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thetravellingvagrant · 6 years

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Day 1- Glasgow/Warsaw: In Which I Rob The Post Office Again

Long time readers of this blog- all two of them- will likely be acutely aware of phenomenon I have come to refer to as the 'first day curse'. For new readers- all none of them- this curse strikes, as you might expect, on the first day of my trip and, without exception, turns what should, for all intents and purposes, be the most exciting part of my journey into an unrelentingly shitty maelstrom of sadness and fuck. Be it getting dragged around a museum of the European Parliament while about six hours beyond my elastic limit of staying awake; getting turned away from my couchsurfing host's apartment for several hours, to fend off cold and blisters by a diminutive racist; accidentally committing a home invasion or just getting fucked time after time by bastard taxi drivers, who seem to make it their business to ruin my life, the FDC is ever-present and ever-shitty in this Vagrant life of mine.

But not this year. I was determined to swerve that bullshit however I could, this time; my journey to Warsaw, the first stop of this trip, had been planned to a tee; I had managed to finagle an honest-to-God lift to the airport with my very helpful mother, nearly entirely eliminating the possibility of missing my flight, which I seem to manage to do, each and every time I fly by myself and perhaps, most important of all, as detailed in my last entry, I had already basically had my FDC this year, with the absolute shit-show of a day I had had, trying to get my passport sorted. Surely the travel-gods would see this as enough penance to let me pass both unhindered and unfucked into Vagrancy, for once. Just once, travel-gods. Be cool. Jesus.

I woke up bright and early, or at least early, in my own lovely bed for what will be the last time for almost a month and quickly set about mopping up the remaining tasks on my to-do list for the trip, including- but not limited to- faffing around trying to get the export settings right on Adobe's Premier Pro for a video I had been working on (which, let me tell you, is a lot of fun to do under pressure and with a strict time-limit), general packing of way more things than I need and having a series of increasingly severe mini-breakdowns.

While my flight didn't leave until 7:30pm, I regardless found myself with little time to spare in my flat, due to my having an unavoidable dentist's appointment (whose office, those of you who read the previous entry will know, is located close to my parent's house and is therefore some distance from my flat) at two in the afternoon.

By some miracle, I finished my to-do list, or at least the most important items on it in reasonably good time, or at least in enough time to still make it to the appointment if I hurried and caught a bus to the train station and so bid my cat a remarkably brief, though no less tearful than usual farewell

I won’t miss you.

And was quickly on my way to have my teeth all messed about. Hurrah.

Trips to the dentist, I'm aware, aren't usually regarded as a particularly pleasant thing, regardless, but holy shit, was this ever not a pleasant trip to the dentist. The appointment lasted a full hour (fifteen minutes longer than was scheduled, which was very helpful on a day when time was so limited for me) and consisted almost entirely of having the inflamed pulp inside one of my teeth jabbed at with a needle, which uh, yeah, isn't too great, let me tell you. The little cherry on top of the bakewell tart of shit that had been my orthodontic experience was the anaesthetic injection in my gums: it seemed that I was to spend the rest of my day with my face entirely numb in, apparently, every part of it except the bits that hurt. I was also told to expect my tooth to ache like buggery during my flight. So that was a treat.

A bit shaken and now behind schedule, I left the dentist to return to my parent's house briefly to pick up my passport, check in for my impending flight and to put some music and podcasts on my phone so as not to be terribly bored for the rest of my evening.

Ryanair do a lot of shit wrong- Like a lot- but I've got to say that being able to check in and get my boarding pass on my phone is a nice touch, or at least one that just about finally brings them level with other, better airlines in literally just that one aspect. Or...at least it should have been...

I entered my details into the app, triumphantly pressed 'continue' with an uncharacteristic arrogance for someone dealing with anything to do with Ryanair and...an error occurred. For god's sake, Ryanair, pull your shit together. I pressed the button again, my confidence slightly dented, but still in tact. Error. Umm.

“Okay...” I thought, “so the app's not working. I suppose I can always go and physically print the passes like some fucking caveman”.

I loaded the Ryanair website, my confidence now all but entirely replaced with pure vexation and...it wasn't there. Not my boarding pass- the website. It was down for maintenance and apparently had been for some time- days in fact. Indeed with a quick Google, I learned that it was national (albeit quite tabloidy) news that this website was down. People physically couldn't check in for their flights and were being stung for £55 for it when they arrived at the airport because of it, while Ryanair, in an ostrichian level display of burying their heads in the sand were maintaining through all this that the website was up, running and fully functional despite clear empirical evidence to the contrary.

I checked my phone. I needed to leave; I still had to pick up a travel money card at the post office and get some food before I headed to the airport and had no more time to spare, angrily pressing 'continue' over and over again, sighing a little louder each time it didn't work.

My mother and I bundled ourselves and my luggage into her car and drove quickly to a nearby town. I darted off into the post office for my card and she into Morrisons to buy some very delicious food for me, which was very nice of her, even if I was in far too bad a mood to properly acknowledge it at the time.

I had realised, some time prior, that I had also managed to forget my gloves. Given that I'd be travelling to basically Russia in the winter and realising that historically that can go poorly, I was understandably a little worried about this. It came as a genuinely nice surprise then to find that the post office sold nice gloves at he very reasonable price of £1.50 a pair. I grabbed two sets (for layering purposes) and headed to the till. I obtained my travel money card fairly effortlessly (#humblebrag) and left with it and my gloves in hand. So to speak. Wait, shit- I had been so wrapped up in getting the card and dwelling on the unbelievable amount of garbage that had been slopped on top of me throughout the day that I had actually forgotten to pay for not one, but two pairs of gloves, thereby robbing the post office for the second time in a week. Charles Bronson got life for that so I'm lucky to have gotten away with it. Anyway, sorry post office. Again...

