Travel Triumphs …and Trip-Ups
- One last test of my endurance before boarding my Almaty-bound train: 2+ mile walk, carrying my luggage, starting from where my bus broke down. A pat on Denise’s back for having (unknowingly) factored a 45-minute walk into the departure schedule.
- Connecting with Svetlana (teacher from Shakhtinsk working for Peace Corps in Almaty during PST) despite sparse rendezvous plans. The extent of the details: meet at Almaty’s Green Bazaar at 10am. That’s like saying, let’s meet at the Mall of America and just wander around until we bump into each other. Genius. I’ll say, though, that real-life games of “Where’s Waldo” can be fun. Especially when they end in less than 3 minutes. Well done, Svetlana, well done.
- Trip-up #1. Lambasting a flight attendant. Well, or at least her tea-prep skills. “Chai c-molokom, pazhalusta.” (Tea with milk, please) *Lovely flight attendant pours black tea before adding milk.* Gasp. Cardinal sin of Kazakh tea pouring. You best put that milk in the bottom of my cup and add the tea 2nd, dang it. My all-too-animated response, half to Hannah, half to the flight attendant: “What are you thinking, ruining my tea?! Milk can’t go second!” …so, that was said in English, quite possibly out loud… with the expectation she wouldn’t understand. And then she politely handed over my perfectly good cup of tea with a, “Here you are, ma’am.” In perfectly clear English. Note to self: Assume everyone understands everything you say, Denise. Watch your tongue.
- Getting to the marathon expo in Istanbul, Turkey!! Navigating an area of town called Sultanahmet rewarded us with a shuttle bus. Upon arrival at the expo, we found a well-organized maze for collecting t-shirts, time chips, bib numbers, and pre-race pasta. Mmm, mmm, good.
- Getting back to our hostel. This involved a much greater degree of skill and finesse …if you can call infantile communication in Turkish “finesse”. Heck, let’s call it story #1.
Gi-dey-lim!
Scene: Having just left the marathon expo, Hannah, Holly, and Denise are circling inside a parking lot in sunny Istanbul. The idea: shuttle buses run to and from two locations – Sultanahmet and Taxim Square. They’re on opposite sides of Istanbul. One’s actually in Asia, the other in Europe. We need to go to Europe. The question: where the heck is the shuttle bus to Sultanahmet?!
On a mental trip back to the first days in Kazakhstan, we find ourselves relying almost completely on nonverbals. We inch up to complete strangers. Point at them. Mispronounce “Sultanahmet?” Assume the shake of their head means either they’re not going there, they’re telling us that we are indeed not currently at Sultanahmet, or just that we’re saying it wrong. Now, if this had happened for only 10 minutes before finding someone also wanting to return to Sultanahmet, it wouldn’t have been so confusing. But the three of us took turns over at least an hour walking up to random individuals, groups, and even buses. And all we could productively stutter was this long S-word.
Enter two men in their early 40s – Jamal and Ahmet. We had bothered everyone else idly waiting, so we went up and tried again. What else could we do? You can’t expect Peace Corps Volunteers to spring for a taxi, you know. Unthinkable. So we ask these men. And we get a favorable response!! Yes, they’re going to Sultanahmet. What’s more, they’re locals! And they look confused, wondering why a shuttle bus isn’t ready to take us there. We walk together towards a large van in the parking lot, one looking much like the shuttle bus that brought us to the expo. We stand by the door of the van, having identified two possible drivers, smoking and chatting nearby. The five of us patiently wait, a mental scrounging ensuing, where each of us searches for a way to communicate. I must say, even without speaking English, a degree of warm gentility came through.
By some small miracle, we reached a mutual understanding of the phrase “let’s go!” The atmosphere made clear we were not being rudely impatient. And so, a smile spread over the face of our bus driver as Holly, Hannah, and I repeated over and over, “Gi-dey-lim! Gi-dey-lim!” in a surely American accent. Our intent: correctly pronounce a Turkish phrase. Translation to Turkish bus driver: three adorable American girls saying, “Let’s go! Let’s go!” Now, who could refuse that? Ten or fifteen rounds of practice, and the five of us were in the shuttle bus, accompanied by a driver shuttling us over to Sultanahmet.
