Anarchists on Foot

I thought I would do a day-in-the-life-of post.

We pulled the kids out of bed at the ungodly hour of 10. Grooming commenced, and we were on our way by 11.30. Here is a photo essay of our Saturday meander.

About 2 blocks from the house, we saw this:

Streets are so ridiculously tight, they require advanced towing technology.

What isn’t captured here, is that there is a closely parked vehicle and the towed car just sort of swings back and forth as it is lifted.  Oh, and tons of pedestrians crossing  closely. But they are all experienced in avoiding cars to their left, right, head on, sneaking up from behind and, apparently, swinging above their heads. These towers know their stuff.

Matt got on playground equipment and things got a little out of control. Turks don’t rely on signage to remind you to exercise common sense, so we were at an immediate disadvantage.

We headed to Kabatas on the Bosphorus to catch the tram into the Old City (Sultanahmet).  Because everyone was getting whiny, it was impossible to go 100m without a request for 1. food 2. a bathroom 3. a stupid trinket 4. German Haribo candy or a complaint about 1. the amount of walking 2. the errant behavior of a sibling 3. being in a state of near-starvation 4. the cold 5. the smell of a sibling 6. feeling sick 7. the hairy eyeball a sibling just turned on someone.

But first, we caught a new bride posing for pictures in front of the Hagia Sofia.

It was time for lunch. Because we pride ourselves on our travel tightwadery, we headed several blocks off the main drag.  We found a basement cantina of sorts, that looked like it served food just this side of Hepaitis A.  Perfect.

After we worked out who would be willing to eat what, what had chunks, what contained meat, what reminded someone of a bad meal they had in school once, etc., the ordering commenced.  An anemic smorgasbord of pilaf, cauliflower, beans and some chicken that was around for the Munich Olympics was served.  Smugly, we dug in because we are cheap.  When the bill came, it was clear we had been sodomized the joke was on us.

And we needed a serviceable bathroom.  Off to Starbucks we went, where we squeezed into a potty which has a code reader for your receipt and a number pad.  Apparently too many non-customers frequent their facilities, so potty security is TIGHT.  That said, the number pad # is 1010*, so now you can go and pee away when you are in Istanbul. You are welcome.

We needed to do something besides ride a tram and get food poisoning, so we headed to the Basilica Cistern, where we briefly lost Philip (which at this point of the day, everyone greeted as good news) and the girls commenced to stuff their finger in a hole in an old pillar from 379 A.D. Everyone did it, but I have no idea why.

We walked home, through the lovely Gulhane Park, across the Galata Bridge, to Istiklal Caddesi, then to Taksim.  There, we took a cab to get home.  With the amount of troop movement we require, it is actually cheaper than the subway.

At home, we discovered someone, ahem, had dug into the Faketella. Interrogations have commenced, and we are hopeful we can somehow exaggerate and subsequently parley our outrage into an early bedtime for everyone.

Tomorrow we go to the weekly Tarlabasi Market, where the prices are good and the pickpockets are even better. It is a fantastic spectacle of great food and friendly people.