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Published: November 10th 2005
Hagia Sophia
The magnificent cathedral turned mosque, dating from Roman times.Having had a sweet taste of Rome, I was drawn by the ancient spirits to that other ancient Roman capital, Constantinople. The ancients apparently like to dramatize their power on even the feeblest among mankind. As with Rome, I was made to wait at the airport for hours, as if to say these holy places cannot be reached without first learning a lesson in patience and humility. The ancients, though, have underestimated the ability of the ultra-modern Americans to blame all travesties on the lack of good service in Europe. And if you have spent any amount of time in Europe, you painfully know just how this stereotype is true.
I went to Istanbul with two of the other exchange students at the Rotterdam School of Management. Carolina is doing her MBA at the Darden School at the University of Virginia. Ruth is doing her MBA at INCAE in Costa Rica. Carolina and I agreed to meet at the Rotterdam Centraal train station at 2:50pm to catch the 3:00pm train to Schiphol Airport. She of course showed up at 3:01pm, so we waited a half hour for the next train. Upon reaching the airport, we discovered out 6pm flight has
Hagia Sophia
Inside the dome of the Hagia Sophia. been rescheduled to 9pm. Still incredulous on this delay, we searched for anyone at the airline to confirm this is true. Aside from the empty counter and other frantic passengers, there were no traces of Corendon Airlines. As with my trip to Rome, my rushed efforts to be on time were met with nonchalant response by low-budget airlines regarding their apparent routine delays. Ruth, our other travelmate, showed up equally pissed off. She had just rushed through a quick rendezvous with a family friend so as to be at the airport in time; that is, she hurried up to wait.
At 7pm, the Corendon Airlines counter was finally manned. The so-called service agent explained that it was necessary for us to have called and reconfirmed our flight time. Thus the airline had done nothing wrong. Apparently, changing the flight time so the arrival time changed from 10:30pm to 1:30am was not a problem for anyone. I can tell you that Corendon has just lost any future business from me. Next time I fly from Netherlands to Turkey, you can bet I will not fly Corendon. The silver lining here is that this is providing writing materials for Ruth in
Millionaire!
I am a millionaire, at least in Turkish liras. These old bills are going away at the end of 2005. her service marketing class. You see, you can always look on the bright side.
At 1:10am, we landed in Istanbul. While the three custom agents had next to no one to process, the passengers were standing in a single long line for their visas. The three of us were lucky that we were at the front of the line. When Ruth’s turn was up, she turned over her Guatemalan passport. The Turkish officer looked at it, blinked, and asked, in Turkish, what country she was from. She said Guatemala. He asked again. She replied again. He asked again. Other impatient passengers chimed in. After a few more rounds, the visa agent somehow remembered that Guatemala is a country. Apparently not many Guatemalans go to Turkey. Who knew? Ruth had an equally long encounter with customs agent. Her first time being in Asia was quite the success. The silver lining here again is that our luggage arrived before we did at baggage claim; no waiting was necessary.
When we exited the airport, it became apparent that Carolina’s friend, who was to pick us up, was not at the airport. Later we learned that, like us, he neglected to check
We made it!
Ruth and Carolina showing off the plane tickets after we finally made it to the airport. with the airline so he did not know about the schedule change. He arrived hours early, could not wait any longer, and went home. So at 2:00am our choice was to take the bus run by the airline or a taxi. We opted for the former, and started asking around about our destination, about which we only had an address. The first guy I asked turned out to be one of those crazy world travelers. Erhun is Turkish but has lived throughout Europe and Latin America. He heard Carolina (Dominican origins), Ruth (Guatemalan), and me (a student of Romance Language) speaking in Spanish, so he started talking to us in Spanish. Turns out he also speaks Polish, English, German, French, and Dutch. After another 30 minutes of a weary conversation about the coldness of the Dutch and Germans and his life in Colombia, he invited us to visit his family on another day and then duly departed just before we crossed the Bosphorus into the European side of Istanbul. I was sure it would be the last time we see him. For me, a man who travels a lot and spends a lot of time in Colombia and Netherlands is to be met with suspension.
