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Never take our free press for granted.
Now that I am safely under the protection of VT law, I can write freely about my experiences in Turkey without fearing that I will run afoul of Article 301 of the Turkish penal code, to wit:
* A person who publicly denigrates Turkishness, the Republic or the Grand National Assembly of Turkey, shall be punishable by imprisonment of between six months and three years.
* A person who publicly denigrates the Government of the Republic of Turkey, the judicial institutions of the State, the military or security organizations shall be punishable by imprisonment of between six months and two years.
* In cases where denigration of Turkishness is committed by a Turkish citizen in another country the punishment shall be increased by one third.
OK, I'm safe on the last one, but the first two are actually pretty scary. The law is, of course, much milder than the Alien and Sedition Acts signed in 1798 by President John Adams, but it did cause me to choose my words very carefully while I was overseas.
I don't really have anything awful to report, but no country is without fault and I feel obligated to share a few caveats with my fellow Americans.
 
The food caused me no problems, except for the one time on a late night bus when I gulped down a large glass of frosty Ayran (roughly like light, salted buttermilk) and a large can of sweet cherry juice - visne suyu, a delightful beverage.
Unlike the first class airlines they so closely resemble, Turkish long distance coaches do not have "air sick" bags and towels are virtually unknown. The attendant brought me three tiny paper napkins but the rest of the tale is best left untold.
As I mentioned earlier in this blog, bathroom use costs either 50 cents or a dollar everywhere one goes, and the only object to dry your hands is either a six inch square of copier paper or a four inch paper napkin. Fortunately, the open air works like a hand dryer, so this is not a big problem. Toward the end of my trip, I realized you don't HAVE to give the man or woman behind the counter any coins. They won't chase you down or call the police, but it is their main source of income so, if you have a conscience, you will pay up.
However,I was stood up, clipped, shorn, scalped, overcharged and taken for a ride on more occasions than my ego will admit, but I don't blame the Turks. I just didn't understand the rules.
In America and Europe, goods and services have a posted price. If you don't like the charges, you go to a different store and hunt for bargains.
In Turkey - and hundreds of non-western countries - the price is the bargain. If you pay too much, it is your fault and the vendor feels more glee than dismay. Get over it.
Here is a short list of my bad choices. I hope you benefit from the missteps that followed my simple, American naivete.
When my plane arrived at the Ataturk airport, the Metro had stopped running for the day and the hotel would not send a car for me because I had booked a special price through a travel agent, instead of paying the extra $10 I would have been charged online.
The "only" cab charged 30 euros ($60) for the twenty minute ride to the Yigitalp Hotel. This was quite entertaining, however, as the driver was eager to introduce me to a "Ukraine woman, very good, very good" an offer I was easily able to decline.
At my lodgings everything was as advertised,except the Free City Tour and 7th night free, were also not available to me because of my method of booking.
I rode out to the airport the next morning for $1.20 on the Metro.
As my colleague, Gary Scudder, pointed out in his blog, there is an apparently universal conspiracy of taxi driver which involves stopping the cab every ten minutes to "ask directions."
This always involves a great deal of random pointing and a nice tour of whatever city you are visiting.
Even with my very limited Turkish, I could figure out that my driver was not really asking for directions to my hotel, but actually more or less requesting strangers to point to their favorite sights in Istanbul.
To avoid this particular scam, make sure your driver calls your destination BEFORE you climb in - they all have cell phones - and that he gets specific directions from the desk clerk. Also make sure the meter is running and that the cheaper "day" rate is indicated, rather than the 100% greater "after midnight" rate.
My greatest humiliation, however, happened on day three when I decided to treat myself to a manicure, pedicure and top flight haircut.
Taking the advice of the concierge, I walked fifty meters to the nearest Kuafor and cleverly negotiated the "mani-pedi" down to about $30. The lovely Ziynet did a careful and gentle trim and so I figured I'd let her husband, Fazil do the hair, beard and shampoo.
