Paris: Revisited - pt. 1

The day I went to the Louvre (my Thursday in Paris), I walked there from my hotel near the Place de la Republique. I spent maybe 5 hours in the Louvre. It's impossible to see the entire collection in one day (hello, 100,000 pieces of art!) so I started with the antiquities (I saw a de-mummified mummy!), moved on to the Italian sculptures, visited the 18th century Italian painters, where you can see Mona Lisa - if you can get through the throng ... Da Vinci Code mania, let me tell you. There is even a Da Vinci Code tour of the Louvre - not to mention the Da Vinci Code tour of Paris.

More sculpture - more Italian painters, before moving on to painters from France, Germany & Holland. Eventually, they all begin to blur together - I think this may be why people advise taking a few days to view the Louvre. You can only see the same scenes, depicted over and over so many times before you begin to go cross-eyed looking at them. As Mejane pointed out to me, it wasn't until fairly recently that painters could paint what they wanted, and not what they were commissioned to paint. Still, there were some highlights.

I loved Delacroix's Death of Sardanapole and Delarouche's Le Jeune Martyre. They're both so dark, yet to me, utterly beautiful.

Delacroix's piece was the reason I later went to Eglise Saint Suplice. I had an initial aversion, not wanting to follow the Da Vinci trail, but the chance to see Delacroix's murals there was one I decided not to pass up.

You know what you shouldn't do after walking from your hotel to the Louvre, and spending hours there? Decide to walk from the Louvre, up the Champs Elysee to the Arc D'Triomphe.

Because eventually you're going to have to walk back.

I almost went and saw the Da Vinci Code in the theatre that afternoon just to give my feet a rest.

Instead, I braved the Paris Metro. Luckily, some jerk in line in front of me took 5 minutes to buy his Metro ticket because he refused to hang up his cell phone. This didn't give me time enough to figure the machine out, but it did give the very androgynous guy behind me the chance to get fed up, so when I approached the screen and faltered for half a second, he came to my rescue and completed the process for me. I'm a quick study, so I watched his process and after that, had no trouble using the Metro ticketing machines.

I had my last solo meal in Paris that night. I was so starved for fresh vegetables at this point, I ordered a big salad with my dinner, and when they brought me a huge bowl full of romaine mixed with iceberg, and one sad cut-up roma tomato, with just enough French dressing, I inhaled that bowl full of lettuce as quickly as I could.

Everyone who knew me as a child has now keeled over in shock at the idea that *I* craved vegetables.

***

Friday saw my last tours of Paris museums, with a visit to the Musee D'Orsay & the Centre Pompidou. D'Orsay was formerly a train station, and trust me to go there on the one hot day of the Paris leg of my trip - guess what happens when the ceiling is made of glass? Yep, you cook.

In the rooms safe from the sunlight, there are sections devoted to Impressionists, Post-Impressionists, and Neo-Impressionists. There was also a good section of pastels, but they were in rooms so dark that without a flash, the pictures just came out blurry or black. A shame, too. I really liked Degas' pastels.

This is the best example I could manage:


The Centre Pompidou was something completely different. For a start, most of the permanent collection was closed, so what I got to see was mostly the current exhibit, devoted to moving images. Instead of paintings and sculpture, there were videos, rooms where light was the key, installations and slide shows.

Istanbul - the finale

It may be a little anti-climatic, but I spent my final day in Istanbul shopping on the Asian side. I went to a flea market in Kadikoy, then up what is called "Baghdad Street" (not sure why), the Istanbul equivalent of Melrose or Haight Street. I got some cool things, tops, presents for friends, etc. Excellent sales - in one place I bought 3 tops and a hat for 58 lira, or about $40. I also stumbled across the bakery that has been making Turkish Delight for the longest time (since 1777) while wandering down a side street, and bought a box to share with my friends.

What I liked best about this day was the absence of man hos and the hard sell. Even on Buyukuda and when I was in Andalou Kavagi, while there were no guys trying to hit on me, there were many trying to sell me something, or get me into their restaurant. But in Kadikoy, on Baghdad Street, the shop people were all women, and while they may offer to hold items for you while you look around, they do not bother you or try to get you to buy anything. On the Asian shore, most of the customers are local and there is no commission for sales, so they don't work you they way they do in Sultanahmet.

Back in Sultanahmet, I bought some kitschy souvenir things, and made my last, and most impressive, bargain for Mejane's birthday present. It's a little intimidating when you walk into a store full of whatever it's full of and not see one price listed on anything. I've found that with bargaining, it's easiest if you have some idea of the quality of an item and what the going rate is or should be. When they talk to me about carpet quality, for example, I'm lost. But there are certain goods I feel at least marginally good about judging quality and worth, and so it was easier for me to pick a starting bargain price because I could tell what they were initially asking was the greatly marked-up "tourist" price.

For our my last dinner in Turkey, Anna and I went to a restaurant off the main drag in Taksim called "5 kat" (pronounced "besh kat") bes is the word for 5 and kat means floor, so the restaurant is literally, "5th Floor" and it is on the fifth and sixth floors of a weird little building - no idea why she thought a restaurant would be a good bet there, but the owner has made something that's rather turkish in feel, but would hold up against some world class restaurants in cities like San Francisco, New York, Paris or London. She's an actress and singer. We sat on the roof terrace, and I got to mark off another "thing I want to see before I die" and that is the full moon rising, blood red in color, over the Bosphorus. Stunning.

