The Perfect Place?

 

In my year of travel, I’ve stayed in a handful of hotel rooms and at least 20 Airbnbs in seven countries.  In most of the places I’ve stayed, my biggest concerns are the cleanliness, the comfort of the bed, and the ease of using the kitchen.  Some places have been serviceable for only a short stay due to being too cramped or too noisy or what have you.  Some places had me attempting to extend my stay because I was so comfortable.  Some places I fled in disgust while leaving money on the table (I’m looking at you, Negril and Athens).

Then we get to the special category of places.  Ones that stand out so much that I start imagining a life lived within the walls.  Now, as much as I love Istanbul, none of the top three apartments I stayed in there (including lucky #7 in Balat) are big enough to live in long term.   I have an extensive collection of craft supplies that really need their own room.

The top place I’ve stayed in this entire year is (shocker) located in Funchal, but that apartment is way too rich for my blood (though I love it so).

Guess where the new number two place is located?

But first: getting out of the last place required waiting on Fine Ass Fabio to arrive to collect the key.  Once he did, notably not helping out with my bags this time, it was up to me to figure out how to bide my time until I could check into my new place. 

This is an issue I’ve encountered a bunch of times when I’m moving from one apartment to another in the same city.  Checkout is usually at 10 or 11 while the check-in time is 12 or 2 pm.  What to do in the interim?  This time I decided to hit a nearby brunch place to camp out and get some breakfast.

The Loft is this funky little café with boardgames and playing cards on all the tables.  They have a big menu featuring American, Portuguese, even African dishes all on the cheap.  I’d been there twice before and was eager to sample more of the menu … had they been open.  Apparently, the place was shut down for repairs (two guys appeared a few minutes after I did and started banging away at the façade).  And I’d just dragged all my crap over there.  Sigh.

The restaurant next door was open, an Italian place called Al Forno that didn’t serve breakfast.  I ordered some coffee and later a Caesar salad and garlic bread.  The meal was excellent and made the place another I’d have to visit again.

After a while, I hauled my stuff back up the street to hail one of the cabs in front of Forum Madeira.  We found our way to the other side of the city and slowly counted the house numbers until we arrived at #116.

As I whipped out my phone to get the check-in instructions, a man came down the stairs and opened the gate.  This was the host, Rodrigo, trying to give Fine Ass Fabio a run for his money.  As he grabbed my roller bag and started up the stairs, though, he mentioned how he lived next door to my place with his son.  Oh.  So much for that idea.  Not interested in single fathers, so I’d just have to enjoy the view.

Speaking of which … Hold up!  Hold up now!

The apartment is kind of amazing.  The outdoor deck, the huge bedroom, the spacious kitchen, the separate office space on the other side of the deck.  

Beautiful cherry hardwood floors.  Screens on the many windows (Europe has an issue with not providing any protection from bugs getting in the home).  No one stomping on my head. And, oh yeah.  The view.

Even my canine neighbor can't resist it.

There’s also a tiny upper deck patio that makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.  I’ve already gushed about the beauty of the island, shared plenty of pictures in this blog.  But the 360-degree views from this place are on a whole other level.

Portugal still translates in English to “them hills be a b!tch”.  So while the harbor is easy to see from the street, the reason it’s so easy is because of the elevation.  Going down that bad boy is never the problem.  Coming back up though? With groceries no less?  Ew.

Yeah, I would definitely get in my daily steps living in this apartment.  Fortunately, there are bus stops just a few feet away from the front door.  Number 31 or 31A will take you directly to Pingo Doce.  Unfortunately, there are barely any sidewalks in this part of town. Going down the windy roads means that traffic is usually inches away from you at any given moment. 

I do have issues with the place.  The bathroom is a decent size with a good amount of counter space though I’d really like to have a tub instead of a corner shower.  I’d prefer a double sink to the single one in the kitchen.  I have already expressed how much I HATE induction stovetops (but at least there’s an oven).  The fridge should open in the opposite direction as the way it is now is kind of awkward.  I’m not crazy about the lights hanging from the strings.

Besides all that though, I could really see myself living in this place.  I know I had intended to live on the other side of town in one of the more modern high-rise apartments, but there are too many amenities of this location to just overlook. 

There’s a vet hospital across the street.  As I’m very much looking forward to becoming a crazy Madeiran cat lady, I already looked up the nearest shelter where I can get a couple of kittens.  I just had to figure out where I was going to put the litterbox.  The bathroom is too small and I didn’t want to put it out on the patio because I wasn’t sure I wanted the cats to have outside access.  I didn’t want them getting down to street level and risk getting run over.

Yes.  The place is that serious.  I spent the first 20 minutes just wandering around in shock.  Within the first few hours, I was figuring out where my furniture would go, what I would keep in the apartment (the sofa and dining room table), and what had to go.  I was debating the placement of the smaller bed in the bedroom – I’d want to have a bed if my stepmom came to visit, but it took up a lot of space that I could use for other things.  My mind was just racing.

There was a brief hiccup with the water heater that had me concerned.  Rodrigo was quick to get the issue fixed (he’s the one who messaged me to tell me the hot water wasn’t on).  The heater is in my apartment so it took a couple of visits from the electrician before the issue was resolved.

