Antalya Part 2

 

It took me awhile to adjust to the city, but I’ve come to appreciate it as a separate entity from Istanbul.  It amazes me that beach towns everywhere are similar regardless of the country.  It’s the palm trees, the laid-back atmosphere, the waitstaff dressed in shorts and comfy shoes.  Türkiye adds its own flavor with the vendors walking the beach selling Turkish pastries and corn on the cob.  Most of the restaurants on the beach offer hookah and shisha pipes that just adds to the chill out vibe.

I was able to extend my time in the apartment for a total of three weeks.  The host was good enough to give me a discount by paying in cash.  I always appreciate having to spend less money, but it meant doing the legwork to find the bills in USD.  There is a row of ATMS near the beach and some do offer other denominations.  Of course, I had to try multiple ones to find the USD, ran into cash limits, had to call the bank to make sure I didn’t hit any fraud alerts, give half to the host on one day and to his father on another day, yadda, yadda, yadda.  It’s all done now, but I’m still not sure if the discount was worth all the hassle.

It’s about 1 ½ miles from the apartment to the beach, an easy walk on the wide, still nearly deserted sidewalks.  The issue remains the heat.  Temps didn’t reach the 100-degree mark again (thank goodness), but it is still quite toasty in Antalya in August.  I quickly learned to carry a towel with me to mop up the endless amounts of sweat.

The beach is covered in restaurants, usually with a large sitting area right on the on the water.  I don’t usually hit these places because I know the prices are seriously jacked up.  Turns out, the couple of places I’ve visited so far, the food is not that pricey.  It costs around 10 bucks for time on one of the chaises.  But (unsurprisingly) the drinks are where they get ya.  I had a lovely cosmo on the beach that was about twice the lira I paid at a bar just off the beach.  Still, I could not resist the experience of relaxing by the Mediterranean with a nice adult beverage.  I even made a new friend one day.

The job search continues.  Since the search engines and job listings appear to be horribly broken, I try to find as many alternate sources of income as possible.  My writing on Medium has made me few bucks but nothing to sustain me yet.  I have to keep reminding myself that it’s a marathon and not a sprint and continue to be grateful for every new subscriber I get.

In trying to find a new source of income, I decided to open an Instagram account.  Nothing major, just thought I’d post some of the travel photos and videos that didn’t make it to this blog.  I went through all the steps to open the account, not really knowing how to proceed after that, and shut the program down.  A few hours later, I got someone trying to message me on the program. 

Guess.  Just guess who it was.

If you said Zaza, you get a WHAT THE HELL IS MY LIFE RIGHT NOW?!!!??

Hours!  I’d had a profile on the website for hours!  The only picture I posted was a profile pic, a rare selfie I took in Istanbul last year.  How did he clock it so quickly?  Why is he clocking it at all?

Please note: I have not seen this man in person since last July.  I last spoke with him in September when I broke it off.  He’s tried to text and call a few times since then but I can’t remember the last time he did.  Now, a year after our last meeting, on an app I’ve never been on and didn’t know he was on, I get a message.  He was my first subscriber.  WHAT THE HELL!?!?!?!?

I realized only later that the program taps into WhatsApp and, of course, it picked up Zaza’s name along with one of my former hosts.  It also brought up my brother’s name as a possible connection – someone else I haven’t spoken to in a long time (and don’t care to speak to again).  This is somewhat disturbing and just reminds me why I avoided social media for so long.  I’m not sure opening the account was the best idea.

And I just wanted to post some travel pics …

A last note:  Lisbon experienced the biggest earthquake it’s had in a decade on Monday 8/26/24.  Fortunately, there weren’t any deaths and very little damage.  So good to hear.  I think I’m headed back to Portugal soon.

Antalya

 

Well.

I had to leave Istanbul eventually.  I guess.

The reason I was able to stay in that apartment for so long is because it was (inexplicably) available for weeks at a time.  And boy, was it tempting to just stay there until my 90-day visa expired. 

But I told myself I would explore more of Türkiye on this visit.  So … I guess I’m packing up and getting on another plane.

Yay.

Getting my big suitcase down those stairs (!) left my right arm sore for days afterward.  Using an Uber/cab to get to Sabina Gokcen airport (the city’s smaller airport with the call letters SAW) had me feeling that same melancholy of leaving Istanbul again.  Waiting in line at the airport to check my bag when the kiosk(s) refused to acknowledge my reservation was exhausting.  Getting to the end of that line, having the woman wave me over (at least, that’s what I thought she was doing), and then immediately leave her desk left me standing there looking like a goober for several more minutes before getting some help.

