Missive From the Land of Don Quixote

I´ve been visiting Jerry in Ciudad Real for the past four days. Ciudad Real is very mellow, a university town with about 80,000 people about an hour south of Madrid by train. I´ve enjoyed my time here and had some fun meeting Jerry´s friends and associates. Several things have kind of struck me as strange since I arrived. The first night, we went to the new supermarket near campus, and they have created an ingenious new way of using those little plastic shopping baskets. Check it out...



This area is really dry and flat. It´s in La Mancha, the land of Don Quixote fame.

Red Soil and Olive Trees from the Train

The first night, when we were waiting for a friend to buzz us into her complex, we were accosted by a tumbleweed from the plain, if that gives you any idea of the climate. Here´s Jerry chatting on his cell phone with our new friend.



The days have been beautiful, around 80 degrees and sunny. An extra added bonus is the snow on the ground from the trees shedding their spring seeds. The trees are cumming, as Jerry puts it :)

Feelin' the Love - Tree Cum in La Mancha

Today I had finally had enough of the frequent bathroom visits, dehydration and delirium from my stomach parasite or whatever the fuck it is, so I told Jerry that I had to go to a doctor NOW. We called the local tourist office and were told that I could go to the emergency room of the new hospital that had just been completed 5 months ago. We grabbed a taxi and very soon I was going through the intake process at the hospital. They immediately led me to a waiting area where they asked my symptoms and gathered the basic medical background information. The nurse asked me to remove my shirt and gave me a short blue pajama top to cover my upper body. After the questioning, the nurse jammed some sort of port into my vein and taped it up to secure it. I then faded in and out of sleep with the ebb and flow of the emergency room chatter in the background for the next hour as I waited for the doctor.

When the doctor finally came, he was nice, but reaked of alcohol. He saw that I was allergic to sulfa medications and said that he thought that I had caught a virus and then had an allergic reaction when I took the antibiotics prescribed by the pharmacy that contained a sulfa component. He said that they needed to take x-rays (huh?) just to make sure that everything was ok. I tried to communicate that they should do some sort of stool test to find out if there was any bacteria left, and he just nodded and made some sort of joke that I didn't understand.

The nurse returned about 30 minutes later and hooked up a large clear bag of fluid to my IV and led me to the next waiting room along with a rolling metal rack for the IV bag. The new waiting room was a long rectangular shape and was lined with large cushy Alice in Wonderland chairs. Each side of the room had 6 light beige chairs and one charcoal gray chair. I imagined the frequency with which they rotated the charcoal chairs, creating different scenarios in my mind.

There were 3 other patients waiting in the room with me - an elderly gentleman, a Type A older auntie type and a crotchety middle-aged man who kept looking nervously at his IV bag that was about to dry up. Finally, when she couldn't take it anymore, the Type A auntie came over to the middle-aged guy and flipped this little switch on the IV tube to stop the flow of liquid. This seemed to appease the middle-aged man for the moment. After what seemed like an eternity of zoning out with my eyes closed and trying not to get involved in the conversation in the waiting room, a nurse finally called my name and brought me to a row of simple plastic chairs to wait for my x-ray.

Also waiting was a small pudgy girl about 9 or 10 years old with a small gash on her forehead with 2 or 3 stitches and a big orange circle of iodine around it. She was wailing incessantly and would not stop, in spite of everyone in the waiting room telling her that everything was ok, she would be fine, etc. Finally the nurse was able to shut her up by comforting her and saying that there was no crying allowed. She soon was called into the x-ray room. The door to the x-ray room had a bright white light above it that said No Pasa (something like Do Not Enter) and a green and red light. The green light was on most of the time, but I think that when the x-ray machine was running, the light turned red. As soon as the little girl entered the room, she started to scream and cry and sob. Then the light turned red and I thought that the world had come to an end. All the people waiting for the x-ray looked at each other nervously, as if awaiting some form of medieval torture. The girl emerged unscathed, but wimpering with her head down. At this point, the two civil guard officers who had been waiting down the hall cut in line to get their charge - a skinny 30's guy rolled up in a ball on a gurney - into the x-ray chamber. I envisioned a Spanish mafioso who had just agreed to enter a witness protection plan in exchange for immunity. Finally my turn came to enter the room of horror. Actually, it was a very normal x-ray experience, aside from the woman insisting that I pull my pants down practically to my knees to get a good shot (a good shot of what, honey?).