I was able to extend my stay for another week.  Rodrigo suggested bypassing the website for a lower price and even gave me a 30-euro discount to make up for the heater issue.  When I gave him the cash and he gave me new sheets and towels, I asked if he would consider renting the place out long term.  He said no, that he often has friends staying over to assist in his music career.  I figured as much.  I had no idea what a place like this would cost to rent on a monthly basis, but it was probably nothing compared to what he made as an Airbnb host.  Oh well.  There was no harm in asking.

Even better, Rodrigo told me he would keep an eye out for any other rentals in the area.  I let him know that I had just started the visa process, still had no job or budget for a rental, and had no idea when I would be able to move in.  I don’t know if he’ll remember me once I’m gone (he’s a somewhat forgetful man), but I do like the idea of having an inside man on the Portuguese real estate scene.   We’ll see how it pans out.

New Week, New Apartment in Funchal

 

Sigh.

Another great apartment that I had to leave.  Seriously, other than the location, that was a great place which is why I couldn’t book it for longer. But, as I always hope, the next place may be comparable or even better.

There is a bank of cabs near the Madeira Mall.  Not far from the apartment, but it was still a hoof with all my stuff.  Always fun lugging that stuff up those hills.  Grabbed a cab and had yet another experience of the guy getting me close to the location but not being quite sure where it was.  I had to message the host for the final location.  She said that her neighbor would meet me with the key.

Soon a man approached me and introduced himself as Fabio.  Of course, his name is Fabio. The man is gorgeous with a great smile.  He also speaks English very well.

Fine Ass Fabio grabbed the handle of my roller bag and showed me up to the apartment, chatting along the way.  He asked if I was a digital nomad and I had to explain that no, I’m just a nomad.  Need a job for the digital part.  He asked about my travels and I told him about visiting Costa Rica and Türkiye prior to this and how I wanted to move to Madeira.  He had also been to Istanbul and mentioned how no one speaks English.  I told him I was trying to learn Portuguese, but that I’m very dumb.  He encouraged me to keep at it.

He showed me around the apartment and we continued to chat.  We’re getting along well so, of course he mentioned that he had a girlfriend.  Yep.  That’s sounds about right.  Anyone I’m attracted to is bound to be unavailable.  Anyone attracted to me is bound to be a parasite. 

It’s not fun to be me sometimes.

The apartment is another nice one.  Somehow, I neglected to get my own pictures so this one was taken from the Airbnb website.  The place is not as spacious as my last one (one bedroom/one bath), but it makes up for that in location.  I was back to being near Forum Madeira and it is still the area I want to live in.  Still not sure I can afford it but …

Fine Ass Fabio shook my hand again and let me know that he lives downstairs if I were to need anything.  By the time I did need something, I wasn’t in the best position to ask him.

The first time I stepped into the shower, I discovered that the water refused to get warm no matter how long I kept it on.  Oh no.  I immediately had flashbacks to Jamaica.  Fortunately, the water was the only real issue with this place (unlike that shack in Negril) so I figured I’d contact the host.  Fine Ass Fabio had mentioned that she, Maria, was in South Africa.  I still chose to contact her since I didn’t have his number and wasn’t exactly sure which downstairs apartment was his.

After some back and forth, we figured out that the water heater wasn’t plugged in.  Why?  Is that really saving any energy if the apartment is unoccupied?  I don’t know since I’ve never encountered this issue before.  Once I got that sorted out, the rest of my stay was fairly uneventful except for the noise.

There was construction going on in the apartment above me.  Not fun to deal with while trying to write, but it’s pretty typical for the city.  Cranes dot the skyline all over Funchal as they did back during my first visit last year.  The first picture below is of a hotel under construction back in March.  The hotel is open now, March 2024, and looks a lot different.

There is a restaurant called Marisqueira O Barque at the beginning of the trail that serves great seafood.  Don’t go there unless you’re really hungry, though, because they will give you all the food.  Then they have the nerve to offer you the dessert menu!  I ate there the first time back in March, choosing the place again for lunch one day since it was close to the apartment.  It had been raining off and on for the last couple of days so as much as I wanted to walk, I am not a fan of being wet all day.

Had a great meal (salmon and all the vegetables), bread, a comped appetizer, a couple of drinks, a HUGE piece of cheesecake and a cappuccino.  I was stuffed and I hate feeling stuffed.  Good food though for a decent price.  I waddled over to the counter to pay.  While the lady was pulling up my bill, she asked if I wanted some of the poncha that the bartender was stirring up (just a reminder: poncha is a local drink made of fruit juices and ALL the booze).  I had already eaten too much and I had the mint in my mouth that came with the coffee.  She said it’s just poncha and dished me out a little cup.  Can I tell you that poncha don’t care ‘bout no mint?  That stuff was just as fruity and strong as ever.  Good stuff that.  Poncha!

More Funchal Fun

 

While in my seaside high-rise apartment, I had decided early on not to extend my stay.  I looked into getting into my favorite place on the other side of Funchal, but it was booked up for the next month.  Not that I’m surprised.  Still a little disappointed, though.

