AnarchE in the UK
Crazy American living and working in London. This blog chronicles my adventures as I stumble through life, or something very much like it.
Follow me on Twitter at @anarcheintheuk
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It is a reasonably beautiful day today here in the jolly old, and as I was walking to the grocery store this morning I realised that I’m fast approaching my 2 month anniversary of going vegan. Before I continue, I want to apologise to my readers - I know I said I wasn’t going to make an issue of this lifestyle change.
And I’m trying really hard not to - I just am flummoxed by how much people care about what I eat. Why on earth does it matter?! I could see people caring/being concerned if had decided to adopt a diet of, say, Old English and Pop Rocks. But I’m eating healthy! I’m taking vitamins! I’m exercising! I’m just not eating animal products! *this is me pulling out my hair*
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I’m going to channel my inner librarian and preach on the subject of good books for a minute.
There aren’t that many out there right now. It’s rather depressing. The advent of the e-book means that it is easier than ever to get published. It also means that it is easier than ever to saturate the world with poorly written crap.
I’m also pretty much over teen wizards, witches, vampires, werewolves or any combination thereof. Unfortunately, the publishing world seems to just be getting started.
The following books are all unusual and interesting. If you’re a fan of Danielle Steel or James Patterson + Friends, they probably aren’t for you. Just fair warning! :)
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20th January 2012
Listening to: “Blue Jeans” by Lana Del ReyIt might be because the world is going to end (according to the Mayans, and I would like to thank them for planning it for after my birthday because everyone knows how much I love getting my birthday on), but 2012 is already shaping up to be a very introspective year for me.
Anyone who knows me well understands that I’m not really a planner when it comes to changing things. When I decided to get my MBA, I pretty much woke up one day and thought “I’ll go to business school”. The same was true for moving to England and has been the case for any major lifestyle change I’ve undertaken. So I guess it comes as no surprise that one day in late December, I decided to give veganism a go.
Yeah, I’m going to pause a moment for you to digest that. Yes, me - who has previously composed entire odes to pieces of food (namely Iberican jamon from Spain…). Yes, me - who never met a steak I didn’t like. Yes, me - who used to rank macaroni and cheese, prime rib and Southern fried chicken as some of my favourite foods.
So how did it happen? Well, I think it was a convergence of about four things:
1) I have known for awhile that I’m either lactose-intolerant (or maybe just lactose-unliking) but have basically done nothing about it other than occasionally buying lactose-free milk. This led to near-constant stomach distress, but quite frankly I was too lazy to really change my cheese-loving habits.
2) My sister is vegetarian, and has been for awhile. I used to make fun of her. And then, as part of an overall attempt to have a better relationship, I started to try to understand - and support - her dietary choices. She is vegetarian because she just honestly doesn’t like meat. She is also in very good shape and very healthy in general and didn’t seem to be starving (though we did have some discussions about potato chips + nuts not being a balanced meal for her…). So I thought I’d give eating her way a try.
3) I have wanted to get into better shape and lose some weight for awhile. But as anyone who has ever done this knows, wanting to and actually doing it are two completely different things. For some reason, I just sort of knew that 2012 would be my year to do this. I joined a gym, started exercising and thinking about my overall health.
4) I caught up with an old high-school friend who, through a completely random twist of fate, happened to have become vegan about a year ago. I didn’t know this. In fact, the last time I saw her a few years ago, she took me out to her favourite hamburger joint. She looks absolutely amazing and had a real glow about her. She also happens to be one of the most bare-bones rational people I know (so forget any ideas about hippies, Birkenstocks, hairy armpits or vintage clothing) and so to find that she had deliberately chosen veganism was very intriguing. She is not one to do something lightly and she was never easily swayed. I asked her about a million questions and was really surprised and interested by her answers. Add to this that I ate vegan with her and the food was delicious.
All of these factors sort of converged and I think I had my last meat, egg, or dairy on Wednesday, 28th December over lunch with a friend. I ordered a huge, greasy hamburger. As usual, I loved every bite. And as per usual, I really regretted it later when I felt bloated and a bit nauseated. It was the first time I had really thought it through, but that was generally how I felt after eating any red meat - whether it was a fast food hamburger or a super expensive cut of steak. I then started thinking about how I felt after eating poultry - and the answer was that while I didn’t feel ill, I usually ended up feeling bloated and just generally overfull.
