Saturday in Istanbul

Ok, at long last, the gay-club saga. We wanted to spend a low-key Saturday, so we did some shopping in the Taksim area. Rob wanted to have a cruise of the Bosphorus but we had no time and it was slightly out of our budget. We took a different route to the bridge and ended up on the shores of the Golden Horn. An old sunburned man offered to shuttle us across the straight in his motorboat for a lira each. I thought it would be a great idea and a ghetto cruise. Rob was equally enthusiastic, so we hopped in his boat. He drove us around in circles, which pleased me not as I get severely seasick, but I managed to keep my durum/lentil soup/ayran lunch down. He had to drive us out and then in again to get away from the cruise ships. We had a great view of the Istanbul skyline. What does pollution often make cities look better? On shore, we hopped out, managed not to get wet, and gave our driver a big tip.

At night, we wandered around Sultanahmet and finally got to see the Sulieyaman Mosque. Beautiful! I commented how much warmer and more inviting it was than the Blue Mosque, but as Rob pointed out, the Blue Mosque was practice for this one. The Blue Mosque was too stiff. It had huge stone pillars, which made the ceiling seem almost to the point of collapsing on the worshipers. This mosque was covered in delicate filigree painting and was bright and airy inside, even though it was night time outside.

On our way home, wandering through a dingy neighbourhood, we happened to find a high-class deli. We decided to have a picnic on the shores of the Golden Horn and picked up meats, cheeses, bread and various kinds of seafood. Our eyes were definitely bigger than our stomachs but that’s the fun of picnics.

Coming up to the Blue Mosque, we saw that the market was closing. We took a quick look and heard the sounds of birds squawking. I grabbed Rob’s hand and dragged him through the maze of tiny streets. This market was for locals, not tourists and was considerably shabbier than the Egyptian spice market and Grand Bazaar. Here, old men sold spices, chemicals and plant seeds side by side. Yes, chemicals. Some of them were poisonous and they were right beside edible foods. Oh well.

We tried to find the source of all the birds. Suddenly we were in the middle of a bird market! Seriously, PETA should forget about attacking celebrities who wear fur and come throw pies at the people who run the bird market. Ten geese were shoved into a cage only big enough for two. Two peacocks gazed mournfully at passers-by, unable to strut. Chickens clucked and roosters crowed. In each of the stores, rows of African Grey parrots in cages surveyed the shoppers. It was all I could do not to buy them all. They were on the highest shelves, devoid of any stimulation or activity. Although everyone thinks my favourite animals are fish, they’re wrong: I love parrots the most, and I aspire to own a giant Scarlet macaw, which I will teach to stay such truths as "Karla is the greatest" and "Karla is overlord".

After we got tired of the market (where tired = Karla can’t stand to see her beloved parrots in small cages), we headed to the Golden Horn for our picnic. We settled for a prime spot overlooking the straight, sitting on the steps in the shadows of the Blue Mosque, surrounded by people. We were completely stuffed half an hour later but it was one of the best, most memorable meals I had in Turkey.

At night, we decided to head back to Taksim. As a joke, we went again to the transvestite bar. It was a good place to warm up as the music was good and the people watching memorable, to say the least. Rob and I shared a table with two other guys and I started SMS chatting with one of them.

SMS chatting is my latest invention. Basically, it involves typing messages in SMS format and showing the other person. This is handy because: a) I don’t speak Turkish, b) it’s loud inside the clubs and c) the message is clear.

The guy asked if we’d like to go to another club with him. I was uneasy, but he said it was close by. Riiiight. The clubs run by the Armenian mafia are also close by! There were tonnes of people around so we went. He led us into a five story building about fifty metres away. Five stories, each a disco with a different theme. First, we went to the retro floor, where we chilled on pillows listening to 50s music like "Rock Around the Clock". Then we went upstairs where we lounged on more pillows, listening to current Turkish dance music. At 5 am, when the disco(s) closed, we headed to Taksim Square where we drank tea while overlooking all the commotion below. My new friend could barely speak English, but we managed to communicate decently enough. I thought he was gay, as he was in a transvestite bar, but he said that he had a girlfriend. He was only there for is friend, who wanted to go but didn’t want to go alone. Romania prepared me for understanding almost any form of communication! Then he walked us home, which was nice!