No matter.  There are a surprising number of rental units on the island.  As long as I could stay in the city or surrounding area and the price didn’t give me a heart attack, I was willing to explore more of the island.

I packed up and trudged to a nearby cab.  As we traveled further up the hills, the amiable cab driver asked where I was from.  He then told me that while he had been born in Madeira, he’d lived in South America for forty years before returning to the island.  The conversation turned as we both tried to find the address of the new place.

Why is this such an issue on the island?  The hosts give me an address over the Airbnb app and it is all I have to guide the cabbies. Most of the time they can find the street, but the addresses are too vague to give any clue as to where the place is. The cabbie stopped by the side of the road and I thought he was dumping me there figuring we were close enough.  I got out of the cab only to find that he had disappeared.  The hell?

Turns out he had gone to the nearby gas station to ask for directions.  We were close to the apartment, but it was one tier down the hill.  He got me there, not charging me for the time we were stopped, and helped me out with the bags.

The host’s daughter was actually standing by the gate to the apartment, waiting for the cleaning people to arrive as they were running late.  I’d already gotten permission to drop my bags off early while the apartment was cleaned. 

Getting into the building is a windy, annoying nightmare as some of the elevators don’t work.  Daughter and I found this out the hard way as we tried two separate banks of elevators before hitting one that worked.  There were two elevators but only one was in service and could only be accessed from certain floors.  There were stairs outside of the building leading to every floor except the 5^th floor.  Which is, of course, where we needed to go.  Fun! 

Disregarding that pain in the butt, the place is … awesome!  This is just the layout I want for my new place.  Two bedrooms, two baths, a spacious living room and a separate kitchen.  Though, I do have a few notes. 

Back to my issue with bathrooms – tub in the main bath, yay!  Half-partition on the tub, no. The door to the second bathroom opens in the wrong direction (there’s a stopper in both bathrooms to keep the door from swinging into the toilet), even when there’s plenty of room on the other side.  I would lose the bidet in the main bath for more space.

I’m also not crazy about the gray hardwood floor (I would prefer a brown shade over the gray).  The place has an oven, which is great, but it also has an induction cooktop.  I’ve encountered these things far too many times on my journey and I STILL don’t like them.  Give me a good old gas stove or even an electric range and I’m straight.   Even with my issues, the place is just what I’m looking for.

The Madeira Shopping center is in walking distance.  It is a busy living mall with a Continente located on the lower level (as Pinga Doce is like Publix in the U.S. south, Continente is more aligned with Target – even down to their logo).

While there is much to see in the mall, that’s basically all there is in the area.  It’s just a bunch of houses with the occasional store.  If you don’t have a car, it’s expected that you will take the bus or grab a cab to get anywhere.

I learned this on my first full day in the apartment when I went out to explore.  After walking a good half hour towards the water, I realized there was no easy way for me to get there.  I could clearly see the water from the apartment (there are great views all around the place), but the city was miles away down windy routes that didn’t always have sidewalks.  Since I’m still too cheap to take taxis everyday and there is no way I’m driving in Portugal (despite the number of car rental places and dealerships all over the place) I would FINALLY have to dip my toe into learning the bus system.

There are two bus stops in short walking distance from the apartment, so I picked one and took the leap.  My phone told me that the #8 would take me down to the shore for the price of 1.95 euros (why not 2 euros? I don’t know.) for a single journey. 

After a short wait, the right bus arrived.  I got on after another woman to see how to pay.  She, like most residents, used an app on her phone that she just scanned for entry.  Some others had a physical card that they scanned.  Tourist-me had to shell out the euros, then wait for my receipt and my 5 cents in change before choosing a seat.  I sat there grinning like an idiot during the journey and feeling like Lisa Simpson on her first solo bus trip.  I just hoped I didn’t get lost like her.

The Simpsons S09E24 - Lisa Takes The Bus | Answer Me These Questions 3, Area52 #thesimpsons #cartoon (youtube.com)

I made it to Funchal and, after my lunch and walk, went back to the same bus stop for the return trip.  My mistake was in not finding a bus stop on the opposite side of the street.  There is a definite stop point on the route where everyone has to get off.  We reached that point (taking me back to where I’d started my walk to the bus stop), and everyone had to get off.  At least there was one other person who’d made the same mistake and we both got back in line to reboard (and repay).  You live, you learn.

Spring in Funchal

 

This move feels weird and I can’t explain why.

Yay!  I’m returning to Madeira!  Getting out of the Turkish cold and back to the place I consider home.  Why, then, was it so hard to leave the apartment in Balat?  Why, as I was traveling to the airport and getting on a plane, did everything feel so ... off?  I wanted to think it was just because I didn’t want to deal with another airport for a while, but there was more to it than that.

Once again, I had gotten comfortable.  I didn’t want to be displaced again, not even to return to Portugal. 

Part of that sense of comfort extended to my wallet.  The housing, food, and restaurants cost mere pennies in Türkiye.  While still cheaper than the U.S., Portugal is very expensive in comparison to Türkiye.