I wondered - what would happen if I gave it all up? I already knew that dairy wasn’t my friend. I’d figured out that meat wasn’t doing me any real favours either. All that remained were eggs and fish - two things that, honestly, were kind of hard to part with (as I’ve always loved scrambled eggs and I’ve spent the past several years as a die-hard sushi addict). But I love a challenge and I’m not really one to do things halfway so I figured why not try it?
My bargain with myself was that if I absolutely hated it, or felt sick, or as if I were missing anything, I would quit. I’m happy to report that I haven’t quit - and what’s more, I feel amazing.
I have had a few moments where I’ve had to compromise, or go hungry - simply because the world is not always vegan-friendly. In both instances, I ended up eating a small amount of fish. I didn’t beat myself up over it, but I have made a conscious effort to try to not eat any animal products if at all possible.
What is really interesting is that I am not one of those people who turned vegan due to animal rights issues. I did it for my health. But now that I am doing it, I’ve been reading (a lot) about veganism and what I have learned is something that I won’t be able to un-learn. I’m not going to use this blogspace to preach the benefits of veganism. The information is widely available if you’re interested. Even if you think it’s silly, I do encourage you to read up about what is in the food we eat everyday (veggies and grains included). It is a sobering and somewhat frightening experience. I honestly think the only way I would be able to eat meat again now is if I personally raised the animal myself. That is not bloody likely as a) I’m a diva and hate mess and farms are messy; b) I would probably make friends with the animals and then end up living in a big house with my pets Mr. Pig, Mr. Cow and Mr. Chicken.
So that is the big change in my life right now. It has been really fascinating and, if I’m honest, a bit challenging and frustrating at times. A few things I’ve learned:
- My friends are awesome. Since I told them, they have gone out of their way to ensure we go to eat at veg-friendly restaurants. One of my friends even had me over and cooked a vegan meal! (It was excellent, btw)
- Breakfast can be very hard if you don’t eat at home. In America, the Starbucks oatmeal is vegan if made with water. In the UK, they sell something called porridge (which is not, no matter what anyone tells you, the same as oatmeal - trust me) and it is mixed with milk powder. Other breakfast options almost all include egg or animal products. I know that it is possible to make amazing vegan muffins, croissants, etc but I don’t live/work near any good vegan bakeries. So I make sure I either eat oatmeal + nuts + dried fruit for breakfast at home - or if I’m running late, I eat a banana and nuts and a half peanut butter sandwich if I can find one.
- Eating vegan is delicious! I haven’t cooked in earnest in years (I don’t really have anyone to cook for beside myself, and I think we’ve already established that up until recently I wasn’t very choosy about what went into my mouth). My idea of a homecooked meal used to be some microwaved cheddar mashed potatoes, microwaved steamed veggies and a big hunk of some sort of meat. I am still a novice at making vegan food but I’ve already figured out how wonderful different spices are, and how great vegetables can taste on their own. For example, the other night I just threw together what was in my fridge and ended up with wholewheat rotilli pasta and a sauce of red/green/yellow peppers + celery + carrots + onions + tomatoes + chickpeas + olive oil + spices. It was healthy and really, really good. And yes, it filled me up!
- I actually eat more now than I ever used to. I eat less at each meal but more frequently throughout the day. I’m pretty much hungry all the time - and I mean a real hunger, not the “omg I’m starving” feeling that we all claim to have. But I’m snacking differently. Because I’m limited in what I can eat, I snack on fresh veggies, nuts, berries, peanut butter, and whole grains.
- It will probably be a long time before I stop missing cheese. Or at least that’s what I think now. Who knows - maybe in a few months it won’t even matter. But I do still miss the idea of a cheesy pizza. I get around that by remembering how I felt after I ate the pizza, and also by reminding myself about a) how that cheese was produced and b) what is actually in the cheese.
