London to Paris

My airport shuttle dropped me off around Baker Street, a bustling area that looked more or less how I imagined London would look: lots of pretty, pointy buildings and double-decker buses.

 

Rather than taking the tube for two stops, I decided to walk to King's Cross/St. Pancras Station. The weather was very cold, but actually quite nice. The area (right along Regent's Park) was beautiful. London makes me wish I knew more about architecture. St. Pancras itself is a gorgeous building:

Bryan and I had planned to meet up at Platform 9 3/4 in King's Cross, partly because we are huge geeks and partly because we needed some exact spot to meet at. Unfortunately, construction meant that the Platform (not a real train platform, just a little tourist spot) had been moved from its logical position between platforms 9 and 10. I found it by asking station employees, and waited nervously for Bryan to show up. We had agreed that if I didn't make my connections (which seemed very possible given the craziness of my plan) he should get on the Eurostar to Paris anyway, and I would get on the next one and hopefully be able to use my ticket. We didn't have a plan for what to do if he missed it. I decided to go to St. Pancras and look for him, which was fortunately successful. After some airport-level security, we boarded our train to Paris. 

The train was quite nice, and took only 2.5 hours to make it there. By the time we arrived in Paris, it was almost 9pm and we were quite exhausted from almost 24 hours of traveling (for my part, at least). All we wanted to do was get to the hotel and collapse, which led us to make the biggest mistake of our trip. We debated taking the subway, but decided a taxi would be easier with our luggage and our lack of knowledge of the subway system. A friendly man waved us over to his taxi and asked us where we wanted to go. We gave him the address, and loaded our stuff into the car. He was quite nice, chatting with us about how much he loved Obama (most Europeans do, actually). After a fairly short journey, we arrived at the hotel and he told us the fare: 70 euros. Naturally, I flipped out at him and told him that there was no way in hell we would pay that much money for a cab ride. At the very most it should be 20 euros. He pulled out a sheet of paper and showed that he was a flat-rate taxi rather than a metered taxi. I told him that he had clearly tried to cheat us, since he knew what a short distance we were going, but he stood by his claims and would not budge on the price. I told him we didn't have that much (a lie), and he said he would take us to an ATM to get it. After long negotiations and eventually breaking into tears (again, my response when angry), we paid the fare. Our luggage was in the back of the car, so there was no way we could just give him less money and attempt to get out of there. We felt like incredibly dumb tourists- this was one of those things you read about and shake your head at, but it's not supposed to actually happen to you. Never let your guard down, folks, even when you're exhausted. Cab drivers are looking to cheat people in that situation.

The hotel itself (Hotel du Nord et de l'Est) was actually quite nice. It wasn't in a very touristy area, but still had plenty of stuff nearby. It's near the Place de la Republique:

 

We went out to find some food and had no luck finding places with English menus, so we settled at a fancy pizza joint. Parisians seem to love pizza, though it's quite different from the typical pizza in the states. We ordered a 4-cheese (including brie and goat cheese) and a smoked salmon pizza, both of which were absolutely amazing. I'm still reminiscing about how good they were. We also had a lot of wine, since wine in Paris is cheaper than soda or water.

Next: sight-seeing in Paris, eating French food (including escargot!)

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'd like to take a break from the vacation posts to state how awesome my host mother is.

Here's a picture from last month's Republic Day celebrations. From right to left: host brother, host mother, host mother's niece, host mother's sister.

I've been dreading Thanksgiving for the past few days, since this would be the first time I'm not spending it with family. With no traditional foods and no one to celebrate with (to everyone else it's a normal Thursday), I figured it would be a sad and lonely day. I resigned myself to a fate of macaroni and cheese and sliced turkey (the closest I can get). However, I was pleasantly surprised this evening, when I woke up from a nap to find a huge dinner laid out and several friends at the house in an attempt to recreate the big family holiday that I longed for. It was so amazingly thoughtful, and the food was delicious. She's been paying attention to what foods I really like, and tonight's dinner contained many of them (including liver! yay!). She even made a pumpkin dessert! In Turkey they eat actual pumpkin, not the stuff from a can: the most common preparation appears to be soaking pumpkin chunks in massive amounts of sugar, cooking them in their own syrup and some spices, then sprinkling crushed walnuts on top. So good!

It may not be an American Thanksgiving, but it was really lovely, and a nice reminder that I have family here, too. I'm still missing everyone back in the States like crazy, of course!

The Journey There

I'm back from my big European adventure, and finally well-rested enough to start sorting through my 300+ pictures and writing about my experiences.

The trip there was an adventure in itself. I like Istanbul a lot, but it isn't well connected to the rest of Europe by budget airlines like RyanAir and WizzAir (slowly changing!). Compounded with the fact that all plane tickets are either sold out or prohibitively expensive around Kurban Bayram (possibly the biggest holiday of the year), this meant that I'd have to get creative with my transportation. Bulgaria, interestingly enough, is well served by the budget airlines. I decided that this was my best shot, and booked some flights to and from Bulgarian cities (Plovdiv for outbound, Varna for inbound) and some bus tickets to get there.