So yeah.  That was a bunch of fun travel stuff.

I want to go back to Balat.

But, instead, it was onto a new place.  Which is a good thing.  Right?

The flight from SAW to Antalya took about 1 ½ hours, an easy trip.  After waiting too long to get my bag, I grabbed a cab and proceeded to my new home for the week. 

My first impression of the city: this is really not Istanbul.  I know that is an obvious statement to make.  Istanbul is an ancient, unique city and there was no reason for me to think that the rest of Türkiye would look like one city.  But still … this place was a shock.

The wide tree-lined streets, the blocks of modern apartments, the lack of pedestrians on the sidewalks – all of it had me staring out the cab window in shock.  And then there are the mountains.  They are freaking gorgeous!  I can’t get over them.

My new host provided a picture of the building, which helped tremendously as most of the buildings in the area look alike.  The apartment is located above an Eczane pharmacy.  No, not that one.  The closer one (seriously, those pharmacies are EVERYWHERE – I think there are more branches of drugstores than there are grocery stores in this area).  I got inside without issue and into the elevator.  And then the confusion began.

The apartment was #14 on the 5^th floor.  But the elevator only goes up to 4.  Okay.  Got to the fourth floor and noticed that there was another set of stairs going up.  Really?  Here I was so grateful to be in a building with an elevator after having to deal with those horrible stairs in Balat.  Now you still want me to lug my stuff up an additional flight of stairs?  What did I ever to do to you, Türkiye?

Oh, but the fun didn’t stop there.  #14 was at the end of the hall.  The host had sent another picture of the set of two pipe fittings where the key was located.  Took me a minute to find them, then I spent another ten minutes trying to fit either one of the two keys into the two locks.  All of this while sweating buckets in a hallway where the motion-detecting lights keep flicking off after a few seconds, leaving me to figure things out in near darkness.  Sigh.

After some text exchanges with the host, taking breaks to wave my arms around like a madwoman to get the lights to come back on, I finally got the door open … only to find that the apartment was even hotter than the hallway.  It was like entering the gates of hell – if hell was a spacious one-bedroom with a killer view of the mountains.

Unfortunately, with the air conditioning off and the blinds open, the blaring sun had super-heated the place.  I scrambled for the A/C remote before doing anything else.  I took the picture above (ooohh pretty) then quickly closed the blinds.  I think those puppies need to stay shut for the duration of my stay.

I knew from the picture on the website that I wouldn’t like the light gray wood flooring, but I love the gas oven and stovetop.  Though I wasn’t thrilled to realize there was no microwave and the electric kettle didn’t work.  Added to my other issues with the place and I just had to shake my head.

Admit it, Turks:  someone was on the hookah when they designed this building. “Yeah, dude (or the Turkish equivalent of dude)!  Let’s make a building with 7 floors have an elevator that only works on five of ‘em.  Keep everyone on their toes.  And why bother putting a toilet paper holder in the bathroom?  Who really uses paper in that room anyway?”

Complaints aside, it’s not a bad apartment.  I might just extend my stay to stave off another trip to the airport so soon.

With my stuff stashed and evening fast approaching, I got on the good foot to explore my new surroundings and find something to eat.  As is my way, I headed toward the water, the main draw bringing me to this city.

Antalya sits on the Mediterranean coast and has the air of a seaside city.  Walking along the wide, nearly deserted sidewalks just added to my sense of displaced weirdness.  The place feels like part Portugal (the high-rise apartment buildings) and part Cyprus (the shoreline) with a sprinkle of Sunny Beach, Bulgaria (the lack of foot traffic).  Throw some Turkish flags around and the occasional stray cat and you have Antalya.  It is very weird.  Not bad.  Just weird.

And why are there goats?  Who do they belong to?  Why, after seeing them once, have I not seen them again?  Where did they go?

Why, on my first day, did I already miss Istanbul?

(Man, has that place got a hold on me!) 

The first restaurant that I stumbled on turned out to be more high-end than I thought.  While I had a simple meal of shrimp followed by a piece of cheesecake, the restaurant offered something for the more luxury minded diner.  Their Gold Tomahawk Steak King Size went for 19,000 lira.  That’s $565 USD.  For a piece of meat with gold on it.  Meanwhile, taking a picture of the menu was absolutely free!