But I didn’t want to risk having any visa issues (no problems with immigration in Istanbul) and my Schengen days had reset.  So, it was back to the place I didn’t want to leave back in November.

Five hours from Istanbul to Lisbon airport.  I had to buy a separate ticket to the island since trying to get there on one ticket required insanely long layovers in airports I’d never even heard of.  It’s still way too expensive to get to the island when you have luggage, but what are you gonna do?  It's not like I can swim there so …

Grabbed a taxi to a new place on the west side of the city.  At least this cabbie knew where the place was so we weren’t driving around looking for it like I’ve already experienced too many times on the island. I had to wait outside for maybe 10 minutes for someone to let me in.  Two ladies approached and showed me to the entrance of the high-rise apartment.

After fumbling the keys to the front door, we got inside and climbed into the tiny, cramped elevator with all my crap.  The ladies were only about 5 feet tall while I’m 5’9”. They barely spoke English; I barely spoke Portuguese.  I’m dog tired and they’re staring up at me and grinning.  The whole thing was bizarre.

We got off on the floor and they again fumbled with the keys while talking to each other and speaking through their phones to translate info to me. Turns out, it was the wrong apartment.  We’d gotten out on the 6^th floor instead of the 8^th.  As we climbed back into the elevator, the ladies gasped at each other.   We all laughed as even I figured out what they were thinking.   We were essentially trying to break into someone’s apartment.  Good thing they weren’t home. 

Got to the right floor and after even more fumbling (the locks are tricky and I had issues with them all week) we arrived at the place.  The ladies, using the bad translation device on their phones, showed me around.  I figured out pretty quickly that the place had been sitting for a while.  One of the ladies had to turn on the faucet in the bathroom just to make sure there was hot water. 

The place is … okay.  I don’t like the cold white tile, the kitchen is basically a shelf with little counterspace, and the place is just one long hallway.  The bedroom is a decent size for Europe and the bathroom has that rarest of things – a tub with a shower curtain. 

The bathroom also has a feature that I have never seen before.  You need to twist the big doorknob above the toilet to flush.  Pretty but odd.

The real star of the show is the view from the spacious balcony.  Not only do you have the ocean on the right, but the mountains to the left and the tennis court and swimming pool just below.  Very nice.

My first morning back on the island got off to a weird start.  With no food in the house, I figured I’d go out to breakfast and then shop for the basics – pretty standard for the first day in a new place.  It looked to be a lovely sunny day on Madeira until I left the apartment.  The building has motion-detecting lights just like the apartment in Istanbul.  Except these weren’t working.  I’d just arrived and wasn’t familiar with the floor layout yet so I just kept moving around in front of the apartment door to try and activate the sensors.  Nothing worked.

I flicked on the flashlight on my phone (an infinitely handy feature) and found my way to the elevator – which also didn’t work.  Now wait a minute.  I knew the power wasn’t out in the apartment as I’d had lights and the internet with no issues.  It was the just the general building that was out.  Okay.  I guess I’m taking the stairs.

Immediately upon opening the door, I nearly ran into an older man just standing in the landing.  I muttered a “bom dia” and quickly skirted around him.  I still have no idea what he was doing.  It’s not like the door locked behind me so he wasn’t waiting for someone to open it for him.  I was disoriented enough.  I couldn’t also deal with his issues.

I carefully made my way downstairs and managed to find the way out.  I made it into the bright sunshine, my opinion of the apartment getting lower by the minute, until I remembered the killer location of the building.  Just across the street is the open-air mall of Forum Madeira, there are taxis all around in case I needed them, and it’s a short walk to Jardin Panoramico, the scenic walkway by the water that I fell in love with on my first visit to the island.  What’s a little power outage in the presence of all that?

The week went by incredibly fast.  Madeira is as gorgeous as ever, reminding me every second why I want to live in Funchal.  There were a couple of issues that did mar the first few days though.

First off, Istanbul has tendrils.  That’s part of why I keep going back.  I arrived on Madeira, still on Turkish time (3 hours ahead of Portugal), and instantly lamented the lack of stray cats.  Why is it so quiet here?  Oh right. No mosques.  Not enough narrow two-way streets with cars constantly honking to get past each other either.

It’s nuts.  As soon as I arrived in Istanbul back in November, I missed Madeira.  Now that I’m back in Madeira, I miss Istanbul.  I guess it will just take me a while to get reacclimated.  Only to repeat the cycle in three months. 

And this is my life now.

The second issue resulted from my first night on the island.  I was in a new bed in a new place and it was a bit too warm for sleeping, even with the window open.  The next night I set up the fan to remedy the situation and woke up in the morning with a sore throat.  That quickly progressed into a full-blown cold as the winds picked up in the city.  Still sunny and mostly warm, but the temp changes from morning to afternoon had me battling phlegm for the first few days.

The temperature in Türkiye would get up into the high 50’s on some days.  Any day above 40 with no rain was a good day.  Madeira temps hover in the high 60’s.  So, of course, I come to the warmer clime and immediately get a cold because … yeah.

We Now Return to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

 

                                                                        Istanbul Airport

Yeah, well, that wasn’t the end of the matter.