- “Ethnic” foods are the easiest to eat and these kind of establishments tend to be really reasonable about making sure the food is vegan. Indian, Thai, Japanese, African, Chinese - all of them are great. I’ve become a huge devotee of Indian food.
I’m discovering that there are some amazing vegan friendly restaurants in London - places I would never expect. I recently dined at Circus London (very cool place) which is a very on-trend restaurant and was really surprised to see menu items marked out as veg-friendly. The staff was great about ensuring that all my dishes were vegan, and that I had enough to eat.
I also went to The Gate and had an amazing meal. The starter was this - “
I’m looking forward to an amazingly healthy and fun 2012. I’ve got all the time during the Olympics booked off and now I just have to decide where I’m going (because I most certainly am NOT going to be in London for that mess). I got a promotion at work and so while that’s more responsibility, it also gives me a chance to work on more fun projects. I’m getting a new boss and some new team members, too, so lots of change. 2012 is pretty much the year of big change. And you know what? I’m okay with it. I welcome it.
Next post is going to be around my other challenge for 2012 - getting my budget under control and working on paying off my credit card debt. I am not a budgeter; I pay my bills and pretty much spend anything left over. This is not sustainable behaviour and I really don’t fancy living in a shopping cart in my old age. Also, I really want to travel and I can’t afford to do that if I’m subsidising American Express with my interest payments ;)
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PS - 2012 is the year of Alan Turing because (according to Wikipedia, which we all know never lies) it has been been designated as such to “commemorate the mathematician, computer pioneer, and code-breaker on the centennial of his birth”. Kind of cool that 2012 is the year of the code-breaker and everyone is still trying to piece out the Mayan code…
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Here is a list of all the things I loved about visiting Istanbul:
- The weather - warm and sunny
- The Bosphorus - blue, gorgeous, could stare at it for hours
- Raki - though two shots of that and I lost my damn mind
- Cuisine - had some amazing kebabs and hummus plates
- Affordability - at 3 Turkish Lira to 1 GBP, things were surprisingly cheap. We had an amazing sushi dinner one evening overlooking the sea, with appetisers and a bottle of very nice wine, and I think it cost us each the equivalent of £25-30. Unheard of in England, and hard to do in parts of America, too.
- The mix of old world and new world visible everywhere, and the way you can see the layered levels of the city’s history (Byzantium - Constantinople - Istanbul)
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Guest Relation
We stayed in a hotel called The Surmeli, which was shaped sort of like a big cylinder and looked nothing like the photos on the website. In fact, when I think about it now, what I remember most is “brown”. And not a good, modern chocolatey brown, but rather a tired, Brady Bunch wood paneling 70’s courdoroy brown. To the immediate left upon entering the lobby was a small desk with a sign that read, “Guest Relation”.
And as we found out, not only was there an “s” missing, but also missing was any real comprehension of the English language. Allow me to demonstrate…
After the first taxi ride of death across town, during which we seriously feared for our lives, we arrived back to the hotel with the wide-eyed stares frequently found on victims of natural disasters. Our knees were wobbly, we were shaking from the adrenaline rush of the past 30 minutes and we were in desperate need of… alcohol. As we in no way wanted to risk a taxi ride of any real duration again that day, J and I decided to visit Guest Relation for some advice. E made the wise decision to head up to the room.
J: “Oh, hello. Do you think you can recommend somewhere close to the hotel where we could have a nice drink? We’ve already eaten, and we just want somewhere to relax.”
Guest Relation (GR): “Oh, yes, you can go for wonderful food in Bebek!”
J: “Is Bebek near? We were thinking to find something in Taksim, which is very close.”
GR: (pulling out map and pointing to a location that was at least six inches away from our hotel on that map) “Try here, is a great Italian place. You can have good food in Bebek.”
J: “We have already eaten. We are just looking for somewhere close to have a drink. Maybe in Taksim?”
GR: (now pointing to the other side of the map) “Right here, near the bridge, is great restaurant. Very good food.”
It is worth noting that we were staying on the other side of the water from the main tourist attractions like Hagia Sophia, Grand Bazaar, etc. The bridge she was referencing was at least 20 minutes away by taxi and had featured a starring role in our afternoon ride of glory
J turns to me, with a look on her face that clearly shows her lack of amusement with this process. So I step in.
