Getting Comfortable in Balat

 

My Airbnb host, Mehmet, is very familiar with me by now.  With all his properties in total, I’ve stayed with him longer than I’ve stayed anywhere else during this journey.  Since lucky #7 was booked right after my stay, I arranged to stay in the building next door.  I initially booked it for only a couple of weeks but extended it to the entire month of July once I saw the place.

Not to even mention the fact that apartment #5 is at the top of a series of windy, stone stairs that I did not relish having to navigate again so soon with all my stuff.

All of these apartments have the same basic look, but they are all slightly different in their layout.  This is the first of Mehmet’s places that has a balcony (two, actually, but the door to the bedroom balcony is locked).  I loved the view and the breeze coming off the water.

While the apartment is as lovely (if smaller) than the other two places I’ve stayed in Balat, it did have some … issues.  The day after moving in, I did a load of laundry.  Pretty standard stuff until the cycle ended and the door wouldn’t open.  As this was another machine with the instructions written in Turkish, it was time to consult Google.

Apparently, I’d overloaded the machine and it refused to drain the water.  The door would not open while the machine was full of water (most machines in Europe have been side loaders).  Thus began the ever so fun process of manually draining the water from the bottom of the machine, something I have never had to do in my life.  In a brand new (for me) apartment.  Using a towel and a glass to try to catch the seemingly never-ending stream of water spewing out of the hole onto the hardwood floor.

I just wanted to clean my clothes.

It took FOREVER.  So much water.  But eventually, I drained the machine, put it through another rinse cycle (I wanted to just spin the clothes but, again, Turkish instructions), and ta da!  The door opened.  I’ve never been so happy to see my clean drawers again.

Then the dread set in.  I’d be in the apartment for awhile and I would have to do the laundry again. 

Later that afternoon, the power went out.  This is the first time I can recall where I’ve had power disruption in Istanbul.  I guess that’s a pretty good track record but it’s never fun to experience.  I napped during the outage (the short but brutal travel from the day before caught up to me – those stairs will haunt my nightmares), only to be awakened a couple hours later by a beeping coming from somewhere in the apartment.  Some sleuthing led me to the fridge.  Opening the door, I saw a blinking light and a button that needed to be pushed to stop the beeping.  Okay.  That was new.

While my love affair with this city continues, there are some things that remind me that this could not be my home for an extended period.  The thing is, even with the number of times I’ve been to this country, I still feel like the alien.  It’s not just the language barrier or that there aren’t many black folk here.  It’s seeing the women in the burkas and worrying about showing my legs in public.  While it’s not as hot this year as it was last year, it’s still warm enough to wear the shorts so I will be wearing them.  No one really cares as there are plenty of natives also wearing shorts or short skirts, but it’s still in the back of my mind.  Nothing says ‘tourist’ more than being a tall black woman wearing shorts in Türkiye.  At least that’s how I see it.

There’s also the issue with scammers.  I read a lot about Istanbul last year.  One of the common scams in the city is for a man to pass by you while walking and drop a brush.  When you pick it up and try to return it, the man engages you in conversation which eventually leads to him offering to shine your shoes for a fee.  The dropped brush has happened to me three times (so far).  The first time I picked up the brush on instinct, but simply returned it and kept walking while he called after me.  Dude, I’m wearing sneakers.  Let’s be real.

The last two times happened during this most recent trip while walking the same road.  I was proud of myself for not even breaking stride while ignoring the brush.  I still wasn’t thrilled at being targeted again.  I don’t know that anything will stop that other than donning my own burka. 

Yeah.  That’s not happening.  I feel overheated just looking at those women wearing all that cloth.

I’ve also been rather aggressively approached by children a couple of times.  One kid followed me for several feet while holding out a bottle of water despite my waving my hand to ward him off.  Another little girl approached me while I was walking along the Bosphorus and stood in front of me with her hand out, walking backwards while I tried to get around her.  I really don’t like that.  I don’t like anyone seeing me as an easy mark.  Seriously, just leave me alone.

I know I'm now speaking as a spoiled American, but I have to mention this.  While the grocery stores are close by and plentiful, the selection leaves something to be desired.  Namely broccoli and pecans, both staples of my diet.  Even my beloved Granny Smith apples can be difficult to find.  I've already consigned myself to live without kale once I move abroad (I have yet to find it in any of the countries I've visited), but I really miss the other things.  Fortunately, I can find those items in Portugal (scoring it yet another point).  Still no kale, though,

But there are a few good things happening as well.  This summer hasn’t been as hot as it was last year.  There’s even been a breeze on most days.  I still don’t recommend coming to Istanbul in the summer if you’re not ready for the relentless heat but, from all accounts, other parts of Europe have had it worse this year.

