Overlooked Beauty All the Way to Asia

Believe me, I’m well aware of how tardy this post is.  I actually started writing it waaaay back in September, but then life got in the way.  Since I’ve last written, I’ve managed to turn twenty-one, start back working at the café, begin taking Spanish, perfect my Irish brown bread recipe (don’t worry I’ll share it), start training for a half-marathon, and begin to plan my next adventure!  Now that I’ve nailed this post down though, I plan to get back to regular blogging, and hope to send you stories and updates more frequently!

The final stop on my trip was a visit to Istanbul.  My roommate and I visited the city that bridges Europe and Asia over spring break in March, so stopping here on this past trip occurred simply because it was cheaper to fly home from here rather than a need to see all the sights.  That being said, I adored the city the first time around and was all too happy to pay it another visit.

Also, just for clarification, my roommate and I go to school on the East Coast and live on the West Coast.  It is therefore just as costly to fly to Istanbul as it is to fly home.  It’s not like we’re crazy travel addicts who look for any chance to get out of the country, we were simply prioritizing.  So, because I was in Istanbul twice in such a short period of time, I’ll give details from both trips, just so I paint a complete picture.  Also, all my photos are from that first trip, so if the skies seem a little grey and the streets a little tourist-free that is the reason.

Backing up to Greece, my ferry (this one was nothing more than a glorified motorboat) from Santorini arrived to Athens around one in the morning.  Nothing too exciting to report from the ride save for my Greek salad exploding on me and everything I own, hence the lack of photos from Istanbul (don’t worry, after some intense de-olive oiling my camera is in fine working order).  My plane to Istanbul left at eight in the morning so I decided it wasn’t worth getting a hostel room for all of the three hours I would actually be there, and instead decided to head straight to the airport.  During what may have been the sketchiest hour of my entire trip (though really not that bad), I searched and searched for the unmarked bus parking lot whilst fending off ride offers from cab drivers, and room offers from random men who seemed slightly less gentlemanly than Misters Denmark one and two.

Eventually I found the bus and made it to the airport.  While researching whether I would actually be permitted to spend the night in the Athens airport, I came across one of the funniest little gems the good ‘ol world wide web has to offer.  That would be “sleepinginairports.com,” which is essentially a site devoted to reviews (of the Travelocity and hotel booking sites variety) of the sleeping conditions in airports, I suggest checking it out for a good chuckle.  The more hardcore airport sleepers had already taken the good sleeping spots when I arrived (in the chapel and on the padded benches in McDonalds) so I made my way to a quiet hallway, rolled out my quick-dry towel and tried to catch a few zees (is that how you would spell that?).  Unfortunately the Elefthérios Venizélos Athens International Airport was one step ahead of the airport sleepers and had taken it upon themselves to play the most obnoxious music known to man (it sounded like it should be the score to some very intense and heroic battle of Greek goods) so that sleeping was out of the question.  Cursing the music, I rested until around five in the morning when I was greeting by a Greek security guard making the rounds and waking everyone up by saying “good morning, sleeping is not permitted here!” in an “all too chipper for five in the morning” voice.  So I packed up my stuff, drank a strong coffee, ate my final yogurt, and made my way to Istanbul.

Since I want to reflect on both of my experiences in Istanbul, I think this post will be more of disconnected ideas of what I like and saw as opposed to a blow by blow recap of my trip, so here goes!

To begin, let’s talk about the weather.  When I went to Istanbul in March, it was very cold, cloudy, and at points, rainy.  I obviously wasn’t scared off by the weather (Oregonian here), but for some reason I had been under the impression that Istanbul was a ‘hot weather city and that I was missing out on some aspect of the atmosphere by not coming in the summer.  Now that I’ve experienced both hot and cold weather, I realize that I prefer Istanbul in cold weather and I highly suggest visiting the city in the off-season.  Why?  Firstly, less tourists, always a plus.  But more than that, there’s a definite coziness about Istanbul that can only be felt when the temps are less than stellar.  After walking around the chilly city for a while, popping in an out of airy and beautiful stone mosques there’s nothing better than heading into a little café and warming up with some apple tea or Turkish coffee and a nice nut and spice filled pastry or a few cubes of gummy Turkish delight.  The grand bazaar and spice market are also great respites from the cold, and the mounds upon mounds of fragrant spices and teas that can be found in the markets really add to this cozy feeling.  However, if the previously mentioned spots don’t quite warm you up, there’s always the hammam…