Admittedly, it was the best haircut I've ever had. He used scissors, straight razors, electric clippers, strange tools for trimming my moustache, nose and ear hairs and six kinds of lotions. It took him close to an hour to wash, cut and dry every folicle on my head. He served me tea and offered me cigarettes.
When he presented me with a bill for 40 YTL (about $33), I felt is was a bit pricey, but worth the experience. The next day I learned the going rate was much closer to $10. I had been scalped.
The next two stories did not happen to me personally, but I'm including them as fair warning to others.
Restaurants often have menus without prices. The bill you get at the end depends on how well the owner likes you. This worked in my favor as I am friendly to the point of obsequiousness. When you tell the waiter that "Turkey is beautiful. Turkish people are kind" enough times, you often get a 20% discount and lots of free tea.
Unfortunately for one of my friends, this had a downside. She enjoyed a dinner for four in Datca with wine, six courses, dessert and tea and the bill was $20. Two weeks later she and different friends returned and one of the male guests got into some kind of argument with the chef. This meal cost $200.
When the price is not agreed to in advance, you really don't have much leverage when it comes time to pay the piper.
A young Brit, Larry from Bristol, sitting two seats over from me at a pub told his drinking mates a rather loud and elaborate story about being approached by a very friendly guy name Darvoush who invited Larry to join him for a beer or two and to meet some lovely young women. Larry went into the Parliament club and was immediately seated next to two ladies who told him how handsome he was and how they always wanted to meet a man from Great Brittain, etc, etc. A waiter filled the ladies' glasses with red wine and then later with what looked to Larry like ginger ale.
When Larry tried to leave twenty minutes later, the waiter presented him with a bill - I am not making this up and I can't vouch for young Larry's veracity but I've read about stories like this before so I believe him - for 600 YTL!!
In Larry's version, he was immediately surrounded by thugs who made it clear they would accompany him to an ATM to settle up, but he made a huge fuss, dropped some bills on the floor and escaped with his honor intact.
Whether this story is true or not, it kept me away from friendly strangers and any form of alcohol for the rest of my trip.
OK, I'm still stinging from the times I was overcharged for batteries, trinkets, food, the infamous haircut and my two taxi rides, but they were all a very small price to pay for the best adventure of my life so far. Here's what I learned for my money.
Don't accept "No problem" as the answer when you ask "How much will this cost?"
Get a menu or list of charges in advance - in writing
Make sure your cabbie has his meter turned on and knows where he is going before you get in.
Be prepared to haggle over every transaction. I hate to argue about prices but it really is expected in a surprisingly large number of situations..
Be friendly and don't take it personally if someone tries to separate you from your money. It's all in the game and, after a while, you might actually enjoy playing.
OK, that's all I have to say that is in anyway negative about the Republic of Turkey. The vast majority of people were kind, friendly, helpful and more or less just like me. Travel with an open mind and a generous spirit and you will have an amazing time.
I know I did.
Ken
PS: My next and probably final blog entry will deal with a course I plan to teach which is tentatively named "Minority Report: Assimilation, adaptation or isolation. How minorities cope with life in a dominant culture and what we can learn about peaceful coexistence from their experiences."
Stay tuned.
K
It is beautiful here.
I am typing these words from a terrace overlooking Kargi Bay, an idyllic inlet dotted with yachts, schooners, cabin cruisers, sailboats, wind surfboards and, I'm just guessing here, pirate ships.
 
A gentle sea breeze mitigates the rays of a blazing Mediterranean sun beaming from a nearly cloudless azure sky. The braying of semi-wild donkeys is the only sound wafting up from the ruins of thiok-walled houses built by early Ottoman Christians and Moslems. The daily calls to prayer are too distant to intrude on an appreciation of this verdant rock strewn oasis.
The colorful town center is about 5 km down the mountain, an easy 30 minute walk, or a 15 minute direct taxi ride costing between $8 and $20, an adjusted sliding scale which depends on your facility with Turkish, your perceived net worth and your level of friendliness to the cabbie.