Travel money card, several pairs of stolen gloves and some very delicious food now obtained, my mother and I set off, finally, to Edinburgh airport. As we drove, I continued mashing the Ryanair app, desperately looking for signs of life, my already critically low optimism dwindling even further as I did. On the verge of giving up, the two hour cut off point for obtaining boarding passes looming within mere minutes, the app spluttered up all the water it had swallowed in that devastating surfing accident and took a deep, ragged breath. It wasn't much and being clinically dead for as long as it was, only to come back to life would clearly lead to massive brain damage, but that was all I needed to get my foot in the door and my grubby mitts on my boarding pass. I was overjoyed, though, and I've said this before of Easyjet, when you're made this happy by a service being offered simply working as advertised, that really does speak poorly of how high the bar is set for your company...

We ended up arriving at Edinburgh airport in genuinely quite good time, which was...surprising, considering how my day had been going, to say the least. My mother and I shared a tearful goodbye or I'm sure we at least would have done, if she wasn't so concerned about the cost of her stay in the drop-off zone going up the longer she stayed there and with a single punch on the arm in lieu of a hug, I was off.

I navigated the airport security with ease for once, with my bag and genitals left unfondled by surly old security guards and sat down in the duty-free costa with some time to spare. Despite having a bag of, and I really must stress this, like crazy delicious food with me, I decided to treat myself to a warm panini and a hot chocolate as due to a combination of needing to rush in the morning and having to wait after dental work in the afternoon, I hadn't yet eaten. As I chewed, using only the right side of my mouth, through my pigs-under-blanket panini and sipped my a-little-too-hot hot chocolate, I reflected. It seemed that the first day curse had regardless struck me once more, despite my best efforts to the contrary as, to be totally honest, I had had a pretty cack day. Still, at least I wasn't going to almost miss my flight, for once.

Oh, right, shit, my flight...

I looked at the time- the gate was closing. I'd spent too long reflecting like some genius prilosopher might... I pushed the rest of the panini into my already overstuffed mouth and forced it down with the remainder of my drink, burning my tongue quite badly in the process (probably considerably less like a genus philosopher might...) and sped off towards the gate. I don't know how I managed to get myself into this situation, but I now found myself in not insubstantial danger of missing my flight, despite having literally been inside the airport for the past hour and a half.

I approached my gate doing that kind of half-walk-half-trot thing that people do when they're in a hurry, but are still unwilling to go full-run.

“Are you going to Warsaw?!” a flight attendant, standing by the gate shouted to me, from some distance away

“Uh, yeah!” I replied, breathlessly.

Even as far apart as we were, I could tell that her face wore a look of mixed shock and pity

“...You'll have to hurry, then, they're getting ready to take off!”

I went full run. I charged through the gate and onto the plane as quickly as I could, stored my probably slightly too large bit of luggage in the overhead lockers (incidentally, being very, very late for a flight is a great way to get the attendants to conveniently forget to check the size of your bag) and sat down, sweating, dishevelled and manic to the demonstrable disappointment of my new seat-neighbour. I honestly don't blame him.

After an uncharacteristically pleasant flight, barring some minor air-pressure-related toothache, I was spat out into Warsaw Modlin airport and found myself almost immediately on a bus to the city centre. I'm not quite sure how I managed this, as by this point it was around 11:30 at night, I was still in pain, hadn't slept particularly well the previous night and was, by now, flagging badly, but I assume it was some kind of lovely witchcraft. Thanks, lovely witchcraft.

Once in Warsaw, proper, I quickly darted to the central station, which, through my very careful planning both my bus stop and hostel were adjacent to. Despite it pushing midnight, the station was still open and, although all I really wanted to do was go to bed, I thought it prudent to buy my ticket for tomorrow's early morning train journey to Belarus as soon as possible. I took my place in the queue, or at least what looked like a queue. The woman behind the counter appeared to be reading some kind of document on her computer; a strange thing to do, I thought, with a line of seven or so people, steadily climbing in number, waiting specifically for her attention. She continued to read this document and sip her coffee for the next forty minutes or so. It was dangerously close to 1:00am and I was dangerously close to putting the entire idea of getting a ticket before morning in a big flaming bin before she deigned to start actually doing her job and serving people again. Albeit slowly. I bumbled through buying my ticket in the most 'me' way possible (awkwardly, quietly and tinged with rage) and left for my hostel, head shaking in disbelief and body aching for sleep.

After a scant ten minute walk through the pervasively freezing Polish night, I had arrived. The door had been left ajar for me by the night-receptionist, who greeted me with a nod. I nodded back, somehow accidentally yanking the door closed in front of myself in the process. Great. Good start. I had managed to lock myself out of the hostel before even getting inside. With an audible sigh, even through the locked door, the receptionist forced herself out of her chair to re-open it for me. I apologised as I stepped inside. She started back at me blankly, apparently not speaking enough English to respond. She pointed to a clipboard sitting on her desk; on it were written the names of everyone checking in that night. I pointed to my own name and she led me to my room.

As she opened the door I was hit by an ungodly stench; a sickly sweet combination of feet, body odour and death. I wretched as quietly as my body would allow me to, unsure whether to tough it out and try to get used to the smell or just hold my breath all night.

The receptionist flicked the light on. An audible groan came from one of the bunks as the more irritable of my roommates was woken up by this. The receptionist pointed me to my bed and left. It was the bunk above the angry man. In a room of six beds, only three of which were occupied, including mine, it seemed that they had opted to put us as close to one another as we could physically fucking get, without sharing a bunk, which is honestly exactly what everyone wants in a hostel, anyway, so good show.

