Istanbul again. The
last time I passed through here was in spring 2010 on my way home
from Tashkent en route to a divorce settlement and a future that was
about to crumble and then re-form. It was a different
life. I was a different person. Istanbul was
the gateway.
There are several transfer
points going from the East Coast of the US to Central Asia. During
my years in Tashkent, I went via both Frankfurt and Moscow, but in
the end, like many at Embassy Tashkent, I settled on Istanbul as my
favored transit point. As it has been since the times of
Imperial Rome, Constantinople and later Istanbul have been where East
and West meet and mix. For an American going East, it is
where one first feels that one has truly left U.S. culture
behind. On one's return, it is where one first feels the
glimmer of home beckoning. It became a tradition for those
of us at Embassy Tashkent to have that last or first Starbucks coffee
or that first or last Western beer while passing through Ataturk
Airport and observing travelers at once so different from passengers
in a U.S. Airport but different as well from those one sees in
Tashkent.
I'm on my way back to
Central Asia, this time in a regional position based in Astana,
Kazakhstan. My journey began at 7:30am on Wednesday morning as I
drove away from my little Maine home. In Bangor I gave Hillary, my
1991 station wagon, over to good friends who put me on the Concord
for the first leg of my journey by bus to Boston. From
there it was British Air first to London and then to Istanbul. It
was 6pm local time when we landed on the Bosphorus. By then
I had already been awake for over 27 hours, not counting a few
snatched minutes of sleep in economy seats.
Although a seasoned
traveler, I had lost the knack over my fifteen months in the US. My
attempt to be a smart traveler by taking the bus into the city failed
totally when I missed my stop and then had to take a taxi back to my
hotel in Old Town. I knew I was in the hands of the taxi
mafia when two drivers
started fighting over me by design. I knew I was about to
be fleeced but due to exhaustion didn't care. In the end I
paid as much as I would have if I had taken a taxi all the way from
the airport.
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| The Bosphorus |
Once checked in, however,
I gathered enough strength to head back out in search of a light
dinner and a bottle of wine to take back to my room. On
the street I was quickly reminded that I was not in Maine or even in
Washington anymore. The sidewalks were delightfully full
of people, but these pedestrians did not move like pedestrians in
U.S. cities. It took a few minutes to re-acculturate to
the fact that our subconscious U.S. rules of how to move in a crowd
don't apply in much of the world. Until I remembered, I
had several near collisions with people who clearly did not stick
with our U.S. stay-to-the-right mentality.
I also stood out as a
single, unaccompanied woman. All the other women I saw
were with a friend, with a man, or in a group. Only I was
alone. Hawkers were inviting me into clothing stores or
cafes at every step. I heard almost no English, but to my
surprise I heard much Russian and saw many signs in Russian. Could
Russia be realizing its age-old dream of taking Constantinople, if
not militarily and politically, then through its tourists, traders,
and guest workers?
Back in my room, I dined,
called P.E., showered, and collapsed to bed. I had been up
for 33 hours. I slept soundly for the next nine.
Today my travel instincts
began to return. Refreshed by sleep and a quick workout in
the hotel fitness room, I headed back out into the city. I
ate brunch at a corner cafe, in the process exchanging names and
phone numbers with the waitress who happened to be from
Turkmenistan. Then I walked through Old Town in the
direction of the Blue Mosque and Santa Sophia not so much as a
tourist – I've been here before – but as a world traveler at the
beginning of a new journey.
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| Santa Sophia |
By 4pm I was back at the
airport, having made my way there this time without a hitch on
Istanbul's wonderful metro system. For the price of
yesterday's bus/taxi ride to the hotel, I had eaten a nice brunch,
bought a skirt and blouse – I love Turkey for clothes shopping! –
and returned to the airport in pleasant comfort and good time on the
metro. My traveler's legs had returned. Istanbul
had again been my gateway.
It is now 8pm. My
Turkish Air flight is somewhere over Anatolia or the Black Sea headed
eastward into the night. In another four hours I will be
in Astana. Robyn's new adventure has begun.
