An Englishman and an Irishman walk in to a bar...
Trip Start
Feb 22, 2007
1
5
38
Trip End
Jul 19, 2008
Istanbul,
Turkey
Sunday, February 25, 2007
I soldiered on regardless, first visiting a series of monuments near to the Blue Mosque then riding the immensely efficient tram service down to the mouth of the Bosphorus. There I walked across the Galata Bridge and back, savouring the landscape once more and pitying the crazy amateur fishermen that lined the bridge amid freezing winds hoping for a catch.
Once I was back across, I headed for the renowned Spice Bazaar nearby where a multitude of foods and spices were displayed along a maze of narrow tunnels
a.01 Spiral Column
. The stalls were alive with noises and smells that roused my weather-numbed senses and gave brief respite from the chill. What turned out to be my final tourist activity in Istanbul took me to Topkapi Palace back near the Sultanahmet district. As I walked down the hill to its gated entrance, I was invited for a cup of tea by a carpet shop owner. Given my extremities were literally about to fall off, I decided a warm drink would be just the ticket and accepted his invitation. We spoke for few minutes while we drank by his heater, but this was all just a prelude to the inevitable. And then, on cue, he started unravelling rug after rug as he delivered his well-oiled spiel. After ten minutes or so I managed to escape from his shop, but only back in to the icy clutches of winter. With a shiver I was on my way again.
Topkapi Palace was an odd place. It must have been pretty good because it kept my voluntary attention for a good couple of hours or more. Essentially an endless museum of early Ottoman artefacts spread across an infinity of opulent rooms and grounds, the highlight of this expansive Palace was the Harem where Sultans of bygone eras would house there concubines. What a life eh? Unfortunately, I was not sufficiently interested in the Palace to be persuaded at the outset to buy an audio guide, and so I essentially just walked around clueless for two hours adding my own internal commentary (which mostly consisted of "Jesus Christ it's cold today"; "Ooh wow, what an impressive ceiling"; and "fffuck, I'm fffreezing").
As I finally left the palace and headed back to the streets, I stumbled across a bar advertising the 6 Nations rugby, the second match of which (Ireland vs
a.02 Obelisk of Theodosius
. England), according to the times chalked on the board, was about to start. I walked with disbelief in to the bar and double-checked with the barman if they were really showing rugby in Turkey! He said they would indeed be after the Man Utd match had finished showing, and so I propped myself up against the bar, ordered a beer and sat smugly as the circulation gradually returned to my frozen body. After a couple of minutes an Irish guy entered, made his way to the bar and asked with equal incredulity whether the rugby was really being screened. I noted his accent and he mine, and so he pulled up a seat next to me at the bar and we got talking while we waited for the big match. After a short while, the barman informed us that he'd got the times wrong and that the Scotland vs. Italy match was on first and that Ireland/England wouldn't be on for another couple of hours. Seeing as we already had full drinks in hand and were enjoying each other's company, both Eugene and I decided to wait it out.
Turns out Eugene was from Belfast but had been living in Canada since the 70s (his accent was most bizarre, but still discernibly Northern Irish). He was in Istanbul as part of a solo 3 week vacation around Greece and Turkey. We talked about everything from rugby to Cuban politics while we continued to ply ourselves with Turkey's premium beer, Efes. He was a really nice guy and, if I ever find myself on Vancouver Island, I now officially have a place to stay.
A little later an Italian man walked in with his wife, came up to the bar where Eugene and I sat, looked up at the TV screen, and asked with shock, "is that the rugby?"
a.03 Obelisk of Theodosius
. "Yes", I replied, "and Italy are bloody winning!". So, he ordered his wife and him some drinks and they joined in Italy's first ever away win in the 6 Nations. I didn't mind when the Italians left after that match though, as the man really reminded me of Sven Goran-Eriksson both in looks and in mannerisms and so I'd naturally taken a dislike to him. By the time the Ireland/England match had finished some six hours or so after we'd first entered, we'd both had a fair bit to drink. We said our goodbyes and Eugene did his best not to gloat in Ireland's sound victory. I then headed off for my bed, stopping en route for a shameless drunken McDonald's.
It was a day to remember as I prepared to bid Istanbul farewell first thing in the morning.
Comments
Vancouver Island
I'm posting crazy now. If you get the chance, get yourself to Vancouver Island. Great place.