The hammam or Turkish bath is a sauna/spa-type place and is an integral part of Turkish culture, and therefore an experience my roommate and I were determined to have during our trip.  Although we were both excited to cross off this very Turkish thing to do, we were also a bit nervous as we weren’t entirely sure what the hammam would entail, other than a lot of nudity.  On our first day in Istanbul, after taking a shuttle, metro, train, subway, bus, plane, bus, and taxi to finally arrive, we found ourselves in a very chilly café trying to acclimate to the cold weather, and find a way to fight jetlag and stay awake until a somewhat appropriate bedtime (that would be eight o’ clock, right?).  We decided that the hammam would be a warm and relaxing way to pass a few hours and bring us closer to bedtime.  After a quick pep-talk where we referred to our favorite mantra of “what would Nick Kristoff do?”  For those of you in the dark, Nick Kristoff is an awesome New York Times reporter from Oregon who wrote the book Half the Sky and who is our source of inspiration for all things travel related.

We headed to a nearby hammam (I believe it was the oldest in Istanbul), paid for what we wanted (a good scrubbing and a mud facial!), and then received a bar of soap, a token indicating the spa services we wanted, a towel, and a random gold pouch that we didn’t bother to look in at the time.  From all that we’d heard, we’d come to understand that you go into a hammam completely naked.  That being said, once in the changing rooms, the task became a little more daunting.  After taking a little more time to truly come to terms with this fact (we’ve both got Catholic grandmas – conservatism runs in our blood), we stripped and quickly covered back up with the towels that had been given to us, generously sized to match the exact proportions of your average dish towel.  We headed back downstairs and slowly made our way to the door of the actual hammam room.  Summoning our last ounces of Nick-Kristoff inspired courage, we pushed open the sauna door….

Only to find that every other person in the room was wearing underwear, and not just any underwear, matching black bikini bottoms, clearly from the same source.  As the large naked (except for the underwear) Turkish scrubber ladies worked to coax our soon to be completely naked bodies into the room, Olivia had a genius brainwave, realizing that those funny little gold bags that we’d so rudely ignored had not actually been full of essential oils or bath salts as we’d imagined, but instead had contained the precious black underwear.  Gripping our towels around us, we managed to fight our way past the Turkish scrubby ladies and back into the changing rooms where we happily donned the little black underwear.  And although the funny little underwear were no bigger than anything you’d find at Victoria’s Secret, compared to our almost naked fate, their coverage felt as relieving as a pair of bloomers.

We re-entered the hammam room, and the Turkish ladies pounced on us, clearly not wanting to lose us again.  They directed us (forcibly relocated us) to the big raised stone dais in the center of the room, quickly stole our towels from us and had us lie down.  I think it was at this point when all of the uneasiness at the foreignness of the situation dissolved and the realization struck that this was the absolute best decision we could have made after our long flight.  The room we were in was large and circular, all stone, with a high domed ceiling that had little six point stars cut out of it.  The stars let in little streams of light that cut through the swirling steam that filled the room.  Lying on the hot stone surrounded by steamy warmth, sweating out all our plane toxins and looking up at the stars felt incredibly relaxing.

After a nice long while warming, the Turkish ladies came back and went to work scrubbing and massaging with fantastic smelling soap.  Clearly having half your skin scrubbed off by a naked Turkish woman creates some awkwardness, but the massage and hair washing were well worth it.  Also, the fact that the Turkish women clearly had no patience for those not understanding Turkish and instead communicated by essentially slapping you into the position they wanted you was pretty amusing.  After the scrub down, we ambled around the steam room and soaked in the pools for a while before heading out.