As ever, on this trip, I am primarily fascinated by the people I've met and by the unique and unforgettable stories they have to tell. The leisurely pace of life in this idyllic paradise provides plenty of time to listen to all of them.
Soon, deeply tanned local children will be splashing in the neighbors' pool, and Svetlana will set out cheeses, fruits, chai, lavosh, preserves and several kinds of bread for Professor Bill Hansen's and my first meal of the day.
 
Afterwards,Bill, American University of Nigeria, and I will relive memories of the Civil Rights Movement - he was the SNCC lead organizer for Arkansas in 1962 - and Svetlana will bring us strong coffee. Bill will proudly show us pictures of handsome, infant multi-racial grandson and regale us with anecdotes about his recently ex-monster-in-law, Ludmilla, the dragon lady.
I am very fond of William, but his stories of love are tinged with poingnancy and loss.
"When my third wife, Irena (Ludmilla's daughter), learned she had not married a rich American, then the "age thing" began to be a problem", he told us wistfully. Now that Bill is teaching in Nigeria, he has fallen for a fully-covered, Muslim lady with dance-like movements and a laughing voice.
In the two years he has been enthralled by her, he has never seen her face.
Our lovely hostess, Svetlana Khamarova and our mutual friend, former Champlain Vice-President, David Huwiler, are the owners of this incredible villa on the south coast of Turkish Antolya. One can see the Greek Island of Simi across the straights and Rhodes is a half day away by ferry.
 
Svetlana is a brilliant and beautiful Russian/Kyrgiz young woman who speaks several languages and who is pursuing an online graduate degree while simultaneously dividing her time between Blagoevgrad, Bulgaria and Datca, Turkey.
As a teen-ager, Svetlana was honored by being sent to Moscow to train in a prestigious swim program for Olympic hopefuls. She didn't quite make it to the "Big Show" but some of her classmates did. "Svets" as Bill calls her, is one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I've met. She walks, swims and climbs daily, tends to a house full of visitors and still has time to read "Foucault and Chomsky Debate, 1971" as well as "Sex in the City."
The "locals" I met were largely employed in the tourist industry. German/Turkish couples running restaurants, craft shops and restaurants as well as young people selling, renting or cooking every conceivable item a visiting Spaniard, Italian or Istanbullar could want.
Gary, our globe-trotting neighbor to the North, speaks fluent Australian,Turkish and German makes a good living buying land and building mansions which he re-sells to wealthy Europeans.
 
He has traveled the Trans-Siberian Express from Japan to Moscow, he taught English in Germany,hitchhiked from Sidney to Singapore and from Vermont to Venice Beach. He worked for some time as an educational program developer for Mercedes Benz inTurkey. Note: M-B is slowly transferring its truck and coach factories from West Germany to Ankara and beyond.
Gary operates his converted natural gas 1986 Nissan/Datsun B11 "Sunny" sedan like a typical suicidal speed racer, but he can get us into town in between three and six minutes, depending on the wild burro population on the two lane road on any given day.
The neighbors to the south are "Ropp" and Jeannetta who spend most of their summer swimming and sunning only to return to Rob's growing student apartment rental operation in Utrecht for the academic year. Rob owns two houses in Datca, a large house in the Netherlands and another in Spain.
 
Rob, one of eleven children of a window washer, had built a multimillion euro office cleaning empire until his older brother sued him for control of the company. Within two years, Rob lost everything, his fortune, his wife, his home and his self-confidence.
His life improved when he met the "love of his life" but she was killed in an automobile accident and he had to start all over again. He is now with the lovely Jeannetta and her 16 year-old son.
Today, less than a decade later, his rentals have grown from four small apartments to more than 180 properties. It would be the American Dream, except it happened in Holland.
