Turkish Delight ... Don't Mind If I Do

We arrived in İstanbul two days ago, and after three wonderful days here I am sorry that I have to say goodbye. The city, both old and new, is absolutely beautiful. The people have been extremely helpful and friendly (but not too friendly). We spent the first day mellowing out, although we dıd manage to go to the Giant Bazaar, a huge market where the prices start out astronomically high but always find a way to drop within reason (mainly after you have already decided you do not want the item).

We stayed right in the heart of old Istanbul, which is called Sultanahmet. All around us were beautiful mosques and huge palaces. I had the chance to see two or three extremely large mosques as well as the Topkapi Palace (the home of the Sultans of Swing). Imagine buildings that take up numerous city blocks, and seem to rise up into the heavens (the nondenominational heavens) and you have yourselves the mosques. We also took a tram into the newer more westernized part of Istanbul. There were shops everywhere selling everything from Nike gear to traditional Turkish fezzes. Perhaps the whole highlight of this new Istanbul excursion was the catfight I witnessed right in the middle of the street. Of course tepeeman does not condone fighting nor does he wish to see it happen, but these two twenty somethings had each other by the scalps and were yelling what I only believe could be the worst Turkish expletives at each other. A huge crowd gathered and it was a lot like the street fight in Rocky VI when Tommy Gunn thinks he can beat Rocky in a street fight. Anywho, it was exciting.

Today I spent around an hour in a Turkısh bath. It was quite an experience. I was handed a towel and told to follow this man that was speaking his slowısh Turkish (I didn't have the heart to tell him that no matter how slowly he spoke, I was never going to be able to understand Turkish). He takes me into this large sauna, and right away my glasses fog up. So now I can't see what is going on and the only directions I am receiving are being given to me in Turkish. Anyway, the guy leaves and I am now left with a bar of soap and a plastic bucket. I am trying to look at what the other guys in the room are doing, but my glasses are so fogged that I really have to squint to see anything. I think this really freaked out a lot of the older Turkish men who might have begun questioning my intentions for coming into the bath. I tried my best to make use of the soap and water, but I am still a little skeptical of my bathing ability. Hopefully my trip to the bathhouse won't end up as a segment on Turkey's Funniest Home Videos.

Next stop Bulgaria. Really looking forward to pushing on through Eastern Europe. I hope to post soon. Much love.

My Big Fat Greek Experience

Splat and I have not had much luck since arriving in Greece. While the city of Athens was beautiful and the island of Santorini has been wonderful, I am starting to doubt our chances of ever leaving here. We arrived in Athens on the 11th of February, and had planned on spending only a day or two exploring the sights. As it turned out, there was a transportation strike scheduled for the 13th. This meant that no trains, buses, or ferries, would be running on that day. Since we had planned on leaving Athens on the 13th to head to the islands, we were literally stuck. However, we realized that a few more days in Athens would allow us to map out the remainder of our journey and relax and unwind from the Africa trip. So on the 14th, we boarded an overnight ferry from Athens to the Greek island of Santorini. The ferry put us on the island at 4:30 in the morning on the 15th. We spent that day sleeping and enjoying the nice weather we had expected from an island getaway. As luck would have it, the 16th and 17th were not so nice. In fact, it is currently snowing in Athens and on the island (which it has historical done only twice in the minds of many of Santorini's residents). This of course may prolong our leaving the island since the ferries do not operate during bad weather. As of two o'clock this afternoon (the 17th) it is still undecided whether or not we will be leaving today. I guess this is all part of the experience of traveling on the other side of the world.

I have had plenty of time to reflect on the culture and the people of Greece, and although it may be a little premature, I am not thrilled with the hospitality or general attitudes of many of the Greek people we have encountered. I am not sure whether it is their attitudes towards Americans (a general give away when decked out in North Face attire), or whether passivity and politeness are traits that are frowned upon by a majority of European countries. Also, everyone (this is not an exaggeration) in Greece is a smoker. I believe it is customary for every child to receive a pack of cigarettes on their 2nd birthday. Right now I am sitting in an internet cafe and am forced to breathe the disgusting smoke infested air. This is not to say that I have not been forced to breathe the smoke infested air in every restaurant we have eaten in, the ferry we traveled to the island on, the bookstores, clothing stores, travel agencies, and generally every other public place we have walked into.

