Am I becoming a morning person? I went to bed last night around 9-10 PM, planning to oversleep like I did a couple of nights ago. I didn’t have to be anywhere until noon for the first time in a very long time. However, I woke up at 8:30, same as the other days in Istanbul. This is almost normal sleeping times. Will I start doing that when I get home? Of course, 8:30 AM local time is the same as 1:30 AM back home. Maybe I’ll sleep the equivalent times where 10 PM here is 3 PM at home and 8:30 AM is 1:30 AM. That would be almost a 12 hour switch for me.

After breakfast, I planned to go to the ATM to get exactly the money I’d need to give a good tip to Erdinc and the driver and then go back to work on my blog. While I was out, I decided to take the 5 minute walk to the Grand Bazaar. On the way there, an obnoxious guy trying to get me to look at his carpets accosted me. He showed me business cards from Americans who he had harassed in the past and just as I was getting ready to go, I saw George Bieger’s IUP card in the mix. I’ve been on doctoral committees with George. He helped me with info about Egypt since he went there just before the problems there. I was so startled by this that I went into his carpet store just to find out more about his contact with George and ended up sitting through another (but much shorter) carpet presentation. It’s all your fault, George.

Not sure that the Turkish slogan here for McDonalds would work well in the US  — “Efsane Tatlar, Sahane Fiyatlar.” I think it means “Go to one of the amazing local restaurants right around here instead of eating this crap.I’d go nuts trying to get the angles right on the street bricks near the Grand Bazaar

The Grand Bazaar is so massive that within a few minutes I had no clue where I was. I decided to just enjoy the sights and worry about how to get out later. Eventually I saw a map and located the gate I came in at but the map had no “you are here” so I asked a friendly shopkeeper. It would have been fun to be found years later with all my money gone, still trying to find my way out of the Grand Bazaar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Distracting way to display jeans (right) and I’m not sure who the audience is for the dolls (left)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You see many people delivering food and tea to shopkeepers (left). More colorful than the lights section of Lowe’s (right)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Typical covered street scene from the Grand bazaar (left). Atypical toilet (only one I’ve seen in this style on the trip), right

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The map I used to get out of the Grand Bazaar. My Gate was #1 of 21 (on the bottom right corner of the map and the picture on the right)

 

Maybe my last freshly squeezed pomegranate juice for a while. I think I’ve had one every day for the last 12 days. It’s kept me healthy. Does Giant Eagle sell it back home, (unfortunately not freshly squeezed)?

 

Erdinc called around noon and asked if I wanted to hang out for a while before the driver came at 1. I almost said no but fortunately my more adventurous instincts cut in. He took me to a tiny hole in the wall that was a restaurant for Grand Bazaar shopkeepers and rarely sees tourists. He said there’s normally a line to get in but the Friday noon prayers were blaring over the loudspeakers and many people were praying. I guess my “prayer” not to have to stand in line was met by real prayers.

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The restaurant for shopkeepers (left) and the alley we took to get from the restaurant (right)

He then took me to another place for shopkeepers that specialized in desserts and coffee. I finally had a food that I really didn’t like. It was a sweet dish made out of chicken breast. It looked like yogurt but had a tough and sticky consistency that made it hard to cut into. I don’t think the concept of sweet sticky chicken breast bothered me but the taste and consistency did. I got the name from Tolis in Greece later, it’s called Tavuk Gogsu. From Wikipedia — “white chicken breast meat is softened by boiling and separated the meat fibers into very fine threads. The meat is mixed with milk, sugar, cracked rice and/or other thickeners, and often some sort flavoring such as cinnamon. The result is a thick pudding.” I agreed with Erdinc that even when you don’t like a food it’s an experience to try it. I won’t soon forget it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Disgusting dessert of sweetened gelled chicken breast (left). My driver — as always impeccably dressed, impeccably on time, impeccably parked in the perfect spot.

The three of us headed to the airport. Erdinc came into the airport with me even though he had to go through the security. This is part of his job but seems unnecessary. I met two interesting Pakistani guys in the Business Class lounge. The older guy was the factory owner and they were on their monthly trip for their denim jean business. They told me how they felt Pakistan gets an undeserved bad image because of the fighting in the Western part near Afghanistan. He said Karachi, where they are, is just a normal Asian city. We exchanged business cards and I now know where to get my jeans manufactured. They seemed like fun-loving guys.

The lunch on the plane from Istanbul to Athens was fava beans salad with a greek dressing, cheeses, and Greek pastry with several fruits and vegetables on the side, along with a Heineken. Then came the main course of veal and rice. All this in a one-hour flight. I only had one hour to change planes for the flight from Athens to Larnaca, Cyprus. The meal on that flight was grilled eggplant salad with tomatoes, perch fillet with tomato sauce on a bed of spinach and potatoes, and two cheeses with another Heineken. Then they came with desert of a delicious shortbread cookie with custard on top along with a piece of baklava and coffee. This was after a lunch at the Grand Bazaar and breakfast. Of course, I couldn’t eat it all. When I got to Larnaca, I was not hungry.

The Business Class seats on this plane had the same 3 seats as Coach but the middle one has an extra table on it so that no one can sit there. There was also a lot of extra leg room. The guy who sat in my row was an interesting mix. He:

  • Grew up in Yugoslavia until it broke up and his part is now Serbia
  • Moved to Cyprus 20 years ago
  • Is a bank manager in Minsk, Belarus (former Soviet republic)
  • Works for a Swiss bank.

I got  a chance to speak some Russian with him.

His 8-year old son:

  • Speaks Serbian at home
  • Plays with kids in Greek
  • Goes to an English-language school

Very different life from people who have always lived and worked in the same place.

It was nice to see my name on a card as soon as I got through Cyprus customs. George’s brother Christos has a taxi service and besides taking me on the 40 minute drive from Larnaca to Limassol, he’ll be taking me on a 3-4 hour trip to Paphos Saturday, then taking me again to the airport Sunday. My first act in Cyprus was to try to get in the van on the wrong side. I’d forgotten about driving on the left.

One amazing thing for me is that his son goes to IUP, following in his uncle’s footsteps. He’s a flute major and really likes it at IUP. His brother might be going there next year too. I can’t tell you (I guess I am telling you) how much Irene and George like IUP and Indiana, PA. I’m going to try to get their son to come to our house in Indiana, maybe sometime when Keith is home.

 

I’m splurging even more than usual and staying at the 4 Seasons in Limassol. I have a room with a large balcony looking over the Mediterranean. I got decent internet for the first time in weeks but only wired so I could only use my laptop, not my iPhone or iPod and it costs 25 euros or $33 per day. My 100 MB data plan that I’m using for my iPhone in the other countries doesn’t apply in Cyprus so it costs $10 for 1 MB, which is ridiculous.

I had a nice iChat with Margaret. In the last day or two, it’s occurred to me more than usual that being home is a wonderful thing. I don’t want to cut my trip short but when I get home in 4 days, it will feel very good.

This is one of the few posts that I’m writing on the day it happened and it’s now 2:42 AM. So much for reforming myself into going to bed at normal hours. I’m leaving the balcony door open a crack so I can hear the waves.