After yet another flight to Istanbul, another cab ride back to the apartment in Balat that I had recently vacated, and hooking up all my electronics again, I discovered there was still more paperwork to sign.  The lawyer contacted me with news of more last-minute changes.  Glad that our communication was written out so she couldn’t see me rolling my eyes and sighing, I told her where I was and that there was no way in hell I was heading back to the states any time soon.  She suggested that the father, as the executor of the will, could sign in my stead.  Yeah.  Do that.  Whatever.

Don’t get me wrong.  I was pleased (is that the word?) to even be mentioned in the will.  My aunt and I had not seen each other in decades.  While she was technically my god-mother, neither of us had made much of an effort to stay in contact.  I only heard from her again after her husband died a few years ago. 

It’s just that repeatedly dealing with lawyers and everything being rush-rush after months of zero activity just had me kind of anxious.  It didn't help that I found out this latest news after getting off yet another long-haul flight.  I was eager to put all that away and get back to finding a life for myself.

After a few more arrangements, the matter was finally settled.  I also settled quite easily back into my routine in Türkiye.  Looking for jobs, writing, trying to finish my seemingly never-ending data analysis course on Coursera.  The usual. 

I’d added some more money to my phone's esim for Türkiye, but it turned out to be unnecessary.  Google Fi continued to work when I got off the plane.  I thought initially that they had reestablished my international service because of the new sim card I’d installed.  But, no, I bought this card after Jamaica (thanks!) before my last trip to Türkiye.  I guess they reset my roaming period after being in the states for more than a week.  Well, time to take full advantage of it before they cut me off again because, no, I have no interest in spending any more extended time in the U.S.

I’ve never called Istanbul a quiet place.  I’ve always referred to it as chaos in city form.  Below is a picture of some of that chaos.  The walk to Sultanamet from Balat is a tricky one.  The city is trying to make it easier by laying down sidewalk.  They were working on the project when I first visited the neighborhood last year and have made some progress.  The work crews are still there, though, and the area is currently even more of a mess.

 

There is a shared courtyard behind trusty #7 in Balat right outside of the bedroom.  I’ve seen people playing ball there, hanging out clothes to dry, and using the area to feed animals.  The animals are where this space becomes a problem.

The cats are everywhere in this city and are a big part of its charm.  Not so much when they are screeching in the middle of the night, particularly during this time of year.  Spring is almost here.  Time to make little cats.  It’s one thing to hear a single cat in heat outside of my house in Georgia.  It’s an entirely other matter to hear multiple cats all around the apartment in surround sound.

The birds are another part of what makes the city special.  The seagulls are a welcome part of the skyline, hovering over the water or fighting with each other over scraps of bread on the ground.  But when they all decide to squawk at the same time, I swear the sound makes me feel like I’m in the jungles of Costa Rica again.

And then there’s that damn rooster.  There’s a chicken coop in that same courtyard.  Every morning, before the call to prayer, after the call, sometimes during the call, that rooster is making a ruckus.  Like I wasn’t already awake.

I really need to kill that bird.  Kill it, eat it, and mount its head on the wall of my new apartment.

Add all of this noise to the honking cars, the snoring of one of my neighbors, and the regular calls to prayer and sleep was not always the easiest thing to do in that apartment.  This left me with too much time to think when all I wanted to do was sleep.

I’d think about all the places I’ve been, about how razor sharp my memory has become over the last year.  Some random event will pop into my head like a road I passed through or a meal I had and instantly I would know where I was when those things happened.  I’d end up giggling in the dark at the memory.

But the good thoughts would only last so long and then I’d be plunged into existential dread.  I still want a stable home, but to attain one I need a steady job.  Multiple sources have described this as a particularly horrible job market.  The rise of AI concerns me while I try to establish a writing career as does my struggle to stay focused.

Living in Portugal is still the goal, but I know full well that the country doesn’t care about my plans.  There have been a lot of changes in the government recently that I’ve been monitoring.  They look to end their tax incentive programs for foreigners if they haven’t done so already.  The price of everything is rising there as it is everywhere.  I don’t know if I’ll make enough at the job I don’t even have yet to survive there.

I’m doing okay for money so far and for that I’m grateful.  I know there are people who are seriously struggling right now.  But, with nothing coming in, the money will eventually run out.  I don’t want to get so desperate for a job that I end up back in the states having to start over from scratch.  And even if I did move back, getting a job is still not a guarantee.   

The world still feels like it’s heading straight into the crapper, doesn’t matter where I am when it happens.

I sometimes feel like I’m on the cusp of figuring things out, but I just can’t make all the right connections.

I don’t know.  Being alone so much has my mind racing sometimes. 

Fortunately, the days keep me too occupied to worry so much.  Just navigating the streets of Balat is a full-body, deep thought endeavor.

Handling Some Business in the States

 

Time for another mini tantrum.

I did not want to leave Türkiye so soon, particularly because I was still fuzzy on the visa restrictions about coming back.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, the country dropped its visa requirements for Americans and I wasn’t sure how that would affect me.  My Schengen days weren’t quite reset yet and I wasn’t interested in staying in the states for too long.