Not wanting to be 'that guy', I flicked the light off and, as quietly as I could, put my stuff away. I was hungry again, by this point and so decided to go and sit in the hostel's kitchen and eat some of my, as yet untouched, unbelievably delicious Morrisons swag. I grabbed my bag and headed out into the hostel's halls, quickly realising that there was no kitchen or indeed dining area of any kind. There was a toilet that stank perpeptually and very strongly of shit and a receptionist whose disdain for me seemed to only grow each time she laid eyes on me, but no kitchen. Unwilling to rustle sandwich containers and crisp packets on the top bunk of a sleeping man who genuinely may have hated me, I put the idea in a big flaming bin and opted to just go to bed, having eaten once and drank little more than a hot chocolate throughout the entire day.

I re-entered the bedroom as stealthily as possible, given the sleep I had had and realised all too quickly that the bed hadn't actually been made. They expected me to do that for myself, which, let's be totally honest here a) is among the last things I want to do when I'm exhausted and physically fatigued from travelling, b)is like super, super disruptive to the other people in the room and c) probably should already have been done before my arrival, right? I mean that's like hospitality 101.

With little recourse but to do it myself, though, I did just that. Shockingly, I did not manage to do it particularly quietly and even more shockingly than that, Mr. Angry didn't seem to appreciate my inability to noiselessly prepare my own bed at past-one-in-the-morning.

After some bumbling around with sheets, my bed was ready, or as ready as I could be bothered making it. I grabbed the ladder to my bunk and hoisted myself up onto it. The entire bed shook, unsecured bits of metal rattled against one another and the entire thing bent considerably on its axis. I don't know if you've seen the viral video of several hundred squeaky rubber chickens being pushed down on all at once, which made the rounds a year or two ago, but that was uncannily what it sounded like, except louder, deeper and sadder. I was one rung up the ladder.

Out of options, there was little I could do but push on- one thousand terrified chickens screaming in pain with every step, until finally I was in my bunk. The noise didn't abate, even then, ringing out, entirely undampened with every tiny movement I made, but at least the bed had stopped rocking back and forth like a tiny, shitty, uncomfortable boat.

Once actually in my bunk, the room's other issues began to make themselves apparent. While the bed did have barriers on the far side from the wall, these barriers were similarly flimsy to the rest of the structure and were so insignificant and strangely placed so as to do literally nothing to stop all my stuff falling off the bed during the night. The side of the bed pressed against the wall had no barriers whatsoever, instead opting for the 'sheer drop' approach, which obviously wouldn't have been an issue had it not been for the bed being positioned approximately a foot and a half away from the wall for absolutely no good reason. As it stood, it was fairly likely that my phone would fall off one side of the bed during the night and my body the other. My best efforts to counteract this came in the form of neatly folding my trousers and placing them under my pillow, with my phone nestled in the back pocket: in this way it was unlikely to be knocked to the floor in the night and I could still hear my alarm, even with earplugs in. And let me tell you, boy howdy did I ever need earplugs. Mr. Angry wasn't my only roommate- I was sharing with one other person as well. Actually, I say person, but I never did get a very good look at them and honestly, from the noises they were making during the night, you could have been forgiven for thinking that what I was actually bunking down with was a pig being butchered with a chainsaw. The noise was honestly inhuman; wet, droning slurps and gurgles emanated constantly from the far side of the room and cut straight to my core, regardless of how deep I pushed my lovely and usually very effective gummy earplugs into my terrible, broken brainbox. Combined with my squeaking chicken bed and that fucking smell, it was honestly a bit like going to sleep in an abattoir. An abattoir with no power outlets.

How's that for a Trip Advisor review?

#Travelling #vagrant #scotland #glasgow #edinburgh #ryanair #dentist #root canal #app #warsaw #poland #disaster #hostel #lux

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drtanstravels · 6 years

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In my last post we had spent a few nights in Vienna, Austria as Anna was a guest of Bayer at the 2018 Euretina Congress. We had always planned to have a holiday after the conference because it is kind of pointless to fly halfway around the world and not really see anything. Initially, we had decided on Poland because neither of us had been there before, but those plans soon changed when it became apparent that one of Bayer’s stipulations was that we fly with Turkish Airlines, with the flights to and from Vienna involving a layover in Istanbul, Turkey. Neither of us had been to Turkey either, but I went to university with a few Turkish people who were always saying how nice it was over there, an opinion echoed by a few other friends we know that have been, as well as a former student of mine who is now a pilot for Turkish Airlines. Turkey also often gets a bit of bad press, mainly due to what’s happening at the Syrian border, but we wouldn’t be heading in that direction so we figured we had nothing to worry about. Instead, we would be spending one night in Istanbul, two nights looking through caves and underground cities, as well as exploring rock features in Cappadocia, another two nights checking out ancient ruins and salt mines around Izmir, then a final night back in Istanbul before flying back to Singapore. Let’s take a look back at that first leg of our Turkish adventure, our time spent exploring Istanbul, but be forewarned; a lot of this post — and the following posts from our Turkish holiday — may seem a bit like a history lesson, but that’s what happens when you go on personal guided tours through ancient cities.

Monday, September 24, 2018 By the time we had flown out from Vienna, landed in Istanbul, collected our luggage, and arrived at the hotel, it was about 8:30pm. That didn’t really seem to be a problem, however, as people tend to do things late around here. A little bit of background information about Istanbul, a city we didn’t really know a whole lot about:

Istanbul, historically known as Byzantium and Constantinople, is the most populous city in Turkey and the country’s economic, cultural, and historic center. Istanbul is a transcontinental city in Eurasia, straddling the Bosporus strait (which separates Europe and Asia) between the Sea of Marmara and the Black Sea. Its commercial and historical center lies on the European side and about a third of its population lives on the Asian side. The city is the administrative center of the Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality (coterminous with Istanbul Province), both hosting a population of around 15 million residents. Istanbul is one of the world’s most populous cities and ranks as the world’s 4th-largest city proper and the largest European city. Istanbul is viewed as a bridge between the East and West.

