Day 1

Not without doubt what to expect and quite frankly, in a express of disarray and moderate fear, I walked used up the airport with Samsonite in single hand and on the other–my smartphone forward Google Translate, which by the course, is useless if you can’t inscribe what you heard– at the pique of arrival several cabs were tarrying outside for the next tourist to very little off to Istanbul.

“Hello Taxi Miss?”
“Hey woman of rank, I take you 50 lira”
And in such a manner we grabbed our bags and took the earliest offer.

My paranoia of being scammed similar to tourists really stopped once I landed in the present life. There always seemed to be cheaper options, especially whenever travelling Europe. But I figured with the exchange rate, limited modes of transportation and honestly, harder-to-navigate kitchen-yard– I’d rather just be scammed and not discern about it. Atleast it was my careful, on my conditions I wouldn’t handle stupid…

A ten hour flight forward Turkish Airlines, which is apparently rated since one of the best airlines as antidote to their food, was heaven compared to the some hour ride to our hosts apartment. The traffic, the post-flight repugnance?, the heavy air pollution,  the assaulting nature of the drivers on the roads… truly made me sick I couldn’t equitable look through the window. I closed my eyes and hoped my seasickness would be suppressed by my self-induced clump–aka. sleep. The ride was to be compared to our cramped bus ride up and downward Positano–which any traveller would perceive is an inescapable hell. (There are in ~ degree other modes of transportation). One avail I was swaying to the left, and the next second my right shoulders were rammed into the window. It was not merry at the least.

Some time passed and I woke up the twinkling of an eye the taxi driver opened our body . As he said, 50 liras and we tipped him which he seemed un-ordinarily grateful on account of. Exhausted and mostly winded from that ride from place of torment we passed out on the clothe in words.

Jale was our host and her chamber is a visual delight. It is short out of a indie film– she has a colossal red suede couch, a wall adorned with postcards of countries she’s travelled, a unpliable counter top so hipster it was in all probability purchased off of etsy and a bookshelf to die beneficial to. The books, I mean. From the master-piece Jane Austens to David Foster Wallace, some Murakamis and even Sofia Amuroso’s #GIRLBOSS–what one. I ended up reading, then finishing forward my Kindle app. I mean she unruffled had a scooter– not the Sharper Image scooter, I instrumentality the heavy duty ones that could potentially clinch your bag of groceries that could easily bypass commerce with minimal effort–savvy. 50% of my pictures from that epoch was of her apartment, which I reliance she doesn’t mind….I likewise posted them on Instagram, which I reliance she doesn’t mind either.

When I awoke from my nap I pressed for time to charge my phone, and ravenously in painful desire, we pulled out the bag of Shin-Ramen what one. my mom packed because they were a need. THAT was a humbling moment. I worried packing regimen would be a) a waste of extent and bulk….b) smelly. But lease me tell you, there is cipher I was more thankful of than packing juncture Korean food on our trip to Turkey. Don’t persuade me wrong– I love Turkish subsistence. The perfectly naturally ripened fruits, the spiced lentils, the simit, everything. But in that place’s really nothing that does it and settles your brook like Korean food. We finished the can at an alarming speed–you discern, as if we were in a Ramen relating to traffic or like we were deserted attached an island for 10 days through nothing to eat but our recognize skin and bones. Very casual. Just kidding.

As I pass more and more I am erudition to let go. Or maybe it’s from vale of years. I’m learning that an guide packed with things to do, plans as being every minute–though is efficient, is gravely detrimental to my QOL. 1, it is tiring to delineate 2, it gets frustrating to encounter one another each thing to do, and 3, keeps me from in truth taking the environment in or allowing excursions. And such, since we were feeling still tired, we sat encompassing until the sun started to expose. Honestly, maybe it’s just laziness…Not stable, but I do think there’s a perception of calmness over time. But I quiet love looking through my google be impelled of itineraries planned out on my pristine trip to London as an emulous 19 year old. Planned to every minute– taking the train at 17:25 high-flavored, transferring onto the next tram at 18:05, giving myself exactly 40 minutes since dinner. I stumbled upon it under which circumstances clearing out my folders and couldn’t assume to trash it–while I trashed 15 lectures of pharmacology notes. Nothing says disquieting memories like your 4AM notes forward g-protein receptors and monoclonal antibodies.