I’d already paid for another week in the apartment.  Yes, the cost for accommodation is pretty cheap in Istanbul, comparatively speaking, but that’s still money I didn’t want to leave on the table. 

And, as always, there was the whole mishigas of navigating airports, getting on yet another international flight, and returning to the states – things I wasn’t ready to do yet.  The whole situation put me in a foul mood.

Still, I packed up and headed to the airport.  I was slightly wary considering the wrong turns my last taxi driver made in taking me to the cargo loading area for Turkish Air, but this trip went off without a hitch. 

Something to note that I encountered at the airport.  I wanted to have one last simit before I left the country, so I picked one up at Simit Sarayi (translation:  Bagel Palace, a local chain).  A simit on any street in Istanbul is ten lira – the equivalent of 33 cents USD.  At the airport it cost 65 lira.  I know airports put a markup on all their goods, but selling a single bagel for six times the normal amount should be illegal.  The cappuccino I ordered was even worse – it ended up costing more than the entire breakfast I’d had that morning.

Highway robbery, I tell you! (Airport robbery? – whatever)

Back in the states (sigh), I landed in Raleigh, North Carolina as opposed to ATL.  This was a new airport for me and I hadn’t been in Raleigh since I was a kid so I had no idea what to expect.  Knowing I was heading to ATL afterwards, I didn’t bother to rent a car for this short trip.  Those things are expensive and I had no interest in trying to navigate a new city. 

I specifically chose a hotel that provided shuttle service from the airport and was located close to the law office.  I stood outside the airport in the bracing night air, waiting for a shuttle that never came.  It was after midnight after all and I had no idea how late the shuttle ran.  After a good twenty minutes, I said “screw it” and called an Uber.  I figured it was a gamble to find anyone driving this late at night but Iucked out.  A dude picked me up and deposited me at the hotel a few miles away.

The hotel did have a shuttle service that came in handy when it was time for my appointment the next day.  I was trying to catch an Uber but the app wouldn’t work for some reason.  Hey, free transport is always better, although dinghy me didn’t get the guy’s number so I could call him to pick me up afterwards.  The law office was indeed close to the hotel, but it was bit of a hoof.  Oh well.  Since Uber still wasn’t working after my appointment, I figured I had nothing else to do with my day.  The weather was reasonable, so I got on the good foot.

Fortunately for me, most of the trip had sidewalks and there were plenty of commercial areas along the way.  I stopped for lunch and bought some books for the trip back to Europe.

The next day it was back to Atlanta and all that involves.  At least this time I arrived on a domestic flight, so no international shuttle or customs to deal with.  I’d also arrived in the afternoon, so plenty of time and daylight to get my business done.

The Raleigh Marriott was almost identical to the hotel I stay in while in Georgia, right down to the area where they serve free breakfast every morning.  There’s always a TV playing in that area that I do my best to avoid.  It serves as a reminder of all I leave behind when I board a plane to cross the pond.

The headline in North Carolina was a couple of women who got shot while walking in their neighborhood.  As far as I can tell, the attack was unprovoked.  I tried to do some more research on the aftermath while writing this post but … sigh.  Apparently, I wasn’t specific enough on which shooting I wanted to investigate.  There were so many reports of shootings that happened in Raleigh in February 2024 that I couldn’t narrow it down to the one I was looking for.

Switching to the TV in Atlanta, I knew ahead of time to ignore everything on screen.  That TV seems to perpetually be stuck on Fox News spewing some garbage.  Then the commercials for divorce lawyers and prescription drugs assault my ears and I find myself eating faster just to escape the noise. 

Anyway, on to the business of being in Atlanta.  I already posted about doing my hair, an all-day activity.  I also got my eyes checked, which I hate doing, but my eyeglasses are looking a little worn.  Time for a new prescription, especially considering that the last one was from 2019 after I lost my glasses in the ocean in Mexico (good times).  The sight in my right eye is slightly better this trip.  I’m used to my eyes getting worse with age, so this was a bit of good news.

I also got my taxes done in an office after trying to do them on my own.  Since last year was … unusual to say the least, I was a little lost on what paperwork I’d need to show.  I stopped by a tax office to find this out, had to go back through all the paperwork I could find, then bring all of it back to that office.  It took a minute to do, but at least that’s out of the way.

The rest of my week-long stay was my own so I found ways to keep myself busy while I pondered my next move.  That Saturday was particularly gorgeous so I decided to take a walk along the Noonday Creek trail.  The entrance to the trail is not far from the hotel though I’d only discovered that the last time I was there.  Unlike my previous exploration, I followed the trail all the way to the end this time and was stunned to find myself on Main Street Woodstock.

I stopped at a crowded burger place for lunch (not bad) between bouts of just wandering the area.  The heart of Woodstock has been set up like the walkable city it used to be when first established.  Apartment complexes and condos are sprouting up all around the restaurants and small boutiques that line the street. Still no grocery stores in walking distance, though.  That was the only thing really missing from this setup, but otherwise it was pretty idyllic.