Founded under the name of Byzantion (Βυζάντιον) on the Sarayburnu promontory around 660 BCE, the city grew in size and influence, having become one of the most important cities in history. After its reestablishment as Constantinople in 330 CE, it served as an imperial capital for almost 16 centuries, during the Roman/Byzantine (330–1204 and 1261–1453), the Latin (1204–1261), and the Ottoman (1453–1922) empires. It was instrumental in the advancement of Christianity during Roman and Byzantine times, before the Ottomans conquered the city in 1453 CE and transformed it into an Islamic stronghold and the seat of the Ottoman Caliphate.

Istanbul’s strategic position on the historic Silk Road, rail networks to Europe and the Middle East, and the only sea route between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean have produced a cosmopolitan populace. While Ankara was chosen instead as the new Turkish capital after the Turkish War of Independence, the city has maintained its prominence in geopolitical and cultural affairs. The population of the city has increased tenfold since the 1950s, as migrants from across Anatolia have moved in and city limits have expanded to accommodate them. Arts, music, film, and cultural festivals were established towards the end of the 20th century and continue to be hosted by the city today. Infrastructure improvements have produced a complex transportation network in the city.

Sounds pretty cool to me so we checked into our hotel, Fer, took the bags up to the room, and then hit the town. The hotel was in a great spot, making it easy to just wander around the city, checking out the shops, markets, bars, and restaurants. We strolled past some mosques, the Column of Constantine, an old cemetery, and a lot of other ancient buildings, but they were all things we would be spending the bulk of the following day taking in on a guided tour. Tonight was going to be all about eating and drinking and one thing that didn’t even cross my mind until that point was trying Turkish delight, most likely because I hated it as a child. When you grow up in rural Australia, you aren’t exposed to many authentic international foods, but more to international-inspired Australian food — Dim sims, anyone? Quite often boxes of assorted cream chocolates such as Cadbury Milk Tray had a disgusting Turkish Delight flavoured one that was just awful, but fortunately for the sake of humanity, Milk Tray discontinued the Turkish Delight flavour, renaming it Exotic Delight in 2013 and then replacing it altogether in 2015 with the far more palatable Apple Crunch. Anyway, my family generally only bought these types of chocolates at Christmas or on a special Family Night where we rented a video and spent Saturday night together, but if you were too engrossed in the movie and weren’t reading the key to the chocolates, you could absentmindedly grab that Turkish Delight one and your night was instantly ruined, even if you had chosen the movie. This is coming from someone who once ate a handful of compost as a dare, I’m not a fussy eater, but I hated what I thought was Turkish delight so I was skeptical when we stumbled upon Hafiz Mustafa, makers of what are considered the best Turkish delights available. We went inside the store, tried some of the samples and it was, well, delightful! Turkish delight in Turkey is absolutely delicious; instead of the pinkish-coloured bitter snot coated in overly sweet chocolate that I was accustomed to, traditional Turkish delight is a gel made of starch and sugar, sometimes coating dried fruit or nuts and then dusted with icing sugar, an ancient treat that became the inspiration for the modern jellybean. The flavours available are really interesting too, such as rosewater or mandarin. We ordered a bunch of different Turkish delight and cake, some rose tea, and kicked back for a bit before buying some more to take away and hit the street again. Some scenes up until that point:

Looking down next to the elevator from outside our hotel room in Hotel Fer

Not sure who lives in there

Moseying into town

A giant mosque

And another

Passing an old cemetery

Outside the Atik Ali Pasha Mosque Complex

Just spotted Hafiz Mustafa

Anna’s happy to be here

Havin’ tea

Some of the Turkish delight available

More of their selection

The bag ours came in. Definitely need to buy a fez.

After a few cups of tea and plenty of Turkish delight, we headed back out to look at the shops in the area, as well as find somewhere to eat, but we accidentally found ourselves in a market area, looking at jewellery. Anna almost has a sixth sense when it comes to sourcing out rings when we’re overseas so it came as no surprise that she stumbled upon Sûfî, a small store that sold a lot of traditional handmade Turkish items, in particular one-off rings. The owner was a really funny, albeit extremely sarcastic guy, and Anna could’ve spent a small fortune in there, but she managed to limit herself to two really cool rings that she’ll never be able to find anywhere else. That’s how she justifies it to herself, anyway.

Next on the agenda was the main reason we had come out — Dinner. Anna managed to find an area of bars and restaurants so we strolled past the mosques, statues, sculptures, and fountains that we’d see in more detail the next day and decided where to hunker down for the night for a bite to eat and a few drinks. The entire street was bars and restaurants so we chose one that looked good, Duvares Cafe, and pulled up a seat. Most people think of Turkish food as being a lot of bread, ground meat, and cheese, and this is generally true, but because Istanbul is on the coast, there is some really good seafood there too. We ordered some prawns, beef and eggplant, and a few other dishes but then our waiter, always the showman, brought over a table with a fire on it and a large clay vase covered in foil. He then put the vase in the fire and started banging on the table with his cutlery while an older man with a drum came over and started singing. When the dish was ready, he cracked the bottom off the vase and poured a pretty special looking stew into a bowl for the diner who had ordered it. I think I’ll be ordering this at some stage during our time in Turkey:

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We sat there, eating our food while still being a little envious of those who got the stew and the old guy singing and playing the drum continued to hang around our table, doing his thing. He was obviously working for tips, however, we hadn’t had a chance to get any Turkish lira, the local currency, out so we only had euros. Not to worry, the lira was in some serious trouble and still is to this date so it would probably be advantageous for him to receive euros, he could just take them to a money changer and cash in, but he still didn’t look particularly happy. We finished our dinner and it turned out that there was a shisha bar just down the road called Just Bar so we went in there and ordered an apple shisha. In the past we had ordered double-apple, but it had tasted like aniseed, something both of us can’t stand, but a guy who overheard us at the next table told us that regular apple doesn’t taste that way and he turned out to be correct. We sat around the rest of the night drinking, smoking our shisha, eating Turkish delight, and listening to some great music, Anna deciding the Turkish delights looked like the coals on the shisha. Our waiter from Duvares spotted her holding a piece out and cheekily came over, snatched it, and ate it, telling us that the ones from Hafiz Mustafa have always been his favourite. A bit of what we saw that evening in Istanbul:

