The famous question travelers get from loved ones is, “Why are you going to Turkey?” As I settle into Istanbul, one of my favorite cities, my thought: Why would anyone not travel here? (And, frankly, why would anyone go to Athens at Istanbul’s expense?)
Settling into my hotel room, I do a trip-end sort through my clothes: dirty and too dirty to wear. I assess how much hand washing I’ll need to do to get home. I spin through the TV channels. Gauzy love songs for lonely men play in the wee hours. I hide the remote.
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Quite tired, I’m about to plop down on the toilet and I notice that small nozzle threatening to poke me in tail bone if I do. Not trusting the design, I sit gingerly…and find it’s okay. Still, this ominous little nozzle seems like the evil, germ-spreading equivalent of a bee-spreading pollen. I make a note to ask my Turkish friends about this finger and sprinkle alternative to toilet paper. (I’ll stick with TP.)
My hotel has a great breakfast terrace. It’s open at night for gazing past floodlit husks of forts and walls, out at the sleepy Bosporus, with Asia just across the inky straits. The strategic waterway is speckled with the lights of freighters at anchor stretching far into the distance. I recall the origin of the Turkish flag — a white star and sliver moon on a reflected in a pool of bright red blood after a great battle. Today, the sliver moon shines over not blood but money…trade and shipping…struggles in the arena of capitalism.
At breakfast, the same view is lively. An oil tanker heading for a Romanian fill-up is light and riding high — the exposed tank makes its prow cut through the water like a plow. As I scan the city, it occurs to me it’s physically not that different from my city. I could replace the skyline of domed mosques and minarets with churches and spires, and it could be the rough end of Any City, USA.
I’ve veered away from cereal, and for my Turkish breakfasts I’m going local — olives, feta cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, bread and horrible Tang juice. Gazing at my plate, I study the olive oil. Ignoring the three olive pits — sucked very clean and floating like little turds — I see tiny, mysterious flakes of spices. They’re doing a silent do-si-do to distant lyrics that tell of arduous camel caravan rides from China.
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Later that day, wandering under stiletto minarets, I watch hardworking speakers lashed to the crow’s nest belt out a call to prayer. I think, “Charming, they’ve draped Christmas lights between the minarets.” But the people around me would come to my house and say, “Charming, he’s draped minaret lights on his Christmas tree.”
I marvel at the multi-generational conviviality at the Hippodrome — that long, oblong square still shaped like a chariot racecourse, as it was 15 centuries ago. Precocious children high-five me and ask, “What is your name?” Just to enjoy their confused look, I say, “Fifty-two.”
The Hippodrome in Istanbul was built by Severus, the Emperor of Rome. The Arch of Severus is at the foot of the stairs leading from Rome’s City Hall to the Roman Forum.
We have visited the Hippodrome, 15 Roman Amphitheaters, 20 Greek and Roman theaters, and the Circus Maximus in Rome. The seating capacity is a couple of thousand for the theaters, 10 to 50,000 in the Amphitheaters, 100,000 in the Hippodrome, and 300,000 in the Circus Maximus in Rome.
Where did all the attendees come from? What about medical assistance, food, beverage, sanitation (for spectators and participants), and crowd control. How did they get to and from home, and how long did it take? If you consider the people in large cities like Istanbul and Rome, many were too young, too old, too ill, did not like to attend, so where did all the crowd come from.
Think about the people in attendance. I’ve never seen an answer — first time I’ve ever seen the question. I’ll bet someone wrote a book.
Wow Rick, your writing makes feel like I’m right there with you! I’d love to see a picture of this toilet nozzle!!! Toying with young children seems like something my husband would do (and he’s pretty fun!), but to most of us women it seems a little twisted!
Rick, thanks for the blog. It’s a lot of fun. You paint a vivid picture. Happy end of Ramadan & thanks to Jim Humberd too.
That is a brand new concept from the toilets I have seen so far. None of them have violated me so far. However in Vernazza, my husband had a near miss will a very serious (albeit hilarious) toilet related injury. In our room, all the hot water you had to use was mounted in a tank on the wall. My husband needing to do what all people do – didn’t want to strain the abilities of the piping system in our room, so he gave a “courtesy flush” while sitting on the toilet. All the sudden the tank starts rumbling, steam coming rolling out from between his legs and he turns slightly to look behind him just when a boiling hot stream of water hits the cheek of his rear. He said one second of delay and I would have been running him to the hospital had it been a direct hit. Hope that wasn’t too graphic for anyone. The multitude of ways to flush a toilet in Italy cracks me up. Side note, we just got back from France. The Euro rate really effected us. We will have to take a break in 2008.
Do 52 year old men have to say turds?
Alberta, 52 year old men do say turds. There is a group of men in the world who will always have 12 year pre-adolescent boyish behavior! It makes life interesting for women and children! They can be quite charming! My 66 year husband, retired from a well-respected position, is the same.
Great Blog. I love the descriptive detail and the comparisons and the toilet story was hilarious. I think just about anyone who has traveled has a toilet story. Thanks Rick.
I know what you mean about family, when we went to Greece we couldn’t tell the family we also went to Turkey until we got back because the mention of it before we went was crazy!!! But we really loved it there, are would love to take the Rick Steves tour someday!
The only john story I have is from GB. If you don’t use the pay john’s within an alotted time, the doors swing open. I always take small package of kleenx. TP isn’t always found. :) Happy travels! Exploring other countries is fun.
Alberta and Aubrey – Growup. Your existance in the world is not to put men down for everything they say or do. Your right wing over the top conservatism is not needed and is certianly unwanted. The female gender has more shortcomings than can be listed here. I will not stooped to your level by beginning the list.
Dan, you are a moron
OK, folks…what’s so bad about using “turd” as a description of floating olive pits? The image was perfect! It painted the perfect mental picture, didn’t it?! Would you have preferred Rick to use a more “proper” term? And what, pray tell, would that be? Unlike a 10-year-old-boy — who would likely use “turd” to raise a reaction among his friends — Rick used it as to paint a picture, and I think he did it very well. I agree with others that this blog was descriptive, well written, and gave me a few chuckles (especially about the toilet) as have a few of the responses.
Mary Alice, thanks for proving my point
Gee, Dan, I never been called a right wing conservative in my life. You need a life if you can’t take a joke! Cheers!
Dan, what about either post leads you to believe either Alberta or Audrey are “right wing conseratives”? Some people are more formal than others and don’t care for either potty humor and/or scatalogical references.
Thanks for the photos, Rick! The john with the spout looks dangerous. When in Rome… :) Happy travels!
Please accept my apology. I was a horse’s posterior that day. I will not embarrass you or me again.
Hey, Dan, thanks for apology. I just figured I hit a raw nerve! :-) I think Rick’s description was great. From my very liberal POV, I can be a reall potty mouth at times! Humour is my byline! Cheers. Happy travels!
Why drink pseudo Tang for breakfast, when you can have visne?
I find the background music on your films very annoying. drowning out the dialogue Was not like this last year