Upon leaving the hammam, Olivia and I felt both calm and refreshed and rather amazed.  What we originally envisioned to be nothing more than a rather nuder-than-usual spa trip turned into an insight into culture and society (truthfully, Olivia and I manage to glean very deep insights from even the most mundane of things, we blame our hippy worldly education).  Honestly, we loved the “nuder-than-usual” part of the hammam, or rather the fact that what felt like such a big deal to us wasn’t actually a big deal.  Women of all shapes and sizes, of all ages, and of all ethnicities paraded around the hammam in a very normal manner.  They weren’t showing off their bodies, but they weren’t ashamed of them either.  Being from a country that’s the world winner of body image issues (on both ends of the spectrum), Olivia and I both thought that growing up in a culture where going to the hammam was normal, and being able to see that there are many different definitions of normal and beautiful, would really inspire some self-appreciation.

So, this is where I left off writing back in September (ha!)  And upon rereading, I see I have droned on quite a bit (typical).  So in order to actually get this post up sometime before the next decade, I’m moving to the list method.  Let me just bust out a few more things I love/find interesting about Istanbul before calling it quits.

• Spice market and grand bazaar– such wonderful markets with heaping piles of vibrantly colored spices, teas, nuts, and Turkish delight, as well as fabrics, rugs, and lamps.  If you don’t like to be heckled though I suggest you wear earplugs…  An amusing anecdote on that note:  Turkish men feel it’s their duty to guess where you’re from, Olivia got a lot of Spanish and Turkish, and I was constantly asked if I was French.  You can bet I answered with a “oui oui!”

• Tea – Çay in Turkish, and a huge part of the culture, you can spend hours in a café drinking tea.  The traditional flavor is similar to oversteeped English breakfast, but I preferred the sweeter apple tea.

• Street food – this is included on the list not because it’s particularly good, but because it played a central role during my time in Istanbul.  Firstly, while Olivia and I were there, we came down with a nasty stomach bug and were literally surviving off these funny bread rolls that are everywhere.  And secondly, when we were searching for our second hostel we decided to do “chestnut check-ins” and consulted with every roasted chestnut vendor we came in contact with to see if they knew if we were headed in the right direction.  We never actually ate any of the chestnuts…

• Prince’s Islands – we took the ferry to the Prince’s islands on our last day in Istanbul, and though by that point I was so sick that my presence was akin to hanging out with a loaf of bread, I really loved the islands.  The day we went was crisp and sunny and the islands were practically deserted, they’re a summer vacation destination, and compared to the bustle of Istanbul, they’re a beautiful escape to simple living.

In summary, Turkey is magical.  It seems big, bustling, and cosmopolitan, until you turn down a side street or step into a mosque, and it becomes slow, quiet, and traditional.  It’s new and old, east meets west, an absolute mezcla of cultures and ways of life, studded with cups upon cups of bitter tea, thick coffee, spicy smells, and pops of bright color from a stained glass window, a tower of pomegranates, or a pyramid of saffron.  Everyone has different places that are special to them, countries they prefer for whatever reason (I like Denmark, Olivia likes Egypt).  I think Istanbul is one of those cities that everyone would find wonderful, because it just is!

 

Paris, the Decadent and Delicious.

Paris proved magical once again.  Magical and delicious and decadent!  On my one-day stopover to Paris before I left for Southern France I wasn’t as impressed with the city as I had been on previous visits.  I was afraid that maybe I had imagined the magic of Paris, that maybe all the movies and books had lied about what a wonderful city it is.  But upon my return, with just a quick stroll over the Île Saint-Louis and a nice evening espresso at a sidewalk café, the magic came back and I remembered just how much I love the city.

I arrived in Paris on Friday afternoon, had a little picnic next to Notre Dame and then strolled around the Latin Quarter before heading in early.  Since I’ve been to Paris before, I’ve crossed off most of the big tourists spots, and instead had a smaller list of things I hadn’t yet done (mostly food based) that I wanted to do this time around.  I woke up early on Saturday and grabbed an absurdly expensive café crème at a very cool café on the rue Rivoli (in Marais and near my hotel).  Paris will be the only place I stay in a hotel because the hostels I found with availabilities had abysmal reviews and were still very expensive.  So instead I stayed in Hotel Herse d’Or right near Bastille and it was perfect.  A very basic, but clean and practical, room in a fantastic location, just on the right bank and in walking distance from everything!