When we were done, we walked to the Orient Hotel, where Agatha Christie stayed, and penned some of her novels. A taxi ride back to Sultanahmet, and we said our goodbyes and agreed to get together in San Francisco.

I went back to my hotel to finish packing. At 1:30 in the morning, I checked out and one of the reception guys from the hotel drove me to Sabhia Gokcen (pronounced sah-bee-a go-chen) where, at the 3rd of 3 security checkpoints, one of the security people dropped and broke my brand new digital camera. I bought it for the trip, sure - but I was hoping to have it afterward, too. Fuckers.

I love Easy Jet. It's great that they make you go through this elaborate "line up in the line with the correct letter, A, B, C, or D, written on your boarding ticket" process that takes half an hour, just to load you onto a bus to drive you MAYBE 50 meters.

What the hell?

***

I'm not sure I like leaving someplace on a flight that takes off in the middle of the night, well before dawn and still in the pitch black. It doesn't give you the chance to look down and recognize anything and say your final goodbye. It's a little jarring.

On the other hand, it feels less like leaving something behind.

Istanbul - pt. 6

I spent Saturday doing two of the things I'd gone to Istanbul to do: visit Topkapi Palace and the Harem, and have a Turkish bath at the hamam built for Nurubanu (wife of Sultan Selim II and mother of Murat III) in 1584 by the famous architect Sinan, who designed many of the city's mosques (his protege designed the Blue Mosque).

You may be wondering why these two things were so high on my list of reasons to visit Istanbul. When I was a teenager, my grandmother gave me a set of romance novels written by Bertrice Small - the saga of the O'Malley women, Irish and English descendants of an Irish shipping clan set in Elizabethan England. Each of the heroines of the novels takes her turn trapped as the property of some Arabic, African, or Asian man. One of the women, and subsequently her daughter, end up in harems of Ottoman Turks, and Sultan Selim and Nurubanu are featured in the stories, as are sights around Istanbul. The novels were fiction, but they made a huge impression on me (many of my kinks and the things I find hot today were introduced to me in these books). It was pretty amazing to be able to wander around places that had previously existed only in fantasy for me.

Topkapi is huge, set just behind Aya Sofya, looking with birds-eye views of much of Istanbul. You can peer out over the Marmara, the Bosphorus, and the Golden Horn. Useful for defense against foreign invaders.

Technically, the Harem is just the Sultan's living quarters. There are places for concubines, places for each of the four wives, and the Valide Sultan (mother of the Sultan), the most powerful woman in the empire, lives in the center, separating the concubines and wives from the Sultan. There are quarters for the Eunuchs who cared for the women. The women at a long bar just outside their dormitory. There is a hallway called the Hall of Golden Coins, because the favorites would be lined up along the wall and the Sultan would walk through and toss coins at their feet. One of the posts for the women to stand on had a hook in the floor. I wonder if it was customary that the Sultan had a favorite who wasn't exactly happy with her position? Because in the books I read, the heroines got to be favorites by presenting such a challenge the men felt that had to "break" them.

Shhhhhh!. Let me have the fantasy. :P

I certainly couldn't help but think, in certain parts like the Sultan's bath (which, by the way, had hot and cold running water, and the tiles heated from beneath), and private chambers, that there had been a number of slave girls forced to submit to powerful men in those rooms.

The rest of the palace was awesome, too, particularly the treasury (holy crap, jewels!), and the room in which they showcase some of the Sultan's clothes. Fuck, were those guys huge! You know in the miniatures they show of Ottoman life, in which the Sultan always looks twice as large as the rest of the people? Well, they weren't just flattering him and making him larger than life because he was Sultan. Those men were huge. It makes sense, given all the sons each Sultan had, and the fact that the first son was not automatically Sultan upon the father's death - it took the biggest, mightiest of them to concur and subdue the others (or the one with the most conniving mother).

After Topkapi, I sat in Sultanahmet Square for maybe 20 minutes, just taking in everything I'd seen. A Muslim woman sat next to me on the bench. One of the Man Hos approached me, he'd tried several times before, but I guess now that I was seated he felt he had a better chance. The old Muslim lady next to me was not amused. She made hissing sounds at him, and shooed him away and said something to him in Turkish, and he walked off. Heh.

When I was ready, I walked to Cemberlitas Hamam.

I ordered a bath with shampoo and massage for 18 euros, about $25. After paying, I was sent into a long corridor with lockers, and given a towel and a locker and a pair of rubber slippers. I stripped down to my panties and wrapped the towel around me before heading into the room for the bath. I was planning on going totally nude, but it seemed like other people around me were leaving their panties on, so I didn't want to offend. But when I opened the door, I saw several of the women in there with no panties, so turned around and put mine in the locker.

When you walk into the steam room, it's like a sauna. But hotter, and made of stone and marble, with a large round marble slab in the center, with women lying around the outside in different stages of being bathed. The room is round, and the ceiling is domed, with holes peaking through to let the light of the sun in. The light is soft and steamy. Instantly, you start to sweat. Laying on your towel on the slab, soon the towel beneath you is soaked.

Eventually, the girl to bathe you comes over. She is wearing panties. She tells you to turn onto your back (unless you already are) and starts scrubbing your skin with a camel hair cloth that removes not only dirt, but dead layers of skin. She does your whole body, turning you onto your stomach to get your backside, too. Then you are doused with lukewarm water. From there, she begins soaping up your body, smoothing and massaging the suds into your skin, manipulating your limbs and body as you lay limp from the heat and decadence. She rinses you, and soaps you up again, paying more attention to the massage aspect the second time. Your arms, shoulders, calves, feet, back.