This afternoon, I will celebrate my 61st birthday with cake, paper hats, colorful banners and a soak in the Jacuzzi with half a dozen new pals. Facebook "friends" can't really beat the flesh and blood kind, .
It will take me several weeks after I return to VT to sort out all the adventures, obstacles, discoveries, misfortunes and joys I've experienced this summer, but, oddly enough, I can't wait to get home and to get started.
Allahaısmarladık, salaam aleikum and may all your travels bring you joy,
Ken Wade
This blog has been temporarily delayed due to an incident involving lost luggage, rain, getting lost in an unfamiliar city, not having my reading glasses, being an idiot, losing the address of my hotel, unspecified, embarrassing medical issues, and general dweebiness on the part of Ken Wade.
Everything is back on track, however, and I hope you will continue to follow the adventures of Clueless in Wonderland.
OK, Istanbul is a fabulous city with enough excitement, adventure, history, wonder, and variety to occupy the mind and body of any reasonably sentient human being for a lifetime. When you are tired of Istanbul, you are tired of life, to misquote Dr. Johnson.
Therefore, it has become time for me to hop on a long-distance coach and spend some time getting to know Turkey's third largest city and second largest port, Izmir (Smyrna)
Previously, I spoke briefly about the seven hour bus/ferry ride to Izmir, the gem of the Aegean and the very kind young woman who allowed me to interview her at length, but today I want to say a few words about Efe Aydal, an aspiring journalist, teacher, martial arts expert, full-time video blogger and astronomer.
I was introduced to Efe Aydal by my daughter, Visi, who teaches Kindergarten in Japan. Apparently, this Internet thing allows people to connect with other folks anywhere in the world!
What a fascinating concept.
Efe is a recent graduate Ege University (University of the Aegean) who has served his time in the Turkish military. Because of quotas applied to his academic major (Astronomy), Efe is not allowed to apply for a teaching credential and he doesn't want to be a salesman.
He devotes much of his time to a video blog in which he furiously takes on injustice, hatred, stupid people, the government, international relations, martial arts, anime, tourists
The good news is that he had free time to introduce me to his friend, Murat Özdemir, who is on his way to being a medical doctor and whose father is an Alevi. The Alevi are a branch of Islam practiced almost entirely by Turks. Many fundamentalists do not consider Alevi to be "real" Moslems, so they have some interesting viewpoints on the rights of minorities in Turkey.
Efe and "The Doctor" met me at the Bornova metro stop in a north east suburb of Izmir where Ege University is located. They showed me the gem of the student quarter; the new Ikea.
In this shiny, modern super-store I could see Turks of all social levels deciding which aspects of 21st century life they would add to their homes and apartments. By the way, the strange looking faux-Swedish names that IKEA uses to brand all the goods don't look strange at all to a Turkish speaker.
The highlight of our conversation about secularism and religion took place in the high-tech cafeteria. Delighted by the great desserts, exotic foods and unlimited free refils on coffee and soft drinks, Efe and Murat opened a window into the lives of young, intellectual, Western-oriented citizens of the Republic.
I believe the progressive attitudes of Efe and Murat represent the future for Turkey. They don't necessarily want to BE Westerners, but they appreciate the technological and social benefits of Western society and they are not afraid to embrace the best of the West.
The next day, Efe took me to the Izmir International Fairgrounds, gave me a extensive tour of his University including a great stroll through the student quarter of Burnova and then we rode the train and ferry from one end of Izmir to the other.
DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, STUDENTS! Champlain student Daniel Dickerson is a highly trained professional.
I'm sorry that I missed visiting many museums and archeological sites, but I loved the "ground-level" view of how people live day to day in an emerging and important, secular Moslem nation.
The International Fairgrounds in the middle of Izmir is host to dozens of world class conferences and trade events. The immaculate grounds are dotted with museums, meeting halls, striking sculpture, fountains, people having picnics and, of course, an amusement park.
Guess what my favorite part might be?