My initial plan for Saturday was to wander around Marais a bit and then head over to the Louvre area in the afternoon to hit up a museum.  But an interesting thing about the relationship I have with Paris, and perhaps one of the reasons I find it so enchanting, is that I have no sense of direction in the city!  For most people this might not be surprising, but I usually have an extremely good sense of direction.  Seriously, I just have to look at a map for about five minutes then walk around a city for half an hour and I have it completely down, for good.  But with Paris, I can be sure that I’m headed in one direction and will then find myself in a completely different area than I expected to end up.  The only time I’m really sure (besides when I’m on streets I know) is when I’m next to the river.  So anyway, I started walking around Marais, with Paris all mapped out in my head, sure I was heading towards Bastille and beyond, when all the sudden I turned a corner and I was at the Louvre!  Stunned, I just had to laugh and go with it.  So I strolled down the Jardin des Tuileries and headed to the Musée l’Orangerie, one I hadn’t yet been to.  The Orangerie houses Monet’s water lilies and a solid collection of other impressionist work.  The water lilies were wonderful.  They’re set up in a white oval room and the colors and shadows on the paintings change as you walk around the room, the scope is amazing!

After the museum, I was in a good place to walk down the Champs-Élysées (another Parisian experience I’d missed as most of my time has been spent on the left bank), so I headed along until I came to Ladurée, the very famous patisserie that produces macarons.  This is one of those Parisian attractions that attracts tourists and Parisians alike, in fact the French woman in front of me bought 70 euro worth of macaron cookies! Macarons are small sugar and almond-paste cookies with a chewy shell and a jam-like inside.  I got a bag of six and tried pistachio, coffee, dark chocolate, cherry blossom, caramel with salted butter, and orange blossom.  They were all delicious and I quickly munched them down.  However, I definitely preferred the savory flavors over the fruity flavors and actually thought that they were a bit too sweet.  Maybe it was just that I ate them for lunch, but I thought less sugar would allow the flavors to come through more.

When I travel to cities I like to walk absolutely everywhere.  Sure there is usually great public transportation that could save time, but I think you really get to know and appreciate a city by wandering through little streets and unknown neighborhoods, also all the walking allows you the freedom to do things such as eat six macarons for lunch!  So after Ladurée I continued up to the Arc de Triomphe and then over to the Eiffel tower just for a quick view (wouldn’t be a trip to Paris without it, would it?)  I then returned to the area of my hotel and had another coffee and a much needed rest as I watched the world go by.

The day was far from complete though, the sun began to shine (it had been raining most of the day and even though Midnight in Paris sings the praises of Paris in the rain, I was personally happy to see the sun), and there were plenty more Parisian activities to cross off the list!  I continued walking and headed over to the Latin Quarter and the Rue Mouffetard (my favorite in Paris) to grab a crêpe for dinner.  My crêpe had egg, tomatoes, mushrooms, and lettuce, and I would classify it as ‘good, not great.’  I decided to then walk some more (because I hadn’t done enough of that already) and strolled through the Jardin du Luxembourg, through St. Germain des Pres and back to the left bank of the Seine, right across from Notre Dame.  It was about ten and the sun was just setting, so I popped down at a café (one recommended by Lonely Planet so I promise it was cool even though it’s in a touristy area!) and enjoyed a beer as I soaked up the last rays of Parisian sun.  One thing about cafés or brasseries in Paris that takes some adjusting to is how long you have to wait.  It’s nice to have so much time to sit and observe without being bothered, but it can also be difficult for me to relax because I always convince myself that this time I’ve messed up and that really I need to go order up front before I just sit down.  But alas, that was never the case, and I came to enjoy the hour or so it would take to order, drink, and pay for a beer or coffee.

To conclude my perfect Parisian day, I watched the roller bladers outside of Notre Dame (they’re ridiculously awesome) and walked around the islands and by the river.  Whatever Paris may offer during the day, it is nothing compared to what it presents at nighttime.  Paris at night is beautiful and magical.  The city glows yellow, lights reflect in the indigo blue river, and everyone is out and walking around together. Once I’d had my fill of the enchantment that is midnight in Paris, I headed back to my hotel which had actually turned into a 20s jazz club full of famous authors and painters.  Okay, just kidding about that last part, but Paris really is magical at Midnight!