After rinsing you again, she takes you off to the side near the basins with running water, and washes your hair for you. When she is done, you go back to laying on the slab, for as long as you want to. There is no time limit. You get all sweaty again, but it hardly matters given how clean you are. It just feels nice, and cleansing.

I think the whole thing lasted for me for about an hour. It's hard to say. The experience was one of full body hedonism. Pleasurable, but not exactly sexual. It easily could be though, under different circumstances. I felt light and floaty almost the minute I walked into the bath. That feeling lasted for hours after I left.

I'm not sure I can express how amazing this experience was. I wish we had something like this in the US, the full experience, and as cheap. It was one of the few times in life where you have the fantasy of something, and when it happens, the experience is everything you imagined, and more. For me, that usually involves sex.

I will definitely go to Istanbul again, and the hamam visit is going to be a tradition.

Some Pictures

Aya Sofya:


Inside Aya Sofya


Blue Mosque shining in the sun:


Basilica Cistern:

Princess Islands - view from monastery rocks:

Istanbul - pt. 5

By Friday I'd have enough of the Man Hos* in Sultanahmet, and wanted another day out of the city. Besides, after 2 weeks of using almost nothing but my feet for transportation, I needed a break from all the walking. It seemed the perfect day to cruise up the Bosphorus, to wear it meets the Black Sea. I filled up on my daily hotel-provided breakfast of crusty wheat bread with butter and fresh strawberry preserves, yogurt with honey, fruit and a hard boiled egg for protein before heading to the Galata Bridge, where the ferry terminals are located.

the ferry departs at 10:35 am or noon, returning at 3:00 or 5:00 pm. It takes just under two hours, zig-zagging its way across the Bosphorus to terminals along both the Asian and European shores. The return trip saves 20 minutes by making fewer stops.

I had plans to meet a Swedish girl I'd met in San Francisco near the Obelisk of Theodosius in the Byzantine Hippodrome of Sultanahmet Square at 7:30 that night. Anna is a Swedish woman, also 30, who has been living in the Bay Area for some time. She responded to a post of mine on the travel forum about her Istanbul dates overlapping with mine. We had lunch in SF to get acquainted, and made the plans described above. Today, she should be having her turn in a Hamam**, before departing for Bodrum & Ephesus (where you can see the Virgin Mary's house), and eventually Greece.

Given the plans with Anna, I opted for the 10:35 ferry up, with a 3:00 return. On my way to the ferry, Danger approached me.

Danger wore faded jeans with parts of the legs worn partly to holes. He had a white v-neck undershirt, sporting a hole about 3 inches beneath his right nipple. His arms were tattooed, and like Hasan, he'd gotten those tatts the hard way - the old school, non-electric method of tapping the ink into the skin, like this Maori practice. He had dark, short, curly hair, was fair skinned for a Turk, and had those really pale turquoise blue eyes some of them have. He was tall and muscular, but not abnormally so. His voice was raspy and gravelly. Total bad boy type, different than the other men I'd encountered. He just oozed the vibe that suggested he may as well have "danger" written on his forehead.

Really, his name was Oman.

We talked for a bit, and part of me really wanted to accept his invitation of drinks later that evening, because he seemed the sort that would throw me up against the wall. But I decided I'd gotten myself into enough trouble for one vacation.

He gave me his phone number, saying "I don't think you're going to call me".

He was right, *sigh*, although I had quite a lot of fun thinking otherwise on the ferry.

* * *

On the way up the Bosphorus I saw dolphins! Unfortunately, I couldn't get the timing right to get a picture. I also saw a lightening storm over the European shore, while the Asian shore remained sunny. As you move further from Istanbul, the towns and ferry stops take on more and more of the look of old fishing villages, old as in from previous centuries and run down over time. Modernity hasn't invaded to the extent it has in Istanbul, which in addition to being a fusion of east and west, is also a fusion of old and modern.

At the end, you arrive at Andalou Kavagi on the Asian shore. Immediately off the ferry you encounter a string of fish restaurants serving up the fresh local catches and a sign that says "to the castle" the draw of the island. It was built in the 6th century by the Byzantines, on the site of a former Greek temple to Zeus. From it, you see the mouth of the Bosphorus, the Black Sea flowing into it. You can peer out over the Asian and European shores of the Black Sea, as far as the horizon will allow.

It's a steep 20 minute climb up the mountain to the castle. I managed to beat the rest of the people from the ferry up the hill and had maybe 10 minutes to myself to walk around the ruins. There were formally 13 battlements, now only 2 are standing, with other bits of structure around. I admired the view (and cried), and soon was joined by others from the ferry.

A couple of the guys started climbing the castle. I had the thought before the others joined me, and seeing them do it, I knew I could, too. Something most of you don't know about me is that growing up, I was equally comfortable playing tomboy as well as barbies. I built forts (with wood and hammers and nails). I've always thought I'd enjoy rock climbing, but have only done some amateurish stuff climbing around on the cliffs of Santa Cruz, without any kind of harness. I like to climb. I like the methodology of it, and the physical challenge. I just don't like to look down when I get to the top of something steep with a shear drop.

Side note: It's a little hard to climb with a seal on your back. I'll posts pics of Niblet on the castle later.

It was fun, in sort of a pure, childlike enjoyment way. I got to play on a castle!! Not just walk around inside of it and look at things, but actually put my hands on and climb through holes in the structure!!!