Me: “I’m sure that’s a lovely place. But we don’t want to go there (pointing to place on map). We had a crazy taxi ride today. We want to stay near the hotel. We want to go around this area. (Drawing circle with my finger around where our hotel is on the map) We just want to get a few drinks.”
GR: “You want taxi? Then I say Bebek. Definitely best food in Bebek. You go Bebek.” And she sat back with a satisfied smile on her face.
Me: “We really do not want to EAT. We just want DRINKS. NEAR THE HOTEL. CLOSE BY.”
GR: “You want I call Bebek then for you? I call restaurant for you now?”*
*We did eventually make it to Bebek for sushi. It was lovely, but the best part was that our Lonely Planet guide listed the main attraction in Bebek as… the local Starbucks. So we are still unclear as to why Guest Relation was so sold on Bebek.
That was the end of that conversation because we could take no more. We said no, thanks, we’d give Bebek a pass and that we would sort out the situation on our own. To be honest, I’m not sure where we ended up going that night - it is highly possible that was when we decided to buy a litre of vodka at the corner shop and hit the Popeye’s.
It is also worth noting, while we’re on the subject of “Guest Relation” that this woman also tried to send us to a public pool that sounded suspiciously like a tourist trap style of Lido Deck (This is the website - http://suadaclub.com.tr/ - which looks cool at first until you see how closely all the deck chairs are arranged. Imagine all those chock full of annoying tourists - and us being TRAPPED on there for the day). We kept trying to get more information about this SuadaClub - was it adults-only? Was it touristy? Was it nice? We were willing to pay for the best we could find, as we wanted one day of high luxury.
Our original plan was to go here - http://www.caudalie.com/uk/turkish-spa.html - but they were unfortunately closed for the weekend. Guest Relation responded to all our questions by saying, louder and louder “Suada great place! I go there myself all days I can!”. That was enough to ensure we did not, in any circumstances, want to visit this Club Suada.
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The Taxi Ride
It is worth trying to describe the infamous taxi ride. We picked up this taxi after a long day of shopping at the Grand Bazaar. We couldn’t find a taxi outside the Bazaar and so we spent some time wandering rather suspicious looking back-streets until I went into a hotel and got directions to the nearest taxi stand. J has some sort of internal GPS because she had been pointing down this scary street all along with the certainty that taxis were to be found at its end. That street was exactly the one that hotel directed me to.
It should probably have served as a harbinger of things to come that we had to walk down the scary street to get to this taxi. We passed men who, of course, gave us the evil eye and hollered and yelled. We tried to walk on sidewalks which ranged from non-existent to where they would suddenly turn into big holes or steps going down. If you weren’t paying extremely close attention, you could easily break your neck, and I’m not exaggerating.
At the end of the scary street, we found ourselves staring at a sign for Taxis - when suddenly, a taxi flew down the street and came to an abrupt halt. Silly girls that we are, we took this to be a good omen and congratulated ourselves on our luck.
We got into the taxi, gave the address of our hotel, and settled back for what we thought would be a relatively uneventful ride. (We were already accustomed to the somewhat aggressive driving style - after all, our taxi driver that morning had gotten into an argument with another taxi driver over who should be in what lane - and they continued this argument while driving down the street, hanging out their respective windows to scream at one another. I really wish I spoke Turkish because I’m pretty sure there were some legendary insults traded that would have been worth remembering.)
That taxi took off like a bat out of hell, and didn’t stop. The driver seemed to know only two styles of driving - gunning the engine and going fast as he could, or slamming on the brakes with a massive fury. No obstacle was too great to slow us down. I am honestly surprised we did not end up driving on the sidewalk. We wove in and out of traffic with near pathological precision. There was one instance where I would have bet my last bit of monies that we were going to be hit by a bus, and yet we avoided that collision by less than an inch. That taxi sped through the streets like we were running from the po-lice. We took corners on two wheels, sped through traffic lights, narrowly avoided hitting people, other cars, buildings. At one point we were on these really steeply downgraded back streets to avoid a traffic jam and there was a woman in front of us who dared to drive normally. Between her and the speed bumps in the road we managed to only exceed the speed limit by 20MPH. I thank Baby Jesus for that car being in front of us as I am truly frightened to imagine what our driver would have done with those speed bumps. All I can imagine is that scene from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off when the two garage attendants take the convertible out on a joyride and you see the car going airborne -
I’m pretty sure it would have been something like that, only way, way worse. I remember remarking to E that I felt like we were inside The Bourne Identity, only without Matt Damon or any conceivable reason for people to be chasing us.
