Ungrammatically Turkey
Turkey quickly became one of our favourite countries to explore. Rhodes to Marmaris and then off to Dalyan. Pension right on the river, below Lycian tombs cut in the rock Last Crusade style. Went on a boat trip with Jan, a Kiwi, and Jim, a Londoner born in Maricious (sp?). Back flips off the bow of our boat into a fresh-water lake. Visited the ruined Canus, older than Heroditus. On the old Acropolis, the call to prayer came up from the valley below. Felt like a cross between Indiana Jones, Sir Edmund Hillary and a mountain hermit. Finally, Turtle Beach and a steeple case through the waves. Off to Istanbul with Jan and Jim. Spoke with a Turk on the bus. Served on a naval boat bought from Canada. Told me to be careful in Istanbul. Big city. In Istanbul 20 min. Jim and Jan friends with the populace. Speaking phrasebook with young guys on the bus. You know a club?
Reggae.
No, we don’t like reggae. House. House music.
House? Ah, underground.
And then he made the universal four-to-the-floor rhythm with his mouth.
Uhn-ser, uhn-ser, uhn-ser, uhn-ser.
Yeah! House music!
As far as we could tell, we were to meet the guys at midnight at the Burger King in Taxim.
That night, all of us driven to Taxim in a red Mustang belonging to Jan’s carpet salesman. Couldn’t find the guys at BK. Went to a club and got down. On the way home, to the backpacker ghetto, Jim tried to find out from our Kurdish cabbie where the good gay bars were. No transvestites like the other one we went to. The cabbie gave us his number said he’d take us out. Taxim’s for children. We’ll go to real clubs. Didn’t get any names though. Didn’t call the cabbie either.
Re-occurring conversation with carpet salesmen.
Yes, please. Hello. Yes, please. You want a carpet?
No.
Come inside for some tea.
No. I don’t want a carpet.
Why not?
I don’t have a floor.
You have a wall.
No I don’t have one of those either.
But you will someday.
I can’t carry a carpet in my backpack.
Send it to your mother, your brother, sister, ex-girlfriend. There’s always someone.
Felt like I met all of Istanbul.
Mar’s a natural haggler.
Jim got a backgammon lesson from Ebon, the crass waiter at our local bar. They played for dinner. Ebon held the dice up and asked, “Do you trust your ass? Do you?”
Ride in a horse-drawn carriage around one of Princes Islands. Martha and I were way too addicted to backgammon. Get the sites out of the way so we can play some more. Surprise, Martha always wins. On our last night got kissed good-bye by Ebon. The count now is a Greek and a Turk. I am world peace.