 
The young people I met in this vast country give me a very good feeling about the future of this pivotal, crossroad nation.
Turkey is a country to be watched. The Ministry of Trade expresses the optimistic view that Turkey will be the 7th or 8th largest world economy within the next 40 years. Turkey has untapped mineral and energy resources, a hard-working, ambitious population, tremendous national pride and, in my opinion the most important asset of all - WATER.
Efe and Murat and Kadriye are aware of their culture, history and responsibilities to the world, but they are not trapped by tradition or by ideologies which stress differences and divisions between people.
Stand up for your beliefs, your freedoms and your role in shaping a peaceful 21st century, Turkey.
America's rooting for you.
Well, at least I am. [g]
Ken
So, after a week in Istanbul, I am well known by "Dr. Delicious" the owner and proprietor of "Saїd's" the best baklava and pastry shop in the Sirkegi part of old Istanbul and "Muza" the Kurdish owner of "Enjoy", a small döner and şiş restaurant down the block.
My friend, Ahmed, who speaks rather decent German, has given me a break on my laundry and we've shared many glasses cay while my clothes tumble inside his underground shop.
I know I've logged 100 kilometers on foot since I arrived, mostly because I am afraid of taxi drivers (and circus clowns, but that isn't really relevant, is it?)
There is so much to see and do in Istanbul; it would take a lifetime to accomplish half of what I would like. I have seen whirling dervishes, men fishing for bait 24 hours a day on the bridges, Moslems rushing to prayer before the muezzins finish their calls, beautiful women with covered faces, homeless people sleeping on the street, children providing for their families by selling bottles of cold water for 50 cents each and some of the most beautiful mosques, churches and synagogues one could imagine.
In spite of all the wonders of the former Constantinople, I am off to Turkey's third largest city, Izmir (formerly Smyrna, population over 2.5 million.)
 
While the ancient city has great shopping, the famous Saat Kule (Clock Tower) the remarkable ruins of the Agora, the traditional Jewish quarter of Karataş or in Havra Sokak (Synagogue street) in Kemeraltıand and a beautiful park called the Fuar in the center of town, I was most impressed by the wonderful people I met.
The luxurious six hour coach ride from Istanbul winds through the rich agricultural countryside and includes a stunning 40 minute ferry crossing, yet the truly memorable part of the journey was meeting a delightful, modern, educated young Turkish woman named Kadriye Çetin.
Kadriye patiently answered all my questions about Turkish politics, economics, social change, customs and religion in perfect English for over two hours and then stayed with me until i was on the correct Pamukkale service shuttle to the correct part of the city where my lodgings were located.
She shepherded me to an Internet cafe to check the phone and address of the Vatan Hotel and even helped me wrestle my bags up and down stairs in the vast Otogar where all the buses from around the nation converge. Turkish coaches are like first class airplanes and the bus stations are a huge and complex as many US airports.
This lovely woman showed such patience and kindness, as well as informing me about the opinions of western, moderate Muslims, that she set the tone for my entire stay in this gateway to the Aegean.
I MAY have accidentally offered her a job at Champlain College.
In the next blog, I will tell you about an articulate, passionate journalist whom my daughter Vera (Champlain '02) met via the Internet and who turned out to be my guide and translator for the next part of my stay.
Stay tuned for the story of the two "Efe"s and the Turkish blogosphere. [g]
Ken
Dear Readers,
ISTANBUL, Turkey (AP) - Bomb blasts that killed 17 people and injured 150 others in a crowded neighborhood square appeared to be linked to a Kurdish rebel group, Istanbul's govGüngören, Turkey, killedernor said Monday, though the rebels immediately denied involvement.
The suburb, Güngören, Turkey, lies about 10 km (6 miles) from where I was staying until the middle of last week. Before you blame the Kurds, hold off judgement until more facts are in. The Turkish Government, like some well-known others, will blame the terrorists first and then wait to see if they have to retract the accusation.