I wanted to follow the guidebooks suggestion of not taking the road back down, but instead following the dirt path through the heath, but as I started down, I noticed the bees. There were flowers growing in the heath so sticky with pollen you could see the liquid glistening in the sun. I kept going, not frightened of a few bees. Eventually I came to a place where for about 20 feet, the path led by a wall of those sticky flowers, and I could see dozens of bees in the path. I'm not allergic, but that's not to say being stung many times simultaneously wouldn't cause a reaction, and no one knew where I was, and there was no telling when someone else would come along to help.

At the bottom of hill, I had a delicious lunch of a pita and minted yogurt meze, calamari, and 1/4 of a melon.

This day trip was easily one of the best parts of my vacation.

* * *

Dinner with Anna was nice. We ate at a restaurant under the Galata Bridge (there is a level under the main bridge that has a row of restaurants on each side, one facing up the golden horn, the other across the Bosphorus to the Asian shore.

We opted for the Golden Horn side, because it was sunset, and sunset on the Golden Horn is one of those things on my list of things to see before I die.

I almost cried, again. I probably would have if Anna hadn't been there.

After dinner, we rode in a taxi to Taksim and walked around. I bought a cool t-shirt in a trendy jeans store called Rodi. During dinner, Anna had been flirting with our waiter (after the 2nd glass of Raki he'd given her for free), and also this guy at the table next to us (I was over it, and just sat and watched bemused), and we ran into the other table guy on the main drag in Taksim several times. At one point, he bought and gave her an Evil eye bracelet (they cost 1 lira).

Eventually we took a taxi (they spell it "taksi") back to Sultanahmet, and Anna got her first glimpse of the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofya at night. We made plans to meet for the light show at the Mosque the next night, and headed back to our hotels (I had the kitty-in-the-tree incident on the return).

The evening was quite pleasant. It was nice to have company and conversation with someone who didn't want anything else from me.


*I've since figured out the scheme. Some are interested in foreign women for the novelty, and the perceived high chance of sex. Some are trying to hustle you into a shop, because it's their job, and they make a commission off of anything you buy. Some are honest-to-goodness gigolos. You can usually tell these by the expensive designer Italian clothes, presumably given as gifts. (heh, I saw one who must have been new. He was still wearing dockers and a polo shirt). Please note, Hasan fell into the first category - he "romanced me" and paid for everything.

**I will explain later.

Istanbul - pt. 4

On Thursday I rode the ferry to the Princess Islands. You can get off on any of them, but I chose to wait to get off at Buyukuda (which literally means "big island") because I wanted to hike up the mountain to the Monastery of St. George.

I opted to take the horse drawn carriage from the ferry to the base of the mountain, and area called Luna Park, where you can rent a donkey to ride up if you choose, or just walk. I figured the steep climb would be more than enough excercise. There are no cars on the Islands, which are like a Turkish version of the Hamptons. 6,500 people live on Buyukuda for most of the year, but during the summer that number climbs to an astonishing 40,000. There are some vehicles, but they are mostly work trucks, or belonging to the rich summer dwellers. People walk, ride bikes or rely on horses for transportation.

The hike was hard on my feet and legs, and I was wearing good sneakers. What is with crazy women who wear heels to hike up a mountain?? Just before the crest, I stepped off the cobbled path and followed a dirt path into the woods, to a clearing that allowed me to look over at the asian shore of Istanbul along the Sea of Marmara, where I smoked a joint. (Side note, I have always sucked at rolling, it takes me half an hour at least to roll a rather small and unsmokeable joint. But somehow, here in Istanbul, I've managed to roll nice fatties that smoke well in just a couple of minutes. It just clicked finally. Only about 13 years after I first learned how to roll one). It was peaceful and nice.

Back on the cobbled path, I made my way to the top. The Monastery structure is rather unimpressive, but I climbed all around the top of the mountain on the rocks that line it, and had breathtaking views of both Europe and Asia. From some places, there is almost a 360 degree view, and it was absolutely stunning. Something about my pilgrimage made me feel like I was climbing the Tor at Avalon.

I sat on the rocks for a long time, sometimes taking pictures, but mostly just meditating. This is a short blog entry even though it was quite a long day, because most of it was spent in self-reflection. I think I managed to figure a few things out, but they're not necessarily for posting here.

There is a cafe on the top of the mountain that has a limited, though delicious menu. For 13 lira, or about $10, I had a meal of kofte, fried eggplant, a really fragant melon, sparkling water and apple tea. You cannot beat the value you get for your money in terms of food in Turkey.

It started to sprinkle, so I walked back down to Luna Park, and took the horse buggy back to the ferry. The ride back was crowded and uncomfortable, but I used the time to write about Paris in my journal (I'll post it here later).

Back in Istanbul, I went back to my hotel and rested a bit (and tried to call Hasan for the first time), before heading to a well-known backpacker restaurant near by called Doy-Doy. I ordered the mixed kebab, which turned out to be a plate of food that would easily feed 2, perhaps three people. I tried a bit of everything, but except for the two small pides (turkish pizzas), I finished none of it. For 11 lira.

Istanbul - Cat Tragedy

If I lived here permanently, I'm fairly certain I would end up being the Crazy Cat Lady of Istanbul.

This country doesn't have animal shelters or pounds as far as I can tell, so the streets are literally crawling with stray cats and dogs. The most unfortunate 4-legged creatures I've ever seen. They eat trash and anyting the tourists will feed them. Istanbullas seem indifferent, and sometimes worse.

