By Robin Ewing
July 2013
Istanbul traffic is chaos. I had to navigate at a crawl the narrow, nearly vertical, cobblestone streets of the old city (there was one tense moment starting in first on a hill), constant honking, a jumble of cars with no discernible lanes, parking in the middle of the road, and just overall bedlam all under the shadow of the minarets reaching up like spikes from the almost 1,500-year-old Hagia Sophia and the younger Blue Mosque that dominate the skyline.
But the fairly empty, six-lane highways in and out of the city are luxurious compared to the single, potholed roads of Bulgaria and Romania. Or at least the toll roads are. I haven’t yet figured out how to pay the toll as the booths are unmanned with incomprehensible signs, so I just pick a lane and drive through, setting off a loud alarm and flashing lights each time. No one even glances in my direction.
Turkish drivers are hot-blooded. They honk constantly and are impatient, aggressive speed demons. On the way to Amasya, an ancient city colonized by the Greeks, Jamie, claiming ignorance of the law of the road, got a few double-handed fist shakes from drivers who had to pass him on the right. One angry driver passed, then slowed down and violently waved for us to pull over, presumably for a duel, and then when, of course, we didn’t, passed again just to slow down and drive on the shoulder next to us. Eventually, he disappeared, probably after noticing the odd stickers and German plates.
Amasya, built in a narrow river valley, is small and beautiful. The five Pontic kings, who ruled from 281-180 BC, are buried in the cliffs overlooking the white 14th century Ottoman houses lining the river, in one of which was our small hotel. Hundreds of thousands of tourists come every year and the locals have thoughtfully installed colored lights under the rock tombs and white houses that cast the city and the cliffs in glow of changing colors. I particularly liked the red.
Apparently, the legendary Amazon tribe of female warriors are said to have lived in this area, after whom Amasya is named. Homer first wrote about the Amazons in the Iliad and they were further gossiped about by the Greeks, Romans and Byzantines for a millennium with all kinds of rumors circulating about how they kept men slaves, killed boy children and cut off a breast to better use a bow and arrow. Nowadays, Amaya is famous for its apples and producing soccer players.
Yesterday as we drove into the Black Sea coastal city of Trabzon, the clutch went out. So we parked our sadly smoking van, and went in search of beer to drown our sorrows.
Turkey makes good beer. In particular, I like Efes, a 5 percent pilsner. I’ve heard about a darker one that is made with coffee, but unfortunately I haven’t been able to try it because no one sells beer.
This month happens to be Ramadan, when Muslims fast during daylight and don’t drink, smoke, swear or have sex. For us, this means, that outside of Istanbul it’s nearly impossible to find alcohol.
Last night, after asking numerous waiters if they served “bira,” only to be laughed at, one thoughtful soul pointed us in the direction of a restaurant he said would serve us. It was closed. But a nearby hotel doorman waved us in and pointed in the direction of the snack bar.
The “snack bar” was completely dark. One man sat alone drinking a tea in the shadows. Another man emerged and we asked for three beers. He nodded, disappeared, another man came to inspect us, and then the first reappeared with three cold Efes. They cost $7 each (for comparison, Jamie’s Coke Zero today cost 5 cents). We each drank three.
This morning we took the Opel van into a service center and they are going to be able to replace the clutch with a Renault part but it won’t be ready till tomorrow afternoon. So, on the first day off from driving that I’ve had since I started, we wandered around Trabzon taking in the sights and then napped.
Jamie is currently off trying to get a few beers from a market where he saw some in the window and I’m again sitting on the hotel rooftop with a view of a mosque at our doorstep, the Black Sea and the terracotta-tiled roofs. The call to prayer just ended and the city is silent. I can’t even hear any horns. Tomorrow morning, we are joining a tour group to the Sumela Monetary and then hopefully driving into Georgia. Wish us luck!