My Turkish friends say it could have been a particularly stupid "prank" pulled by teenagers, so please don't jump to conclusions just yet.
As much as I would like to claim that I was in danger, I am actually about twelve hours south of the city in a somewhat remote coastal town called Datca.
The other millionaires in our village do not seem very concerned about a small bomb hundreds of kilometers away, so I am taking my cue from them.
I will tell you more about my harrowing experience after several of us get out of the Jacuzzi.
Stay tuned,
Ken
I’ve come to a deep and somewhat painful realization. This trip to Turkey has made me realize that I have been lying to myself and the only way I can make it right is to come out publically and admit who and what I really am.
I’ve tried to hide my true nature. I’ve studied the way other people around me walk and talk, the way they dress and laugh and express emotions and I can no longer live the lie. I keep my feelings to myself and I try to watch my every gesture, my every word, hoping I won’t give myself away.
Each day I get up, put on drab, inconspicuous clothing, walk with a manly, determined, purposeful swagger, fix a stern and humorless expression on my face and try to pass for “normal.” But it just isn’t working. I have to confess and face up to who I truly am. I hope my family and friends will understand.
I am a tourist.
The sense of freedom I feel now is hard to describe. I think I’ll start by signing on to the “Hop on/Hop off” City Tour bus.
This is great! Everybody on the top of this double-decker bus is standing up, running from one side to the other snapping pictures of every mosque, aqueduct, tower, church, synagogue and body of water in Istanbul. We all wear headphones so we can listen to heavily accented narrations in our own tongue.
Wow! This tour took me from the Aya Sophia to, in order, the Blue Mosque, the Underground Cistern, Gülhane Park, the Sirkeci Train Station (end point of the Orient Express), the Yenicami or New Mosque, the Spice Bazaar, the Women’s Prison (now an upscale Storks restaurant), Topkapi Palace, the Galata Bridge and Tower, the Dolmabahçe Palace, the Stadium, Taksim Square, Istiklal Caddesi, Golden Horn or Haliç, Atatürk Bridge, Aqueduct of Valens, the Patriarchate of Fener, the Bulgarian (all metal church built in a day),Balat Synagogue, Justinian Palace, Pierre Loti Café, City Walls, Yedikule Dungeons (Ancient Guantanamo), Florence Nightingale Hospital,Golden Gate, Byzantium Harbor and Fish Market.
Whew! OK, Istanbul, been there, done that!
Now, what should I do tomorrow?
Did you ever have a dream that you were in a strange, dangerous, alien place only to awake and find you were safely tucked in your own bed at home?
No, OK, I must be insane. Sorry.
In any event, yesterday I was strolling down one of the greatest shopping malls in Istanbul; it's a street called Istiklal Caddesi and you can wander from Starbucks to the Body Shop to a Jazzersize studio to McDonalds to the Bambi Cafe to a movie theater showing "Journey to the Center of the World" in 3-D.
In Turkish.
I joined a large, diverse congregation celebrating mass in a reasonably familiar church, St. Antoine's. Except for the All-Filipina guitar choir, my inability to understand the Nigerian priest's accent and the rough, splintery hardness of the kneeler in my pew, I might have been in the St. Albans' Church of the Holy Angels.
On the off-chance that I would be able to find a variety of religious experiences on this hot, sunny summer morning, I shuffled aimlessly down hill until I stumbled on a small sign next to the Mehlevi (Whirling Dervish) Cultural and Religious Museum inviting me to the Union Church of Istanbul.
I found the entrance and greeted the guard at the metal detector in my cheerful, atrocious Turkish and he pointed to a small door and informed me, "inglish." By the way, I set the detector beeping furiously (probably my camera and handgun), but Erkut was completely unconcernd and waved me through.
The Dutch Chapel was built in the 18th century yet it was comfortingly as familiar as most of the churches I've ever attended in Vermont. They had stacks of The Pilgrim Hymnal and, unlike St. Anthony's, lots of cooling fans in the thick window sills!
