Once upon a time, I remembered that I like trees more (much more) than people.

06.08.08 1038 Ooh, the next day was Lughnassadh, and I got to celebrate it quite nicely, if humbly. We drove east to the water treatment facility for all of the Asian and part of the European side of Istanbul, and my was it much bigger than the one for Zaragoza. I’ll compare and contrast them later.

More importantly, we picked so much fruit from the sides of the road! There were little orange-yellow plum tasting things, backberries, apples, figs (which I still haven’t eaten because none of the ones on trees are ripe yet), and other little guys that looked like cherries but tasted furry and dried your mouth out on first bite. I fully enjoyed and appreciated the bounties of Nature as I gave thanks for this food and munched away to my tummy’s content. I think that there were also some of those oval-plum things that are green inside, too. Mm, Mediterranean fruit…

Picking from the orange-yellow plum-tasting fruit tree:

Picking from apple trees:

An apple and an orange-yellow plum-tasting fruit:

Blackberry bushes! This is where they went from the pricker patch in the front yard!

Mmm... Thank you, Gaia.

Furry-tasting fruit in its tree:

More apples, this time little and green:

That night we all (save Tamoria, of course) went out as a group for the first time all trip. We thought that we were going to Angelique, but apparently that place was expensive, so we went somewhere else, and a curse upon whoever led. We went to a small open-aired place with a dance floor the size of the kitchen that was at the end of a little square with other shops and bars off it. We brought the party. Much drama ensued after the night was over, because the prick who works at the buffet across the street from where we get breakfast each morning ordered three completely unsolicited tables of alcohol and began to hand them out, and they just got passed around because no one wanted to drink what was there. People were also ordering their own from the bar, and a bunch of us left early because the place was really lame. I was having a good time with this kid Burak whom we had just met that day and who was living in our dorms.

So apparently, all told, this was all some elaborate scheme to take our money, because the tab was something like 1500 YTL at the end of the night (complete with double-charged things for which people had paid at the bar, as well as 2 300 YTL bottles of Absolut and 1 400 YTL Jack Daniels from the tables, as if any Turk would really be charged that for those--Americans, maybe, but Turks, no). Besides for their own drinks, no one paid, and this kid from across the street, who is our age, was all hounding after us. Well, don’t play the pimp if you aren’t. Much drama followed the other night, when this all came to a breaking point and the Turkish mob was apparently calling across the street.

First, the mafia doesn’t care about a few hundred lira.

Second, that would never be the tab.

Third, in the guileless words of gorgeous Gözde, Emre from across the street ‘Is all of the time speaking lies.’

People had just had water, and some people didn’t drink at all. Burak had even told Emre not to order anything, but alas. We ended up pow-wowing, and deciding to all chip in what we thought was fair, completely anonymously. We did this, and Alejandro and some other walked across the street to square it with the restaurant. All was good…

...until the next day after this drama (days: incident night, Sobie’s birthday day, nothing, drama, then present narrative day) when Jessica and I were walking with hocam and Defne, her daughter, and hocam received a call from the sister of Emre, who was their, and with whom no amount of money could persuade me to touch. She was flipping out about how the money wasn’t enough, and let me tell you, I can undertand only some Turkish, but hocam was kicking some serious conversational ass. We knew it was a scam when people who weren’t even involved were getting in on this, and she called the owner of the residence and threatened to report this to the university, who would on the spot terminate the contract, not to mention the fact that we’re tight with the university president in the first place.

And you know, I’ve definitely killed some karma repeating this, but I hope, I _hope_ that the Turkish mafia is after this Emre. I’m a good-natured person who’s normally quite happy and willing to do anything to make others happy (The night of all the drama, with the talk of how to pay and what to pay, we had went grocery shopping to cook, and I paid for everything with the understanding that people would pay me back, but as I cooked delicious omelets and ate Kristina’s yoghurt thing and Durán’s bruschetta and home fries, I refused to accept a cent from anyone, but demanded that everyone eat and be merry, because a few lira should never be an issue, and it’ just money after all. I was also giving gratuitous offers to sad faces, and hugs abounded. I hate drama.), but my hair is red, after all, and I am my Daddy’s girl. Once something sends me over that edge, all of the wrath that I can summon from the earth is expelled upon the object of my discontent, and let me tell you, were I to negotiate with this Emre kid, the first words out of my mouth wouldn’t be words, but a swift knee to the balls and then an elbow to the junction of the neck and shoulder. I’d probably poke his eyes, too, because I’ve developed nails this trip, so much that it’s a little hard to type at times. Perhaps at times I am not the most diplomatic choice of people. Ryan has seen me this angry once, and it terrified him, I think.

