Garbage

Even though the C. Sweeper comes by every so often to remove the garbage floating along the European bank of the Bosphorus, sights like this are common:

There is no doubt that a better approach would be an educational campaign against littering. Garbage and recycling bins are everywhere, and admittedly often full to overflowing; but perhaps that's more indicative of how often they're emptied rather than how many people are using them?

I don't have the answers, but sure would like to see a change.

Fun While On Duty

Am deep into Nanowrimo, so haven't been blogging much. But we did get out yesterday to stroll along the Bosphorus, where I noticed that even those who normally have to work on Sundays were enjoying the afternoon.

This parking attendant clearly wasn't too worried about letting a car or two leave without paying:

And although I wasn't quick enough to catch this street cleaner as he emptied his dustbin into a nearby garbage bin ...

... he had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and was dancing to the music of this guy:

Why Less Can Be More

Back in Tarsus, spending a cozy evening at home in your pajamas with a glass of wine and a book was guilt-free. (Unless you were trying to cut back on your alcohol consumption, of course.) Here in Istanbul, nights in mean you're missing stuff out there.

But if you resolve, like I have, to make the most of the city and visit its museums, go to its concerts, explore its back streets and unique shops, eat its food ... Where do you start? The choices are unending, and one might easily become so overwhelmed that one does nothing.

Back in my former Toronto life, with so much at my finger tips, I admit I took the city for granted; I can count on one hand the times I visited a museum or art gallery, and tended to go to the same restaurants and cafes whenever I went out with friends. But nothing shakes you out of that better than four years in a provincial outpost!

The reality of my new Istanbul existence includes a full-time job and a family of three, and so I'm happy if I get out into the city once a week. As long as I do something fun and interesting in this incredible city each week, I don't feel guilty. Last weekend included brunch at a cafe on the Bosphorus with a group of ten interesting people; we walked forty minutes to and from the restaurant, thus getting a good dose of warm autumn sunshine (and a little rain!).

The Bosphorus Bridge

I admit I was more than just a little apprehensive at the thought of moving to Istanbul with its staggering population of 19 million. But I was determined to tackle the city head-on and become as comfortable navigating its roads as I had been in Adana and Tarsus.

I just didn't think I'd start so soon!

Within a week or two of arriving, I had to drop my husband off at the airport. He drove while I carefully made mental notes, occasionally checking the map to see the corresponding 'bigger picture.' Still, I was extremely nervous about the return trip.

I gave myself a stern pep talk: what's the worst thing that could happen? What exactly was I afraid of?

Getting lost.

And what will happen if I get lost?

I'll eventually find my way again. Or ask for directions. Or call my brother-in-law, who knows the city inside and out.

I was a little surprised when I actually did get lost, but I corrected my mistake and was one step closer to knowing Istanbul.

A successful trip to to the supermarket and another airport run a few days later further boosted my confidence.

Then came the real challenge: unable to resist a cheap flight to Adana in and out of Sabiha Gökçen, Istanbul's other airport, I now had to figure out how to get myself and Baby there after work one Friday, but before rush hour. Which allowed no room for error. The slightest mistake could set me back just enough to get me caught in traffic and turn a 45-minute drive into a two-hour one. Or so I was warned.

I enlisted the help of experienced Istanbul expat friends, who were torn between recommending the simplest, most straightforward routes and the quickest, most efficient. The problem, it seemed, was getting to the bridge. I was to cross the Bosphorus Bridge, after which my journey would apparently be extremely easy. But there were dozens of ways to get to the bridge.

Image via WikipediaI became increasingly nervous, until one kind friend said he'd lead me in his car to the bridge. Within ten minutes he was pulling over to the shoulder and waving me past, and I was merging with the cuing traffic at the bottleneck that is the entrance to the bridge. I couldn't believe how easy it had been! The route he'd taken had been roundabout to say the least, and it might be years before I would be able to navigate the roads of Ortaköy and Beşiktaş as expertly as he did, but at that moment, I didn't care. All I could think about was that I was driving myself and Baby across the Bosphorus Bridge. It was a beautiful day, and I dared to take my eyes off the road a few times to admire the view. Stunning. I am not ashamed to say that I was overcome with emotion and my tears welled up with tears. It was a beautiful moment.

Reality set back in once we parked at the airport and I had to face the difficulties of travelling alone with an eight-month-old. But I'll save that story for another day; suffice to say that the exploding water bottle incident, which you can read about here if you missed it, was only a small part of it.

Istanbul

We've been house-hunting unsuccessfully for a few years now, and every time I visit Istanbul, I'm painfully reminded of what the problem is: the city where we currently live is lacking both the architectural history and a sufficient element of urban culture I want to balance the provincial charms of our Mediterranean home. I'm fully aware of Istanbul's faults, most notably the traffic and the high cost of living. I'm likewise aware of the advantages our 1.5-million-population city, most notably the lack of traffic and the inexpensive cost of living. Jokes aside, our little city is safe, life is simpler, and the sun shines 360 days a year.

Nevertheless, every visit to Istanbul pulls on my heartstrings in a way I can almost physically feel. I am at once overwhelmed by all it has to offer, and left hungering for more. More of the beautiful architecture, so much of it badly wanting restoration, its potential teasing me; more of the modern art, seemingly proliferating by the minute; more of the Ottoman culture, which I hope to tastefully integrate into our modern dream home, when we do finally find it.

My reason dissipates as I find myself thinking of how fit I'll be, carrying baby, stroller, and groceries up several flights of stairs a few times each day. I will have boundless energy, just like all those New Yorkers who live in Brownstone walkups and don't own cars. I imagine our romantic evenings at Leb-i Derya or 5. Kat, sipping 20-Lira Whisky Sours and watching the sunset over the Bosphorus, the Hagia Sophia in the distance. Of course we'll be able to afford the babysitter in a city where we have no family; of course my husband will have more energy after work than he does now, pre-traffic, pre-baby.

Each time I board the one-hour flight back east, I feel the visit to Istanbul was too short, I accomplished so little. Yet I am restored, as if the photography exhibit at the Istanbul Modern, the Thai food I had for dinner one night in Beyoğlu, and the new ceramic serving dish I'm bringing home to add to my kitchen have given me a good dose of art and culture to tie me over for a little while.