Istanbul Gateway

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.

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.

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.