Yesterday, as the plane from Budapest descended from the clouds, you could see the Golden Horn, the sea, the two continents merging on a slender peninsula, and it was as if that globe you had as a child, the one where you ran your finger along all these fantastic names, had suddenly sprung to life and pulled you in.
'Look! There it is -- the Hagia Sofia!' You can see it from here!' This from my row companion, Mrs. Schaeffer, to her husband seated next to her. The Schaeffers, he an attorney and she a consultant, were completing a European holiday with ten days in Turkey.
Indeed, it is exciting; from the air, this city of more than 13 million, sprawled across two continents and between the Sea of Marmara and the Black Sea, looks not only romantic, but cozy, manageable.
On the ground is a different story. After purchasing a visa and going through passport control, I bid the Schaeffers a good holiday and went out to the exit looking for my contact. A phalanx of welcomers were there, all carrying cards displaying the names of their guests. It was rather dizzying, scanning all those names and faces. Suddenly I saw my name. The young Turk carrying the sign gave me a signal and I met him outside. He spoke no English, but indicated I follow him. As we walked, another man materialized, an older guy who also spoke only Turkish. Evidently he was my driver's colleague. They gestured for me to follow them to their car.
It was a long ride. When our plane flew in, we passed right over the downtown. But the airport is some 30 km from the center, so we ended up following the coastline of the Sea of Marmara to the center. That was OK by me; I sat in the back (I offered them cigarettes; they declined but encouraged me to smoke), smoked a cigarette, and after, rolled down the window and breathed in the salty air of the sea. We passed the remains of a fortress, the walls of which ran on for miles. Everyone drives really fast on the highway, and constantly I thought we were done for, but my driver was evidently a pro, skillfully manuevering us as we approached the city proper and the traffic slowed.
Here the streets grew narrower and more congested. People stood right in the middle of the traffic offering things for sale; families, some of them women wearing the traditional Muslim dresses but open-faced, without the veil, others Westernized young men in jeans and T-shirts, checking their mobile phones. As we crawled along, I noticed shops with fresh fruit, the pomegranates looking particularly inviting.
Suddenly, the driver parked, after navigating a series of maze-like streets. He came around and opened the back door, and helped me with my bags. This was confusing to me, and worrying. The last email I'd received from my new employer indicated I would be driven to the school, which is located in the Levent financial district, a very modern part of the city. Even I knew enough about Istanbul to know that, wherever we were, it certainly wasn't Levent. After checking later, I found out it was the Aryko Hotel, and we were just off Istikal Avenue in the historic Beyoğlu district, on the European side of the city.
Still, fighting off suspicion (after all, they had met me at the airport with my name card, right?), I followed my companions two blocks up a hill. Presently we arrived at a hotel. With scarcely more than a wave, they were gone.
'Can I help you?' The man behind the desk asked. He had that air of already understanding the situation. After a fumbled explanation, he handed a key over to a porter who had suddenly appeared. I kept hold of my bags and he opened the elevator door and we got in.
It still felt ominous, arriving in this strange city, with no word from my contact; the mysterious change in plans, and this narrow grim elevator going up, up ... to what? Flashes of strange, hostile faces, violence appeared. I asked if there was an internet cafe in the hotel. The porter said downstairs. Upstairs the porter showed me my room, a clean, if somewhat dour two-bed affair with a view of the street below. I hastily put my bags on one of the beds, and we left the room. No kidnapping or assasination or theft having occurred, I was relieved. But I still needed to find out what had happened.
My first day in Istanbul and already a mystery on my hands.
My school had promished accomodation; but at the school's normal teacherage in the Ortakoy district. Perhaps something had come up, they were short of rooms, and this was a temporary fix. I went out to Istikal Avenue in search of an Internet cafe. The concierge told me actually, no, the hotel didn't have an Internet cafe, just a wireless connection. Searching the side streets, I found one and sent an email to my contact (In case you're wondering why I didn't just call him, well, my mobile picked a bad time to die just before I left Prague). After that I went out to the avenue and walked around. The sky had become overcast, and a light rain was falling, but still lots of people were out, many sitting under awning at the cafes. At one cafe a Turk with long flowing hair sat playing guitar and singing songs, another young man played the violin. Young people sat around them in the growing dark and coming rain. By then, I was reeling, from the strain of travel and the disembodied feelings of being in a new city. I went in and bought a beer, a house brand. A bit pissy tasting, Pilsner-Urquell it was not, but it helped soothe jaded nerves, and I had one, then another, listening to the music and watching the rain begin to fall.
Later, on my way back to the hotel, it began to rain harder. Two young men offered to share their umbrella. At first I declined. 'Where you from, man?' one of them asked, in English.
'America,' I said.
'The States? Great. Which city?'
'Pittsburgh.'
'Pittsburgh? Really? I lived before in Manhattan.' They offered the umbrella again, and this time I didn't mind.
'You know we thought you were Turkish, you look it,' he joked. 'But actually we are not from here either. We are from Croatia. So why are you here? On holiday?'
'I'm here to work. Teach English.'
'English? Great! You can teach me!'
Anyone who's ever taught English abroad has heard these kind of umbrella-in-the-rain, in-the-pub offers many times. I was tired and ready for bed. They were going to a bar to watch the football match between Turkey and, oh, I forget who, and when I saw my hotel, told them I'd see them at the bar. They offered to wait, but I said, no, no, I'll see you there, with no intention of going at all.
Back at the hotel, the concierge handed me a message. My contact said he'd meet me at the hotel at 1400. It was then already near nine. I'd missed him. A second message instructed me to call him, with the number enclosed. Hell with it, it could wait til morning.
I went to my room and had a hot shower. After I lay down with a Capote biography and hoped I'd soon fall asleep. But presently I became aware of music. I got up, went to the balcony and pulled the curtain aside. Across the street there was a nightclub atop the next building. People were sitting at tables, clapping to the beat and this marvelous music, intensely felt and pulsating, like the young man I'd heard earlier, only it was accompanied by other voices, strange lutes and reedy instruments that drifted over the buildings. I stood for a while, looking out at the city, listening to the music and looking at the rain.
At some point the music stopped, probably after midnight. I drifted in and out of sleep, awaking in sudden cold bursts, hearing street sounds, or from dreams. Then in the night a storm came from the sea, a tremendou, violent storm that rocked the night, flashes of lightening and endless rain. It stormed all night, and all night I drifted in and out of sleep and eerie dreams.
In the morning the sky had cleared somewhat. Sea birds were clustered out on the rooftops. One soared overhead, as though reproaching me for not getting out of bed. I got up, showered and dressed and went downstairs. A new concierge was working. I told him I was going out to make a call.
The streets were quiet, Istikal Avenue was slick with the night's rain. The cafes and bazaars, tucked away in slender, provocative sidestreets, were still closed. But a few places were open, and Turkish folk and techno spilled out into the sleepy streets. There was a smell of freshly baked bread, and one man sold fresh pretzels from a stand in the middle of the avenue. Young men and women sat having coffee and smoking (a recent law passed prohibits smoking inside bars and restaurants, but most places have tables outside where smoking is allowed), and I joined them, had breakfast and sat watching while the avenue woke up and went to work.
Later, the Internet cafes opened and I called my contact. He answered immediately, and we exchanged clumsy apologies for having missed each other.I was to check out at noon and leave my bags at the hotel until a driver picked me up at four. Mystery solved.
Well, the first one anyway.