Even at 2:30am on a Thursday, Istanbul was a bustling city. Unlike Netherlands where stores shut at 6pm, Istanbul had busy convenience stores and supermarkets in even the wee hours of the morning. One observation is that nearly all the people out are young men. The occasional women tended to be of the street-walking pedigree. Ruth said she did not feel safe. Though we kept smiling and laughing. We called ourselves “Los Felices.”
The bus dropped us off in front of the famous Hagia Sophia at nearly 3:00am. Adding to our misery, it started raining. A taxi pulled up and wanted to charge us ten euros to take us to the hostel. This was an exorbitant amount, but given we had no map and no other taxi, we were entirely at the driver’s mercy. He proceeded to drive us in circles twice around the Hagia Sophia. At one turn the passenger door opened suddenly and Carolina’s backpack fell out onto the road. She screamed of course, and luckily she was safe. The taxi stopped so she can run back and retrieve her backpack. The hostel was dark when finally we arrived. The taxi driver nicely waited and made sure the hostel would take us. He even opened my umbrella for me. Alas, he earned his ten euros. Finally at about 4:00am we were all in bed, thanking every deity that the day’s adventure has come to a happy ending.
Our fortunes turned for the better the next day. Daylight revealed that our hostel was fantastically positioned to offer a view of the mosque from our rooms. Better yet, the breakfast room offered a panoramic view of the Bosphorus. Perhaps the only minuses were the loud prayers broadcasted from the mosques and noise and vibrations from the occasional trains. After a nice Turkish breakfast of feta cheese, tomato, cucumber, and other goodies, we set out for the nearby Blue Mosque. As it was prayer time, we were not allowed to enter. We then proceeded to the Hagia Sophia. The former cathedral and mosque and now museum was as fantastic as I had imagined. It was not as well maintained as it could have been, though restoration is evidently underway. The difference in style from the cathedrals in Europe was quite refreshing. Soon our hunger called, and we headed out.
We found a nice Turkish restaurant, or rather, the waiter found us. The décor was classically Turkish, with smoke from houkahs filling the air. The Turkish meatballs (kofta), kebabs, and Turkish pancakes were fantastic. The waiter also taught us how to say thank you in Turkish (pronounced like “tea, sugar, and a dream”) and gave us free drinks after we translated a phrase for him in English. It was agreed by all three of us that this was the Turkish experience we had expected.
We met with Carolina’s colleague for dinner. He took us to Taksim, the fashionable shopping street for the young. We spent some time checking out imitation goods, scoping for dessert places, and snacking on seafood from street vendors. We had Turkish style tapas for dinner, with anchovies, ultra-sweet melons, egg plant, and other delectables. Next we went to a dessert place, where we tried a cream dessert made with chicken meat. One bite each, and we stopped. Next dessert place was better, with muddy Turkish coffee and ice cream so thick it had to be cut with a knife. Sweets are definitely a Turkish specialty, as well as table service.
The next day we went to the Tokapi Palace, which was disappointingly plain and boring. The Prophet Mohammed’s hair, which was on display, was perhaps as exciting as it had to offer. We nicknamed the place the “Boring Palace.” Next we went to the Grand Bazaar. Unfortunately it was closed. The next choice was taking the legendary Turkish Bath at the hamam. Uncomfortable as I was about having people laying their hands on my body, I was halfway between excitement and apprehension. As it turned out, it was one of the most relaxing things I did. True to what I have heard, the massage was hard and painful. Having an old Turkish guy scrub and wash me down was an experience. The best part was lying on the platform, which was heated from the inside at the perfect temperature. I could have stayed there all night, except for the body odor that got to me after about 30 minutes. I soon showered and left.
That night we took a long cab ride to Bebek, a posh suburb where we enjoyed an exorbitantly expensive but outrageously delicious seafood meal. We agreed that Turkish service is fantastic, but they have a tendency to bring you items you didn’t ask for, thereby overcharging you. It’s never quite what you want, though any good service after months of bad service in Netherlands was quite welcomed.
