A regurgitation

In the end, Diana and I decided we’d visit Athens, Istanbul, and Amsterdam.

I’ll make it easy and divide everything into the correct sequence, instead of carrying on the usual conversations I make soaring around like a Mexican jumping bean.

Adrianne’s Big, Fat Greek Adventure

We arrived in Athens the afternoon of December 2nd, ecstatic with the change of air, scenery, and olives. On the way over to the city, we ran into a young gentleman. Walking around that evening around the acropolis, we ran into the same young gentleman. Strolling around the area under the acropolis, we ran into the same young gentleman, and since three’s a charm, we got a dinner and Amsterdam information out of him, since Martin was from Amsterdam.

Basically, Athens went by in a whirl of Acropolis, island, and ruins.

What was really interesting was the train ride over to

Adrianne’s Turkish Delight

leaving at 11 PM on the 4th, and arriving at 9:40 PM in Istanbul on the 5th. 22 hours of train riding. Since we all know how fond I am of riding trains for a long period of time, you can only imagine the internal conversations I was having with myself.

After switching train at 7:15 AM on the 5th at Thessaloniki, Diana and I were expecting smooth training until we’d arrive in Pythion, where bright-eyed, starry tourists are usually transferred into Turkey smuggling whatever goods the conductor happens to ask them to take.

However, at some point after Alexandropoulos everyone was asked to leave the train to board a bus. An hour later, Diana and I were left standing in the middle of a dirt road of, ostensibly, a town where the was barn of a building functioning as the train station, watching the bus driving off in a dust cloud into the distance. We sat in a large room with chairs for two hours with a mangy, adorable dog full of fleas for company before we boarded a one car train headed, we were assured by an intimidating man with a large semi gun, for Istanbul. And when someone is holding a huge gun, you don’t really ask for details, such as “Will they be serving a warm quiche to us?” or “Does the toilet flush automatically?” so I just left it at that.

(It turns out the toilet was the most smelliest place conceivably to man or a large manure incubus)

Not many people were on the train. A couple of cabins over was an Australian couple who is traveling for a year around the world, basically.

And then there was the crazy conductor, Haydar.

A couple of hours into our trip, probably when the conductor saw me tearing out the seat cushions, my hair, and gnawing on Diana’s appendages because the cursed train was stopping every 5 minutes for half an hour, Haydar came in to talk to us. Where are we from, how are we doing, where are we traveling, etc. By the second time he evidently decided he knew us well enough to pull me onto his knee, pass around cigarettes, and very vigorously declare his deep, exclusive, undying love for me. I could hardly blame his attraction, since I did have bags under my eyes that put black garbage bags to shame and I stunk to high-heaven.

Before we left the train, Haydar paid us a few more visits, giving us a map of Istanbul, his phone number, and several kisses on whatever exposed inch of skin he could find. We had a tearful, rather vocal farewell, and with that went into the big unknown of Istanbul.

The first full day there, we were lucky, since another Australian at our hostel accompanied us around the various mosques and palaces we visited. The next day, however, Diana and I had the pleasure of discovering just how challenging it is to be two girls in Istanbul.

Living in Rome, part of the bargain was that you would be getting some attention from unexpected people, mostly unexpected gentlemen. Or not so gentle. In Istanbul, these gentlemen were different because most of them were selling things. When a traditional approach didn’t work, they’d have to resort to comedy. Or clever sayings. So, all those cheesy hooks that were popular jokes in ummmm, 8th grade or so, were actually being used as business propositions, or just to get attention. These are a few of the things Diana and I heard when we were busy ignoring these people:

Lady, you broke something back here. My heart.
Let me help you waste your money!
Let my help you buy things you don’t need!
(After Diana refused a rug) I will buy you 2 kg. of earrings!
(Next time we walked past him) I will buy you 5 kg of earrings!
Let me see your eyes! I am looking for a good wife!

There were many, many, many more. While not threatening, I got irritated enough. Especially in the Grand Bazaar, where not only did you get this, but also several cups of tea into the bargain, so you were not only being bombarded with seemingly lamer and lamer advertisements, but you’re bladder was also ready to explode.

We were set to leave Istanbul on Friday, December 8th at 8 PM for Amsterdam. We spent the day walking around leisurely, taking our time, because the airport was pretty close by. At around 6 PM, when getting ready to leave, Diana and I decided to check if there was only one airport in Istanbul. As luck would have it, there are two, and the other one is considerably further away, on the Asia side, and of course we were flying out of there. However, with a taxi, we still had a chance to catch our flight.
There is one bridge linking the European Istanbul to the Asian Istanbul. Why only ONE bridge links these two mighty continents together in such a big city boggles my mind, but I’m guessing such trivial things as finances gets in the way of development. It’s like the Golden Gate Bridge, but white, and there is a constant stream of people on it at all times. And on either side of Istanbul, it seems as if every single car is always driving in its direction. It is like an intercontinental whore everyone wants to get on top of. Terrible simile.

That night it wasn’t much different. After we crossed, though, I thought we could make up time by taking advantage of the 3 lane freeway empty as far as the eye could see, except for the one semi truck in the middle lane. Our old taxi driver was kind enough to get in the lane behind this semi and stubbornly refuse to budge from behind it. I realized after he started braking at every sign on the bridges over us that he hadn’t the foggiest idea where the airport was. While I sat in the back of the car muttering, my forehead slammed against the passenger window because it was obviously all over, Diana was frantically urging him on. At one point he even reversed on the freeway to ask for directions from two men who happened to be sitting there. One might ask why there were two men sitting on the side of the freeway, but Diana and I were more concerned about why this driver was reversing when it was really damn obvious we needed to go forwards.

After missing our flight and spending on miserable night at the airport, we left in the morning for

Adrianne’s Amsterdanian Adventure (without L. Juan)

Amsterdam was lovely. It was also very, very full, and we had a hard time finding a place to stay. It’s basically a city of museums, canals, and the best pastries that were probably sent from heaven that God made when he was very, very pleased with his choir of angles. While absolutely charming, Amsterdam is also a city you want to go with when with a large group of people in order to have fun as possible. I had a great time with Diana, though, and on December 11th, we said goodbye as she headed over to Paris, and I went to spend the night in Brussels. But you already know that leg of the journey.

So that’s what I was up to. I reiterate: even though I only traveled for 10 days or so, it felt a LOT longer. We met a Swiss couple who traveled for 17 months. That would seem like a lifetime to me. And knowing me, if I’d ever embark on a journey like that, I would have had to have some sort of a body part amputated before the end of the third month.

Frank Sinatra said it best. It’s very nice to go travelin’ but it’s oh so nice to come home.