Even Old New York was Once New Amsterdam

Arrival at Istanbul Ataturk airport felt like every other major international airport: long glossy ads for consulting companies and perfume, the professional business travelers with their tiny rolling carry-ons dodging aimless westerners on their first trip abroad who were invariably in their way, everyone with a phone to their ear carrying on conversations at a Babel-like din.

The line to get visas into Turkey was very, very long.  The process itself is fairly commercial ($20US = 1 visa, actual admission to country optional) but there were planes full of visitors needing 90 day visas and the process was taking time.  At this point, I was certain I heard my name being called over the paging system.  Odd, I thought, but hopefully unrelated to the fleece vest I was wearing emblazoned with the name of my alma mater, Marquette.  Being paged while in the secure area of an unfamiliar international airport is not always the most comforting of thoughts – think Cary Grant in North by Northwest – but I figured I would check anyway. I found someone to intercede for me to communicate out of the secure area and learned it was our driver seeing if we were ready.  But I also learned of another much-shorter visa line.  It was a bit of a hike to get to, but by the time we were there and returned visa-ed, a new generation of children had been born to those still in line.

While drivers can be a mixed blessing, there can be a definite advantage to local knowledge.  On the way to our hotel, our driver got a call on his mobile from his friend warning him of traffic jams on his route.  A quick U-turn and we were on a “shortcut” through a construction site and over a drainage canal.  Our driver’s informant must have been popular since this shortcut was well-used: we formed a line of yellow and white ants marching across the gray, broken terrain.

First images were of new constructions – gray concrete ribbons of highways, pastel-hued apartment block – rising amidst crushed piles of brick and earth.  But then, I have to remember this is how it has been done here for millennia. Each new age tears down the failed constructions of previous years and leaves their stamp on the land, with or without removing the debris beforehand.  My beloved travel companion (BTC) and I both commented on a feeling of deja vu – Istanbul is familiar, like we have been to this city before – as we drove through the residential and commercial areas with their adjacent parks.  Buenos Aires was the best similarity we could come up with.

Granted, we are in a touristed area.  Understood.  But this evening, in less than 5 minutes, we walked from our room to the Blue Mosque.  Dinner was low-key; functional but fantastic. We ordered pides with cheese and a side yogurt salad – think fresh dill-infused tsatziki with almost the consistency of cream cheese. I think we will do OK here.

• Istanbul
• Turkey