blue.
Reality: Perhaps the most touristy of the above-mentioned sights. Outside the mosque, there are vendors preying on the tourists waiting to get in. Inside, cheesy hotel carpet lines the floors. The detail is great - much of the ceiling is covered in mosaics, and the windows are colorful. But the one-room mosque leaves little to be explored independently and even less to be observed by oneself. Oh. But it is blue.

Another place that cameras can't really capture.

Sultanahmet Camii

istanbul...worth the wait

What a difference 15ish hours makes. 

I started in Detroit at 10:15. Next was Norfolk, next was JFK, and next (finally) was Istanbul. The waiting sucked. I'm not going to lie about it. Once I got to JFK, my flight was first switched to another terminal and then delayed an hour and a half. Once we boarded the plane, we waited another hour and a half until we pushed back from the gate. 

I always wonder how these things happen. I don't mean why planes are delayed. I get that. Arrivals can be late (bad head winds?) and maintenance problems can crop up (um, I'd prefer you take the time to fix that before we depart), so I get that part. What I don't understand is how grown adults turn into impatient preteens when a trip is delayed - myself included. While still at JFK I looked like your friend's restless kid sister, sitting on the ground, continuously fiddling with the zippers on my backpack. 

It would have been much worse on the plane had I not been seated by my neighbor. I'll call her Linda. Linda, a divorcee, was traveling to Istanbul to begin a three week vacation with her friend (although I can't be sure, I imagined her name was Debbie). In her mid-60s, Linda has a 35 year old son she was attempting to hawk to me even after I told her I was 24. 

"He's a hard working, high earning young man. Well, young at heart. How old are you again?"

At any rate, Linda was four star entertainment. The woman has been everywhere - Dubai, Indonesia, Tunisia, etc. Despite her wide travels, though, she still seemed awed by my trip. She kept telling me how "brave" I was, going to Istanbul by myself not knowing anyone. For the first time, I began to realize that this trip could go horribly wrong. 

Thankfully, Linda's worries were ill-founded. I arrived in Istanbul around noon, got a cab, got to campus, and officially started this trip.

Istanbul. Cok, cok guzel. It's amazing here. Bogazici Universitesi overlooks the yacht and freighter-specked Bosphorus Straits. Beyond the beauty, the people are extremely accommodating. The town's people I've interacted with speak broken or no English and yet they have been more than willing to attempt to understand what I'm saying. 

I have a feeling this is going to be an amazing few months.

Bosphorus Straits

Bosphorus Straits

Bosphorus Straits

Sunset

The amount of stray cats and dogs here is really mind blowing.

Petting stray cats. Probably not a good idea.

Really petting stray cats. Really not a good idea.

The view from my window.

pre flight fright

There are events and then there is that time before events. Before the thing you're waiting for even begins to arrive something happens with time. It slows to a creep. You're seven years old again and Christmas is tomorrow but it could just as well be months away. And then it happens and then it's over before you realize it.

I'm still in that pre-event time and as time slithers by, I can't help but think about what could go wrong in the next 24 hours. I had a dream a few nights ago that didn't really help my anxiety, either. I dreamt that  I couldn't get back to my place in New York because I left without my wallet. I was waiting at the subway wondering how I would get through the turn-style without a Metrocard. I woke up nervous that I might be forgetting something that common sensical for this trip. I've been reassured by the few people I've told about this dream that so long as I have my Passport, I should be fine. Everything else can be reconciled as long as I have that. I guess they're right, but I'm still hoping that sometime during those few hours before I leave that I miraculously remember what I'm forgetting or at least feel sure that I'm not forgetting anything.

I leave tomorrow morning for Istanbul with a few stops along the way. I haven't spent too much time thinking about what it might be like. At this point, I'd prefer to be surprised.

So here's to America: I'll miss you. You've done me well. I shall return.

Nothing more American than the lights over a baseball game.

from new york with love

New York is a city of many parts. The Lower East Side is where the best brunch deals exist...in the world. Chinatown is where you can get an obscene amount of wontons for mere pennies (you might be left wondering what the sauce on them is, though). Midtown is to be avoided lest you're willing to risk being improperly identified as a slowly walking, subway-map-ignorant tourist. And Queens is as "New York" as Jersey City.

At any rate, no matter who you are or where you come from, there is a place somewhere within these five boroughs that makes you smile. Williamsburg has been that place for me. Wburg is equal parts trendy and ironic. Young people wearing Tom's shoes and glasses they stole from their grandmother's boudoir dine on fried chicken and macaroni and cheese in what looks like someone's converted kitchen while they discuss the most recent photography exhibition at the local gallery. In another way, it's a celebration of Americana and a defiant push for intellectually-led progress all at the same time.

I haven't been in Williamsburg long, but I already know that it will be missed. I won't be back to this lovely city for who knows how long and am just coming to the realization that it's likely I might actually miss the Latina ladies fighting (or are they just chatting?) in the beauty shop and the Hasidic Jews making me feel like a dirty, modesty-lacking show boat every time my knees are exposed. Hell, I'll even miss my peers with their jean cut offs and Patrick Bateman hair cuts.

Until another time, goodbye Williamsburg. Adios New York.

Sweet, sweet Williamsburg