The language lesson continued in the almost-empty shuttle bus, and by the time we reached our destination, my mind was swimming with new Turkish words. At Sultanahmet, we confirmed the plan for the next day, took a picture together, and went separate ways, not imagining we’d ever see each other again. So, imagine our surprise as the three of us were greeted the next morning, among thousands of runners assembled behind the start line, by Ahmet! He wound his way closer to the start, a runner who would be miles ahead of us in no time. And indeed, on one of the switchbacks partway through the race, Hannah and I saw him again, miles ahead of us. And so we continued our own races with a shout of, “Gi-dey-lim!”
- Story #2. It's a must-read. So read already. ;)
Terrific Trip-Up
The night before the marathon, Hannah, Holly, and I carefully laid out our gear and clothes. Bib numbers pinned to shirt: check. Socks placed with shoes, ready to be laced up for the longest run yet: check. Breakfast food collected: check. Alarm set: check. And off to sleep we went.
Hannah set an alarm. Holly set an alarm. No need for alarm number three. I trusted them to wake me up at the time I requested, and sure enough, we were all awake before we knew it, putting on those clothes, tying back that hair, chowing down on a carefully selected breakfast.
The shuttle buses would take us from Sultanahmet to the start of the race. The buses were scheduled to start at 7 and go until 9. The race was scheduled to start at 10. With our practice the day before, we were confident we knew precisely where to find the correct transportation. Still, we aimed for getting there a bit early so we wouldn’t be rushed or crammed in, and so we’d have ample time to arrive at a successful solution to any mishap that could occur.
Minutes before our goal of a 6:30 departure, we looked out our 2nd story window onto a winding-down birthday party across the street. Gosh, 6:20 is a heck of a bedtime. Crazy boys in their 20s. And about the time they dispersed, rain started coming down. Nothing an umbrella can’t fix, so we threw it in, planning to add it to a bag we’d drop off at the start and pick up at the finish.
Stepping out the door of our hostel, we pause for a picture that captures three sets of sleepy eyes that are trying really hard to look awake and excited. We venture out into the drizzle, hopping over puddles and looking for the least slippery, least drenched place to walk. In less than 15 minutes, we’re in the very spot our kind shuttle bus driver had stopped the day before. But there’s a problem. A big problem. We see no vehicles. We see no marathoners. The stray dog that walked with us from the hostel is our only company as we seek shelter under a narrow awning.
Across an empty parking lot, we see two security guards (or maybe parking attendants?) who scarcely have work to do. Completely and utterly befuddled, we try to find out from them any information about the buses scheduled to take runners to the race. Bus? Going? Oh, happiness that “bus” is a cognate. If people don’t understand, say those three letters with some strange accent. Luck may be with you. In our case, though, we couldn’t tell if it was or not. “Bus, go, 7,” a guard said. We confer, noting that it is now past 7:00am. How can we decipher these words? Did only one bus go? And does that mean it left at 6:45? I mean, we were there at 6:50. Goodness, how terrible it would be to have missed the only bus by only 5 minutes. We retreat back to our awning, wondering aloud what to do on this dark, drizzly morning. We see a box truck 100 meters down the road. Hannah ventured over first, and I second, double checking that it did not appear to be in any way related to the marathon we’d paid to run. More minutes past, and we decide to probe these guard guys a second time.
The three of us wander over and again ask about buses for the marathon. And something crucial happened. One of those guards composed the most important English question (in my opinion) that he’s ever asked. “Why so early?” Early? It’s 7:45! We’re not early! We’re late!! Must we take a taxi? We’ve trained for months to run this race. No way we’re going to miss it! Seeing our disbelief, he takes out a cell phone and points to the digits reading: 4:45. That’s right, 4:45am. It’s 7:45, alright …over in Kazakhstan.
Replay the morning and all sorts of oddities make perfect sense. Boys can party until 3am. It will be pitch black at 4, and don’t ask me why, but morning showers are often the precursor to a beautiful, rainless day. Most importantly, neither runners nor shuttle buses will be waiting six hours before the race.
Agreeing to get a few more minutes of rest, we find our way back to our beds and repeat the situation (albeit with much more success) hours later. Better early than late, right?
