The past week in Istanbul has been, well, mixed. On one hand I'm eternally grateful for the trip, expenses, extra pocket money that is almost more than enough. Not to mention my first time ever on the European continent. The location is beautiful, magnificent I would say.
But its been a hard struggle trying to cope with the difference in culture. I wouldn't say it to be very much different from situations that I have complained about before. But I tried very hard to put the glaring eyes and racial discrimination to a certain extent at the back of my head. Frankly, I'm a weakling for things like that. A little too supersensitive. The fact that most caucasians see us asians in a different light is demoralizing enough. Something I shan't complain anymore.
Leave that aside, most Turkish people in the hospitality business do surprise me with spontaneous warmth and welcoming. These are the people I really thoroughly enjoyed conversing most even though none of us speak the common language. Breaking small words and piecing them into hardly comprehensible sentences were their forte, but it was never an issue. The receptionist in which I spoke to every night about all things Turkish football, and the warm gestures of the restaurant host just at the end of our hotel street, always clutching a small glass of turkish tea. My friend Cem who works at nike in Taksim Square convincing the mercurial vapor boots purchase to me an his female Albanian co-worker who wants to go to Malaysia just to look for me, apparently out of sign language, thegirlfriend interpreted it as because I was handsome. Much to her distaste.
But according to thegirlfriend, Turkey is crawling with physically gifted men. Referring to the half-naked hairy men who Turkish bathed us, and the guy at one of many restaurants, and the policemen and everything else with two balls, or one.
Photos, I'll let photos tell the rest of the story later.
View from the upper balcony of the hotel in Sultanahmet, where we eat breakfast every morning.
Street along the side of the hotel. View from the room. Streets like these are awfully common around Istanbul.
This is the Haghia Sophia. One of the many sightseeing destinations within a short walking distance from our hotel.
Tram lines and cafes along the streets of Sultanahmet.
Istanbul is divided into 2 different sides. Both different continents. The European side is the one in which we stayed in, on the other side, separated by the Golden Horn, or Marmara Sea, is the Anatolian side, or better known as the Asian side. In which 99% of Turkey is situated in the Asian continent.
Dinner on the rooftop of one many cafes in Taksim Square. A insanely packed shopping district.
Thegirlfriend and I. Something she insisted. Hah.
Just us four after theparents and cassie left. Backpacking as we would like to call it. But undeservingly.
At the best shisha place in Istanbul. Water pipe or narghile as it is called in Turkey. Apparently a place where only the locals go to situated deep inside a small alleyway. So you can imagine the curious eyes on us 4 the whole time. Smoothest shisha so far though. So smooth, Manda finally graduated from shisha school and barfed later on for the whole hotel lobby to hear.
Earlier today thegirlfriend was scrolling through the videos on her old laptop with me beside and we came across our moral project video which we did last year. Its an interview with Alvin, a proud gay who was allegedly involved in a hit and run accident. Only to be discovered later on that he was actually drunk and tried to get his fat ass from the rear window into the front window of a speeding car and he fell out. But the catchline in our video struck a chord in me.
"Life is fragile."
It frighteningly is. Just over a week ago, I received news that someone I have grown quite close with working at Topman had passed away in an accident. For someone so young and so much future ahead, I was deeply saddened and disturbed by this. For that week I was away in Istanbul, inside of me, I refused to believe such an outcome for someone I was looking forward to meeting when I get home. I was living with my head in the clouds. Then today, another colleague, and also his cousin, sent another message, more of an assurance that he has already passed on. Recalling he once said to me, hoping I wouldn't take long here in Abu Dhabi because when I get back I might not see him anymore. In that context he meant he would've found another job somewhere, maybe not realising that life has other plans.
A drink for you my friend, when I get back, and a tattoo with your name on it, outlining my ankh. The symbol of life. To signify your continuance in these days even though you're not around anymore. You'll be sorely missed.
Jinny