When the sermon and singing ended, other than hearing a symphony of accented English - Scottish, Chinese, Africaans, Malgasy, Russian, Moldovan, Turkish, Farsi and Californian, it was eerily like the Congregational Church at 11 am on any given Sunday.
Coffee and conversation in the church basement was just as familiar - the same plastic cups, weak tea, children coloring, store-bought cookies, families catching up on vacations and mutual friends and a warm feeling of fellowship.
I am a terrible freeloader. It took very little wheedling for me to secure an invitation to the weekly church feast held at the Dutch Embasy.
The food was a delicious mixture of fried chicken, watermelon and Turkish salads.The genuine friendliness of the congregation actually made me wonder which was the dream and which the reality.
I was, in a very real sense, home.
Associate Pastor,Greg Lee-Parker and the Blythes, Jonathan and Juay, answered all my questions for nearly two hours. Juay, from Singapore and Jonathan ( a law partner in a Turkish firm AND an ordained minister) met at Seminary in Scotland and were called to Istanbul in 1991. They've raised two delightful children in this culture while keeping very grounded in their own past. Jonathan, from Bearsden near Glasgow, and I even chatted about my favorite Scottish football team, Parick Thistle! Juay told me that Jonathan is so fluent in Turkish, he earned his law degree here.
Greg, from Fuller Seminary in Southern California, is incredibly knowlegeable about the immigrant situation in the Republic and had many delightful stories about the "pressure" applied to Christians and other non-Muslims by the majority culture. He estimates there are fewer than 3,000 Christian Turks in Istanbul and many of them are afraid to tell their families and most dare not tell their employers
But that is truly another story for another time. I'm going to have some more fried chicken.
Ken
In my last posting, I promised to try to blog every day. HA! Clearly, I do not have the required discipline to be an online journalist. So much happens here every 24 hours, I can write as fast as it all comes in. I first discovered this time-dilation phenomenon when my wonderful,late father-in-law would take me fishing.
We would get into the water a few hours after my prefered bedtime and we would sometimes fish from six am to ten. When we got back, I felt as though I had been away from the house for days. I would bore my wife with stoires of every nesting osprey, every escaped sunfish, every stealthy amphibian and every successful cast I had experienced, seen or heard.
Likewise, here in the big city, every tramvay journey, every auto ferry ride and every mangled, pidgin conversation I have with a tourist or local expands in my imagination to a grand adventure.
 
Maybe if I start with today and work backward, I might get a handle on the blogosphere?
It is Sunday and I promised myself that I would cross the Halic (Golden Horn) to Beyoglu and find a Christian Church to attend. I've been to Moslem services with hundreds of worshippers praying as one person and I needed to know if other religions were thriving, surpressed, clandestine or tolerated.
Thre's a list of religious institutions in the Seres Hotel "Istanbul Forever" guest magazine. There were 14 churches, four synagogs, five palaces and I kept losing count of the number of mosques.
Picking the largest, closest cathedral from the choices, I memorized "Sent Antoine Kilisi Katolic nerede var mi?", I sped to Taxim on the Katabas tramvay and funicular and spent half an hour repeating the "Where is the St. Antoine Catholic Church?" phrase to every policeman I met.
There were dozens of officers and they were all very polite and helpful. I think refering to each of them as "Effendi" didn't hurt.
I arrived just as services were beginning. The two hundred or so congregants were roughly 45% Asian (Filipino, Malay, Indian and Chinese) 50% African, including 8 of the nine priests, and very few Westerners with light skin.
  
The church managed to be huge, magnificent, opulent and completely hidden from the main street, Istiklal Caddesi. Churches, like gays, are tolerated as long as they keep an extremely low profile on the outside.
Several folks were especially friendly to me, inviting me to next Sunday's African Mass. Francis and Ustus explained that they had moved here from Lagos, Nigeria a decade ago and they did not regret the decision.
