Becky Lisa and Frankie's Bazaar Bargains
Two whole days and nights stretch out in front of us and for many that means a lie in and lazy day after the hard driving. For six of us, it means Friday morning at the Iranian Embassy securing our visas. Even though we have our authorisation number, we are all a bit nervous as we stand outside waiting for it to open. At least there's no queue. Documents are checked and authorisation numbers cross referenced. We are told we need to get a copy of our passport and the Turkish entry visa. There is a copy shop conveniently located 3 doors down the road. We then need to go the bank and pay the visa amount (€100 for the Brits, €70 for the US but only €50 if you're French!). The bank is conveniently located across the road from the Embassy. All of us except one, follow the process and are told to come back tomorrow at 10 a.m to collect our passports. Alan, one of our two US passengers, is gutted. The Iranian Embassy is unable to cross reference his authorisation number. After a few phone calls, it seems that our Iranian agent has failed to fax it through to the Embassy and there is no more time to process his visa. He puts on a brave face. His family and friends will be relieved and he gets to do the Turkish gulet cruise with Lisa and Rick, who were both refused visas without explanation. But Alan and Matt are touring the world together and this will be the first time they will follow separate itineraries. The rest of us are not out of the woods yet either.
The rest of the day stretches ahead but we still have plenty on our 'to do' list. A large bag of washing is deposited at the launderette to be collected later that day. A group of us decide to tackle the Grand Bazaar together to haggle for our outfits, suitable for Iran. Debbie, Becky and Frankie are particularly nervous about haggling whilst a few us are looking forward to the entertainment value.
The Grand Bazaar is much more sophisticated than I remember from my trip as a teenager. Some of the shops even have glass fronts. It's still a maze of colour and excitement. All of life's essentials are available for negotiation and one can never have too many carpets! We stop at a few stalls to get an idea of what's available and the 'market' price. The banter is good fun, but the intimacy of some of the stallholders is intimidating for some. I start the bartering process and the girls listen intently. As we move from stall to stall, they join in the negotiations and by the end of the day would have given Del boy a run for his money. I'm not sure where they're going to find the space for all their bargains though!
During the course of the day others join the crowds for the Blue Mosque, Aya Sofia and Topkapi Palace, all within a stone's throw of the hostel, but I am happy to wander around and soak up the atmosphere. Already, I am making plans to return and can do the 'sights' another time. As evening falls, we stroll down to the water and watch the immense container ships coming down the Bosphorus and the fishermen on the rocks all along the promenade.
As it is Rick's retirement/40th birthday and Jaime's the following day, Lana has arranged a group meal for us in a cafe opposite the the hostel. Suddenly all the lights go out and the street and the whole district is plunged into darkness. One set of hair straighteners too many has been plugged in. Some cafes have their own generator but not ours. LED lights in little jars are brought out and it seems the whole district is candlelit. Balloons are on the table and Rick is presented with his official gold retirement watch from Bev and some of the girls. It is the perfect present, secured on the market earlier that day. Eventually the lights flicker back on but the crowd cheer changes to sigh of disappointment as we are plumged into darkness again. It is much more atmospheric, but I wonder how we will make it back to our rooms that night. As the lights come back on Lana has secured 2 delicious birthday cakes for Jaime and Rick. Once more Frankie steals the day with 4 slices. I look on in envy. Where does she put it all?
Next morning, our young Ozbus Ozzies, Amelia and Jaime, are up before the crack of dawn to make the trip to Gallipoli. Despite the extended party the night before, they are both passionate about making the trip to the most significant European location in ANZAC wartime history. I find it hard to believe that many British young people would be so willing to commit such a large amount of their own money to visit a war memorial but national pride runs deep in the veins of the Australian. It is a long day for them, nearly 17hrs in total.
I enjoy the luxury of a lie in and leisurely breakfast before we make our way to the Iranian Embassy to collect our passports. We arrive early and it is shut and no guard visible as yesterday. A sign by the door tells us opening hours Mon-Fri 9-11am. But today is Saturday. We wonder if the administrator made a mistake and meant Monday when he said come back tomorrow. Mild panic sets in as we debate what we do. We leave on Sunday for Goreme and the Balloon ride is booked for early morning. We would miss it if we have to wait. We give it 15 mins and ring the bell, then bang on the door, then the bell, then the door. We bang the door more insistently and wonder if this will cause them to refuse our visa. No signs of life. We give it half an hour. I pop to the bank (conveniently located across the road) to get cash to pay the balloon ride we might not make. When I come back, they have all disappeared and momentarily I think they have finally got in, and am cursing them for not waiting for me, but passersby are giving a roadside tree a very strange look. I peer behind the tree and they are all perfectly in line. How childish! But very funny.