The worst experience I mentioned in part 3? The saddest, most mangy, scrawny, beat up looking orange tabby walked up to a man and meowed for food. The man kicked him. Then the cat walked up to me, looked up and meowed, and I had no food to give him. It honestly broke my heart. I completely lost it, and burst into tears. I walked away, tears streaming down my face for a good ten minutes. Half an hour later, thinking about it would still bring the water works. I just shed a few right now as I typed this.

Later, when Hasan and I were having dinner, the minute the meat was set down on the table, there was a calico kitty at my feet, meowing. So I broke some meat off and set it on the ground. As I ate, the cat continued to sit there, pawing at my pants for more meat. I ended up feeding half my plate to the poor little thing. He was so cute, he'd take the food from my hand, using his paws as if they were hands of his own.

I've bought milk and opened it and left it on the street a few times (I've seen others doing this, I think whatever makes cats lactose intolerant doesn't apply when they're mangy and starving).

Last night, on my way to my hotel, I heard the most god awful howling coming from across the street. I walked over, so see that an older cat had chased a kitten up the tree, and the kitten was howling because he was afraid and didn't want to get down.

I spent half an hour coaxing that kitten out of the tree. An elderly Turkish man brought me out some lavash bread and milk to use (he also kept motioning me inside, but I didn't go). Finally I got the kitten down, only to have 2 dogs come over because of the food and chase the poor thing right back up. It took another 10 or so, of my and the man's coaxing, but we got the kitten out. He tried to take my stuff inside his shop with him, but I said no and thanked him in Turkish, and went on to my hotel.

It bothers me to see the dogs, too, but I am a cat lover through and through, and the plight of the animals (particularly the cats) here, makes me think of my own 2 kittens, having been abandoned and left to starve in a box before they were rescued and I could adopt them.

So Mejane - when you feed the babies for me next, please pick them both up and give them cuddles and kisses and tell them their mommy loves and misses them?

Istanbul - pt. 3

My 2nd day in Istanbul, I decided to do the Bazaars (Grand and Egyptian Spice).

On my way to the Grand Bazaar, I was approached by two men. One selling carpets, the other just wanting to talk. By approached, I mean they followed me. Because almost EVERY man I walk by says something to me. But they seem to be like cats or hookers - they have a defined territory, so if you move beyond them, they don't follow.

But some do. You can choose not to reply to them, or tell them "no, go away", but it doesn't seem to work. I've realized that to turkish men, EVERYthing is a negotiation. "No" just means you want a lower price or they haven't said the right thing yet. To the carpet sellers, I've learned to say I've already bought one, then they usually stop following me.

When I walked into the Grand Bazaar, it was like entering a whole other world. A world much like the outside, but where the streets are more narrow and you practically have to shove the shopkeepers out of the way in order to walk past them. A world of one long chorus of "Yes please. It is my turn now. Hey Lady. Where are you from? Lady, please talk. Where are you from? Hey Lady? Oh, Bonita. Are you Russian? Bonjour! Are you from England? Hey lady? I am here. Where are you from? Hey Lady!?!" I think I had every European language thrown at me in an attempt to get my attention. But I was determined to heed none of them.

I didn't feel uncomfortable, but those aren't the kind of shopping conditions I like. I just want to be left alone to browse, and am much more likely to buy if not given the hard sell. So, instead of buying anything, I just looked straight ahead and made my way up and down all the streets inside I could manage, looking 3 or 4 stalls ahead of me at the items for sale. Any faltering would have caused the shop keeper closest to me to pounce. And like I said, you can't easily extract yourself from conversation with any of the men here, except by walking away. Dialogue equals negotiation. The practially force you to be rude to them, and while most seem ok with that, a few are complete assholes.

I wonder how many other travellers, like me, end up not buying anything there because the wealthy Armenian shopsmen (I learned from a Turkish woman today that all the stall owners in the Grand Bazaar are Armenian) are too intimidating? For a country dependant on tourism, they seem to not understand how people from the west prefer to shop.

So, I made my purchases outside the Grand Bazaar, on my way to the Spice Market. I even bargained!

I wandered into and through the spice market, only to leave thinking I must be in the wrong place. It looked more like the Grand Bazaar than I thought it should, but smaller and with a bunch of places selling Turkish delight.

So I wandered back out, and stopped for a Doner (like Gyros) and a Pepsi Light, costing all of 4 lira (well under $3), before following the signs to the Galata Bridge, where I sat in front of Yeni Cami (the New Mosque) and pulled out my map.

It took me about 5 minutes to figure out the Spice Market entrance was right behind me. When I walked in, I instantly realized I'd already been there. (I don't mind backtracking and getting lost on vacation, as long as I'm doing it on my own - it just feels like exploring the city I am in). The Spice Market doesn't sell much in the way of Spices anymore. It's like an enclosed Pier 39 with souvenir shops.

So I turned and walked across the Galata Bridge, determined to go to the Galata Tower.

But I went left when I should have gone straight, and walked down this strip of shops all dedicated to plumbing, bathrooms and kitchens, where I had my worst experience in Istanbul to date.

I didn't manage to see Galata Tower before it was time to head back to my hotel to get ready to meet Hasan. Ah, well. I'm not sure I would have appreciated it after the episode.

I went into the Basilica Cistern on the way to my hotel. It is amazing and cool and serene and dank and beautiful in there. When I'm in Amsterdam, I will post pictures. Niblet liked all the underground water.

***

My 2nd date with Hasan began outside my hotel. We walked to the restaurant across from his family carpet shop in order to see the Whirling Dervish dancer. I don't understand how they don't vomit and fall over. Some Dervishes spin for upwards of an hour and a half.

