Kıyıköy

    This weekend Mom's rule came to mind – If possible, don’t plan a trip where you’ll spend more time traveling than at the destination. I’ve always thought this was a pretty good idea, and have tried to apply it.  On my first excursion out of Istanbul, today, I ended up breaking that rule pretty thoroughly.

     I’ve been glued to my Turkey guide for days, doing careful calculations about which destinations I can reach in what periods of time. Kıyıköy, a town on the Black Sea, I had marked as a ‘day trip’ – a mere 2.5 hour bus ride away. Today I woke up early and headed out, fully expecting everything to go wrong.

     To a certain extent, everything did go wrong. My anticipated traveling time each way expanded exponentially so that in my 13.5 hours trip, I had exactly 1 hour at Kıyıköy. Kind of silly, but kind of wonderful. As my college application outlined, the journey is more important than the destination anyway (my justification for a liberal arts education, particularly an expensive one).

    Today I encountered not a single English-speaker, and had innumerable pleasant interactions, gained invaluable knowledge about public transportation in Turkey. Some highlights:

-Stranded in Vize for two and a half hours. Described by my Turkey guide as an ‘attractive backwater,’ Vize was my stop between Istanbul’s main bus terminal and Kıyıköy. I arrived at noon, eventually ascertaining (with the help of every son, uncle, grandmother, bystander in sight) that the next van leaves not until 2:30. Furthermore, the last van back from Kıyıköy was to depart at 4:30. Alas! We all had a good laugh once my comprehension becomes evident.

    My time in Vize was enjoyable-  I crossed the street to a busy lokanta – an inexpensive restaurant with pre-made hot food. I requested soup, and the proprietor responded with the type of soup that day. Unable to understand, I was pointed to a seat. Whatever was in it was sufficiently disintegrated that I will never know- maybe thankfully, as liver, brains, tripe are real possibilities. After lunch I wandered through town a bit, perfecting the smile I return to stares, with intermittent success. I bought an ice cream cone from an extremely professional 15-year-old boy. An hour later I was at the bus station again, whiling away the remaining time reading my guide book.

-First successful use of a Turkish/squat toilet! Uneventful, until the automatic lights shut off.

spooky cave-church

-Whirlwind tour of Kıyıköy. I first circumabulated the town, viewing the bluffs, sea, cove with fishing boats. I had read about the cave-church, located west of town. I walked in that direction and began to ask everyone I passed for directions, ‘Affedersiniz, nerede kilise?’ I relied more on pointed fingers than verbal directions, but found it eventually. On my way back to the main street I poked my head down some alleys, spying men repairing nets, chopping logs. The main street is populated entriely by men sitting in clumps of 3-5 drinking tea, talking, sitting, watching. Uncertain of how to interact with them, I settle for a slight smile, a nod, and brief eye contact.

-Busride home. Having slept most the way there, I was surprised and pleased by the scenery on the way home. Pleasant, largely undeveloped and agricultural, I realized I could just as easily have been in rural Pennsylvania, or a number of familiar places. The tv was on the whole time, spewing the day’s election results (ugh, incumbent victory). Long-distance buses in Turkey characteristically have tvs played loudly throughout the journey, free drinking water (in little sealed cups), and an occasional distribution of rosewater. Similar to a mother squirting purell into children’s outstretched hands, the bus aide goes up and down the aisle and splashes rose water from a salad-dressing type bottle into everyone’s hands. It is unclear to me the exact purpose of this ritual, but everyone seemed to expect and enjoy it. It did smell very nice.

     In the end, a good day. I realized that there may be no such thing as a day trip out of Istanbul on public transportation, and I’ll allow an extra half-day at least next time. Although a little discouraged about my speaking skills (I had to rely on pantomiming much more than I had hoped), it was nonetheless invigorating to be without my usual ubiquitous crutch of basic English knowledge from my interlocutor. In some ways Istanbul is the most Turkish of cities, but in other ways it’s the least. My trip to Kırıköy was a good start in seeing what the rest of Turkey is about.