My bus to Plovdiv left at 11pm and would take approximately 7-8 hours to get there. The actual driving time is much shorter, but the border can (and did) take several hours to cross. Since I have trouble sleeping on buses, I decided to drug myself with some Benadryl to get some rest. This would have been a great idea, if not for the border crossing being right in the middle of the trip. While I was pretty unconscious by 1am, I had to be more or less awake from 2-4am while doing all the passport and visa crap to leave the country. I was pretty miserable and out of it during this time.

We arrived in Plovdiv at 7:30am, later than the time I had been quoted. This left me just 2 hours before my train to the airport. I found the train station first, and had a horrendous time trying to figure out what to do. I couldn't find a single person who spoke English. Everything was in Cyrillic, which I can only read with great difficulty. Fun fact: head gestures are totally reversed in Bulgaria! I didn't realize this until 2 hours into my stay there. I was so confused why everyone would nod to my "Angliyski?" and then give me a blank stare. Apparently Sri Lanka is the only other country with this backwards rule. Needless to say, I had a difficult time getting around. Also, most people seemed totally unaware that there is an airport nearby, probably because there's only a few flights a week. I managed to purchase a train ticket and drop my bag off, then set off to explore the city a bit.

Plovdiv was...well, very Eastern European. Like, exactly the stereotypical scene in my mind when I think of Russia. It has the appearance of something that was once beautiful, but has gone through hard times and possibly nuclear fall-out.

It had a very distinct atmosphere. I wouldn't really say it seemed dangerous- there were plenty of happy young people walking around everywhere, and I never felt threatened. It was a very interesting place to walk around, and I wish I had taken more pictures. My main goal for my short stay in Plovdiv was to find some of the ancient ruins in their city center. After a long bit of walking aimlessly and getting many confusing head-nods, I found myself looking at this:

  

It's difficult to see, but if you look above the tunnel you can see the remains of a theater, with ancient Roman columns sticking up. They actually worked the remains into an actual theater, where plays are still held. I thought this was pretty hip, though unfortunately I don't have any good pictures of it close up. Finding the theater meant that I was very near the city center, so I kept walking and found myself in a quaint pedestrian-only downtown area.

I grabbed a cheap and delicious pastry for breakfast and unfortunately had to head back to the train station very soon after. After even more confusion and language barriers, I boarded my train and sat next to a college-aged girl. I was in luck- she had some English worksheets in her lap. I stroke up a conversation with her, and she explained the best way to get to the airport. There were two stops I could get off at- one was Krumovo, a very small town nearby from which I may be able to catch a taxi the rest of the way, and the other was much closer to the airport, but more or less in the middle of nowhere. She insisted on the second one, since you can see the airport as soon as you exit the train and it isn't a very long walk. I regret this decision. This was actually some sort of military zone, so when I got off the train, some military guys came over, very perplexed, and asked me where I was going. I pointed to the airport in the distance, and they laughed and shook their heads in amusement. An English-speaking man told me that I'd have to walk a few miles down a road, then turn towards the airport and walk another few miles. The airport itself was very close, but a large cornfield separated me from it:

What followed was a 45-minute trek, with baggage, in the hot sun, to that little airport. I swore out loud at RyanAir for flying out of such a ridiculously remote airport. I eventually got there, angry and tired. Mine was the only flight that day. I got through check-in and security just fine, and came to the passport control booth. The Bulgarian border guard stared at my passport with confusion, flipping through my visa pages. He called over another officer, who reacted similarly. They chatted away in rapid Bulgarian, while I stood there, clueless. Eventually a third man came over and told me I'd have to go with him to a separate area for questioning. They sat me down in a small room, and a woman informed me that they'd just have to ask me a couple questions before I could go. There wasn't much questioning, though- mostly it was just four border officers (of the six in the entire airport) staring at my passport and looking things up on their computer, all while chatting away. No one told me what was happening, or why I had been stopped. They finally asked me about my travel plans, and I don't think they liked my answers:

-So you are American?

-Yes

-And where are you living now?

-America, technically, but I'm spending some time in Turkey

-Why are you in Bulgaria?

-I wanted to fly to England.

-Why are you going to England?

-I'm on vacation.

-Will you be alone?

-No, I'll be meeting my brother.

-So your brother lives in England?

-No, he lives in America.

The woman laughed and shook her head (in retrospect, I guess this was a nod of acknowledgment?) at the ridiculousness of my travel plans. You know your life is complicated when four border officers can't make sense of it. The eventually handed me a sheet of paper to sign, mostly in Bulgarian, that stated that I understood why I had been detained. I didn't actually understand, so I suppose I probably shouldn't have signed, but I had a flight to catch.

The flight itself was pretty uneventful. People complain a lot about how horrible RyanAir is, but it really doesn't matter when you're on a relatively short flight (yes, 3 hours is now a short travel by my standards). I arrived at Stansted a bit early, and had no trouble catching a bus to the city center. The England countryside looked just like I had imagined: foggy and beautiful. 