I see this posting is already too long. I'll tell you about the Union Church of Istanbul (Protestant) in the next chapter.
Ken
The word from my bosses is in.
Start blogging every day like your colleagues or we stop the check on your hotel reimbursement!
I'm going to skip over most of my Netherlands trip because
1. I will be back to talk to politicians and business people on the other end of the trip and
2. I am actually in the Eminolu section of Istanbul right now and this city is so unbelievable I can't wait to tell you about it.
I also think I may have learned how to upload pictures, but we shall see.
Here are some differences between Holland and Turkey which I believe you will find useful.
Anybody who speaks English can get a pretty clear idea what is going on by reading the street signs and shop names.
I like the "Kiss and Ride".
OK, I want to eat, drink some coffee and maybe have a beer. Betty has me covered.
I'm not quite sure what they have for sale in this restaurant, but I don't think they serve it in Vermont.
Another interesting contrast would be the view out the window of my Valk Hotel near Amsterdam
As opposed to the view from the Yigitalp Hotel in the Bazaar District near Istanbul University
Finally, oh you don't want to know. Still, if you are reading this, you are probably an adult, so this is what a dollar will do for you when you have a need and you are away from your hotel
I have to get the A/C fixed, I will elaborate tomorrow after I cruise the Bosphorus.
Ken
It is remarkably difficult simultaneously to live life and to record it.
The six days I've been overseas seem like six months to me but my wife is already annoyed that I keep calling asking what's up in St. Albans, hoping she will ask about me so that I can ramble on about minutiae for half an hour. Fortunately, we talk over the computer and she can shop while I expostulate.
The August 2008 issue of Discover Magazine has an article that claims the brain can speed up, slow down and even reverse time. Carl Zimmer describes a study that indicates "Staring at an angry face for five seconds feels longer than staring at a neutral one."
If this is true, I have been extending the lives of hundreds of people who have had to look at my wrathful visage this past week. But I can explain.
As is my habit, I was complaing to my family about the myriad of injustices I have had to suffer as I explore the coasts of history this beautiful month of Temmuz in the former Byzantine capital once known as Constantinople.
I whined, "Gee, I don't want to give readers the idea that the world is a brutal, unpredictable, dangerous place. For the most part, I am having the adventure of a lifetime, but that receptionist at that first hotel..."
"Oh stop it, Papa," interrupted my level-headed Canadian daughter, "Say what you want - the good and the bad. You never intended to write 'Chicken Soup for the World Traveler'. So, life has warts, what else is new? Stop being such a baby, Cowboy Up and get on with it. Jeeze!"
Who taught that girl to talk to her beloved father like that?
Oh, yeah right, nevermind.
Here's the short version. I arrived at Schiphol Airport just 18 clicks out of Amsterdam on Wednesday morning, after a truly memorable Delta/Lufthansa flight.
The plane was half full so I was able to sleep in that strange, twisted way that one does when belted into an aisle seat while the center of gravity of one's large, puffy body was mostly in the window seat and the armrest neatly bisecting the spine.The screaming of various children drowned out my snoring so I was able to nap with a clean conscience.
The service was stellar, the food fantastic (Geroostde kipfilet met polenta, bonen, mais en paprika. Even the brood and boter were fresh and tasty. You can see why I love the Dutch language), real silverware, free wine and the in-flight movie,with Matthew McConnaghy and Kate Hudson was...did I mention that the food was wonderful?
My body landed thinking it was two in the morning. I called the Valk Hotel to learn that I couldn't check in for two more hours, unless I wanted to pay a 15 Euro early arrival fee.
Hmm, I thought, this is different.
I showed up anyway and offered to sit in the lobby grimacing until my room was ready, but Mynheer Bosma decided it would be better for the other guests if I went upstairs.
I complimented him on his fine English, adding that I knew several Netherlanders who spoke several languages well.
"Dutch people like to make money," he explained.
My next entry will expand on this theory.
Ken
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