Needless to say, we did not tip that taxi driver. I think E even gave him exact change, which is kind of hard to do in Turkish lira. I don’t know if the driver thought he’d get a prize for beating the sound barrier and getting us back to our hotel whilst being mostly airborne, or if he just wanted us out of the car so he could pick up and terrorise another fare. I do know we were so glad to see the back of him!
(Although, when stuck in traffic a few days later, we did find ourselves missing Mr. Crazy a little bit, and remarking that he would have gotten us through that traffic jam in no time)
Aside from the crazy driver, we had:
- Driver who stopped on the side of the road to talk to a man with a suitcase, and apparently negotiate that he would pick him up once he dropped us off - and then he drove like a demon to our hotel and all but threw us out of the cab
- Driver who drove in circles a few times running up our fare before J’s internal GPS caught on
- Driver who offered me the opportunity to marry him and make some babies since we were both single
- Two drivers fight over us when we came upon a cluster of taxis and weren’t sure which one to pick. One driver even warned us about the other one saying it would be so expensive
- Varying degrees of cost for the exact same trip - sometimes it cost 20 lira, sometimes 40, sometimes 13. It was bizarre
- We never took the same route twice. Every taxi driver had a different way to get us to the Grand Bazaar, or back to our hotel.
- One taxi driver who said he knew exactly where our hotel was and then proceeded to take the most roundabout way possible. It was so bad that we abandoned the taxi and ended walking the rest of the way back
At the end of it all, I really missed London’s black cabs. I even missed the crazy minicabs with their hilarious foreign drivers and questionable odours.
The best part of all this is that about four days into the trip, we were reading what J’s Lonely Planet guide had to say about the taxis and we found this:
Istanbul is full of taxis. Some drivers are lunatics; others are con artists – most are neither. If you’re caught with the first category and you’re about to go into meltdown, say ‘yavaş!’ (careful/slow down!). Drivers in the second of these categories – the con artists – are unfortunately reasonably common. All taxis have digital meters and must run them, but some of these drivers ask for a flat fare, or pretend the meter doesn’t work so they can gouge you at the end of the run. The best way to counter this is to tell them no meter, no ride.
There was also a sentence (which I can’t find now) referring to the apalling road safety record of the city, which was by no means a surprising fact.
I consider myself lucky to have escaped unscathed and now have a much greater appreciation for the orderly nature of English traffic (something I thought I would never say).
And for the record, ‘yavaş!’ is pronounced “Yah-vash” ;)
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Looking to laugh so hard you start to cry, like for real cry? Check out this website - 27b/6 run by an Australian man called David Thorne. I think if he weren’t already married, I would get on a plane, hunt him down and make him marry me. He speaks my brand of crazy, for sure.
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I’ve been meaning to write about the rest of my trip, but unfortunately along with some amazing scarves and gifts, I also brought back some sort of Turkish plague - and so have been feeling miserable for the past week or so.
I am sufficiently cracked out on Benalyn and Ibuprofen/Codeine tablets to no longer feel the burning in my throat or sandpaper swipe of every cough and so blog I shall :)
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24th August 2011
Istanbul, TurkeyHaving a hilarious time so far in Istanbul. The tone of the journey to come was set by the taxi ride to the airport Tuesday morning. Our flight was at 06:30 out of London City and so E. told me that the cab would arrive at 3am to pick me up before going to her house. We would then meet J at the airport. The taxi arrived right on time, complete with crazy, smelly, oily-haired driver who thought it fitting to clean out the trash in his vehicle by taking it out and throwing it on the sidewalk in front of my flat. He also seemed to think that playing crazy Indian music (India Indian, not Native American Indian) at full volume was appropriate. He then proceeded to audition for Formula 1 on the way to E’s house.
