Editor’s Note: Due to a good bit of socializing and the lack of a quiet place to work at the hostel, I’m a bit tardy in posting an update. Apologies. Moving on, here’s the lovely Flickr gallery.

This is an old fat Turkish guy on my street in Istanbul who cooks and sells meat sandwiches out of the back of a minibus from about 10:00 at night until 4 or 5:00 in the morning. Spanish Bryan is on the right.

The bus never moves during the day, the grill sits in the back, and it’s doubtful that he pays any taxes for the “restaurant.” When it’s time to cook, he just smiles, opens the trunk, and cooks. Half the grill smoke goes out of the van. He’s called a köfteçi, though I’m not sure what his name is. My roommate, Bryan, assures me he will always be there with grill at the ready when I come home late.

We talked to him last night and he said he lived in Oregon for a while until he had to leave the country because he got in to a knife fight and cut some guy up real bad. The cops were after him and he fled back to Turkey. He is both useful and awesome.

New Apartment!

I’ve just moved into an apartment in Istanbul with a Spanish architect named Bryan, a Turkish reggae DJ and English teacher named Hatice, and an American named Rebecca who works in some manner of human rights something-or-other.

It’s on the top floor of a building in an area called Osmanbey. My room is small, but the living room is great and huge and the roommates are cool. It’s gonna be good. There’s even a washing machine! And floral wallpaper to go with my pink room.

Bryan and I tried to go out to a bar last night in the area (he hadn’t really been out around here before) and found that our street is chocked full of these Turkish dive bars called “pavyons.” They have all-female staff and all-male patronage. We’re not sure if they’re whore-houses yet or not (they certainly look that way, but the internet implies otherwise), but I have faith that they will be their own blog entry in the future after some more research. Stay tuned…

The Kids are Alright.

That’s Bryan on the left and Hatice is below. We’re making a table for the apartment out of an architect’s table that Bryan got from a roving junk-seller guy in the street outside the apartment for five dollars. We’re also painting the fridge red. I might help Brian with an architecture contest.

What about Istanbul, though?

I spent the first couple days in Istanbul walking around to the tourist must-sees. It’s incredibly beautiful and energetic here. Certainly feels different than Central/Eastern Europe. The mosques play the call to prayer thing on loud speakers 5 times a day. There was a prayer spire (that is not what they’re called. Minaret maybe?) right next to the hostel that did it’s best to derail my afternoon naps. Probably what I get for being an infidel. That’s the wake-up spire on the right. Here are some pictures, featuring some of the aforementioned F-ing delicious food:

Plenty more to see in the Flickr set.

The last week has been a whirlwind of apartment searching, job searching, and international out-hanngery at the hostel and various places around town. The World House Istanbul hostel was a lot of fun. The guys working there, including Turkish Joe Monical (pictured), were quite cool.

The German Luke Skywalker Photographer

I met a 24 year-old German photographer named Franz von Bodelschwingh who has lived in Istanbul for the last year. Not only does he have arguably the best last name I’ve ever heard AND look remotely like Luke Skywalker, but he is the weekend staff photographer at a posh club called Indigo. We’re going to make a video together to play on the screens in the club, featuring a logo animation. Franz has a Canon 5D Mark II, which shoots amazing HD video.

My job tonight is to go with Franz to the club and help him shoot the video that we’ll use. So I get to go to an expensive Turkish club for free and shoot video of cute Turkish girls dancing all while gleaning inspiration for my animation from the club atmosphere. Better leave the New Balances at home and put on the Chucks. Way hipper.

The Iranian Connection

I met Amir at the hostel. That’s him on the left side of the picture with a German dude form the hostel. He is from Tehran, Iran. Nice guy. The best part of meeting Amir is that he opened my eyes to the possibility of potential overland travel to India via Iran and Pakistan. While not exactly the route that the State Department would suggest I take, it sounds really cool. Visa requirements to get in to Iran appear a bit prohibitive, though. Apparently I’d need to travel as part of a tour group through the country and the tours are quite expensive. We’ll see how it shakes out, though it seems way less scary and dangerous than CNN has led me to believe.

Psy-Trance Night

I met a crazy and quirky Turkish girl at the hostel who makes animal sounds during normal conversation and invited me to with her to a “Psychadelic Trance” party. She said she knows a bunch of people that work in production here that I could meet at the party. Done and done.

I misunderstood her and thought that the party was at someone’s house. After a confusingly cryptic phone call to her, I managed to get the name of the event: The Mind Manifest Project. I was able to Google it and figure out that it was at a club on Taksim’s main drag – not in a house. This is the damn flier for it:

I went and it was lame. Really expensive drinks, not too many people, and mm-tss-mm-tss trance music playing out of an admittedly killer sound system.