We had a light meal and tea, then headed to Taksim, the cool shopping center of Istanbul, very western looking. In fact, it could be in any of the major cities of the world. It looks like Union Square. And Melrose. And the Leidseplein.

We went first to an english pub Hasan likes, and I tried Raki. Raki is the national drink, tastes like drinking the fruitcake fruit, and knocks you on your ass in one drink, if you're not used to it. After the Raki, he took me to a wine bar. I have to say, I was disappointed. It was nice, but it was so San Francisco, and I didn't come to Istanbul to experience California. The saving grace was that I tried a Turkish wine from Anatolya, as well as a cheese from that region, and also 2 kinds of Kurdish cheese. The Anatolyan cheese reminded me of bleu cheese without having any blue in it. The Kurdish cheese rocked. One tasted like smoked dutch gouda. The other was similar to mozzarella string cheese, but more salty and not quite as moist.

Most cheese in turkey is sheep's milk cheese, with some goat and some cow. But sheep are to them what cows are to us, and they eat lamb and use sheep's leather the same way we do cows. I have yet to see any pork in this country.

As we were drinking the wine and eating the cheese, it became clear Hasan had no intention of going dancing. He kept talking about being warm with me and wanted to spend the night with me. I suggested my hotel. He thought the two of us getting a hotel together would be better.

I decided come what may, this relationship was ending *tonight*. He kept wanting more of my time, all night, the days, the next night, etc. I'm travelling alone for a reason: I've just filed divorce papers, and I have so many responsibilities at home, I just wanted time to travel and explore and not have a schedule and not have to worry about pleasing someone else and not have to be at certain places at certain times. So I asked him first to take me someplace for me to smoke apple tobacco from a Nargileh.

How would that help, you wonder?

By making me so obviously ill he would feel like dick pressuring me for more.
Short of turning green and vomiting, I would have spent hours negotiating with him.

I didn't have to actually vomit. Turning green seemed enough to do it.

He walked me back to my hotel (and wanted to kiss me - gah! MEN!). He asked if he could see me the next night, and I said I would see how I felt when I got back from my day trip to the Princess Islands. I got his number so I could call in case I got back too late for the shop to be open. I knew then I was going to let him down over the phone. Chickenshit of me? Maybe. But I don't want to negotiate a break-up with someone after 2 freakin' days, you know?

I did call his cellphone, 2 times that night, and once the following night. Each time I got a message saying he couldn't take the call and to call back later. Apparently his service doesn't inculde voice mail. I've gone by the shop a couple of times, and he hasn't been there at those times. I didn't want to be a complete asshole and totally brush him off with no word, but he's not making it easy to be even a little bit nice.

It's a shame - because he is cute, and I had fun the first night. But I want to be footloose and unfettered, not practically married to the first Turk who didn't try to sell me something.

***

This entry sounds like I think more negatively of Istanbul than I do. I really love it here, it's just difficult to adapt to the culture of tourism and shopkeepers and the need for every man to try and speak to me. Western movies make all women seem like sluts compared to muslim women, and so the men are all very hopefull they are going to get some, just like James Bond.

Istanbul - pt. 2

I had a siesta, and Hasan came to meet me for dinner at 10:00. He told me I was looking very gorgeous. We walked to a restarant along the waterfront I'd walked by earlier. It was traditional Turkish, and he told me to pick whatever I wanted, and he would follow me. I ordered Kofte (meatballs), tomato salad, shrimp, fried aubergine and Efes, the national bira (beer). The beer was good, and I as a rule do not like beer. Still, when in Istanbul ...

The shrimp were the cocktail size which just seemed odd somehow. The tomato salad had so much diced onion even Hasan wouldn't eat it. The Kofte and aubergine rocked, though. More like mini hamburger patties than meatballs, Kofte are very peppery and green oniony and some places add other seasonings. The fried aubergine were sliced about 1/4 of an inch thick, sliced in discs and fried in a bit of oil, served topped with turkish yogurt from Harem (which is so ubiquitous here it comes in some form with every meal and they even drink a thinned out version). I think this may be my favorite dish here so far. I've tried it at a few places and love it.

2 biras later we left the restaurant filled with delicious food. Hasan put his arm around me and we headed toward the street in Sultanahmet that has a number of bars and restaurants. Half way up the hill, he stopped and pulled me into a kiss. We continued onward and opted for a roof top terrace where we ordered red wine.

During dinner, Hasan had explained that he'd seen me in Sultanahmet Square from 70 or 80 meters away. When I walked by, he called out to me two times, but I kept going. At that point, he turned to his cousin and asked him "Oh my God. She is my dream. What do I do?"

"Follow her."

So he did. On his fourth attempt, I turned around and basically told him off. He kept telling me how happy he was I finally stopped.

Now, on the terrace, he put his arm around me and we sat that way 2 glasses of wine a piece (I'd regret that in the morning. 2 biras and 2 glasses of red wine are not a good combination - hello, raging headache!)

Hasan told me he felt we were very "warm with each other". I'm still not sure exactly what this means, because I think there is something lost in the translation he is making from Turkish to English. I gather it has something to do with the heart, because he always puts his hand there when he says it. Whatever it means, I think we were.

Then he had to go and ruin it by whispering "I never want to lose you" into my ear, and told me I was his angel.

At that point I decided I wouldn't be sleeping with him. I mean, what the fuck? After like, 3 hours? Yeah, anyone who knows me well well knows that kind of smitten doesn't win me over. A person needs to be detached and somewhat aloof seeming in order to catch my attention. I get to be the very smitten one or it doesn't work. I like a challenge.