We arrived at the airport around 04:00 after a level of crazy driving that left us both white-knuckled and deep in prayer. We walked in the sliding doors at London City only to be called over immediately by the woman at the information desk who told us that sorry, the airport was closed until 05:15 am, but we were welcome to wait on the benches with rest of the wayward travelers. Seeing as how I had a grand total of 3 hours sleep, and E had just arrived from a long trip to the U.S. at midnight, and hadn’t slept at all yet, we were both horribly disappointed. Nothing was open - so no coffee, no tea, and certainly no sausage roll for E. :(
J. arrived shortly thereafter, at which point we all found it hysterical that we got to hang out in London City airport for a good hour or so before check in. We did manage eventually to get some tea and coffee and sustenance before making our way to the gate. We wandered through Duty Free, sampled free Pimms (at 6 in the morning) and then made our way to the gate. Only to find the door to our gate closed. And the sign - when we bothered to look at it - said “Wait in Lounge”. We were off to a brilliant start.
The flight to Zurich was relatively uneventful - horrible muffins, free chocolate, bouncy whirry little plane and we managed to connect just in time. The flight to Istanbul offered a dubious lunch and a screaming little Turkish boy who managed to hit upper registers of sound only seen by world class sopranos.
Upon arrival, we went to get our visas, where I impressed the non-English speaking border agent with my three words of Turkish: Hello, Thank You, and I Love You. The hotel had offered us a taxi for 65 Euro, but we found a shuttle service for 24 Euro and decided to take that. Big mistake. Huge. It took us three hours to get from the airport to our hotel - three hours for what should have been at most a 40 minute journey. Granted, we hit horrendous traffic and stopped at three other hotels along the way, but we’re also pretty sure the driver was lost. About two hours in, E. wondered aloud if we were even still in Turkey or not.
We finally arrived at the hotel, which ended up being really nice… save for the pond-size pool outside. We decided to drop our things and then go out for a nice dinner. We all wanted to walk after hours on planes and in the bus from hell… which turned into a game of human frogger. Traffic in Istanbul is horrendous - basically gridlock and no respect for lights, lanes or pedestrians. We had to cross about six lanes of traffic and regardless of the lights, cars just came anyway. By the time we made it to the restaurant, we were all a bit traumatised. We ate at a nice brasserie in the Astoria building and our waiter was really funny and nice. We asked him for suggestions on where to go out, and when we left, he handed me a note that said:
“semi professional guide. Ozhan.” and his phone number.
We could not stop laughing, and J and E keep calling him my semi-permanent guide. We walked back to the hotel and prepared for an early night in as we were all exhausted. J and E brought ear plugs and so they missed both the strange drumming sounds and the 1am porn movie that was being filmed apparently in the room next store. (I didn’t think they would believe me… until it started up again at 9am this morning)
The best part of the evening was that we kept trying to find our hotel on the map in the Lonely Planet guide - we asked like three people - with no luck. J. spent a good half hour before throwing the book aside and declaring that our hotel must apparently not exist.
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Breakfast this morning was… interesting. There were scrambled eggs (runny), hard boiled eggs, soft boiled eggs, chicken sausage, veal sausage, lots of crazy cheeses, real honey on a honeycomb, amazing bread, yoghurt, figs, apricots, Nutella… Most of the food was really good but the combination was so strange. I ended up having two hard boiled eggs, some dried apricots, a slice of cheese, fruit salad and bread with Nutella. We played a game at breakfast by trying to figure out which couple it was that was making the crazy donkey noises the night before. Based on the choices available, we really hoped that whoever it was was still sleeping.
We took a taxi to the Grand Bazaar for a bit of shopping. On the way, our driver gets into a road rage argument with another taxi driver. The two taxis were riding alongside each other and the men were screaming at each other in Turkish - while weaving around traffic.
