Having a few hours to kill, we walked around after breakfast in this harbor town. We enjoyed the waterfront promenade and were impressed that the water even in the harbor was clear enough to see to the bottom. It was full of sea life, including a stingray that we saw in the sand, and scores of jellyfish. As we walked further, past a continuous array of patio restaurants, we came upon a model of the Trojan Horse of Homeric legend. Troy is only about 20 km from Çanakkale. Our walk took us through commercial streets where we saw all manner of businesses. In the barber shops, the men were being shaved; in the fruit markets housewives were being served; in the bakeries, the breads and sweets called out to us seductively.
An elderly shopkeeper accosted us on the street as we were eying the baked goods in the neighboring bakery, and directed us inside asking the baker woman to give us a sample. It is the local specialty, he explained: peynir helvasi. We had all heard of halvah, that special dessert made of sesame and sugar, but this was different. This is halvah (helvasi) baked with flour and cheese (no sesame). It was a new experience.
We asked the hotel to call us when the laundry was returned so that we could stay out and not waste time continually checking. We were sitting in a waterfront cafe drinking ayran, when the hotel called, so we rushed back so that we could catch the ferry and get on the road.
We had to take the ferry across the Dardanelles to the Gallipoli peninsula, where the famous battle from WWI was fought between the Turks and the joint British forces, made up primarily of New Zealand, Australian, and Canadian troops. We had to rush to meet the ferry, but we made it, driving our car onto the deck, and settling in for the half-hour trip.
Since the beginning of our trip, we had noticed the rear license plate rattling annoyingly. Lately we had not heard it, and noticed that the plate was GONE! We didn't know what to do, but we just ignored it, and so, apparently, did the highway police.
As we passed exit signs for roads that turned off towards Greece, I noticed that they were labeled “Yunanistan.” That's the name for Greece in Turkish. During the trip, we stopped in a grocery store for snacks and picked up yogurt. We can't seem to get enough! In the dairy department we found packages of yogurt-based food. There was absolutely no fruit yogurt or vanilla yogurt, but we found prepackaged cacik.
The trip to Istanbul was long and uneventful until we arrived in the outskirts of the city. That is, about 50 or 60 km from the city. Those familiar with the writer will understand that I was managing our gasoline so that I would not have to put more in the tank than necessary to return the car the following day. I was foiled in that intent, as the traffic jam started about that time, and we were in stop and go traffic for an hour or so. Finally, we got off the expressway to look for gasoline, just in case. Of course, we found no gas, but at least the traffic was moving. We drove through neighborhoods, past huge shopping malls, but not past any gas stations. While we knew we were going in the right general direction, we wanted to know 1) where there was a gas station, and 2) how to get to the city center without sitting in stop and go traffic – mostly stopped.
Nobody we asked could give us good directions, until we stopped on a back street in front of an internet cafe and asked a young person, who did not speak English, but quickly found somebody who knew at least a few hundred words. We asked for help to solve our two dilemmas, and a group of at least 8 or 10 people quickly formed around us, eager to help with advice and directions. Finally, they suggested that one of the youngsters go with us to guide us to the gas station and to direct us into town. How would he get back? He wants go go near the gas station, they said.
We shuffled things in the back seat, and he got in, having been briefed by his friend regarding “left” and “right,” as he spoke not one word of English. Off we went in search of the gas station. The boy signaled left and right and right and left, and even made us understand that we needed to turn around to get out of a traffic jam, and before we knew it we were pulling up to a Shell station. I ordered 10 YTL worth of gas, and there was what seemed to be a big argument among the young boy and two others at the gas station whether that would be enough to get us to the hotel. They all agreed that I needed to put in more gas.
When we finished, the boy got back in the car; we couldn't figure out why, but whatever.... He directed us around a traffic circle and down a street. Soon he shouted “dur.” At the same time, he signed with his hands in an ambiguous manner that I understood to mean “speed up” or “keep going.” He continued to shout “dur,” “dur,” “dur.” So I continued to continue. Again, “dur,” “dur,” “dur,” “dur,” “keep going.” Finally hand signs indicating turning off the ignition, “dur,” and pulling up the hand brake, “dur,” and again pulling up the handbrake, “dur,” until it finally dawned on us that he wanted us to stop. We stopped and he got out and we shook hands and parted company, the boy indicating to follow the street all the way into the center. Only then did we recall that on the hundreds of STOP signs we had seen while driving for 5 days was the message “DUR.” Did we feel dense?
It didn't take us long to lose confidence in our route again. We pulled up to a fancy restaurant and asked an employee for help. He didn't speak English, but he indicated for us to wait, and he went inside to fetch the host. After a few minutes, he came out and gave us very explicit instruction, which took us to within blocks of the hotel.
The problem then was that the hotel is in an historic district, with narrow winding streets and no street signs. It took a couple of turns around the block(s) until I finally gave the wheel to Yoyi so that I could read the map and the addresses. The girls were pretty impatient by that point, and wanted to find a taxi that would simply lead us to the hotel, but I would have no such thing, as I was sure that we were within 3 blocks. Sure enough, we turned around, drove 3 blocks and were almost there.
Then came the trepidation that we had picked another loser, as the historic district was, after all, historic, and there were no brightly lit streets nor wide avenues. But we pulled up to the hotel and it was clear that we were going to be OK. The hotel was in a renovated mansion that was very clean in appearance, and whose owner greeted us warmly, “I have been waiting for you; how was your trip?”
But we were way too hungry to skip dinner. We walked back the 3 blocks to the center of the historic district, looked for a restaurant and ordered mezes again. Sitting outside, we had stuffed eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes; humus, yaprakes, salad, and who remembers what other delicacies.
When we got back to the room, I noticed that the view from our window was the illuminated Blue Mosque, perhaps the most famous landmark of historic Istanbul.
1 comment:
funny, moshe's blog post from today was also about running VERY low on gas. Like father like son.
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