The fun and food continued the next day, Sunday definitely won for most unhealthy day of the trip!  I started off the day with a stop at a patisserie for a pain au chocolat and sugared brioche, both delicious.  The pure sugar and butter gave me the energy for the long hike from Marais to Montmartre, an area that I’d remembered liking previously.  Once I got there however, the place was swarming with tourists and I was very overwhelmed.  Basically I arrived, walked by Sacre Coeur, passed by the Moulin rouge, checked out a few side streets, and high-tailed it out of there, I don’t do well with crowds.

A good friend of mine who spent last summer in Paris recommended I check out a very well known restaurant called Angelina for what she titled “the best chocolat chaud (hot chocolate) you’ll ever have.”  Although I knew this place would be touristy, I decided its reputation was enough to merit checking it out and so I sat down in the elegant and grand tea salon (right by the Louvre) to enjoy a pitcher of thick and creamy liquid chocolate with a side pot of cream to cut the amazing sweetness of the chocolate, which was indeed the best I’d ever had.  Ridiculously full and sugared out, I spent the rest of the afternoon basking and strolling and soaking in the last moments of Paris.  I passed all these finches for sale and absolutely had to tear myself away from them.  I adore finches and wanted to buy all of these adorable little guys.

Around seven, I was absolutely craving some vitamins and protein, however, I still had plans to hit up an ice cream shop before calling my Paris dessert tour quits so I wanted something lighter for dinner.  I grabbed some fresh veggies and smoked salmon and ate it by the river before heading to Berthillon, the best know ice cream shop in Paris.  I hadn’t been before and deemed it essential this time.  I headed to the shop and consulted the very long list of flavors (around 70).  I decided on two boules, rhubarb and grand marnier (this is why I thought I’d like raw oysters, I always go for the odd flavors) and yes, they were amazing, sweet and creamy and magnificent, the grand marnier had candied orange in it!  However, the scoops were also very very small.  This place is known for the pettiness of its scoops, gotta keep those Parisians petite!  Having had a light dinner I was still hungry (and wanted to try a few more flavors) so even though I’d already had enough sugar that day to last me a few months, I went for round two!  Luckily, the ice cream is sold at more than one place on the Île Saint-Louis, so I was able to keep my gluttony a secret!  Round two brought fig and sea-salt caramel, just as delicious as the last, and this time my ice cream craving was properly satisfied!

As I was leaving Paris my heart was breaking a little, I love it.  It’s beautiful, it’s full of love and elegance.  It’s complicated as well though, it’s snobby, excessive, a place that can be difficult to feel comfortable if you’re not Parisian. But it’s Paris!  On my ride to the airport I realized I could stay if I wanted, that’s the beauty of this trip, I call the shots, there was nothing stopping me.  But I realized contentedly that I didn’t want to stay.  Paris is magical because it’s fleeting.  I wouldn’t want to spend every single day ambling the streets and eating ridiculous desserts, these things are beautiful because they are rare, because they don’t last, because you can’t enjoy them everyday.  The beginning of my travels turned out a little more decadent than I imagined, but I think that this was the perfect way to see and understand Paris.  So to finally conclude France – Paris, je t’aime and someday I will be back for another whirlwind tour of your beauty!

Lots about the Loire

Bonjour tout le monde, it has been a while!  I didn’t have wifi at my previous host so I was unable to post, but as I embark on these five weeks of solo traveling (I am in fact in the train station right now) I should have more frequent internet access and hope to return to a more normal posting schedule.

(Loire Valley seen from Saumur)

So, let me recap these past two weeks.  I left sunny Toulouse and headed north to the Loire Valley to a farm just outside a very small town called Baugé.  The family I stayed with consisted of a mom, dad, four kids, and an abundance of animals including horses, chickens, cows, goats, rabbits, bees, cats, turtles, and salamanders, so there was a lot goin’ on!  My daily duties were feeding the animals, gardening, yard work, babysitting the two year old, and helping with everyday chores such as washing (laundry and dishes) and cooking.  I baked some awesome oatmeal raisin cookies and a honey walnut cake, with most of the ingredients sourced from the farm!