Today was absolutely hilarious. I could write for hours - and probably will - but E’s netbook battery is low, so I’ll try to summarise:
- The minute we got out of the taxi, we were greeted by two Turkish store owners who wanted us to look at carpets. I asked them if they were magic, and he told me he had some of those at his other store. They were very nice though, and took us to a good money changing place
- We got to see an old Turkish man standing on a milk crate yelling and screaming (in Turkish). Turns out that he hates the government… a lot
- The vendors in the bazaar are hilarious and very aggressive. They were enthralled with us - but seemed to think E and J were Australian, Italian or if they were from Barnsley or Manchester. No one guessed London. They were excited I was from America, but no one knew where Ohio was (typical)
- One man followed E and said, “Where did you learn such good English?” to which she answered, “Because I’m from England!”
- One of the vendors insisted on getting a picture with me, taken with his cell phone camera. He also sold E a purse for £7, which was awesome
- We were offered tea, coffee, and from one particulary strange vendor, whiskey. We didn’t partake of any, but we did buy scarves from Mr. Whiskey.
- The joke of the day was the vendor who got mad at me for implying that his wall of celebrity photos was photoshopped and so he then asked me, “Are you pregnant?” and when I stared at him in shock, he made a big belly symbol and yelled, “Baby?” I had no words - just stormed out of the shop. J turned to him and said, “You’re lucky you’re still alive”
- The baby thing became a running joke throughout the day, but I’m still not too happy about it. I wanted to lift up my dress and yell “Does this look like pregnant to you, playa?” - but considering we were getting all kinds of depraved offers already, I wasn’t encouraging the situation.
- J got propositioned to go to a Ramadan celebration by some kid’s granddad while the kid stood behind her and made thrusting noises
- In one store, an old guy grabbed J and kissed her on the cheek and then started grabbing and touching. For no reason at all.
- The bargaining was the best part. “How much?” “300 lira”. So E says “I’ll give you 1 lira”. When challenged she tells us “Well, everyone says you start low!”
- “Goolay goolay” means bye-bye in Turkish … or, as I found out because E and J wouldn’t stop laughing, “testicle testicle” in British English.
- I’m pretty sure that one man had me say something like “I’m a dirty heathen” when I asked him how to say “I’ll be back”. Only because the word Allah was in there three times.
- They loved my Turkish until I learned how to say “How much is that”. Also funny was that I would ask “How much is that, please?” in Turkish and then they would answer me in full Turkish… fully knowing I didn’t understand a word
After all day at the bizarre bazaar aka where E wants to spend the trip, sweaty smelly men notwithstanding, we wanted to take a taxi to a waterfront hotel. We finally tracked down a taxi rank and settled on the W because we thought W’s are always safe. And so began the taxi ride of death.
This driver was on crack. First we had to sit in horrible traffic in which there were vendors selling bottled water and flowers. Then, as soon as there was a break in the gridlock, our driver took off like a rocket. He wasn’t just driving fast - he was aggressive to the point of us having at least ten near-death experiences. I’m not exaggerating. I probably didn’t help the situation by screaming “Oh, help us Baby Jesus!” a bunch of times. He drove towards oncoming traffic, tried on purpose to clip a car to clip a car because they were driving too slow for him, weaved in and out of parked cars, seemed to try to hit pedestrians on purpose and was constantly accelerating and slamming on brakes. At one point I almost lost control of my bladder. By the time we reached the W, I had developed an amazing level of religion. At one point, E was like “Should we throw up our hands?” (like on a roller coaster)
We paid him exactly the amount on the meter. I don’t think he was too happy but there was no way we were going to tip for that experience.
The fun continued at the craziest W I’ve ever been to. No one really spoke English. I ordered a glass of champagne - pointing to the name of the champagne on the menu - and got a glass of rose for my trouble. I then got the one English - speaking person there to understnad what I meant and finally got my bubbly. J. went to the bathroom and got stuck in the stall because the door didn’t work correctly. I then went and got stuck in a different stall. We ordered “risotto balls” which ended up being fried ricotta cheese balls…and horribly inedible. We were all shocked that somewhere liked the W could have such crazy inconsistent service.
We braved a taxi ride back to our hotel - which was fine, save for the fact that the taxi was almost out of petrol and a police motorcycle followed us for about a mile with its flashing lights on… for no reason. We got out of the taxi… and ran straight to the Popeye’s across the street.