Morever over, he doesn't want to lose me, based on what? That I'm blonde and cute? GAK.

He wanted to spend the night with me, but I told him I needed to sleep, as I had slept maybe 7 of the last 48 hours. What I didn't say was that the last thing I wanted under the circumstances was to have to fight off a horny guy all night long (he promised we didn't have to have the sex, but I know how that play goes). I tend to have trouble sharing a bed (except with kitties of the furry and unfurry variety) let alone a bed with a man rubbing his hard cock against my back all night hoping I'll give in and roll over.

I agreed to meet him the next night, as he promised to take me dancing. I figured I would just opt out of "the sex" after dancing. He walked me back to my hotel, and in front, where we kissed again, he started begging and pleading with me to change my mind.

So thoroughly not the way to win me over. If I say no, there are two proper responses: respect it and shut up about it, or throw me against the wall and have your way with me. Begging is annoying and pathetic and those are not qualities I find attractive. While we were kissing goodnight, he put my hand on his cock for me to rub through his pants. Good, heavens, was it small. If I hadn't already decided not to sleep with him, I would have then. Why waste vacation sex on someone with such disappointing equipment?

Mustafa's approach had been better. The problem there was I was not attracted to him, so it similarly turned into a begging/pleading thing, which is part of why I don't think the encounter was as dangerous and dramatic as I may have made it sound. Rather than begging and pleading, he was more the kind of guy that thinks if he can just keep you there long enough and say and do the right things, he'll unlock the magical key to your pussy. Not unlike teenage boys and younger men without much experience.

Since we're on the subject, I'll clarify a bit. When I said he wouldn't let me leave, I didn't mean I was physically restrained in any way, nor was I locked in the room. Also, his nephews, workers, and the girl who serves him kept coming in and out, so there was never more than 5 minutes where we were truly alone. He was just very gropey in those 5 minute intervals. I could have, at any time, just left, or, if I needed to, kicked or punched him in the nuts before bolting for the door.

But it was my first few hours in a new culture and I wanted to extract myself from the situation without violence or a scene. It is impossible to get to just about anywhere in Istanbul without walking past the place his nephews hand out to schill people into the shop.

I was trying to find the polite and appropriate way to leave, but all of my "I just got here and I want to explore and see sights, not spend my time here, I don't think I want a carpet" protests were met with offers of more tea, cookies, water, etc, and more discussion of rug making and financing one for me. I was hyper aware of the potential threat, and my surroundings, the entire time and would have gotten myseld out of there if I felt like I needed to, if it seemed like serious danger. I may be little and sometimes too trusting, but I am far from helpless!

So I went to bed my first night in Istanbul alone, thank god, and slept quite soundly. I'd need more rest for my big day at the Bazaars the next day, and 2nd date with Hasan the next night.

Istanbul - part 1

(as many of the people reading this have been there, I'm going to fill in Paris when I get back to Amsterdam, because once again, there is not wireless in my hotel. Apparently to them, "wireless internet" means you leave the hotel and walk 200 meters to "Backpacker's Travel" with whom they have a partnership and use of free DSL. *sigh*)

I arrived in Istanbul at 3 in the morning, Istanbul time. As you can imagine, there wasn't much to see at that time, but I flew into the airport on the asian side, so my hotel shuttle ride took me through all 3 parts of Istanbul: the Asian side, the middle, or "new" istanbul, and to Old Istanbul, to Sultanahmet where my hotel is located. 38 euros/night buys you a nice 3-star hotel with hardwood floor, pretty tapestries, and a really nice bathroom, a far cry from paris where 68 euros a night buys you a 2-star habitable flop. I smoked a joint, showered, and went to sleep. Only to be woken up at the ungodly time of somewhere between 5 am and 6 am, by Islamic morning prayer. I thought it was just someone close by chanting his prayer, but no. The minarets of the mosques blare the prayers. If you don't know about this, you are very soon reminded you are in a heavily Muslim country.

I got back to sleep and managed to sleep past the free breakfast (8 - 10:30) at my hotel. So I wandered out, thinking I'd eat near Aya Sofia when I got there. I should have gone on the roof terrace before leaving, in spite of missing breakfast, because I would have seen how close the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofia are to my hotel. Instead, I went the wrong way, walked along the Bosphorus, and finally saw a sign that took my up a winding, steep street to the Mosques.

I had no turkish lira, so I needed to go to the ATM. Of the 3 directly across from Aya Sofia, only one was working, and it refused to work for either of my cards. A man offered to show me where Bank Street is, where I could find some European banks and be more likely to successfully withdraw cash. I'd heard about the "guide" phenomenon, but this didn't strike me as something like that. As we walked to Bank Street, he asked me to come inside his family's shop for a cup of tea. It sounded nice and so I accepted.

His family sells carpets, kilims, ceramics and made-to-order jewelery. As I sat there, he told me there were some Americans in the store, who had bought a carpet from his undcle 30 years ago, and were here visiting again. So he asked me to come meet them.

And here's where I should have left. I was introduced to the friends and the uncle, and the uncle started in with the hard sell on carpets. Still, it was kind of interesting seeing the whole process, so I'm glad I did have the experience. He started commanding his nephews to roll out carpets for me to view. Maybe 50 or more. Then I pointed out a few I liked as the wrapped the rest up. I was thinking they'd be maybe 200 or 300 for the small ones - but when I had the ones I liked chosen, he started quoting me between 800 and 1300 lira ($600 - $1100). Too rich for my blood, so at that point I said I didn't think I wanted to spend that kind of money so early in my trip. I was trying to be polite and get the hell out of there.