We’d be doing a tour of this, The Blue Mosque, the following day as well

Making our way down into the market area

Heading to the bar and restaurant district

Now walking to another part of town

Anna with the owner in front of Sûfî, where she could’ve almost singlehandedly fixed Turkey’s economic crisis just by buying rings

Still going

There were some good choices for places to eat on this street

Post dinner drinks and shisha

Anna getting hungry

The drummer who couldn’t appreciate a stronger currency

In Duvares Cafe

Turkish delight does look like the coal, I guess

Hanging with my woman

It looks like they sell a fair bit of that stew

A closeup of the German Fountain when we were going back to the hotel

A cool building we passed on our way home

Tuesday, September 25, 2018 We managed to get up at around 8:30am, despite returning to the hotel only seven hours earlier and our private tour guide was waiting for us in the lobby of our hotel, keen to show us around town, however, she said there was going to be a lot of walking so she suggested we grab some of the free breakfast upstairs first. Once we had had our fill of food and coffee it was time to hit the road. When taking private tours like this around any city, you are absolutely inundated with information and it becomes a little difficult to recall exact details about locations so for this post, as well as subsequent posts from this holiday, I figure the best approach is to get the details about the location from Wikipedia and then add any personal stories from that leg of the tour, followed by some photos (provided I was allowed to take them).

We walked from the hotel, past some interesting buildings we’d seen on our way into the city the previous night, and then we were supposed to begin the tour by seeing Topkapi Palace, which was used by the Ottoman Sultans from the 15th to 19th centuries, taking in what is supposed to be an impressive collection of priceless jewels, crystal, silver and porcelain, robes worn by the sultans, and relics of the prophet Mohammed while we were there. We could even pay a little extra to enter the palace’s Harem, however, Topkapi Palace isn’t open on Tuesdays. Another chapter in the never-ending account that is the T-Factor? Perhaps, but instead our first stop for the day was Hagia Sophia and it definitely wasn’t a bad alternative:

Hagia Sophia is the former Greek Orthodox Christian patriarchal cathedral, later an Ottoman imperial mosque and now a museum (Ayasofya Müzesi) in Istanbul, Turkey. Built in 537 AD at the beginning of the Middle Ages, it was famous in particular for its massive dome. It was the world’s largest building and an engineering marvel of its time. It is considered the epitome of Byzantine architecture and is said to have “changed the history of architecture”.

From the date of its construction in 537 until 1453, it served as an Eastern Orthodox cathedral and the seat of the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople, except between 1204 and 1261, when it was converted by the Fourth Crusaders to a Roman Catholic cathedral under the Latin Empire. The building was later converted into an Ottoman mosque from 29 May 1453 until 1931. It was then secularized and opened as a museum on 1 February 1935. It remained the world’s largest cathedral for nearly a thousand years, until Seville Cathedral was completed in 1520.

In 1453, Constantinople was conquered by the Ottoman Empire under Mehmed the Conqueror, who ordered this main church of Orthodox Christianity converted into a mosque. Although some parts of the city of Constantinople were falling into disrepair, the cathedral was maintained with an amount of money set aside for this purpose. Nevertheless, the Christian cathedral made a strong impression on the new Ottoman rulers and they decided to convert it into a mosque. The bells, altar, iconostasis, and other relics were destroyed and the mosaics depicting Jesus, his Mother Mary, Christian saints, and angels were also destroyed or plastered over. Islamic features—such as the mihrab (a niche in the wall indicating the direction toward Mecca, for prayer), minbar (pulpit), and four minarets—were added. It remained a mosque until 1931 when it was closed to the public for four years. It was re-opened in 1935 as a museum by the Republic of Turkey. Hagia Sophia was, as of 2014, the second-most visited museum in Turkey, attracting almost 3.3 million visitors annually. According to data released by the Turkish Culture and Tourism Ministry, Hagia Sophia was Turkey’s most visited tourist attraction in 2015.

Very few buildings can claim to have been both a Catholic cathedral and a mosque in its history, therefore it is understandable why so many people want to see this place so our guide got the tickets for us and we were inside Hagia Sophia. Fortunately we got there early so it wasn’t too crowded, we could check out all of the mosaics and domes unobstructed. After we had strolled around at ground level for a while and taken in the sights, we were led up a slippery, narrow corridor that would take us to the upper gallery, allowing us to look out over the floor of the museum, as well as over the coast outside. Once back down, we looked through some of the outdoor ruins before cutting back through to exit and moving on to the next stop of our tour. A look around Hagia Sophia:

Standing in front of Hagia Sophia

A cool little building we saw en route

The entrance to Topkopi Palace

Fountain (Şadırvan) for ritual ablutions

A small portion of ceiling

Had to wait until almost everyone had moved on to get this shot

Imperial gate mosaic (late 9th or early 10th century)

Panoramic shot once inside

A minbar, the pulpit where the imam delivers his sermon

Apse mosaic of the Virgin and Child (9th century) above the mihrab

Columns made of green Thessalian stone

A golden gate

Taking a slippery path upstairs

The ceiling in the upper gallery

Looking from the upper gallery

Panoramic shot from the upper gallery

The marble door

The Deësis mosaic (c. 1261)

The Comnenus mosaic (c. 1122)

The Empress Zoe mosaic (c. 11th century)