(the petite maison where I stayed)

The family was a great example of sustainable living.  They composted and fed the chickens all food waste, reused anything possible, heated with solar, and grew their own veggies and herbs (including lettuce, cucumbers, zucchini, beans, tomatoes, potatoes, pumpkin, fennel, onions, and parsley to name a few), fruits (strawberries, raspberries, apples, cherries, pears, and kiwi), as well as honey, walnuts, grapes.  They got their milk and cheese from the neighbors, and made their own yogurt and jam as well!  Even though they weren’t selling any of the goods they produced, there was a lot to grow and take care of and I felt like I really got a taste of farm life.  It was amazing that almost everything on my plate was just outside the house.

For the most part, I really enjoyed my time with my second hosts.  These past two weeks were spent speaking, reading, and thinking entirely in French.  I was so happy to be able to immerse myself in the language and think that my French benefited from it.  I think I could say that it’s now at the ‘conversational-proficient’ level.  I can understand most everything, say anything I need to, and have extended conversations on most subjects.  That being said, no one is going to mistake me for a native French speaker, I still think I have a lot of work to do on my accent, grammar, and ease of speaking.

(le bébé)

Along with the great experiences such as delicious food and language practice, I was also served what my dad referred to as “a little slice of life.”  Staying with a family of four kids and two very busy parents, I was immersed in a very hectic lifestyle.  I, as an only child, took for granted the ease of living in a small household, and now fully appreciate the time that my parents had, and especially chose, to spend with me.

The Loire Valley was an interesting contrast to the Pyrenees and to Southern France.  It was much cooler, wetter, flatter, and vineyardie-er.  The buildings were all white stone instead of pink or tan, and the area reminded me somewhat of England.  I was able to go to a small vineyard for a wine tasting one day and also went on two day-trips, one to a small town called Saumur and the other to a larger city called Angers.  I really liked Angers, it was just the right size, lots of shops, restaurants, and people to give it a good city buzz, but not so much that it felt crowded or dirty.  While there, I wandered the streets, enjoyed a tarte à la tomate, and visited a nice cathedral and a big castle.  Truthfully, at this point in my life, I’m a bit castled out (I visited England and Scotland when I was younger and got my fair share), but I was really impressed by the gardens at this castle.  The roses smelled amazing and everything was perfectly groomed!

While in Angers I also made quite the gastronomic discovery while perusing the grocery store.  I was surveying the meager peanut butter selection (as I’ve become in the habit of doing) when I came across a curious spread called Speculoos.  After further investigation I realized that it was speculoos cookie spread.  For those of you not familiar with them, speculoos are Dutch windmill shaped cookies that are spice flavored and usually eaten around Christmas time, I personally love them so I knew I had to try the spread.  It was good.  Like really really really good.  It tasted like cookie dough and butter and everything unhealthy and had the consistency of peanut butter.  I snacked on it throughout the day (straight spoonfuls from the jar), and then bid it farewell when I left Angers.  Although I still had most of the jar left, I could tell that speculoos spread is one of those really ‘unhealthy but delicious’ things that’s best enjoyed infrequently!

Along with speculoos spread, I also tried raw oysters for the first time.  I’m also up to try something new and generally like interesting food, so I always imagined I’d love raw oysters.  I’ve heard Anthony Bourdain wax poetic about them, I’ve read they pair beautifully with white wine, and I always had an image of myself at the French seaside, wearing a nice striped french shirt, and slurping down raw oysters with delight.   However, It turns out that I do not love raw oysters, not at all, in fact I would go as far as to say that they are degoulasse.  A few adjectives I would use to describe them would be slimy and chewy and gooey and salty and gritty and briny and sandy and gross.

And have now arrived in Paris and it is raining (think Midnight in Paris) and I’ve already got loads to say about this beautiful city, but I think I will conclude here for now and wait to sing the praises of winding alleyways, french doors, and macaron cookies until tomorrow.  À Bientôt!