Walking along the trail on the sunny day, I’ll be damned if Woodstock wasn’t charming me again.  It reminded me why I have always referred to the place as fair Woodstock.  It was such a nice day, it made me think that maybe the world wasn’t burning.  Maybe the U.S. is not so different from Türkiye or Portugal, that it was, in fact, livable. This place is really nice.  Maybe I should move here!

No.  No.  No.  No.  It’s still too expensive and violent in this country.  Without my high-paying job, I couldn’t even afford the house I just sold last year.  And I have no interest in finding another corporate job just to maintain the house.

I didn’t sell that house and leave the area because it had gotten run-down or because I grew to hate it.  I still love fair Woodstock.  Just not enough to stay.

So, after accruing an expensive week-long car rental bill and an even more expensive hotel bill, I paid for an equally extravagant plane ticket and headed back to the airport.  I was in line to check my bag and got a text from a number I didn’t recognize. It seems there was even more paperwork to sign.  Seriously? Not only had I flown in from Türkiye to sign papers in Raleigh, I’d had to electronically sign more a couple of days later.  I had been in Atlanta for a week and considered that business settled.  Now, I’m literally at the airport about to leave the country and this comes up again? And, just like the last two times, I was expected to drop everything to get this done yesterday.  People do have lives you know!

Needless to say, I was a little perturbed.  I whipped out the computer at the airport, signed the papers (again) and boarded my flight hoping that was the end of the matter.

Hair Care on the Road and a Rant About European Bathrooms

 

                                                                     Camille Brodard for Unsplash

Though 2023 has been the most amazing year of my life, not everything has been peachy.  I have done my hair dirty this year.

A little background on me.  I have had natural hair for the last 15 years (I can’t believe it’s been that long!).  What that means is that my hair is not chemically treated to make it straight.  It is very long, very curly, and it is my personal pride.  My hair is life.  My hair is love.  Can you feel the love tonight?

My hair is also a challenge while on the road.  I knew it would be this way.  What with the washing, detangling, deep conditioning, and twisting, the process would take hours when I was living in Georgia.  When I still worked in an office, I would only go through this once a week on Sundays.  When covid hit and I wasn’t leaving the house so often, the schedule changed to every two weeks. 

During my travels, the process is greatly reduced.  I don’t have access to my hood dryer for conditioning.  Additionally, I’m dealing with foreign water, which can sometimes be harsh, while using products that aren’t necessarily designed for my hair.  I foolishly thought I could get away with doing the bare minimum of washing and detangling every two weeks.  Um … no.

Turns out, all that extra stuff I was doing with Indian herbs and homemade conditioners wasn’t so extra after all.  Those were necessary steps to keep the hair happy.

I’ve been coloring my gray hair with henna for years.  I chose to use it because it is all natural (pure henna is just dried, ground up leaves), it acts as a protein treatment to strengthen the hair, and I like the color.  The last treatment I did was in February 2023 at the latest.  This picture (02/24) is after a year of growth and what is known as a metric buttload of gray hair.

I’m quite saddened.  I don’t think I can pass for a 20-year-old anymore, dear readers.

Especially not since I turned 50. 

(What’s up with that?)

I considered just letting it grow out and eventually cutting out the red, but … I really can’t stand the gray.  I don’t want to put any chemicals in my hair (especially since I haven’t babied my hair in a year, so its condition isn’t optimal to even take the color).  As messy and time-consuming as a henna treatment is, I decided to do one during my latest trip to the states.

Doing this process in a hotel room without a tub was not exactly ideal.  But if being on the road for so long has taught me anything it’s that you gotta be able to adapt.  The mixing and application of the mud-like henna was easy enough.  Rinsing it out was always the problem.  The shower ended up looking like a crime scene, but at least the messiest part was done.

The results were spotty.  I wasn’t used to having so much new growth to cover and I should have adjusted my application method to compensate, but it was still a vast improvement.

But, alas, only the color was better.  After a couple of days, once the hair dried, I could see that it wasn’t just the gray that was making it look bad.  There were some definite short pieces that I could no longer lie to myself and say was new growth.  Skimping on the deep conditioners, treatments, and even my hair coloring came with a price that I'm only now acknowledging.

That’s broken off hair, stupid!  And it’s been doing that and feeling thinner for months.

Denial is truly a powerful thing.

It was then, as my newly washed scalp began to itch, that I realized that I usually clarify my hair before a henna treatment.   I had neglected to do so this time and had not truly cleaned the gunk off my scalp in a year.  Now I also had henna residue on top of all the buildup from the foreign products I’d been using.  This is Haircare: 101 and I failed it just as I failed my hair.

I have sinned and now I must do penance.  I pray that the hair gods forgive me.  It’s time to go back to school.

YouTube videos have reminded me of the virtues of protective styling, deep conditioning, and cleaning the scalp to promote hair growth.  I’ve set myself back at least a couple of years and I’m obviously still not in a stable, controlled environment, but I’ll do my best from now on to keep what hair I have left on my head. 

I can’t say that Europe makes that process any easier.  I’ve already mentioned the lack of black hair care products in most countries.  Portugal (fortunately) seems to be an exception to this rule.  While they don’t carry the product lines I’m used to seeing, there are quite a few items with pictures of big-haired black women on them.  Yet another plus to moving to the country.