Anna in the slippery hall

Remains from the second Hagia Sophia

More remains from the second Hagia Sophia

Another part of ceiling

Southwestern entrance mosaic (c. 10th-11th century)

Now it was on to the next stop on the tour, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, also known as the Blue Mosque due to its interior being decorated with 20,000 iznik tiles. Anyhow, this is what we would be occupying once we eventually entered the Sultan Ahmed Mosque:

The Sultan Ahmet Mosque is a historic mosque located in Istanbul, Turkey. A popular tourist site, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque continues to function as a mosque today; men still kneel in prayer on the mosque’s lush red carpet after the call to prayer. The Blue Mosque, as it is popularly known, was constructed between 1609 and 1616 during the rule of Ahmed I. Its Külliye contains Ahmed’s tomb, a madrasah and a hospice. Hand-painted blue tiles adorn the mosque’s interior walls, and at night the mosque is bathed in blue as lights frame the mosque’s five main domes, six minarets and eight secondary domes.

The Sultan Ahmed Mosque has five main domes, six minarets, and eight secondary domes. The design is the culmination of two centuries of Ottoman mosque development. It incorporates some Byzantine Christian elements of the neighboring Hagia Sophia with traditional Islamic architecture and is considered to be the last great mosque of the classical period. The architect, Sedefkâr Mehmed Ağa, synthesized the ideas of his master Sinan, aiming for overwhelming size, majesty and splendour. It has a forecourt and special area for ablution. In the middle it has a big fountain. On the upper side it has a big chain. The upper area is made up of 20000 ceramic tiles each having 60 tulip designs. In the lower area it has 200 stained glass windows.

Getting into this mosque seemed like it would be no easy feat, not because we aren’t Muslim, but because the line to enter was enormous. This would also be a time when we would discover that our tour guide, a local woman in her mid-twenties who was doing her master’s degree in Ancient History, could be exceptionally fierce! There were people trying to cut the queue, either by pretending that they didn’t realise that the hundreds of people lined up in front of them were also waiting to enter, a technique quite often adopted by members of foreign, particularly Chinese, tour groups visiting popular tourist attractions around the world, or locals spotting a friend further up the line, going up to chat to them briefly, and then taking the spot behind them in the queue. Our guide wasn’t buying this from anybody — She approached anyone who appeared to be cutting the queue and screamed at them in English or Turkish about what the rules were, that they were not special and the rules applied to them as well, and how one should conduct oneself in a crowded public environment. If they didn’t speak Turkish or English, she just kept pointing at their ticket and then to the back of the line with an extremely intimidating look on her face until they walked off with their tail between their legs and joined the end of the line. She was doing a better job than the actual security burdened with the task of stopping people cutting in line and in the process of doing so, she also managed to find an entrance specifically for groups of four or less people, allowing us to cut the queue. When we got to enter, we were required to take our shoes off, as is the case upon entering any mosque around the world, however, many people fear losing their shoes or someone else taking the wrong pair — I used to work opposite a mosque in Singapore when I was teaching and I remember going to get something for lunch one Friday, the Muslim holy day, and there were a pair of sandals among all of the other shoes out the front that had been fastened together with a bike lock! The staff at the Blue Mosque had already addressed this dilemma by providing everyone who entered with a bag in which to carry their shoes. We obliged and carried our sneakers in the bag, but security were getting annoyed with a woman behind us who happened to be from one of the aforementioned tour groups; apparently she had asked for an extra bag and then just tied them over her shoes while she was still wearing them, trying to justify not needing to take off her shoes due to them being covered. It just doesn’t work that way. The Sultan Ahmed Mosque was beautiful inside, but there were areas where you weren’t allowed to take pictures due to the camera flash potentially damaging some of the artwork, our guide loudly informing anyone who tried to discretely snap a shot of this fact. The photos we could take may not show the true detail of the thousands upon thousands of tiles inside, or the queue we had to conquer in order to see them, but they should give you the gist:

In the courtyard, a portion of the queue in front of us wrapping behind a fountain, with a minaret in the background

The line behind us

More of the line behind us as we were about to enter

Taking in some of the tiles and windows

Another angle

An area of preserved ceiling

The edge of the prayer area

A look at one of the domes

A small portion of the prayer floor

Looking back toward the entrance

Next on our tour was the Hippodrome, an area we had walked through several times the previous night, including taking photos of the German Fountain, but knew nothing about. Well, this is what the Hippodrome is:

The Hippodrome of Constantinople was a circus that was the sporting and social centre of Constantinople, capital of the Byzantine Empire. Today it is a square named Sultanahmet Meydanı (Sultan Ahmet Square) in the Turkish city of Istanbul, with a few fragments of the original structure surviving.

The word hippodrome comes from the Greek hippos (ἵππος), horse, and dromos (δρόμος), path or way. For this reason, it is sometimes also called Atmeydanı (“Horse Square”) in Turkish. Horse racing and chariot racing were popular pastimes in the ancient world and hippodromes were common features of Greek cities in the Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine era.

Now obviously we weren’t here for horse racing, but we found the answers to the questions we had about the structures we had seen the night before. Two of the first structures we encountered that were located close together in the Hippodrome were the Serpent Column and the Walled Obelisk. First, the Serpent Column:

To raise the image of his new capital, Constantine and his successors, especially Theodosius the Great, brought works of art from all over the empire to adorn it. The monuments were set up in the middle of the Hippodrome, the spina. Among these was the Tripod of Plataea, now known as the Serpent Column, cast to celebrate the victory of the Greeks over the Persians during the Persian Wars in the 5th century BC. Constantine ordered the Tripod to be moved from the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, and set in middle of the Hippodrome. The top was adorned with a golden bowl supported by three serpent heads, although it appears that this was never brought to Constantinople. The serpent heads and top third of the column were destroyed in 1700. Parts of the heads were recovered and are displayed at the Istanbul Archaeology Museum. All that remains of the Delphi Tripod today is the base, known as the “Serpentine Column”.