I am also in the process of checking into whether the words "excuse me," exist in Greek culture. Once I find out, I will be sure to let you all know. On a positive note, we have met a few nice people. Yesterday, Splat and I attempted to walk about 18 km to the town of Oia (ee-ah). This is a town in Santorini that offers the best view of the island. About an hour into our walk the sky darkened and the rain began to fall. We were forced to turn around and head back towards the place we were staying. It was a far walk, and my numerous attempts to hitch a ride had been unsuccessful. Just when I was about to give up, a nice lady and her mother picked us up off the side of the road. They were more than willing to drop us off in the middle of the town where we were staying. It felt good to know that there were some hospitable people here on the island.

I hope to figure out soon where and when I will be heading to my next destination. As soon as I figure it out I will be sure to let you all know. Hope all is well. Take care.

The Purpose of a Blog

Looking back on the past two weeks, I have come to understand the purpose of keeping a blog. In the techno-savvy world in which we live, a blog is a great way to keep family, friends, and the occasional internet predator, informed of my whereabouts and adventures. With that said, I apologize for the delay in my blogging activity.

As of this morning, I have begun the European leg of my trip. Instead of paying for food in lion's teeth and mosquito repellent, I now must buy food in the absurdly expensive euro. Despite such cultural setbacks, I am finding Greece quite enjoyable.

I will now attempt to summarize the past two weeks in Africa...

When I last wrote, I was in a rather nice town in the center of Namibia. The town, Swapkamound, is on the outskirts of the Namib desert. Splat and I were able to ride quads/4 wheelers/ATVs through the sand dunes of the desert. It was an awesome experience, and one that I would definitely do again.

Once we left the Namib desert we headed north to Etosha national park. It is the Africa's largest national park at almost 24,000 square km. It was this trip through Etosha that helped me compose "My top 10 reasons for Lasik eye surgery." These are as follows:

10. I could not see the giraffe
9. I could not see the oryx
8. I could not see the aardwolf
7. I could not see the kudu
6. I could not see the zebra
5. I could not see the blue wildebeest
4. I could not see the damara dik-dik
3. I could not see the warthogs
2. I could not see the European bee-eater
1. I could not see the lion

Although the prescription of my eyeglasses may help those people with good eyesight to see the moon from earth, I have had a hard time spotting some of the more mystical pieces of Africa.

After the national park, we crossed the border into Botswana. Our first night in Botswana was spent at a campground where local bushmen danced traditional dances for us. I was so inspired by the singing and dancing that I joined in. I will try to paint a picture of this experience in words, but I am sure I will not be able to do it justice. It is me and three men (who are wearing nothing but fig leafs over their crotches) dancing around a small fire. They have these shells wrapped around their legs which make shaker noises each time their feet hit the ground. The whole time I am trying to keep pace with them, and I am guessing that the guy behind me felt bad for me because no matter how hard I stomped my legs they were not making any noise, so to compensate he hands me a huge ostrich feather. All of a sudden this 60 year old bushwomen hops into our circle dance. Either she was so overwhelmed by the music or the fact that a white guy like me has such rhythm, she begins to shake uncontrollably. The three guys start taking the hot ambers and the ash from the fire and start rubbing it on her. I have no idea what is going on at this point, and believed that I was taking part in exorcism, so I start to fan the woman as hard as I can with the ostrich feather. By the time the dance was over, the lady was covered in soot and I had soiled myself. It was an awesome experience.

After Botswana we headed to Zimbabwe. Sarah and I threw ourselves off a three hundred foot bridge, which was a rush. We then drove 16 hours straight from Zimbabwe to South Africa. That is the much much abridged version of my time in Africa, and I am sure once the pictures get developed or uploaded, I can fill in the numerous pieces of the story that are missing.

Hope everyone is doing well. I miss and love you all, and will keep this blog thing going strong.

I am the Lion King

After much deliberation I have decided to end the blog formerly known as Pierre In, and start a new blog that chronicles the highlights of my travels through Africa and Europe. For those of you wondering how this change will impact my writing, we will just have to wait and see.

I arrived in Cape Town, South Africa on the 18th of January and spent most of the day just lounging around our hostel in an attempt to familiarize myself with the place. Cape Town looks a lot like most cities built near the ocean, and I would say that its architecture and set up is very closely related to that of San Francisco. It took only the first night for me to realize that I should be more careful when reading the reviews people write about accommodations in Cape Town. If I had paid more attention to these reviews I would have noticed that the one I chose had a tendency to be noisy on the weekends. Seeing as we arrived on a Friday, the next two nights were spent tossing restlessly as African adolescents partied below us until 5 in the morning. Needless to say, I am still trying to catch up on my sleep.

