11:00am 7/22 - 12:00am 7/24: In Constant Motion

SFO 11:00am 7/22

Full of excitement and anticipation, I boarded the United Airlines flight en route to Istanbul, Turkey, via Frankfurt at 2:00pm on July 22nd. After 14 hours at 35,000 feet (mix in 3 hours of sleep (in snatches), and 4 hours walking through the maze that is Frankfurt Airport), I arrived at Ataturk Airport at 5:00pm Wednesday, July 23. In Turkey. Another world. Turkish words immediately began swimming through my head, but I was unsure what half of them meant. Nukte appeared among the waiting crowd, familiar and smiling - what a strange thing after so many hours in limbo, landing halfway around the world, to be plucked and recognized. Home. 

I've known Nukte for 28 years. 

Driving through Aksaray, there traffic was arriving from 

all directions, with no sense of lanes at all.

Our first adventure was to find my mother, who had arrived in Istanbul that morning. A tour company in Tehran had set her up in a hotel in Aksaray, the armpit of an otherwise beautiful city. It was a trash hotel surrounded by other trash hotels, and a McDonalds. She was miserable. As soon as we called to say we were coming to get her, she repacked her bag and sat on the curb with her chin in her hands. It took us two hours to find her (subway connections, taxi, stopping passersby to ask the location of hotel), and when we pulled up to see her sitting there, it was a memorable sight. We swooped her up and off we went. It was now 8:00pm.

Success!

The ferry boat to Burgaz Island ("Burgazada") was leaving from the Kadikoy ferry landing at 9:30pm. We arrived with enough time to have a cup of tea before boarding. How glorious, an Istanbul ferry boat ride on a warm summer evening, the lights from the princess island glowing like jewels floating above the water. The air was heavy, wet and warm, but the air moved swiftly over us as we stood on the deck of the ferry. I found it ironic that I know to watch out for pickpockets and beggars, and yet passengers leave their suitcases near the exit of the ferry, and move about the upper levels without a worry about someone taking their bag. The ferry pulled in at 10:30pm. I had been traveling for 23 hours and was still in my traveling clothes. The ferry's engine was a loud hum as we moved through the Bosphorus to the Marmara Sea.

Burgaz Island allows no cars, and Nukte's summer house is at a high spot, several long and tall blocks up from the dock.

My mom, and my suitcases, were not going to have an easy time of it, so we hired a horse and buggy. 25 Turkish Lira.  My suitcase was heavy and took up an entire seat, so Nukte said she would walk. Walk? I immediately got nervous: it would be my mom and I on a horse and buggy being delivered to a house I had never been to before by a driver who spoke no English, in the dark. Against the clip clop of the horses hooves, as our buggy navigated the narrow alleyways by people enjoying a late stroll, or a seaside cafe, I began composing what I would say in my head. "Bey Effendim, hangi ev? Burdami?" Sir, which house? Is it here? He stopped at a vegetable stand to pick up his grocery bag, and continued on up the hill. Up, left, right, we were pulled by two white horses that were hoping, as I was, that their day (and mine) would end soon. The cart stopped suddenly and, nervous, I jumped out. "Hangi ev, Bey Effendim? Burdami?" 

The stream of Turkish that he responded with poured over me like a bucket of cold water. I had no idea what he was saying, except I was fairly certain he was not pointing out a house. "Are we here?" my mother asked. "I don't think so," I replied, and climbed back in the buggy. Up, left, right, and higher we climbed. Again the buggy stopped. And again I repeated the collection of words that I hoped would lead me to a bed. Again he rattled off a response at a rate that my brain couldn't follow. "What's going on? Are we not there yet?" my mother said, incredulously, and she laughed as I climbed back up confused. On and on we went, and for yet a third time we stopped. I waited for as long as I could stand, and then hopped out, asking "Burdami?" It's got to be here, I thought to myself. How much farther can it be? When I climbed back in to the buggy for the third time, my mother laughed uproaringly as I sat there a bit shame-faced. I had to admit I didn't know what I was doing and I was completely at the mercy of this middle-aged buggy driver. I sat back and resolved to not say another word. This entire ride took maybe 15 minutes, but we finally pulled up to a curb to find Nukte's husband Vincent waiting for us. Finally.we.had.arrived. And I think I could be sure this time. The driver was evidently as frustrated as I was as he related the story to Vincent in Turkish. He didn't know what to make of me: a nervous American jumping out of the cart every time he needed to give his horses a rest, or set the break for a downhill stretch.

Whew. 11:00pm. A soft bed. A meal, close friends. And a veranda that displayed the Marmara Sea spreading out before us.  It was at 4:00am, when I struggled to sleep, that I heard the Muezzin, mixing with the sound of seagulls at the dock. Listen with me here

This is the view I woke up to the next morning.