- We ran a marathon!! Hannah, Holly, and I successfully traveled 26.2 miles. Ho.ly. crap. Most definitely one of the most painful experiences of. my. life. Hannah and I stayed together for much of the race, taking pictures of each mile we conquered. Then I ran ahead. And kept hoping Hannah would catch up. Standing for 5+ hours: uncomfortable. Walking for 5+ hours: tiring. Running for 5+ hours: excruciating.
- Received the company of a Turkish boy, who, believe it or not, is the same age as me. Though, something tells me that if I were 16, he’d be “16,” too. As I watched for Hannah, he snuggled up to me and offered to massage my shoulders …at which point I may have told him about my boyfriend. (Does the hope that I will someday have a boyfriend, and that it will not be him, make the lie less malicious?) Not put off by my unavailability, he continued to chat with me and taught me useful phrases such as “I am tired” and “I am very tired.” (Sidenote: the kid finished the marathon in something like 3 ½ hours, went home to shower and change, and returned to watch more people finish. Disgusting.)
- In due time, Hannah, Holly, and I hobbled to our hostel. Sleep came quickly, and we were content to lay there the remainder of the day. Around 10pm, rustling came from my bed and Hannah’s, and we decided to test out our hostel’s restaurant. Delicious dinner before going next door to relax with a glass of wine on the rooftop, overlooking the water. How we got up and down all those stairs, I may never know.
- Miraculously, each of us awoke from our stupor in time for the complimentary breakfast in the hostel’s restaurant. The three of us joined a crowd in the dining room and filled our plates with food. Next task: round up three chairs. Over in a corner, we saw the back of one person sitting alone at a table for 4. I walked over and asked the young man, “Do you mind if three lovely ladies join you for breakfast?” Immediate response, said with a friendly smirk, “I can think of worse things.” Thus began half a day of being accompanied by Eric, a guy who calls California home. Worked well to have a brain among us that wasn’t still reeling from the dozens of miles run the day before.
- That evening, we met up with Cigdem! Hannah and Cigdem studied together in Ireland a year or two ago, and have stayed in touch since. We stayed with her family for several days, traveling from their home out to explore Istanbul each day. The rendezvous only necessitated the rejection of one local’s directions, one borrowed phone, the deciphering of two restaurants by the same name, and hours of waiting. Nothing 3 Peace Corps Volunteers can’t handle.
- Public transportation in Istanbul: fabulous. Just be sure to give yourself time. To get around the city, each day we would take a bus to the ferry, a ferry to the tram, and a tram to [insert destination]. Ferries are fun. Don’t get many of those over in Shakhtinsk. Plus, on these ferries, people come around with little Turkish cups of tea for you to sip as you switch continents.
- With Cigdem and one of her local friends, we headed out to a Turkish bath they recommend, and luckily had the place all to ourselves. The amount of nakedness was surpassed only by the amount of dead skin that swirled down those drains. Such complete exfoliation is wonderful and at the same time, absolutely disgusting.
- Group of local guys displayed a new (and odd) strategy for attracting English-speaking girls. Talk loudly in broken English to each other, but not to the girls you’re hoping to engage in conversation. Response: English-speaking girls (Holly and Denise) talk to each other in broken Russian. Result: satisfactory amount of befuddlement and more than enough stifled laughter.
- Staying with a local family is hands-down the best accommodation. Though, I imagine I should not eat a volume of food equal to or larger than my own head. But oh, can Cigdem’s mom whip up some fine food. Can I put in for a site change …to Istanbul??
- Hannah and I dared to get our hair cut at a local salon. And succeeded in walking out without anything even resembling a mullet. Let’s hope the same success can be had in KZ.
- Having been in Istanbul for a week, we had picked up a phrase or two of Turkish. But you can imagine our delight when, in the Aya Sofia, we heard behind us the sweet sound of Russian!? We whip around, eyes ready to pop from our heads, goofy grin from ear to ear, head tilted just a bit, unintentionally giving the impression that a few screws may be loose. The man proceeded with the guided Russian tour of the building. And I (not-so-sneakily) followed the tour group, catching words like kids catch snowflakes.
