Crossing the border into Turkey was interesting. Bulgarian immigration and customs was straight forward; get off the bus, line up, get stamped, get back on the bus drive a 100 yards to just before the Turkish border. A few people got off and we on the bus waited for them while they went to a little booth about 50 yards away. By chance, I was sitting next to an American guy that was working in Turkey. He went and asked in Turkish if we needed to go the booth. Yes.
Over at the booth, we bought twenty dollar postage stamps that go in the passports to show you have paid the fee. Back on the bus, a Turkish policeman checked our passports, rubber stamped them, and we drove about 100 yards to the duty free shop for everyone to buy cigarettes. Then we drove another 100 yards, pulled out the luggage, and stood there while the customs agent poked through everyone’s but my bag. I must not have been looking overly suspicious that day. And then we were off again, only an hour later.
The name Istanbul, formerly called Constantinople, has always been heavy with exotic flavor to me. Straddling the Bosporus River, which is the division between Europe and Asia, it is the gateway to strange and very foreign lands. At fourteen million people the size of the city is imposing. The main bus station, a small city unto itself, is testament to the importance of buses in the country. Trains are inefficient, few, and slow compared to the buses. My American friend helped me find my way to the old town via metro and tram line and gave me one piece of advice, “People are going to stare at you, don’t think anything of it. It is just their custom.”
I walked two blocks, looked up to my left at the enormous Hagia Sofia Mosque and said “wow” then I looked to my right at the Blue Mosque and said “oh, wow!” Individually, either of these imposing landmarks is impressive. Together, with the lovely park space separating them, they give a surreal feeling like you are in a giant theme park that has been designed to overwhelm. My hostel was only a block off the park area. Up on the rooftop terrace/bar I enjoyed a cold beer, a crisp salad, the view of both Mosques and the river with Asia on the opposing shore, and free wi-fi. Things were starting very well. When the evening call to prayer started and I could hear the mullahs from three different mosques singing the Koran verses, their mixed voices echoing through the streets from the minarets was like mainlining exotic flavor; it was strange, fascinating, and exhilerating. I loved it.