Our guide seemed more than a little bitter when she told us that another one of the serpent heads from the eight-metre high (26′) column is actually in the British Museum. Just behind the Serpent Column was the slightly less interesting Walled Obelisk:

In the 10th century the Emperor Constantine Porphyrogenitus built another obelisk at the other end of the Hippodrome. It was originally covered with gilded bronze plaques, but they were sacked by Latin troops in the Fourth Crusade. The stone core of this monument also survives, known as the Walled Obelisk.

We had taken a few photographs of both of these monuments at night and their appearance both in the light and the darkness is quite cool so here’s how we saw them on both occasions:

The Walled Obelisk in front of Hagia Sophia at night

The Serpent Column from a distance in the moonlight

Looking down into the up-lit remains of the Serpent Column

The Walled Obelisk from a different angle

The Serpent Column and the Walled Obelisk in the daylight

Without the lights

At the other end of the Hippodrome was the Obelisk of Thutmose III, also known as the Obelisk of Theodosius, which is in incredible condition when you consider its age:

The Obelisk of Theodosius is the Ancient Egyptian obelisk of Pharaoh Thutmose III re-erected in the Hippodrome of Constantinople by the Roman emperor Theodosius I in the 4th century AD.

The Obelisk of Theodosius is of red granite from Aswan and was originally 30m tall, like the Lateran Obelisk. The lower part was damaged in antiquity, probably during its transport or re-erection, and so the obelisk is today only 18.54m (or 19.6m) high, or 25.6m if the base is included. Between the four corners of the obelisk and the pedestal are four bronze cubes, used in its transportation and re-erection.

Each of its four faces has a single central column of inscription, celebrating Thutmose III’s victory over the Mitanni which took place on the banks of the Euphrates in about 1450 BC.

The marble pedestal had bas-reliefs dating to the time of the obelisk’s re-erection in Constantinople. On one face Theodosius I is shown offering the crown of victory to the winner in the chariot races, framed between arches and Corinthian columns, with happy spectators, musicians and dancers assisting in the ceremony. In the bottom right of this scene is the water organ of Ctesibius and on the left another instrument.

Some parts of the marble base aren’t original as is visible in these pictures, but I managed to snap a photograph of both the obelisk and a closeup of the pedistal from each angle:

Theodosius I offers laurels of victory (east face). Translation: “Though formerly I opposed resistance, I was ordered to obey the serene masters and to carry their palm, once the tyrants had been overcome. All things yield to Theodosius and to his everlasting descendants. This is true of me too – I was mastered and overcome in three times ten days and raised towards the upper air, under governor Proculus.”

The emperor and his court (north face)

Submission of the barbarians (west face). Translation: “This column with four sides which lay on the earth, only the emperor Theodosius dared to lift again its burden; Proclos was invited to execute his order; and this great column stood up in 32 days.”

The emperor and his court (south face)

We had one final stop on our tour before we had the rest of the day to ourselves; we were going to go underground and walk around the Yerebatan Underground Cistern, better known as the Basilica Cistern:

The Basilica Cistern is the largest of several hundred ancient cisterns that lie beneath the city of Istanbul, Turkey. The cistern, located 150 metres (490 ft) southwest of the Hagia Sophia on the historical peninsula of Sarayburnu, was built in the 6th century during the reign of Byzantine Emperor Justinian I.

Ancient texts indicated that the basilica contained gardens, surrounded by a colonnade and facing the Hagia Sophia. According to ancient historians, Emperor Constantine built a structure that was later rebuilt and enlarged by Emperor Justinian after the Nika riots of 532, which devastated the city.

Historical texts claim that 7,000 slaves were involved in the construction of the cistern.

This cathedral-size cistern is an underground chamber approximately 138 metres (453 ft) by 65 metres (213 ft) – about 9,800 square metres (105,000 sq ft) in area – capable of holding 80,000 cubic metres (2,800,000 cu ft) of water. The ceiling is supported by a forest of 336 marble columns, each 9 metres (30 ft) high, arranged in 12 rows of 28 columns each spaced 5 metres (16 ft) apart.

When we descended the 52 stone steps to enter the cistern, I had a strange feeling that I had seen this place before and I’d soon know the reason; our guide told us that the cistern was a location in From Russia with Love, the 1963 James Bond flick. I guess that was where I recognised it from. It might’ve been a bit damp down there, but it was incredible to see and impossible to comprehend how it was built. I especially appreciated the Medusa column bases:

Located in the northwest corner of the cistern, the bases of two columns reuse blocks carved with the visage of Medusa. The origin of the two heads is unknown, though it is thought that the heads were brought to the cistern after being removed from a building of the late Roman period. There is no written evidence that suggests they were used as column pedestals previously. Tradition has it that the blocks are oriented sideways and inverted in order to negate the power of the Gorgons’ gaze; however, it is widely thought that one was placed sideways only to be the proper size to support the column. The upside-down Medusa was placed that way specifically because she would be the same height right side up.

Add to this the Hen’s Eye column, a column decorated with the Turkish all-seeing eye, something you encounter everywhere in Turkey in order to ward off bad luck, and our little wander around underground capped off a great end to the day’s fascinating, yet exhausting, history lesson:

Upon entry of the Cistern

From another angle

A random square column for some reason

The Hen’s Eye column

Closeup of the Hen’s Eye column

A Medusa-head base

And another

The learning was over and the rest of the day was ours, however, our guide walked us back to the Grand Bazaar suggesting it and the surrounding area to be a good place to get lunch. Okay, the history lesson isn’t quite over, a little background information on the Grand Bazaar:

The Grand Bazaar in Istanbul is one of the largest and oldest covered markets in the world, with 61 covered streets and over 4,000 shops which attract between 250,000 and 400,000 visitors daily. In 2014, it was listed No.1 among the world’s most-visited tourist attractions with 91,250,000 annual visitors. The Grand Bazar at Istanbul is often regarded as one of the first shopping malls of the world.