As we idle away the time waiting for something to happen, passersby stare at us and comment to each other. 'Stupid foreigners. Don't they know the Embassy is closed on a Saturday'. One man, pushing a heavy sack trolley indicates round the corner. Was that for us, or was he waving to a friend. Matt is sent on a reccy. A few minutes later he comes back. There is another entrance round the corner with a guard, who put him on a phone to someone else, who said 'I will help you'. We're not sure what that means, or who he was, but it feels like progress. Now we have a dilemma. Do we continue to wait at 'our' entrance or do we proceed to the new entrance. Ah, teamwork. One is left at the current entrance, another stands on the corner and the rest proceed to Matt's new friend, who gives us all a big smile and welcomes us into the guard hut. The signal goes up and we all cram in. A man comes towards us. ' Five British and one American' he says knowledgeably. We all sigh with relief. 10 minutes and 10 blue fingers each later (no fingerprints of our US friend are required), we are all outside clutching our passports with Iranian visas excitedly. We're in.
In the afternoon, some of the girls decide to have a real Turkish bath. As we enter it's all a bit confusing. Some of us change into the bikini bottoms provided, others wear their own. The protocol is not clear to us and we wander through a door to a hot, steamy room, filled with semi naked women of all shapes and sizes. It's like a scene from some porn movie and somewhat intimidating for us novices. Some of the women are lying in the middle of what could only be described as a large marble table. Others lie to the side and are being rubbed down by other women in black bikinis. Others are being soaped, others, to the side are being shampooed and rinsed down in little side rooms. I can hardly breathe in the steam. The noise of chatter does nothing to relieve the tension. We wait for someone to tell us what to do. Eventually one of the women in black bikinis waves us towards to the centre of the marble table. For me it is unbearably hot and I am feeling faint, so I go through to another room with a hot pool and jacuzzi at 38C to cool off. When I go back through to the marble table, some of us are already being exfoliated to oblivion and soaped into a froth. Soon it is my turn. After, rinsed off in cool water, I feel squeaky clean and leave to wrap myself in the hot towel provided. We gather in another room for a rehydrating drink and review of the experience. We are all glad we did it but wouldn't rush back for another. As we change back a group of French women arrive, as confused as we were. I explain the process and they thank me and enter, still none the wiser of what awaits them
Later that evening, a group of us take a brisk stroll along the promenade, past all the fishermen and their families at the water's edge, up towards the Galata Bridge. The quayside is buzzing, with tourists and locals and the boats along the side are brightly lit like a funfair. As they bob up and down on the swell of the river, they are frying fish on huge griddles, and filling sandwiches. We hand over our 4 lira and grab some stools to sit on while we munch on our rolls. It tastes like mackerel. Life is good. Once more I make a resolution to return. I love this city.
The rest of the day stretches ahead but we still have plenty on our 'to do' list. A large bag of washing is deposited at the launderette to be collected later that day. A group of us decide to tackle the Grand Bazaar together to haggle for our outfits, suitable for Iran. Debbie, Becky and Frankie are particularly nervous about haggling whilst a few us are looking forward to the entertainment value.
The Grand Bazaar is much more sophisticated than I remember from my trip as a teenager. Some of the shops even have glass fronts. It's still a maze of colour and excitement. All of life's essentials are available for negotiation and one can never have too many carpets! We stop at a few stalls to get an idea of what's available and the 'market' price. The banter is good fun, but the intimacy of some of the stallholders is intimidating for some. I start the bartering process and the girls listen intently. As we move from stall to stall, they join in the negotiations and by the end of the day would have given Del boy a run for his money. I'm not sure where they're going to find the space for all their bargains though!
During the course of the day others join the crowds for the Blue Mosque, Aya Sofia and Topkapi Palace, all within a stone's throw of the hostel, but I am happy to wander around and soak up the atmosphere. Already, I am making plans to return and can do the 'sights' another time. As evening falls, we stroll down to the water and watch the immense container ships coming down the Bosphorus and the fishermen on the rocks all along the promenade.