I will end here. Tomorrow: finding platform 9 3/4, traveling to Paris, and getting ripped off by a cabbie.

Bursa

This weekend I took a ferry down to Bursa, the fourth largest city in Turkey and a former capital of the Ottoman Empire. It's situated at the base of Mount Uludağ, which makes for a very pretty setting:

The city is quite famous for it's food, which was certainly a large part of why I chose to visit. They're particularly famous for Iskender, a totally delicious meat dish with tomato sauce and yogurt and covered with melted butter:

It is devastatingly good. I went to the original shop, which  has been serving up this dish and only this dish for 140 years. It is also famous for its candied chestnuts, which I ate too many of. I would be very fat if I lived in Bursa.

Apart from the copious amounts of food, it's also an awesome place to shop. It has historically been a big center for silk and today has a number of bazaars specializing in this. Koza Han is the most famous, dating back to 1451. It's a beautiful old structure filled with shops selling pashminas (my greatest love) and other silk-related things. It also has a very nice courtyard in the middle where you can relax and grab a cup of tea:

The city is the home to many important old mosques, as well as mausoleums for Ottoman Sultans. The most famous is Yeşil Türbe (Green Tomb), which is quite pretty:

The people of Bursa were incredibly friendly. Not that Istanbul folks aren't friendly toward me, but in Bursa people were very excited about having an American tourist and really went out of their way to make me feel welcome.

In a few hours I begin my epic adventure through Europe. Tonight a take a bus to Bulgaria, followed by a flight to London, followed by a train to Paris. I will hopefully have some interesting pictures and stories to post here next week. Tomorrow is the beginning of the biggest Islamic holiday, so mutlu bayram, everyone!

Paradise

Büyükada may very well be my favorite place in the world. I've been longing to go back since my visit in September, and this weekend the incredibly beautiful weather gave me a great opportunity to. I began my trip by meeting up with my boss, who has a beautiful old house on the island. Here's the view from her balcony:

 
After some tea and snacks, I decided I would head off on my own with a bicycle. The bike rental guy remembered me from September! And asked me out to tea. Yay? Whereas last time I stayed on the more populated half of the island, this time I decided to do the full tour on my bike. This was an excellent decision; the other half of the island is serene and breathtakingly gorgeous. Once again, pictures can't really do it justice, but here are some:

 

 

I'm not sure if I'll ever get to go back there again, but I really hope I do. It's perfect.

Halloween

Yesterday was Halloween, and unfortunately it began with an actually terrifying event. In the morning one of my friends called me to inform me that a bomb had gone off in Taksim Square, injuring a couple dozen people and killing the bomber. As this place is one of my favorite spots to hang out, the news shook me quite a bit. Also, my host brother was in Taksim at the time, about 100m from the explosion. Fortunately he was in a classroom at the time and was totally fine, but it was quite nerve-wracking. Not much is known about the bomber or the motives so far.

I had been planning on going to a Halloween party with my coworkers that evening, but as a result of the bomb I spent most of the day trying to decide if this was a good idea or not. Some of my friends backed out, but others still wanted to go. We decided that things were probably safer than usual after the attack, and we wanted to have a nice night out together. This was their first Halloween celebration, so they were very excited to go out. We found a heavy metal bar doing a themed party and concert, so we decided to put some zombie make-up on and check it out.

We had a great time! I think the music was heavier than my coworkers would like, but it was mostly classic metal/80s rock stuff (Iron Maiden, Queensryche, Judas Priest, etc). Despite looking a little bit intimidating, the people there seemed really friendly. I'll hopefully go back there at some point.

Alright, serious rant time. When I told my family about the bombing in Taksim, a couple of them responded with remarks about the attack being religious in nature. While I know they are very smart and tolerant people who don't hate Muslims, this assumption bothers me. Reading through the comments on the CNN article (never do this, ever- it's bad for the soul), I found that a disturbing number of people shared this belief, stating how this was yet another Islamic terrorist attack, evidence of their violent religion. Somehow everyone completely ignores the fact that a motive was never given in any legitimate news article about the attack- in fact, it's very unlikely that there was any religious motivation there at all. 98% of Turkey is Muslim. The bomber and the victims were Muslim. The bomber targeted a police vehicle during a Republic Day celebration, meaning it is almost certainly politically motivated. An attacker being Muslim does not necessarily mean that they will commit a religious act of terrorism, just like a homicide in the US is very infrequently due to a Christian motive. People can be violent or peaceful regardless of their religion, and not every violent or peaceful act they commit has anything to do with their beliefs.

In conclusion, please try to think critically before making assumptions about an event like this. While it may not seem harmful, this further marginalizes Muslims in the US and elsewhere who already feel like other Americans view them as violent, extremist killers. It could very well be revealed that this attack was religiously motivated, but do not be so quick to jump to this conclusion before the facts are known.