Travel Chronicles – Part 1

Tarih (Date) – 21 March
Saat (Time) – 2:10 pm
Istanbul Ataturk Airport, Transit Lounge in front of the Turk Hava Yollari security gates.

The line at O’Hare was shorter than I remembered it. Stood in it from 2:45 pm to 4 pm. Bags didn’t even get screened. Odd. Had an interesting conversation with the airport security chaps about x-ray screeners and gold-plated earrings. Don’t ask. It’s nice to see pleasant airport personnel. On domestic flights you always seem to get rubbish people.

Sat next to Anyoz (or was it Ruby?) with a busted nose. She had a Samsung mp3 player (which was vastly superior to mine) and we swapped. She had interesting Turkish pop but I didn’t care for it much. She did seem to like A.R. Rehman’s Only You on my iRiver. Slept through After the Sunset, which was a pity because I wanted to see it. Have only just arrived at Istanbul Ataturk Airport. The NEW Istanbul airport. Which, if you’ve been to the old one, you’ll understand why I had to make that distinction. It hasn’t changed much in 5 years. Only now there are Wi-Fi hotspots and more benches. Strangely warm though. I shall not wander through the long duty-free line because it isn’t anything I haven’t already seen. But the Bvlgari store looks like it has new stuff.

A bottle of water doesn’t cost $3.50 anymore.

I really wish I had a digital camera for this trip. There was this man with his son standing in the check-in line in front of me at Chicago’s O’Hare and he looked like Kemal. Plus about 30 years. You’re going to age well, TD. Anyway, his son was wearing a business suit complete with tie and shiny shoes. All of 8 years old and talking on a cell phone. It was absolutely adorable. I wanted to take a picture and post it with the caption “Starting young”.

I’d forgotten how good-looking the Europeans can be.

Total flying time – 10 hrs 30 mins. Meals had – 2. Cups of coffee – 8. Wet hand wipes used – 13. Number of times wanted to use wet hand wipes but managed to control the urge – 29 (yes, I counted. It was a long flight.). Wired mags read – 0.5. Longitudes crossed – 6. Miles (km) traveled – 4970 (9204). Made conversation with strange Turkish people – 3. Made conversation with normal Turkish people – none.

The earth is indeed very round. A fact that was forcefully obvious to me as we were flying over the east coast (the U.S. and Canadian east coast) and the sun set spectacularly. And then it rose again somewhere over the North Atlantic. The snow-covered peaks of the mountains over Austria raised just a smidgen above the clouds and it was bloody beautiful. I did reach a stupor point in the plane where I stared at the ice crystals forming on the edges of my window and watched them melt but that only lasted about an hour.

There are large multimedia digiboards advertising Turkey and airport information and I just saw an ad for Joey on wot looks like an CNBC channel. I’m sitting next to these large containers for charity for the Turkish Blind Foundations (“Please help light the way with your donations.”) and they’re mighty full. Good place to solicit donations, the airport. People always have loose change at the airport.

Ooh look! Versace! More later.

After note: The chap making the announcements has an incredibly nice voice.

Post notes: Some elderly Turkish woman with a nice smile just walked up to me and said something that sounded like “your blouse is as red as the flowers in my mother’s garden, do you play the banjo?” but I could be mistaken.

There is an obviously European woman carrying a sitar case and a very desi touristy pouch-bag browsing through the Sweet Dreams tax free chocolate shoppe.

Hey, look! A chocolate shoppe!

An airport security chap just whizzed by on the cutest little scooter! A blonde just walked by wearing yeti shoes. There is a Pakistani chap on the other end of the airport talking to his relatives on his cellphone. The reason I know this is because his voice is resonating through the area. A woman in a peach sweater just stood in front of me and muttered something about ‘that shop over there is not on fire’. I really need to brush up on my Turkish. Oo, unshaven, long-haired, gypsy man with flute and clarinet case approacheth. Sorry, this seat is taken. Very good-looking man in business suit giving me the eye from his vantage point leaning against a pillar over there. European woman with sitar is French (or at least speaks it) and just walked by with the rest of her troupe (including hippie-man) wearing a dirty brown kurta.

Oh wait, I know why everyone’s looking at me strange. They’re trying to figure out why I don’t have any hair. Did I mention that all Turkish women have hair down to their damn ankles? Feminine bastards.

Just seen the entire Buddha Bar collection in music store. Had to execute immense mind control to get self out of there. Strange Pakistani man in bright pink shirt following me around like pre-civilization Cro-Magnon man. Must find another hot spot.

Have found another hot spot in between icecream shop (which may see my business later) and funky music store playing wot sounds suspiciously like Natacha Atlas. I should get that album.