Finally on Sunday morning we met up with the overland tour group and guide we would be traveling with for the next three weeks. Our group is a United Nations-esque mix of people. Those who have come as far as Korea and those who have come from the not as far of Switzerland. I have been practicing my Swiss-German but it is not a functionally sound as my Korean. I look forward to talking to all of you in a foreign tongue when I return home.

We spent the first two days of the tour working our way north through South Africa. On the third day we had to pass through the Namibian border. After the ritual circumcision, I was cleared through customs; however, I felt like Namibia had taken a little away from me. I should mention at this point that our tour is a camping tour, and at night it is Sarah and my responsibility to set up our tent. The first few days were fine, and I believe that we may have even beaten an old German WWII record for fastest tent ever assembled. However, after a few days of pitching the tent, we made the executive decision to just sleep in our sleeping bags on the ground. Not only did this save us time, but it allowed us to be up close and personal with some of the African wildlife, especially the jackals.

I have a plethora of exciting adventures I want to relate, but am pondering the proper way to express my excitement of them. For instance, I was fortunate enough to hike through the dunes of the Namib Desert (that's right - open google map!!!) Our desert guide was a local Namibian man named Franz (don't ask me how his parents came up with that). I learned a lot about the formation of the dunes, and even had the chance to jump down the side of a dune cliff. I felt like surviorman sans camera crew and any outdoors experience (except for the three overnights I did with Brad and Laurie at summer camp).

Of course there have been other highlights, too many to mention without getting carpal tunnel in my fingers. Once we enter Europe it will be much easier for me to access the internet and give everyone reading this a detailed account of my life.

I will leave you with the story of a young Jewish bushman, who in order to become a man in the eyes of his tribe, had to go out into the desert and spear the much feared and highly sought after gifilte fish. After many days the boy had not found the fish, and he began to feel disheartened. How could he return to the tribe without the fish? He pondered a solution for many days and many nights, until waking one morning with a solution. In his haste to return to the village and tell his people how he had fought off the wild Caananite dog, the gifilte fish's biggest predator, he did not leave time for his bread to leaven. When the bushman returned his people ignored his story but marveled at his creation of the newest African food ... matzah.

Hope everyone is well. Much love, I will write more soon.

The End

Cultural Shock 101

Today I was able to add to the list of numerous things a scrawny Jewish boy from the 'burbs should not do ... Hunt. However, I decided to put my love of living things aside for a few hours while I ventured into the world of carnage also known as hunting.

However, there was a catch. I was not given a gun. Nor was I given a bow or arrow. Heck, I didn't even get a wooden whistle that made the mating sound of a pheasant. It was strictly my job to trudge through wooded areas of the farm we were hunting at in hopes of flushing the pheasants out so the people with guns could shoot them. I couldn't tell if the people I was hunting with were joking or not when they instructed me to walk through the woods and scare the birds so they could fire shotgun shells in my general direction. Perhaps the only positive in my situation was that I was lucky enough not to be hunting with the vice president of our great nation; at least this meant I had a fighting chance.

When the hunt was over, and our group had killed about 15 birds, 1 jackrabbit, and a cooler of beer, I did learn how to clean a pheasant. This process took me back to my ninth grade science class. I remember walking into class one day and seeing a little baby pig stretched out on a metal tray. I thought about playing the whole "not kosher" deal, but decided that it would be a good learning experience. It was the same thing with the pheasant. I learned how to get rid of the feathers, where to enter the bird in order to remove the internal organs, and how to slice the gizzard up for good eaten'. I am almost positive these skills will help me somewhere down the line, as pheasant was such a popular dish in my household growing up. Mom, this time I'll clean the pheasant so you don't have to.

Halloween

Halloween is a Pagan holiday. For this reason alone you can pardon my ridicule of such a sound financial scheme. Instead of dressing up as a promiscuous nurse, or a promiscuous police officer, or even a promiscuous firefighter, I decided to go as a much less provocative version of myself. However, I could prematurely sense the disappointment my students would feel by me dressing up as me, so I decided to spend some time carving the likeness of me into a pumpkin.