Anywho, story over. I hope that Emre has one of those little blue eyes on his person, is all that I can say. We all need to get over this, but it culminated right at the end of our trip, and it was not a pretty thing. The omelets were delicious, though, and we bought eksi sakar (aged cheese) that was 25 YTL a kilo and was SO WORTH IT. We also danced to Girl Talk whilst cooking, and I even rubbed some of the bruschetta with garlic like we did that one time, Ryan. And I got my sexy on while flipping those omelets (okay, so it wasn’t entirely pretty, but I did have a few nice flips).

I did make some people smile, though, and I was happy to tell that they were so amused and happy from my silly attempts and making some merry.

İstanbul'da...iki

(As always, click for higher-resolution, and come visit me to, among telling me how much you miss me and how you couldn't top thinking about me when I was away, see these images in all their 12.1 megapixel glory.)

Two day ago, then, in the morning and early afternoon, we went for a bit of Istanbul sightseeing (read: religious whatnot, mostly), some of which I found interesting. Mostly, though, my unidentifiable feelings of resentment towards organised religion tended to smoulder as the day continued. I'll elaborate, but chronologically.

Because first...ROMAN RUINS!

Once upon a time, there was a very independent, culturally-rich civilisation that was composed mostly of immigrants who had ousted those who lived in the lands that they now occupied before them. This empire became very strong and influential, communicating with other cultures all over the world. They, however, dominated all of these other cultures and imposed their own culture upon them. They had very strange habits concerning hygiene, religion, capital punishment, and food, that others would consider backwards, or at least quite odd, but they thought nothing of them. Eventually, however, their empire became too vast. They could not feed all of their civilians and soldiers, their currency experienced rapid devaluation, and their middle class was all but destroyed. After their empire fell, the world as they knew it was controlled by malicious rulers who wanted to control all the people in the land. The people became subjugated and stupid, and such things as the fact that the earth was round were forgotten. Like the empire before theirs, people actually believed that there was a magickal man in the sky who had somehow impregnated a virgin woman with his son. The people of all the lands were so guileless as not only to believe all that they were told, but also to give all their money to those who were controlling them.

That's enough of the story for to-day, children. The story, obviously, was not too much in detail. When the empire fell, actually, it split into two. The eastern part became known as the Byzantine Empire. While Europe was busy with the early middle ages, Byzantium was able to preserve many of the ancient works of knowledge. Nomatter what, however, the Ancient Romans kick ass.

Outside, there were Byzantine remains: wicked awesome.

 

Inside, we visited an underground aquifer which seems entirely invisible from the outside. My jaw dropped descending the stairs to the inside. Water was brought from, methinks, over nineteen kilometres away to provide water for the city--both drinking and domestic uses. There were two columns in the back with pedestals of Medusa's head which were rotated ninety degrees. No one knows why, because the Ancient Romans didn't need a reason.

 

We walked along the street and bough boiled corn from a vendor. It was delicious, and not as sweet as the butter and sugar corn that I'm used to at home. It made me miss so much summer evens at 89 Storey Ave, when we used to walk down the street and buy corn to boil at night. Just walking by the corn vendors and smelling that sweet smell was enough to fill my tummy. There are all sorts of fresh treats to buy on the street: simit, which is like a thinner bagel smothered in sesame seeds; chestnuts, which are more for winter, but they have them right now anyways; corn, as mentioned, which can be boiled or grilled; and there's other stuff, too, but onwards.

We went to the Ayasofya (Hagia Sofia), which only pseudo-impressed me. Once again, someone built a wicked cool building, then it was made all Superchristian, then Muslims came in and painted over all of the beautiful mosaics, because everybody knows that making a representation of anything at all is a sin and you will not be in Allah's good graces unless the only art that you produce is girly handwriting and designs. Silly religious people. It's a museum now, and yes, it was beautiful, yeah yeah yeah, but there was all this scaffolding right in the centre because of some work that was being done (uncovering the mosaics or cleaning), and I had a hard time appreciating it, I suppose. O, and when the silly Muslims plastered and painted over the mosaics, they didn't even do a good job.