I had also received this message the previous night from my friend Yarny, the one that was on Masterchef: Singapore:

We were definitely in the right place for it as the Grand Bazaar had endless stalls selling spices, as well as jewellery, food, souvenirs, tiles, antiques, and copious amounts of counterfeit goods. In fact, before we went to Hangzhou, I never thought I’d say that there was far more fake shit available in Turkey than in China, but it was simply the truth. Sure, we encountered fake and counterfeit items while we were in China, but nowhere near to the extent that we did in Turkey and you’ll find that this will be a bit of an ongoing theme over the course of my posts based throughout the country. We picked up the spices for Yarny and also grabbed a bag for ourselves and I have to say that that stuff is delicious, especially on fish because it’s kind of citrusy. But despite the fact that the bazaar boasts over 4,000 stores, it all gets a bit the same after a while, plus you’re constantly being hassled to come into people’s shops and you have to barter and haggle for anything and we just weren’t in the mood for it. One thing we weren’t expecting to find in the Bazaar, however, was the restaurant of Nusret Gökçe, A.K.A. “Salt Bae” (above, right). Anyone who has logged onto the internet even once in the past 18 months would more than likely have encountered at least one meme of this douche and his salt. Well, one branch of his chain of steakhouses, Nusr-Et, was located in the Grand Bazaar and it looks exactly what you’d expect from this self-righteous sociopath, despite the fact that it has received generally mixed reviews for both its food and its politics, with the general consensus being that it is overpriced for rather average food. In fact there was a review earlier this year for the New York branch in The Observer entitled “My Disappointing Meal at Salt Bae’s NYC Restaurant Cost $1,400.” Anyway, if you had to picture in your head what his restaurant would look like, your mental image is probably correct. This pretentious tool has stencils from the meme on every possible surface, as well as a life-size wax model of himself at the entrance in his signature pose. I honestly could not stop laughing and almost felt bad for the guy if it weren’t for the fact that his chain has been valued at $1.5 billion. Oh well, he can go cry into a pool of money. Some scenes from the Grand Bazaar, including Nusr-Et:

Anna loved these tiles near the entrance

Where we entered the Grand Bazaar

It begins…

Oh, God!

He’s really milking that meme

If only it were a voodoo doll

More of the Bazaar

Anna and a shisha shop

I wasn’t kidding when I said it all seems kind of the same after a while

If you look closely, there are some crazy shoes in that cabinet

Our bag of pul biber

We still hadn’t eaten lunch and there was no way I was going to blow over a grand on a steak unless it came from a thylacine or some other similarly hard-to-come-by being so we left the Grand Bazaar and decided to explore a bit more of the city. Before long we found a strip that was all coffee shops and stalls that served massive amounts of meat and kebabs so we pulled up a stool and gorged ourselves on a mixed-grill platter and some rice things that were wrapped in vine leaves. Nobody really has a name for them, but they are delicious! Once lunch was done, we crossed the Galata Bridge over the body of water known as the Golden Horn and entered the Beyoğlu district of Istanbul, technically leaving Asia for Europe. All of the little neighbourhoods in Beyoğlu have a far more cosmopolitan vibe than those in the old city, with trams traveling along the avenues, while the backstreets and laneways are full of shops, patisseries, cafes, and a whole heap of pubs and wine shops. There are also a lot more foreigners in Beyoğlu, mostly European, and we later found out that it is Istanbul’s arts hub. We spent a couple of hours wandering around the painfully steep, narrow streets, looking through the shops, and playing with the dogs around town. One thing we learned about Turkey is that there are a lot of stray dogs around the streets, but they are clean, playful, extremely well-looked after, and even vaccinated. In fact, a tag through the dog’s ear signifies that it has had its complete round of rabies shots. I found this interesting in a mostly Islamic city, because Muslims in Singapore are generally terrified of dogs and believe that any wet part of a dog is Satan’s saliva, however, we were later told that Sunni Muslims apparently have a different, more affectionate approach to canines than Shiite Muslims, although I’m not quite sure how accurate that statement is.

After strolling through Europe, it was time to cross the Galata Bridge back into Asia, past the rows of men fishing from the bridge in the increasingly terrible weather, battling the wind and drizzle in order to land a catch. There must be something decent in those waters because not only was there a ton of fishermen, but there is also a decent stretch of seafood restaurants along the bottom of the bridge on the side of the old city. Once closer to home we had a look through the Egyptian Bazaar, stocked with the standard spices and fake goods, before stopping off at a bar for a bit. Here’s how the remainder of the afternoon looked once we had left the Grand Bazaar:

Meaty

It doesn’t get much more Turkish than a bunch of dudes sitting around and drinking coffee

Lunch

Fisherman doing their thing

Now in Europe

I wasn’t kidding when I said these streets were steep

A tower at the end of another small street

A massive stray dog just chilling

Anyone need a mace?

Going downhill this time

A little provocative

Those are some massive loaves of bread!

The seafood restaurants under the bridge

Back in Asia again

In the Egyptian Bazaar

Seems legit

Our stay in Istanbul had come to an end, as we had to return to the hotel to get our luggage and take our shuttle to the airport to catch our 9:30pm flight to Cappadocia so we could spend the next few nights staying in a cave and exploring the area, hopefully by hot-air balloon at dawn (the title probably gives away how that went), but that’s all a story for next time. Stay tuned for Part 2!

Climbing, Caving, and Canceled Ballooning in Turkey, pt. 1: Istanbul In my last post we had spent a few nights in Vienna, Austria as Anna was a guest of…

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