Instead, I ended upstairs in Mustafa's (the uncle) office, given turkish coffee served by his neice, watching her put a cigarette in his mouth and light it for him, then leave us so he could give me a lesson in carpet and kilim making, and trying all sorts of ways to convince me to "invest" my money in a carpet. He found out it was my birthday just recently, and gave me a present of a hand painted ceramic bowl.

I could not get out of there without being rude, and they were being really nice to me.

Until Mustafa decided he thought I was hot and began climbing all over me.

One minute, I'm sitting on the sofa having carpets explained to me. The next minute his tongue is down my throat.

I tolerated his gropings for a bit. I wasn't afraid of it getting to the point of me being raped in that office, not with his family in the building and the Tourist Police 3 doors down. And besides, when he tried to put his hand down my pants and direct my hand to stroke his rock-hard cock, I pulled away, and he backed off. I was mostly in control of the situation.

Except for the not being able to get out of there part.

Eventually, he did let me out, and had his nephew take me on to bank street. Then he walked me to Aya Sofia, and I thought that would be the end of it.

Aya Sofia was amazing. But it's falling apart, and they are slow to renovate it. I particularly liked the two seraphim painted on the ceiling above the entry on either side of the largest room.

But that wasn't the end of my carpet "buying" experience, the nephew waited for me with his cousins by the exit, and at the end, I said I was just going to go to the Basilica Cisterne, and he said, "come have tea". Crap. I asked where, he said "just on the corner", I thought he meant the little cafe on the corner. And soon I was in Mustafa's office again.

This time, I did manage to get out without the tongue down my throat and gropings, but I had to promise to come back the next day (I didn't go).

GAH!

I wasted like 4 hours on that. And I still hadn't had breakfast.

Right.

Food.

As I walked away, many other men tried talking to me. I just kept going. Then this one called after me. I didn't stop. He called again. I kept going. Then he was following me, and finally I stopped and turned to him and told him I really just wanted to be left alone, as I had just been hustled into a shop and given the hard sell (and molested, which I left out). He promised me he was not trying to hustle me. He introduced himself as Hasan, and asked me if I had seen the Blue Mosque yet. Too worn down from the earlier encounter, I didn't have it in me to be a bitch and just walk away. I told him I had not, and after showing me the Theodosian Obelisk, he took me into the Mosque.

After, he brought me into his family's carpet store, and he was true to his word, he did not try to sell me anything. I sat on the terrace with him and had apple tea. He was being really sweet. Eventually, I asked him to show me the leather store, too. I *did* want a leather coat from Istanbul. So we went, and within maybe 45 minutes, I had a brand new tailored to me leather coat that would have cost me $600 or $700 at home, and not been tailored to fit me. I paid $200.

Hasan walked me back to my hotel, and we made arrangements to have dinner later that night.

See - this one wasn't trying to sell me something. He wanted to take me out.

More on that later.

All good things must come to an end

it is my last day in Paris. It is my 30th birthday. The last few days I've seen more art, but also experienced more of Paris - the kinds of things most people don't get to do on vacation. I don't have time to go into it all just now - I'm going shopping today ... Happy Birthday to me! -

but the highlights include:

-dinner with an old libertine ex-pat, a couple who lives 1/2 the year in Paris and the other in Portland (he's in the Peace Corp) and a former Hustler editor/journalist/current talent agency owner Texan who now lives in Shreveport, LA

-a request from the texan to come back to my hotel for a "show" he'd direct

-overcoming the height fear and going to the top of the Eiffel Tower

-a tour of St. Germain & Monmartre with a gay cabaret performer, dinner at his home with some friends and drinks in 2 Parisian lesbian bars


I will supplement and add pictures soon.

And now -- shopping!!!

Art

I've thus far made it to the Rodin Gardens, the Picasso museum, and, of course ... La Louvre. I think, over all, Picasso was my favorite. I've only had limited access to his work before now, but I spent almost as much time viewing his collection as I did in the entire Louvre today.

I spent a good ten minutes sitting in front of this one, completely entranced (it's called Large Nude in a Red Chair).



I also fell in love with Olga (titled Olga looking pensive):





After Rodin, and my Louvre tour, I've realized I really like sculpture. I'm not sure what it is exactly. I don't like the busts ... they seem pompous somehow ... you know, the ones that are OF famous historical people, like Napolean or other monarchs or aristocracy. But the sculptures depicting saints, or gods and goddesses, or mythological people, or real people who seem mythological (like Hercules) - I love.

There is something about how smooth and accurate to the human form they are. The shape of flesh, but not flesh. It suggests to me the artist's love of the human form, so much that they mold or chisel it in 3 dimensions with their hands. It speaks to a love of man that I just don't get when looking at Renaissance paintings, for example.

Maybe it is the 3 dimensional aspect I like, and the accuracy of form, and the scale . It just gets me.

I really, really want to go to Florence someday to see David in person. A friend of mine showed me some pictures she took of David when she visited a few years ago, and it was SO much more real for me than what I'd seen in books or on film until then. Just the pictures made me cry.

I did get weepy looking this piece at the Louvre. I think it may be my favorite piece I’ve seen in Paris so far, of painting, sculpture or other objets des artes.

It’s called Psyche ranimee par le baiser de l'amour which I think translated is “Psyche revived by Cupid’s Kiss” L’amour would suggest “Love’s Kiss” but the French call Cupid “L’amour”.