I am in Istanbul and I ask myself: “What am I doing here? “
Beforehand it seemed such a great idea: Why not fly to Istanbul for a few days?
The flight was uneventful and uncomfortable. After arrival I took a bus to Taksim Square, as my host had instructed me to do. He had advised against taking a taxi to the apartment because of the high chance of being ripped of. I was tired though and decided to take a taxi instead of walking. The moment I realized that indeed I was being ripped off, I should have shouted:”Stop the car now and let me out immediately! ” I didn’t feel assertive enough, though.
After the taxi had disposed of me in the vicinity of the apartment, and I had paid twice the usual fare, I walked to my Airbnb. The room turned out to be cramped in a cramped apartment, with the owner never more than 8 meters away (luckily most of the time with a wall between us). The promised view of the Bosporus turned out to be underwhelming: a sliver of blue, barely to be seen over the crest of a hill.
As always my mistakes loomed large in my mind. I had not paid enough attention, and had bought a ticket with a return flight that would be leaving at 8.30, forcing me to get up at half past five to be in time at the airport, and forfeiting an additional half day in Istanbul I realized my whole trip could be ruined by repetitive thoughts of failure. My mind really likes those.
In the morning, on a quest for coffee, I walked along a park and looked down on the gold decorated dome of a mosque, with the panoramic view of the glistening Bosporus behind it, with huge domes and minarets in the distance on the other side of the wide expanse of water. My mind recognized it as a glorious sight but my emotions refused to come along for the ride.
Chance and bad judgment brought me to a cafe run by a coffee collective. The collective clearly decorated this place themselves with the materials at hand, without the help of a designer. This should have warned me
They offered gourmet coffee made of beans from tiny local coffee plantations owned by poor peasants from all over the coffee producing former Third world. It all felt terribly pretentious, especially with Chet Baker playing in the background. To add insult to injury: it turned out there was no Wifi! Too normy I guess. No distraction from coffee-savouring allowed.
The bartender looked like a heroin addict painted by El Greco: his face elongated, with dark rings under his piercing eyes, his skin a slightly greenish hue. I wouldn’t have calledl his general attitude welcoming. I should have said there and then:”Have a nice day.” and then leave. Again, I was not assertive enough. The Dutch are supposed to be these straight-forward truth tellers, even to the point of being rude. I guess I am the exception that proves the rule.
From the selection I choose Ethiopian beans, to be transformed into a hopefully tasty liquid through the process of slow dripping.
When after a slow and arduous process my coffee was ready, the bartender didn’t bother to bring it to my table. Instead, I had to get it myself, while he was busy counting his Third world beans. I don’t mind walking to a counter, but that the guy couldn’t be bothered to serve me left me seething. The customer was no king in this place, that was clear.
The coffee was nice, although i failed to taste the hints of orange, pear, lemon and honey that were supposed to be discernable for the discriminating coffee aficionado
I couldn’t connect to the Internet, but luckily I had downloaded a story by David Foster Wallace about his experiences on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. It inspired me to write this post, and helped me resist the urge to write how great it is to be here in Istanbul.
Now that I have finished writing this piece and drinking my coffee, I should get up to visit the sights, the Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque and what not, but I feel awfully tired contemplating this. That I missed a serving of my meds yesterday probably didn’t help.
Haha I had a similar experience in Istanbul. Originally I planned to stay a month there, but after a “2-day trial”, I decided not to come back. Felt too uneasy. Still a special place though.
better now?