The next day Ruth and I went shopping and chilling out in a hookah bar, while Carolina went to another palace. We agreed to meet at the hotel at 3:00pm to catch the airline bus. Unfortunately, by the time we all arrived at the hotel, it was past the time to catch the bus. As we were preparing to catch a taxi to the airport, the clerk at the hotel said that he could call an airport shuttle to the airport we needed to go. Since the shuttle would cost only about ten percent of what we were expecting to pay, we agreed that we would take the shuttle, which came in about an hour. While we celebrated our good fortunes, we were quietly and obliviously being transported to Istanbul’s Ataturk Airport. Unfortunately for us, this was the wrong airport. Our airport, Sabiha Airport, was in fact on a different continent. At 4:50pm, the shuttle arrived at the Attaturk Airport, we informed the driver that we had expected to be at the other airport. He laughed. He asked what time our flight was (6:45pm), and then said it would take an hour to get there, assuming no traffic congestion. This being Istanbul, it was a bad assumption. The driver wanted 70 Euros, though he lowered it to 50 Euros. I argued for 40 Euros, though really we were in no position to negotiate. The driver ran around looking for a taxi who would take us instead, since he normally does not go to the Sabiha Airport. No luck. So he proceeded to drive us at his unhurried pace. Suddenly a taxi drove up beside the shuttle and shouted at the driver. Suddenly we stopped at the side of the freeway, and the driver said the taxi has agreed to 40 Euros. We rushed into the taxi, and the adventure thus began.
The driver announced his name as Tolga. Actually, he called himself “Crazy Tolga.” This was confirmed by his driving style. He started telling us about his being a sailor for six months to New York. Once again, when he asked about where we were from, he was like, “Guatemala? Where is that?” Tolga took a liking to Carolina, who was in the front passenger seat telling him that she was hungry while I was in the back trying to pacify Ruth, who face was fast turning colors. In Istanbul, lane lines are just suggestions, and turns are more like sudden jolts. All this while he was guessing Carolina’s age and teaching us Turkish. Ruth’s mood deteriorated rapidly as the traffic came to a grind at the Istanbul Bridge, which connected us to Asia and our Sabiha Airport. Tolga kept laughing with us, perhaps to diffuse the tense mood. Adrenaline was pumping quite rapidly at this point. We were more and more sure that we would not make it to the airport.
As the traffic opened up past the bridge, we were about one hour from the flight departure time. Tolga turned on his techno music, put on his hazard lights, flashed every car in front of us, and started swerving incessantly. We started sweating bullets every time he barely missed the adjacent cars. From the back, I saw Carolina’s head bobbing side-to-side like a porcelain doll. Suddenly, at 45 minutes from our departure time, Tolga turned off the music and said, “Excuse me guys.” I thought we were running out of gas, but it was not so. He pulled into a gas station nonetheless, but it turned out to be closed. We all started screaming that we needed to just get to the airport as soon as possible. Crazy Tolga did not seem to understand. He pulled into the next gas station and ran in. It was not because he needed to use the bathroom. Turns out, he needed a cigarette. We were simply incredulous. He was now over-the-top crazy. To his credit, he also bought us Dorito chips and three cokes, since Carolina mentioned that she likes Coca Cola.
At this point, were completely and utterly feeling hopeless. The next turn of events was that he missed the freeway exit to the airport. At this point, we were in the middle of nowhere at this point, with a toll plaza up ahead, driving fast away from the airport. Tolga was visibly nervous. He started explaining things to us in Turkish. Luckily he was able to find an exit and, with our backseat driving from two Americans and one Guatemalan, find our way back to the airport.
As soon as we pulled up to the airport, with just 15 minutes until departure time, I frantically made my way through the security gate and ran to the ticket counter with our three passports. The miracle of all miracles was that the counter was still open. Somehow, we even had three seats together. Carolina and Ruth paid Tolga and took pictures with him. When they came into the airport, we hugged, each of us still shaking from the experience. We talked incessantly about our luck. I think it was my favorite part of the trip. Perhaps it is true: I am an adrenaline junkie. In any case, we made it safely back to Amsterdam on a flight serenaded by Ruth and I singing Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York. It was nice to be back in the western Western World.
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Candice
non-member comment
well hello
Steven omg how are you?!!!!! I miss you!! I am so glad to hear from you I am glad it sounds like you are having a fabulous time!! Can we see pictures?!!! little busy now so I will holla again when I have more time to chat!! Hugs,Candice