Istanbul (West Side)
My beautiful Chinese noodle of a girlfriend is peacefully sleeping in the bedroom down the hall. A glass of red wine rests on a Frida Kahlo coaster by this machine. Rain passes slowly overhead in the Sisli section of Istanbul, the west side — of the European continent. I’m listening to Bob Dylan.
We got to Istanbul last Sunday. I came in from Budapest, after a two-hour flight. Experienced somewhat of a horror story there, two weeks of bouncing between hostels. And then getting myself into Airbnbs.
Landing in Istanbul was easy. She flew in from Beijing to the airport in the West. And I flew in to the East. There were shuttles that I’d researched before my arrival. (Don’t go for the shuttles in the airport. They charge three times as much. That’s the game, everywhere. Tourists getting hosed by locals with their feet so far in the Earth that it shows in their demeanor right when you land on their soil. What I’m trying to say is that they want your loot.)
Uh, we went on the shuttle to Taksim Square. It was an hour drive and there was traffic before crossing the bridge. The Bosphorus is the strait that divides the East and West, Asia and Europe. Big deal.
The bridge was cool. Bright. And beautiful. You could see the glistening waterway under the moon hiding in the daylight.
I was edgy. It had been five weeks since I’d last seen my girlfriend.
When we got to Taksim Square, the whole place was enshrouded with yellow taxis. Looking to suck the blood of tourists. I wasn’t bright-eyed. I had some of the local currency in my pocket. And I was on a budget.
I got off the bus, asked a taxi for a ride. He wanted to charge about 60–65 Lira. I knew that my girlfriend had paid about 15 for her taxi ride — and that included a tip.
I asked another taxi. Same shit.
No wait. That’s a lie.
Some dude came around the corner. I jumped in.
“Here,” I said. And tossed the luggage into the backseat. My luggage. Same clothes since Da Nang. Eight months of traveling. No respite save the sun.
Got there in about 15 minutes. The taxi driver was a lunatic. All the drivers were in Istanbul. I’d never seen anything like it. They went up hills like they were cupcakes. And they nearly rammed into pedestrians like they were plastic figurines.
I paid the man after getting stuck in the backseat. (He had to get out of the cab and walk around to the other side to let me out.)
I went to the place where my girlfriend was — she’d sent me a picture of the outside and that had helped. The plan was for me to get on the WiFi and then message her. I couldn’t get the WiFi and I felt annoyed, immediately. I hollered up at the apartment building where I guessed she might be.
“HAN!”
Nothing happened.
“HAN!”
Pigeons shat.
“HAN!!@@@@$#TQ$GFGEFG”
Nothing.
I started cursing under my breath, and over it too. Got to the side of the sidewalk and picked up a porcupine. Hauled it across the street. People turned and looked at me. Somebody realized they’d lit their cigarette backward.
Finally, I got ahold of her. She came down.
I went up.
Pissed.
Then.
I let it go away.
We kissed.
Embraced.
Fucked.
Bent her over the couch.
Carried her into the bedroom.
Her face was reddened.
It was hot.
The next day, we went out downtown. It was a twenty-minute walk to the nearest Metro stop. At least, to get downtown.
You had to buy a card. And then you put money on the card. Some racket.
Downtown was hot and blistering. I’d wanted to go to the Grand Bazaar. We did that. Towels, tapestries, taints — sweaty — earrings, dresses, bedsheets, ties, tiles, shirts, underwear, lingerie, books, foodstuffs, produce, bubble gum, shoes, shoe laces, bread, chickens, ducks, the moon — hiding — winding streets, standing mannequins, women in burqas and hijabs, men in lace, no, shit, men in linen, the hot sun relentlessly sacrilegious, divine, tanning my face and skin. We ate some food. Found a money exchange.
“I got robbed!” I told my girlfriend.
“It’s worse at the airport,” she told me.
We walked. Enthralled.
Made our way to the water. She held onto my arm. I bought some corn. Ate it, greedily.
“Baby, I like it here.”
“Who you callin’ baby?”
The next day, we did the same. Walked all over the place in the hot, brutal sun. The seagulls squawked
“SQUAWK! GIMME SOME FUCKIN’ FOOD!”
They circled overhead, in packs. Slanting downward with the breeze coming in across the water. I was amazed that they could see any fish in that water. And there were fishermen too, dangling their lines, bait, weights, and hooks from bridges and overpasses. Tourists fondled their water bottles.
The tea was good. We had some tea.
Our first meal was good too. I forgot to mention that. The people at the nearby restaurant hardly spoke any English. But it was universal, when I ordered a local beer.
“Bon’appetite,” he told me, when he brought the bottle over. I laughed.
“What’s he mean?” my girlfriend asked me.
“He’s just fucking around.”
We saw the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia. There were goddesses, angels, cell phones, selfie sticks, popcorn, frogs, stray cats, paddle boats, asteroids, and wolves. There was also a university by the Metro stop. The stones absorbing the heat.
I felt silly in my Italian shirt and stupid shorts. And flip flops.
Some of the locals tried speaking Italian at me. I laughed and ignored them.
It reminded me of the woman in a hijab next to me on the plane ride into Istanbul. When I sneezed, she handed me two tissues. At first, when her and her son were in my seat when I got onto the plane, she had said that she was hot. I’d lifted one of my elongated arms above my dome and opened the air for her and her teenage son.
They both smiled at me.
A magical place, I thought, when I saw the city skyline from the plane. Nothing like it anywhere else in the world. The Romans were gone. The Greeks were going bankrupt.
And the Turks were entirely themselves, sweeping in the middle of the street during the day. Or maybe they were drinking some tea, overlooking the water and the rest of the city. Istanbul.
Hazy in the bright light of a heatwave.
Who knows? Maybe it’ll last forever.
The city, it just might.
