BLOGGERS GET LOST IN BAZAAR; MARK ACCIDENTALLY TRADED FOR 1.2 KILOS OF PEACH TEA

Apparently a lot of people on the Istanbul City Council have heard the song by They Might Be Giants that goes, "It's Istanbul, now it's Constantinople, now it's Istanbul, on a moonlit night, wıth Turkish Delight," because every 500 feet ın the downtown area there's a sign saying "WELCOME TO ISTANBUL!" No room for confusion there.

So they do the hostel thing here a little differently than in other countries. They have a 5 story building with a tiny winding central stair to the 4th floor, where the dining room overlooks the Bosphorus. The rooms are tiny and cramped, but no one spends any time there anyway, because the roof is where all the action is. They breeze is great up there, and it is covered in random chairs, turkish divans, and tables. Everyone goes there at night to eat and talk, and there was also a party of French students (mostly girls, and one really effiminate guy, collectively referred to hereafter as "French girls"), who had spent all their money, sleeping up there for a few Lira per night.

Sar is one of the hostel workers, and a real capital guy. His only real defect, aside from a lip ring to go with his ultra-curly hair, is that he apparently learned his English from sailors on shore leave. This tends to produce hilarious yet totallyunprintable sentences. Oh, and also the fact that he has an advanced form of ADHD, which isn't always convenient in a tour guide. He gave us our first day tour as a walk and then metro ride around Istanbul, followed by a water tour of the Bosporus and the Golden Horn. The Bosphorus is the part of the Sea of Marmara dividing Europe and Asia, and the Golden Horn is the narrow, horn-shaped bay that splits the city in half. The problem is that Sar spent most of the night fighting with the French girls (more on that later) and was very sleepy and very hungry. So we wandered down the hill of Sultanahmet stopping about every 10 minutes for Sar to grab some food from nearby street shops. The problem was that he bought little teeny snacks in each place, saying that he wasn't very hungry, until he saw the next shop, and had to stop in there too. Then there was the problem that he'd forget where he was planning to take us, drift off to buy something, and then return to our seats on the boat to ask frantically where the boat was going. He also has a girlfriend who recently moved to France, and since she does not speak Turkish, he had to send her text messages in English, necessitating questions like, "How doyou spell 'crystal.' Do you think she will like it if I tell her she is like a melted crystal in beauty?" We told him "of course!" and spelled it for him.

Monuments are different in different countries. You see, in Rome they make monuments to celebrate the conquering of civilizations. The Arch of Titus, for instance. Then in Istanbul, they build mosques to celebrate victorious campaigns against the Persians or the allied forces of Europe. Now, in France, it is all very different. They have a different scale for victories there. For instance, try to find someone, even a French person, who can tell you what the Arc de Triomphe is actually about without consulting a history book or a tour brochure, and you may spend awhile looking. I swear we ran across no less than than three obelisks dedicated to, "the seven brave French gendarmes who put to flight two Irish rogues without calling for backup when they were discovered relieving themselves on the Metro." This brings me back to Sar and hıs defeat by 70 lb.French girl over some forgettable slight that she received, probably in the area of unmentionable language. She, apparently enraged, assaulted him with a hand-thrown bottle cap, and he took off running, puzzled by a retaliatory attack over a simple ultra-offensive comment. We are still waiting for the monument.

The situation was finally resolved when Seth translated for them, the French girl saying, "I am trying to keep an open mind, but I do not understand. Where I come from, that is very, very bad" in a childlike voice. I do not think that Seth translated either the content or the meaning of their conversation, but that was actually good, and now Sar and the French girl are friends again. Of course, her comment made one wish to ask where the French are actually from, since normally that type of language is followed by the aside, "Pardon my French."

The Bazaars here are really something else. There is the Grand Bazaar, the Spice Bazaar, and a local Bazaar that I forget the name of, all within easy walking distance. You can buy anything and everything there, in long, crowded, arched passageways. We indulged in some Turkish delight and wandered until even Mark was tired of shopping, bless his heart. We officially made Seth the bargainer for the day, since he is hands-down the best at it, so whenever we wanted something we went to get him, and then just let him go nuts. It was quite a sight, and Seth had usually made a new friend by the end of the mammoth struggle.

Coming soon: Wrong-way taxis, Troy, and a Turkish naval captain.

JS®