Another issue I have is with European bathrooms.  This is one credit I will give to America for doing things better.  The setup in my house was very simple. I had a bathtub with a wall mounted showerhead and a shower curtain to keep in the water.  Easy, right?  Europe has decided to get complicated with its designs and I’m not digging it.

First off, most bathrooms I’ve encountered on this trip have drains built into the floor.  The reason for that is because none of the showers are designed to keep in water.  I don’t know why this is so difficult, but showering in Europe is made way more of an issue than it should be.  This is the bathroom from Naxos, Greece.  Pretty and artistic but messy. 

Secondly, and what I miss most during the rinse out process of doing my hair, is the lack of bathtubs.  I’ve encountered maybe three in my entire journey.  The Europeans are very fond of showers with a detachable showerhead.  The better ones will also have the big pancake sized showerhead directly overhead like this one in Ireland.

That was a decent sized, fully enclosed shower, a rarity in Europe and unlike the shower in Santorini.  This one at least had a shower curtain, but it was still tiny with a low ceiling.  At 5’9” with a foot of hair, I had to commit an act of contortionism to get through the shampooing process.  A taller man would have had to hunch over to get anything done.

Then there’s this one from Mykonos.  Just … why?  You know people use water in this tiny little space.  Why not just enclose the whole thing to keep the water inside the tiny little space?  Why is this concept so hard to understand?

I’ve seen a few setups like this one in Sofia, Bulgaria.  I can’t tell you how much I hate those partial partitions.  Seriously, just get a shower rod and curtain.  That would solve so many problems.

Needless to say, for the sake of my sanity (and my poor hair), I will be looking for a new home with a decent shower set-up.  Finding a tub in a European apartment might be like finding a unicorn, but that won't stop me from trying.

Balat Welcomes Me Back

 

I was more than happy to leave that tiny apartment.  Too much noise and not enough space for me.  I was able to book a place in the Balat neighborhood and I was thrilled.

A quick taxi ride across the Bosphorus and I was back on the same street I’d stayed on last year.  The new place was even owned by the same host.  Force of habit had me trying to get into the old apartment (#7) when someone called my name.  Mehmet, the host, greeted me at the door and showed me to the new place (#12) just a few feet away.  He helped me inside before wishing me a pleasant stay.

I knew this wasn’t the same place I’d rented last year, but it was amazingly similar and just as homey.  Good thing too since the weather kept dropping to below freezing and making me a lot less eager to get out in it.  Most days I sat at the table in the warmth checking the temperature online. Can we at least get up to 40 degrees F so I can go outside without having my toes go numb? Then, when I would go out, I’d see people just sitting out in that 40-degree weather.  At least I was moving around and generating some heat.  “But I have my cigarette and my cup of tea,” said the Turks.  Seriously??

The neighborhood is just as busy and colorful as I remember it, only now everyone was bundled up from the cold.  I discovered some new restaurants, funky little holes in the wall with few customers but great food and atmosphere.  I had my beloved charcuterie breakfast a couple of times at a little place named Pops that was less than a five-minute walk from the apartment.

I stayed in that apartment for a little under two weeks but find it difficult to post much about that time.  There was nothing really exciting going on – dare I say that my life became rather routine.  I cooked, I studied, I washes clothes, I walked along the Bosphorus.  I was good in my homey apartment in Türkiye.  It was just another sign that I am ready to be housed again.  Hopefully my next trip to Portugal will see that happen.

The place at #12 was booked up, otherwise I would have extended my stay through February.  But the other place, the same apartment I rented last year upon my second trip to Istanbul, was available for another two weeks.  Cool.

In the easiest move of my entire journey (well, second easiest after Naxos), I switched from #12 to #7.   I had a huge grin on my face upon seeing the place again.  Granted, the other apartment was similar, but better in several ways.  The front door didn’t weigh 900 pounds, requiring a hulk-like strength to open and a narrow behind to get through.  There was only one set of windy, annoying stairs to climb as opposed to two.  The bathroom was wider and a lot easier to maneuver.  The living room was bigger and included a larger dining room table for my computer and stuff.

But there was still one thing that set #7 apart from #12 – I had sex there.  Twice.

And as I’m probably never having sex again, I like holding onto those good memories.

I quickly got cozy again and settled into my same routine.  All was good until I got a message from my stepmom regarding an urgent legal matter that needed to be addressed.  I had been named as one of the heirs to my deceased aunt's home.  The sale was being finalized in North Carolina and I needed to sign some papers.  

I emailed the lawyer handling the case and let her know that I was out of the country.  How was I supposed to do this?  She suggested finding the American consulate, consulting a notary, and having the paperwork shipped back to the states when finished.  Really?  Just the thought of doing all that was exhausting.  So, I figured it'd be better for me to go to their office and sign the papers in person.  I wasn't happy about it -- I had already paid for another week in that rental with the idea of returning to the states afterwards.  But ... there were other people involved in the sale and I didn't want to hold up the works.  And, of course, money.  So ... I guess I needed to book a flight.