Walking back to the apartment in the dark, it struck me again that I wasn’t too concerned about crime.  Sure, I was in new territory and was an obvious tourist, but the Turks were as uninterested in me in Antalya as they were in Istanbul.  I ended up approaching the lone mosque in the city just as the call to prayer rang out.  I was relieved to hear that sound. It wasn’t as epic as the experience of walking along the Bosphorus and hearing the call from all sides, but it was still good to hear.

It is punishingly hot in Antalya.  I noticed it the moment I stepped out of the airport.  Even Istanbul wasn’t this hot and at least there was a breeze.  But being on the Mediterranean in August is an entirely different animal.  On my first full day, I went exploring after breakfast and it didn’t take long before the sweat was dripping.  Even my phone began to overheat and I’d barely touched it.

By Saturday, 8/17/24, the temps reached 100 degrees F by 11:15 a.m.  That struck me as a good reason to stay inside to get some writing done.  Under the air conditioner.

The Joys of Staying Put (Turkish Edition)

 

Things still go well in Istanbul.  I extended my stay in the apartment for a total of six weeks, making it the longest I’ve stayed in any one place over the last year.  Yep.  I am definitely ready to be housed.

It wasn’t only the move (and those dreaded stairs) that turned me off.  I had a salad one afternoon that did not agree with me.  It continued to remind me of its presence for DAYS afterwards.  I could not imagine dealing with another crazy cab driver, another trip through an airport, and another (albeit short) plane ride to another part of Türkiye with my stomach loudly calling me names the entire time. 

After looking for alternative means of income and AGAIN being rejected along with having the digestive issues, I took a week off from looking for a job or taking classes. A vacation from my vacation, if you will.  I spent much of my time lying on the couch.  I totally blame my host, Mehmet, for making all of his places so damn cozy.

Speaking of Mehmet, I had a couple of visits from him one week to do some repairs.  While the AC was fine in my apartment, the one across from me was having issues.  The balcony of my place has access to the units on the roof so there were people traipsing in and out on two separate occasions. 

                            Not exactly a memory for the ages, but I thought the sky was pretty that day.

The ease of getting my HBP meds still amazes me.  On one of my last trips to the city, when I asked the guy if he carried the meds he said “Sure.  How many boxes do you want?”  Can I tell you how much that this is not the norm in the states?  To get my meds there, I’d have to have a current prescription which requires a doctor’s visit and, unless I want to pay through the nose, some decent insurance.  Even then, there was no guarantee that the pharmacy would have gotten the shipment.  It was just a hassle from start to finish.

It was easier when I was employed and had the mail in service.  Though even then, I’d sometimes get substitutes without warning.  Or even worse, the drug would be backordered and no one would bother to tell me.  It’s not like I need this drug to LIVE or anything …

On this most recent trip to the pharmacy, the lady didn’t even have to go to the back or check her computer.  She just reached behind her and got the box.  185 lira for 28 pills – approximately 5.50 USD.  That would be about $33 for a 90-day supply while I paid $125 as a co-pay for the same amount in the states.  And while there are pharmacies everywhere in Istanbul, I just saw a report on how CVS and Walgreens are closing several of their locations in the U.S. Like the cost of the medication and the need for a car aren't obstacle enough, now people have to worry about being in pharmaceutical deserts.

While most things are still amazingly cheap things here, I have noticed some effects of inflation.  When I first arrived a few weeks ago, a simit on the street cost 10 lira – the same amount from last year.  Now the price has risen to 15 lira.  The price of other products in the stores have gone up as well though it’s still cheap compared to the U.S.

Though I’m familiar with the neighborhood and the surrounds by now, there’s always something new to discover.  I usually take Galata Bridge over the Bosphorus when I want to get to Istiklal Street.  One day I decided to walk past the string of restaurants underneath the bridge.  I chose one for lunch and had a lovely meal (and an adult beverage) directly over the water while watching the boats go by.

About a week later, I went to the same place.  One of the guys who worked there recognized me, shook my hand, then said “Cosmopolitan?”  I could not believe he remembered my order!  Granted, very few tourists look like me … but still.  I do love when that happens.

Another alternate trail took me away from the shore and my normal route by the Bosphorus.  This one ran underneath the car traffic and along the tram tracks.  I had no idea the tunnel had this artwork all along it depicting scenes from Turkish films over the years.