- Navigated Istanbul’s airport and got myself to Athens. (We’ll call this travel triumph…) With a decent layover, I sat myself at a café and perused the Internet, aware of the time, yet unaware of what I needed to do in that time. (You got it – travel trip-up.) Fast-forward to 15 minutes before my flight leaves. I assume I can walk downstairs to my flight and board immediately. Try again. I can walk downstairs and wait in line at security. Immediate onset of panic. I use my Kazakh skill to push over to the short line. Act calm. Get through. And run. My gate was nearby, but it was a remote boarding. The sliding doors opened to the last of the shuttle buses headed for my flight. Whew.
- Island 1: Crete. In the airport, found a sign with my name and followed it’s holder to a car. On the short drive to Chania, my taxi driver helped me nail down four Greek words: please, thank you, yes, no. Enough to help me escape the constant feeling of being an annoying tourist. Drops that feeling to only, oh, 90% of the time.
My Solo Honeymoon
- Greeted by vivacious woman in her 70s at a villa in Chania, my first accommodation. She eyed me and confessed she expected me to be much older, as she saw I was traveling alone. (Nope, this is whatcha get. But I promise I’ll pay. Really.) She quickly found just the right balance between hostess and mother, making me feel quite at ease. She opened the door to my suite, and we stepped into a quaint living room. No bed to be seen. My immediate thought – I call the couch. Heck, maybe it folds out? Ha ha, try again. As though reading my mind, she mentions that my bedroom is upstairs. Thoughts race again, now trying to fathom that I’m staying in a suite with two floors. Add to that a plate of fresh fruit and complimentary bottle of wine. And a request to write down what I would like for breakfast, when I want to be served, and whether I want to eat in my room or on the balcony overlooking the water. Yep, honeymoon. Only piece missing is the husband. (Fyi – I recommend the traditional order of things. I imagine honeymoons are better with 2 people.)
- A day and a half later, I went by ferry to island 2, Santorini. Stayed in Fira for 2 ½ days, one of which I drove a 4-wheeler around the island. Highlights: An American couple now living in Germany joined me during my dinner one evening. Got to know a little about two brothers working at my suite. They work on the island during the tourist season and then return to their families in Bulgaria for a few months. And so, on my last evening, we conversed a bit in Russian. Oh yeah. :)
- First night on Santorini, there was quite the storm. About 11pm, the lights in my suite went out. Not wanting to hassle with it, I took it as my sign to go to bed. Next morning as I was served breakfast, I mentioned that the lights didn’t work. Minutes later the manager was knocking down my door, tripping over herself to apologize for the inconvenience. Ha! Apologizing to a girl who’s been living in KZ?? “Hey,” I told her, “the water still works. Where I live, electricity goes out all the time.” Something tells me typical guests may respond a bit differently…
- Drove a 4-wheeler over to the ancient town of Thira on the windiest day I’ve been out in for a long time. So much for the kite I had packed all the way from KZ. Just put a string on me. Pictures taken that day were either terribly blurry or the result of me bracing myself against a wall and using all my might to hold the camera against something solid. Whew! And I thought Nebraska was windy…
- Flew back to Athens, all but exhausted from solo traveling. I was joined by a tour-guide for a few hours both days I was there, though that does nothing to alleviate the gnawing feeling of not having a companion with whom to enjoy sites. Though it does give one a much more informed view of the historical importance of the city. If only I could have ingested all the information that poured out of his mouth.
- The main reason for the trip came on October 31, 2010. The year marks 2,500 years since the Battle of Marathon, when the Greeks defeated the Persians (and a messenger ran and ran and ran to bring news to Athenians). Momentous mark in history. And seeing finish of the marathon was fantastic. I stayed in the stadium for quite some time, watching the first finishers. Seeing Kenyans sprint into the stadium is awesome, but seeing the first woman sprint in 20 minutes later is inspiring. Makes me want to put myself through more months of brutal training.
My solo honeymoon, and October, ended with a gorgeous night during which I gave myself a walking tour of Athens. Early the next morning, I got on a plane bound for Kazakhstan. More about that to come, hopefully in less than 3 months from now. :) As for the trip to Greece, I feel incredibly lucky to have had the privilege of traveling in such a fashion. A trip completely unlike any I ever expect to take again. I must say, although sitting up in bed to see the sun rising over the Mediterranean is sweet, I learned quite well that I’m one for people over places. But hey, it’s all about living and learning, eh?
0 comments:
Post a Comment