Yes, there is a Popeye’s in Istanbul. Brilliant. After much sign language, laughter and a mistake involving something called a Pop-Roll, I got my chicken nuggets to take away. I also got a picture with the staff of Popeye’s, which seemed to be the highlight event of their year.
And now, it is off to sleep, perchance to dream, perchance to be woken again by freaky noises. This time, though, we’ve promised to make the noises back.
Don’t mess with England and America when we get together ;)
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Stardate: 21 August, 2011
Listening to: “I’m Not Your Toy” by La Roux“Although I know it’s unfair I reveal myself one mask at a time.”
Stephen DunnWhen I was younger, I used to want to be an actress. I will never forget my mother telling me to stay away from that career choice. She was adamant about not letting me even try out for school plays. Not because she thought I wouldn’t be good at it - but because she thought I would be too good at it… that I would lose myself in whatever role I was playing and not necessarily be able to find my way back.
I never really understood what she meant, and chose instead to see it as yet another way my parents were ruining-my-life and if I could just find my real family, then I could live a beautiful, cotton-candy life as the princess I knew I really was.
But I understand it now.
I am a dangerously emotive person. Even when I’m happy, I’m like the colour yellow with just a shade of black underneath. I’m always a half-step away from falling desperately in love and I’ve been known to disappear into bathrooms to have a cathartic crying session - well, just because.
I think I let things affect me far more deeply than they reasonably should. I am completely wrapped up in a movie of my own making and going full-out for that Oscar performance.
My brother and I have talked about this - he has shared that he struggles with a similar manifestation of this trait (finding himself sometimes getting almost irrationally angry at the most inconsequential things). It’s like we take the “go big or go home” thing to a new level, emotionally. We’ve agreed that it is probably a direct result of our childhood - and how nothing was ever moderated. Things were either really, really good and happy or they were manic, tragic, awful.
I can’t help but seeing the world around me as written words on a page, and that page as part of a script for a movie of which I am the star performer. During my morning commute, I’ll imagine that I’m on my way to deal with something deliciously tragic and beautiful and I’ll have worked up several acts by the time my train reaches my destination. And then when I step off the train, I’ll start up with a completely different interpretation of the world around me - slipping in and out of emotions like I flip through dresses getting ready on a Saturday night.
Which begs the question - can I discern the real from the imagined? I am fairly sure I can, though it takes quite a lot to get through the haze. Whenever someone is able to do that - even just a little bit - I find myself romanticising them to a somewhat unhealthy degree.
And so I find myself in relationships that make no sense and yet instead of backing away, I slip into a different persona and try to convince myself that no, everything is fine, this is really who I am meant to be only I just didn’t know it before. This farce continues often for as long as the other person will let it - or until I exhaust myself trying to keep all the versions of myself straight, and I slip up, and everything goes to hell.
At which point, I react emotionally… and yes, well, you see where this is going. Self-fulfilling prophecy, anyone? Since moving to England, I’ve been through at least deliciously melodramatic romantic experiences.
All of this came to mind today when I realised that about this time last year I was in the early stages of putting someone on a pedestal. Someone who really, really was not right for me. That entire experience ripped a piece out of me - not because I fell desperately in love (though true to form, there were little hiccups of moments where I thought maybe-possibly-perhaps), and not because the ending was horrific or anything.
I find myself a bit damaged because I spent that entire experience being someone other than myself. I was so terribly lonely at the beginning and doing what I always do - cycling through various personae to see which one clicked - and it just so happened that he responded to the one that was least like who I really am in so many ways. She was still razor sharp smart and funny - but she was muted. It was me, but me rinsed and filtered and wrung dry of most of my essential traits.
Oh, and I knew it was no good. I felt it deep inside, and I ignored it - all because I desperately wanted companionship and because this person happened to slip through my haze just a little bit.
I would like to say I’ll never do that again. I’m certainly going to try very hard.
I’m spending my time these days focusing on setting aside all my various masks, digging out that girl deep inside the nesting dolls. I want to take her out, dust her off, and hold her gently - reintroduce her to the world. She is a bit crazy, a bit dangerous, and a bit of a hot mess - but definitely worth knowing.
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