1st to 4th April
Istanbul
Istanbul humms with people. Commuters, tourists, hawkers, people with urgent errands. Streets with parked cars, cars blocking narrow roads, cyclists on pavements, motorbikes. Impatient hooting and jostling. Underground metro with fast streams of passengers flowing between entrances, barriers and platforms. All life is in Istanbul.
The great square at Sultanahmet, with the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia was thick with guided tourist groups and hawkers of carpets, shoe-shining, taxi rides and any conceivable service.
After having negotiated our way from the ferry, we needed to seek out the peace, calm and sanity of our hotel.
We had three main objectives we wanted to achieve in the short time here – a proper Turkish shave for Peter, a Hammam for the both of us, and a bit of recovery time. We had so loved our last visit that we determined not to spoil its memories with sightseeing in the crowds.
We decided quickly to ignore the hammams suggested by the hotel literature, and rather than use the ‘rough’ one we visited ten years ago, our friend, Google Maps, made some suggestions, and we ventured out to find one that suited us better.
Room 1: Hot, dry sauna / Room 2: Very hot steam sauna / Room 3: Tea and cooling down / Room 4: The Hammam stone slab, with oiling in and massage, a thorough body scrub, drenching, death by foam, drenching – and a bit more drenching / Room 5: Massage (we chose deep tissue) where we were properly oiled and softened up, with a face mask to top it.
What an antidote to the hustle in getting here!
We went on a search to find the barber that Peter used last time here, but concluded that it might have been closed in the ten years that had passed. He found another one though that did the business, and he arose, now not only cleansed in body, but also cleansed on face!
Lamb to slaughter Shawn…!
The job that presented itself to us and became more ‘mission critical’, was how to get from the hotel to the airport to catch our flight to Goa. The ‘normal’ way is just to take a taxi. We chose not to; – we had, on our earlier visit, experienced the awful traffic. Even allowing two hours for the journey would still cause anxiety. A second reason was that that was the BORING choice!
Also rejecting taking an airport bus, we explored revisiting the metro… Good choice!
Not easy though. Firstly we needed to ensure we could buy tickets. After some serious discussions with the hotel receptionist, the manager stepped in and gave completely contrary information. Suffice to say, we bought 9 ‘journeys’, being advised that we needed 8 to get there.
Next was the disjointed route to take – Citymapper (yes, it does Istanbul too!) advised us to walk to tram T1, three stops, navigate and walk to metro M2, for five stops. The transfer was well-signposted and short, with the lift to the platform giving us palpitations with its malfunctioning door. Through what can be described as an underground pedestrian street, we changed from M2 to M7 for 2 stops.
It must be said, the tram and metro were incredible – clean, quiet, efficient and frequent with good signage.
Exiting M7, we found ourselves by a very busy road junction. Having an idea of the direction, and observing others carrying luggage, we found our way to the magnificent M11, taking us all the way to the airport. This is where we became unstuck. The M11 charges twice the amount as a ‘normal’ metro ride. So, we discovered too late that ticket-wise, we were one ride short… After rummaging for the few Turkish bank notes we had left and being told we could only buy 3 rides, not one, the attendant took pity on us and let Peter through to join Lynne. No signage here to forewarn us!
The M11 was fantastic, but had TV screens constantly showing the benign, peaceful and loveable Erdogan, benefactor of all that is good in Turkey in propaganda. Even the hanging hand grips had pictures of Erdogan on them!
The new IST Istanbul Havalimani (airport), is a huge, gleaming copy of the huge Gulf hub airports. Our hearts sank. This is not what we want for the future – more, more and more conspicuous flying, buying and consuming. Three years ago, we dreamed of doing this trip without flying. Now we have been forced to take some flights. Hey-ho.
Mega airport Holey jumpers
Impersonal and overwhelming as the airport is, two check-in attendants were really, really helpful. Saved our bacon!
Applying for and managing to get Indian visas is no child’s play. Having done this in London, where we have a printer, and the tech to make passport photos the size required in India (different from anywhere else, of course), we did everything right and ended up with nicely printed Electronic Travel Authorisations with stuck-on photos, and a thumbs-up from the Indian visa web site. All good.
On checking in at Istanbul, the attendants pointed out that our visas didn’t have the necessary stamp! Asking for our passports and printed papers, they went online with their mobiles and found our visas – stamped, but only online! Our new friends advised us to go online before arriving in India to download the PDFs. We did. It worked! The airport also offered us the opportunity to say our fond farewells to Lynne’s holey cashmere sweater and Peter’s Åre Björnen sweatshirt bought at the time of our wedding in Sweden; sad but essential!
So, a flight to Doha, quick transfer to Goa, grabbing time to purchase some Indian rupees. We landed at 01.50, retrieved our rucksacks from the carousel really quickly, and met our driver thronging with a large throng of other drivers. The journey to Bamboo Yoga Resort took 1 1/2 hours, ending at the beginning of a sandy path, where two ‘porters’ met us, carried our bags a 10 minute walk to our hut for the next four nights. Heads hit pillow at 20 minutes past 4. Welcome to Goa!
I am tired just reading this you are both mad!
Sounds like fun x