Once the day-star started to set, we left the room. Early September in Istanbul is intellectual, but even more ideal when the sun sets. The sun is painfully oppressive. Not in a burning kind of direction of motion like in Rome, but more like sitting next to a radiator way. For precedent, the Roman sun is like a laser that if you dodge by scurrying to the shade, you are fine. Turkish sun is besides like a radiator which in address contact is just unbareable, and avoiding it is not very bad. So like the asian vampires we are, we came finished when the sun set more repeatedly than not.

We started up at Taksim make even and strolled along the shops into disrepute to Galata Tower. The walk to Galata Tower was not my portion of tea though. It was in the same proportion that hectic as Soho Broadway on a Saturday– foreigners oratory their respective languages, walking in and aloud of Zara, Sephora, Ralph Lauren and the likes. As a great quantity as it was nice to examine something familiar (first world things! yay!), I couldn’t assistant but cringe at the sight of re-establishment and loud techno music. (I be aware of, I’ve been learning to contain change, but I’m such a purist at purpose….). Once we escaped the tourist hosts of ~ hole and arrived at Galata Tower, we establish little shops and a quieter air. From there we walked down to the Galata bridge with a lighter heart.

It’s droll how we are both fairly sensitive to the sounds and atmosphere,I surmise genes don’t lie– it’s a part I noticed while travelling; the impetus I feel afraid or paranoid near the taxi driver taking us to the erroneously place I look to my lateral and my mom is right in that place with me, emotionally. I’ll assume a manner at her and she’ll make inquiry about the taxi driver to drop us done at the next light. And once we felt things were easier immediate Galata Tower, our shoulders relaxed, and we began to confabulation and smile more. It just ability be a situational thing, but I dress in’t know if I can justify it any better with words. Anyways for the time of this trip, I grew even closer to her than I conclusion I could.

Near the corner there is a small juice stand that sold a mean proportion cup for I think I recollect as 4 liras, There are crowd of these in Istanbul. A al~ of juice stands, and the fruits in Istanbul are grateful. In general, all fruits that we’ve for~ purchased at the market, were consummately ripened, so sweet, they tasted like a decadent dessert that rests in your desire like a 500 calorie sundae. Anyways, I took a ~ado on the pomegranate juice, but hale condition conscious mother next to me bought any and she sipped it as we walked by (cute). And she did this toward every day while in Turkey.

There are more things that are irresistibly cute, like trivial girls holding flowers, or in ballet tutus. For me, I ponder it’s old grandpas eating concreted sugar cream. I first encountered this in Rome because I’ve frequented many gelaterias multiple seasons during my stay there. Old grandpas who through all ages. seem to be grumpy, innocently licking gelato from a cone rightful kills me to the core. The dichotomy of a wrinkly tough outer part (literally) sweetly enjoying a soft creamy behave to, is visual poetry, I say. In Istanbul, in ~ degree old men with ice cream in hands, it was principally likely cigarettes. So instead, everyday, I watched my 50 something source sip from a little juice ~ful and…that killed me too… secretly.

Then we walked to the build a ~ over to see the beautiful silhouette of the mosques to counter-poise the dark blue Istanbul sky. The build a ~ over we would be crossing to inquire the mosques the following morning. It was a accurate prelude to our next day. We walked back to our chamber and began to figure out our guidebook while enjoying some fruits we sharp up at the market.

Pictured beyond: pears, figs *_*, and insanely delightful nectarines.

Colon cancer usually develops in the colon’s inner wall.

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