POST SCRIPT - ISTANBUL, TURKEY

by Dan Winters (posted by his more techy savvy daughter)
 

It is our final morning in eastern Europe. We watch the Asian borne sunrise seep over the jade mountains to the east,  float across the iconic Bosporus, to illuminate one of the jewels of the world—the Blue Mosque. Not really, we actually are back home. I am jet lagged in my office (my son's old bedroom) trying to focus on the dim sun that  leaks over a partly cloudy San Jose. Life is good.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, "It is a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what's changed is you." Some truth about a lack of change but our lawn had changed : it was even deader, a bear had smashed the shit out of our Tahoe cabin, twice, our bank account was a disaster, and the Giants

had tanked. Carol says that is not what the F. Scott was talking about. Thus, we contemplated our change status (changitude?)  We had not gained weight, no change there, in fact Carol had lost some, although her suitcase had mysteriously put on 12 pounds. On the last two flights, they had red tagged her bag,"...danger overweight, consider use of lift." Our diet had changed, sliding more veggie on the veggie/ carnivorous scale.  A Croatian Mixed Grill will do that to you: all ham

appetizer, entree of 3 kinds of sausage (Jimmie Dean, Red Hot and Ballpark Frank) and 3 mystery meats - one could have been veal, don't even ask about dessert. Burkas don't freak us out anymore, not after you see that most have jeans and Nikes on underneath plus a tattoo or two. Just ladies with some different rules. We might have a new ethos or in Midwest talk "Tude" It is derived from a metaphysical tenet exposed by mid 20th century philosopher Ferris Bueller (of Ferris Bueller's Day Off, a deeply misunderstood movie. Some people actually thought it was a comedy!):

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it"                                                

 

Example. On our last day, we took a bus tour of Istanbul. It was painful. Our hotel was 30 yards from the Blue Mosque. The bus picked us up at the hotel, drove for a half hour,  transferred us to another bus, it drove for a half hour and dropped us off at, you

guessed it, the Blue Mosque. The day kind of went like that. But we got to sit with Ned from New South Wales Australia. He said "I am just a dirt patch farmer." What we meant was that he only had had 15,000 acres in his patch, the big ones had 250,000. That's a lot of dirt. We got to talk to Mike Haza in the row ahead. He was wearing a Chicago Blackhawk jersey and shorts. The mosque guards weren't happy with that outfit. Turns out he is a Jordanian born, Blackhawk maniac, 40 year south side of Chicago resident, Muslim - a unique breed with a laudable perspective. He said this world is screwed up, "but it's not the religions, it's the people." He also predicted a

Blackhawk Stanley Cup. We got to sit with a young Indian couple at the included tour lunch. I had the vegetarian dish (there didn't seem to be any vegetables, not sure what was in it.) The wife could have been a stand in for the exquisite co-star of Slumdog Millionaire and all the husband had was a MBA from Oxford. They said it was an arranged marriage but, she asserted proudly, "We had met each other before." They seemed pretty happy.

Later after a Die Hard worthy tour group escape and a

cocktail sunset, Carol spied a sign,"Panorama Restaurant" on the top of an old school hotel. It had a great view of the massive Hagia Sophia. However, It turned out to be only a Halforama, maybe a Quarterorama  and it was cold with the east wind howling. We would have bolted for cover, except we had a couple of

spectacular G &Ts sitting in front of us. Things were not going well for a special final night. Then, the Muslin call to prayer started, the five times a day ritual that is incredibly exotic, stirring, reverent and irritating, all at the same time. This particular caller had to be the James Brown of local call to prayer wailers. He felt "Good!" It was epic, it was freakin'  Muscle Shoals soulful. Meanwhile the Halforama filled up with thirty or so striking steel jawed men in sport coats. Two charmers engaged us in conversation. They and the others were officers in the British Army assigned to battle tactics development.  They had traveled to Turkey to study the Gallipoli invasion,  a disastrous landing attempt by a mostly Australian force in World

War One. Wikipedia says it was a nightmarish blood bath for both the Allied and Turkish sides. To learn more, netflix Gallipoli, the 70's movie with a young, sensual and then closet anti-Semitic Mel Gibson and the 2015 The Water Diviner starring Russell Crowe who is still trying to rehab from his throw up singing portrayal of Javert in the miserable Les Miserables. Just an opinion. Carol asked the officers, "I thought the modern warfare would be gorilla war, not assault landings." They said, "Russia, China." I said, "Well, at least no more cavalry and oxen drawn cannon." They said, "Afghanistan, Syria, Iraqi." We ordered more gin. 

We were told that Istanbul has a population of 20 million plus at this time of year a half million tourists, every day. It felt that big, that unwieldy. So, we went Bueller, we tried to look around. It was hard, Istanbul is one big ankle breaking tripping hazard, restaurant barkers attack from the side, rug salesman nip at the stragglers, rumor has it there is a bounty on pedestrians, worst, you never, never have the one lira needed to use the WC.  But if you pay attention sooner or later - magic happens  - "Holy Shit" and "Oh My" moments. Istanbul is fascinating but, you know, our fellow ragtag tourists were too. Maybe that is what Ferris meant.

Thanks to those who took time to read some of this smack. You really need a hobby. A shout out to the real writer in the family, Kristi for putting these together. Most of all thanks to Carol for being the cutest and best travel companion ever. She is even hooking me on her Hop On, Hop Off Bus addiction.