The most memorable part of Psy-Trance Disappointment Night, as it is now known, was meeting some Turkish dude wearing sunglasses inside the club that insisted I get on the floor and D-A-N-C-E. “Hey, man! Come on! Let’s dance!” Did he want to dance with me? Or did he just want me to dance?

“Okay, hold on. Let me just enjoy my beer for a bit, okay?”

“Okay! I’ll be right out there!” he gestured excitedly at sparsely populated dance floor.

Out he goes. He dances like there is no tomorrow. Flailing his limbs in a psuedo-cool raveboy flair, a wide swath forms around him.

I eventually find Animal Sound girl who is excited to see me. We talk for a little bit, and she introduces me to some of her Turkish friends. They are aloof and the place is too damn loud to talk anyway.

“Oh well,” I think. I continue milling about, talking to Animal Sound Girl on and off. I was good at milling before I left on a year long trip alone. After 7 months, I’m an expert.

Sunglass Raveboy comes back. “Hey! MAN! You aren’t dancing!”

“Yeah, I know, I’m talking to my friend here,” I say as I gesture to where Animal Sound Girl is, thankful for her presence.

“What? Who?” he shouts back at me.

I turn to look at Animal Sound Girl, but she is gone. I am abandoned with this nut.

Without missing a beat, he continues, screaming over the bone-thumping trance, “So are we gonna meet some CHICKS tonight?!?”

“I don’t see why not,” I reply non-challantly. Where the hell did that come from? At least he didn’t want to dance with me.

“Yeah! We need two chicks! We’re gonna meet them here! Then we take them home!”

The club had no more than 50 people in it. Lots of empty space. How could this plan possibly fail? Meet them, take them home. Bag ‘em, tag ‘em. About like buying groceries. “Sounds fail-proof to me.”

“Yeah!” he continues without catching the obvious sarcasm.

“Do you have a place we can take them to?”

“Nope. I live in an 8 person dorm room. Do you?”

“No, man! Dammit! This sucks! I think we’re going to need a hotel! Do you have money for a hotel?”

“Nope. You’d better find us girls with their own apartment, okay?” I tell him, talking to a child.

“Okay! Hey, look, you gotta start dancing, though!” Back off he flew to his place in the middle of the dance floor.

Fifteen thumping minutes of milling and random conversations later, he returns. “DUDE! Come here! Meet your GIRL!” I look over to where he’s pointing and, sure enough, there are two women there looking at us. There’s a guy standing behind them. All three look annoyed.

As we approach them, he goes to his girl and starts talking to her. I made cursory introductions with “my girl.” It is obvious this plan was doomed before Raveboy even started talking to these poor girls. They have zero interest in talking to Raveboy or me, just by mere association with him. I wish I could have warned them.

Raveboy is a goddamn freight train of enthusiasm. He’s not unattractive, either, but it’s no use. The pooch has long been screwed. I walked away, leaving Raveboy and his three Turkish victims to simmer for a bit. I spent the rest of the night talking and dancing “with” (trance dancing really doesn’t involve much touching or interaction with your partner, though you might look at each other occasionally) a spacey raver girl who calls herself “Crystal.” I felt stupid.

Animal Sound Girl was all over the place. “A fart in a skillet,” as my old boss would say. Her friends didn’t give a shit about me and she was just confusing. Raveboy was annoying and persistent. The drinks were more expensive than back home. Finally, the camel’s back was broken when a trance version of the Imperial Death March song from Star Wars came on. I left.

Upon return to the hostel, things immediately perked up. There was a huge group of French exchange students hanging out (see below), including a Mexican and a Colombian. The rest of the night was fun.

The Turkish Connection and my first steps in Asia

I met Meral indirectly through Jacqui at the hostel. Jacqui met French-Canadian professional pupeteer Anne and her brother at some other hostel while traveling in Turkey. Anne met Meral through Couchsurfing. Anne was going to spend the night at Merals, Jacqui was meeting up with them, and I was tagging along for a night out on the Asian side of Istanbul because I had nothing better to do. These are the girls, Jacqui, Anne, and Meral:

Turned in to a great night! Meral let all four of us crash at her apartment after we went to some cool bars in the Moda neighborhood. I challenged Meral to a sunflower seed-eating speed contest that was ridiculously lop-sided. She completely spanked me. I think I was on my second or third sunflower seed when she was finished her tenth. Jacqui apparently has video of it.

Moral? The Turks are friendly and giving. Don’t try to out eat them on sunflower seeds.

Once again, here’s the Flickr set! Enjoy! Gotta jet. I’m off to Franz von Bodelschwingh’s club for booty-shaking and video-making.

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