 

  

What interested me more was the floor and my thoughts. How many feet have wandered here? The soft marble and stone was worm away in places, becoming curved with age and wear, like sea stones. How long did it take to put this one stone, right here, in this place?

One cool thing was a giant marble basin. Even to-day, people will keep water in marble or terra cotta jugs because these materials are naturally cool. The spout is left a little above the bottom, so that sediment can settle and not pour out.

And sometimes, old buildings lean...

Another cool thing was the walnut tree. =)

Outside, across the street, is the Sultanahmet Camii (Blue Mosque) with its minarets. Why is it right across the street? O, because silly religious people decided to try to one-up the Ayasofya. Typical. We walked inside the courtyard, I fought more urges to rip burqas off women (a discussion for an ENTIRELY different time and place, and yes, I understand that this small mention of my frustration here makes me sound like a stereotypical western feminist, and I've heard the arguments about how it symbolises your antithesis to western capitalism and consumerism, but you should seriously consider interpreting hijab to involve more male modesty as well, and men leading around women in burqas with children in tow should at least have damn rings on), and then we realised that it was Friday, and we would have to wait until 1430 to enter, which wouldn't work.

  

I was pretty okay with that. I like that Islam is more of an individual religion, with no one leading prayers or things like that, but, as with anything, people take these things way too far and become way too ridiculous about everything. Enter oppression and ignorance. I'll stop now.

HARDCORE 4 LIFE

Time for a hyperactive entry. To-day, we went to a small town to meet the mayor, who is apparently responsible for pulling some strings so that we would have somewhere to stay during Expo time. Most of the girls came in dresses to look nice, and on the bus before we were leaving, we were told that we were also going hiking, to which AJ said something to the effect of, 'That's what you have to expect on this dialogue: dress for meeting a mayor AND hiking.' Indeed. We ran and changed, but I just grabbed a change of clothes, and I ended up using only my shoes, because why not hike in a soy-silk dress?

We bussed to the small town, another of which I don't know the name, los torros something? Ah, Torres de Berrellén. They mayor gave us a lovely little tour. She was a very tactile person, which I love. She thought that I understood much more Spanish than I did (I'm quite good at, if no understanding, knowing when to nod or comment in order to look like I understand...), which was both a compliment and then an awkward conversation.  The town was colourful, and an old male villager kept inviting us around to places as well. I noticed that his frail hands were gnarled as he curled them around each other behind his back. His partially-toothless, almost guileless smile was so sincere as he informed us of a plethora of things that we could never understand, as they were all in Spanish...

We also saw some graffiti. I need to devote a whole post at some point to street and aerosol art.

After a lovely complimentary breakfast of coffee and pastries at a local taberna, we bussed again to Montecayo, which is the largest peak of the Iberian range of mountains. We heard all about the mountain and its history, its flora, and more things in Spanish.

We also saw some goats. Maaa! Maaa! There was a chick fight.

Minimal hiking, some trees and water--it was pretty much just like home, except with less water. There were even ladybugs everywhere, like swarming on the screen door for a month in summer.

We drove a few metres to the monastery. There, we got a terrific tour from a woman who was self-conscious about her English-speaking abilities, but they were top notch. Also, she was adorable, which made any forgotten words totally excusable, with her cute searching in the air for them.

O, silly religious people. Seeing the stones marked with 'A,' 'R,' and a key was interesting. Also, there used to be stairs. 

Other than that, the monastery was a gorgeous, austere place until the monks decided that less austerity was probably not going to be that distracting, and they Baroqued-out.

All in all, I think that the concept, like that of organised religion, is laughable.

I did, however, learn some new things:

--Monks are even more ridiculous than I thought.

--No talking, except for in two separate areas.

--Confessing all your sins means the sins of talking in those areas, eating, and even snoring, which everyone knows are all sins.

--If you have sexual thoughts, then you have to make yourself bleed to forget them.

--Were I a monk, I'd die of blood loss in less than a day.

--Just like Santa Claus, god and big brother are watching you all the time.