I shared a picture in a previous post of all the construction going on in the city.  Well, here it is a few months later and a lot of work has been completed.  There are now actual sidewalks leading to the city center.  You have no idea how awesome that it.  I still remember walking from Balat to Sultanahmet last year and spending half of the time in the street dodging cars because the sidewalks were barely there.  Or there were cars parked on the curb, or chairs set out in front of cafes, or any other number of obstacles that had to be skirted around and negotiated with other pedestrians.   You can clearly tell that I’m not the only one to appreciate the nice, level walking surfaces.  The pavers have only been in place for a few months and they already look like they’ve been there forever.

The work is ongoing so walking can still be … interesting.  But I’m glad to see the city’s commitment to getting the job done.

One last note.  I found a new favorite place for breakfast in Balat.  I’d eaten at this place last year but had yet to experience the beauty of the back deck.  I think the owner is French as I’ve seen a man walking around with an accent a few times.  It’s just such a pleasant yet strange sensation to be a black American woman eating Turkish breakfast in a bright sunny space while French music is playing.  Doing it international style, baby!

From Cyprus to London to Atlanta to Istanbul

 

After a short layover in Heathrow, it was time for another trip across the pond.  This one was noteworthy because of my row mates.  I was seated next to an Indian couple who didn’t speak English.  I was on the aisle and became the intermediary between them and the flight attendant. I know exactly zero Hindustani, so I just pantomimed everything the attendant said (make sure the seatbelt was on, give me your trash, put up your window shade, etc.).

But still, any flight you can walk away from is a good one.  Then it was onto the usual rigamarole: collect bag, take international shuttle to rental center, procure vehicle.  I had once again forgotten to reserve one in advance, so had to settle for whatever they had that was cheapest.  No sedans were available (I still doubt that) so the only thing they could give me was this white Toyota Tank – I mean Tacoma.  

Unless you’re regularly hauling buffalo, why would anyone need something so big?  That thing is a monster!  Everything about it was a hassle: backing it up, trying to park it, or even setting the parking brake (it took me a while to realize it was automatic).  The cab was so far off the ground that, even with my long legs, I practically had to take a running start to get into the thing.  I’d often forget to lock it – a definite no-no since it had a push-to-start ignition.  I’m sure Budget could locate it if stolen, but I didn’t want to test out that theory.

I couldn’t get into the Airbnb I stayed at in Roswell, so I picked a new place in fair Woodstock that had good ratings.  The apartment was in the basement of yet another way too big house in a labyrinthine suburb with narrow, winding streets.

This is a nice place.  The host’s attention to detail rivals Demetris in Cyprus.  There were snacks on the counter, water and seltzer in the fridge, and a bunch of helpful amenities in the bathroom.

There was a nice big tub for doing my henna treatment, a comfy bed, and plenty of space to move around (I’ve been in one too many cramped European apartments).  I appreciated the hardwood floors and lack of carpeting in the place.  I was always a carpet enthusiast because my homes/apartments had always had them.  But after a year abroad, I really do prefer the cleanliness of wood. 

There were a few issues, though.  The host was at home and frequently stomping on my head.  The stomping only increased on that Saturday when the host's daughter held her baby shower.  The place needs a cooktop (even a wretched induction one) as the only thing available is a small hotplate that I didn’t even bother to use.  Somehow, I also neglected to check in the listing for a washer/dryer, having assumed that an American apartment would automatically have one. But other than those things, it’s a great place.

With nowhere to wash my laundry, I had to find a nearby laundromat.  Now, I have always hated those places.  They’re usually pretty scuzzy and full of … interesting people.  But I gotta admit that this place was legit.  It was clean, brightly lit, and surprisingly modern.   The machines don’t even take cash anymore.  Everything is done with a rechargeable card that you can purchase and put money on with a credit/debit card.  Fancy schmancy. 

Once my business was done, it was yet again time for another butt-numbing trip to Europe.  Back to the familiar, until I can again return to Portugal, I set my sights on Türkiye.  Lucky #7 in Balat was available for little over a week, so that’s where I headed.  What can I say – I’m a creature of habit.

Things have changed somewhat since my last visit.  Being in the city, my body automatically remembered that the first call to prayer is at around 6:45.  Except … I woke up the first morning and there was nothing.  I thought maybe I’d missed it.  But the next day there was nothing again.  Huh?  I always thought this was an ancient schedule that didn’t change seeing that the 1:10 call came as usual. 

Then, on my third morning I was awakened by the call – at 4:30 a.m.  Huh?  Was the call leader trying to make up for the previous couple of days?  What was going on?

I am happy to report that a week in the states did not affect my digestive system this time.  I tried to stay away from processed foods and ate salads every night, so I think that helped.  Unfortunately, I wasn't in the country long enough to reset Google Fi on my phone.  I was not happy to land in Istanbul and have zero service.  At least I had an unused esim already loaded and ready to go.

I've seen a few commercials for other points of interest in the county.  As this is my fifth return to Istanbul and I'm starting to know the city backwards and forwards, who knows?  I might even get out of the city this trip.  We'll see.