As it is Rick's retirement/40th birthday and Jaime's the following day, Lana has arranged a group meal for us in a cafe opposite the the hostel. Suddenly all the lights go out and the street and the whole district is plunged into darkness. One set of hair straighteners too many has been plugged in. Some cafes have their own generator but not ours. LED lights in little jars are brought out and it seems the whole district is candlelit. Balloons are on the table and Rick is presented with his official gold retirement watch from Bev and some of the girls. It is the perfect present, secured on the market earlier that day. Eventually the lights flicker back on but the crowd cheer changes to sigh of disappointment as we are plumged into darkness again. It is much more atmospheric, but I wonder how we will make it back to our rooms that night. As the lights come back on Lana has secured 2 delicious birthday cakes for Jaime and Rick. Once more Frankie steals the day with 4 slices. I look on in envy. Where does she put it all?
Next morning, our young Ozbus Ozzies, Amelia and Jaime, are up before the crack of dawn to make the trip to Gallipoli. Despite the extended party the night before, they are both passionate about making the trip to the most significant European location in ANZAC wartime history. I find it hard to believe that many British young people would be so willing to commit such a large amount of their own money to visit a war memorial but national pride runs deep in the veins of the Australian. It is a long day for them, nearly 17hrs in total.
I enjoy the luxury of a lie in and leisurely breakfast before we make our way to the Iranian Embassy to collect our passports. We arrive early and it is shut and no guard visible as yesterday. A sign by the door tells us opening hours Mon-Fri 9-11am. But today is Saturday. We wonder if the administrator made a mistake and meant Monday when he said come back tomorrow. Mild panic sets in as we debate what we do. We leave on Sunday for Goreme and the Balloon ride is booked for early morning. We would miss it if we have to wait. We give it 15 mins and ring the bell, then bang on the door, then the bell, then the door. We bang the door more insistently and wonder if this will cause them to refuse our visa. No signs of life. We give it half an hour. I pop to the bank (conveniently located across the road) to get cash to pay the balloon ride we might not make. When I come back, they have all disappeared and momentarily I think they have finally got in, and am cursing them for not waiting for me, but passersby are giving a roadside tree a very strange look. I peer behind the tree and they are all perfectly in line. How childish! But very funny.
As we idle away the time waiting for something to happen, passersby stare at us and comment to each other. 'Stupid foreigners. Don't they know the Embassy is closed on a Saturday'. One man, pushing a heavy sack trolley indicates round the corner. Was that for us, or was he waving to a friend. Matt is sent on a reccy. A few minutes later he comes back. There is another entrance round the corner with a guard, who put him on a phone to someone else, who said 'I will help you'. We're not sure what that means, or who he was, but it feels like progress. Now we have a dilemma. Do we continue to wait at 'our' entrance or do we proceed to the new entrance. Ah, teamwork. One is left at the current entrance, another stands on the corner and the rest proceed to Matt's new friend, who gives us all a big smile and welcomes us into the guard hut. The signal goes up and we all cram in. A man comes towards us. ' Five British and one American' he says knowledgeably. We all sigh with relief. 10 minutes and 10 blue fingers each later (no fingerprints of our US friend are required), we are all outside clutching our passports with Iranian visas excitedly. We're in.
In the afternoon, some of the girls decide to have a real Turkish bath. As we enter it's all a bit confusing. Some of us change into the bikini bottoms provided, others wear their own. The protocol is not clear to us and we wander through a door to a hot, steamy room, filled with semi naked women of all shapes and sizes. It's like a scene from some porn movie and somewhat intimidating for us novices. Some of the women are lying in the middle of what could only be described as a large marble table. Others lie to the side and are being rubbed down by other women in black bikinis. Others are being soaped, others, to the side are being shampooed and rinsed down in little side rooms. I can hardly breathe in the steam. The noise of chatter does nothing to relieve the tension. We wait for someone to tell us what to do. Eventually one of the women in black bikinis waves us towards to the centre of the marble table. For me it is unbearably hot and I am feeling faint, so I go through to another room with a hot pool and jacuzzi at 38C to cool off. When I go back through to the marble table, some of us are already being exfoliated to oblivion and soaped into a froth. Soon it is my turn. After, rinsed off in cool water, I feel squeaky clean and leave to wrap myself in the hot towel provided. We gather in another room for a rehydrating drink and review of the experience. We are all glad we did it but wouldn't rush back for another. As we change back a group of French women arrive, as confused as we were. I explain the process and they thank me and enter, still none the wiser of what awaits them
Later that evening, a group of us take a brisk stroll along the promenade, past all the fishermen and their families at the water's edge, up towards the Galata Bridge. The quayside is buzzing, with tourists and locals and the boats along the side are brightly lit like a funfair. As they bob up and down on the swell of the river, they are frying fish on huge griddles, and filling sandwiches. We hand over our 4 lira and grab some stools to sit on while we munch on our rolls. It tastes like mackerel. Life is good. Once more I make a resolution to return. I love this city.
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