Back to the waiting room again. By this time, I was like an old pro, carrying my IV bag around with me and hanging it on the nearest hook when I arrived. Suddenly, I realized that my fluids were beginning to run short, so I used the Type A lady's trick to stop the flow. A little later, I noticed that my blood was actually seeping back into the tube and there was a little air bubble floating in the middle. I remembered stories of small air bubbles getting to people's brains and killing them instantly, so I started to get nervous. I considered pulling it out myself, but decided against that idea. Finally, I was worried enough that I carried my IV bag out and wandered the emergency ward looking for someone to take the tube out. The nurse that I finally cornered was irritated, but kind, and said that it would be fine, that nothing would happen with it.

Bathroom Break with Convenient IV Rack

Finally, after another 15 minutes in the waiting room, I heard my name called, and a new nurse took me to a small side room to tell me that the tests were normal, that nothing was wrong with me, and that I needed to change my diet. I was actually just relieved to be leaving the hospital, but annoyed that they didn't even do any meaningful tests and then told me I was fine. I had told my friend to go ahead back home a couple of hours earlier, so I asked the hospital security guard to call me a taxi back to his residence. Home I went, still feeling like hell.

Turkish Retrospective

I'm so sad that this needs to be done this way, but because of a severe lack of technical resources in Spain and Turkey and a general lack of time, I have to document the Turkish and Swiss leg of my trip as a retrospective and not real time. I pretty much consider that part of the trip my vacation episode, since the events after have been a little less climactic and sometimes downright unpleasant.

Day 1

Zurich, Switzerland

For some strange reason, all of the cheap flights to Turkey from Madrid had an overnight stay in Zurich, so I was forced to buy an expensive hotel there for one night each way. I have a theory that they just do that to boost tourism, and I guess it worked with me. I paid something like $130 for each night at the only gay hotel in Zurich. The benefit of this was that it came with a bar and a disco attached and was right in the center of the historic district with everything at your disposal. Unfortunately, I arrived too late for any of the regular restaurants, but was still able to find a gyro at a middle eastern place. A strange foreshadowing of my meals to come for the next few weeks.

After recharging with a little sustenance, I showered and headed down to the bar to check it out. Unfortunately, the Swiss don't get moving until pretty late, and I was tired, so after having a soda and wandering around the bar a few times and chatting with a Swiss guy who was back on holiday from London, I decided to call it a night. Everything in Zurich seemed so clean and modern and international. I was really struck by how cosmopolitan it seemed. The residents also seemed to all be tall and slim and beautiful. I wished that I had more time there to really check it out, but alas, I needed sleep.

The next morning, I awoke to a cold rainy day, but still wanted to do a little sightseeing, since it was the only time I'd see the city in the daylight. I got a couple of tips from the very sweet woman at my hostel on where to eat and what I could see nearby. The coffee shop she recommended had the most amazing breakfast special, with a fresh-baked croissant, bread, coffee with milk, muesli and juice for $6. I don't think I've ever had muesli before, but whatever they gave me at that cafe was a slice of heaven. I ended up eating way too much, but left very happy :)

View of Rainy Zurich on My Rainy Date of Departure

I trekked across the bridge to the Fraumunster Cathedral that the hotel clerk had recommended. Very basic on the outside, but she said that the windows were really famous. I later found out that some of them were designed by Marc Chagall in the 1970's. They were really stunning, unfortunately, some of my pictures are a little blurry.

Fraumunster Church in Zurich

Stained Glass Windows of Fraumunster by Marc Chagall

More Chagall Windows

Istanbul

I left Switzerland around noon feeling fairly well rested and ready for the next leg of the journey. Coming into Istanbul's airport was fairly easy, aside from the long line at customs. Getting to my hostel was another story. I decided to save a little cash and take the metro to a tram to get to the Sultanahmet Square area. I was traveling fairly heavy and dragging my two backpacks and my suitcase onto the metro and then off the metro and onto the tram was a challenge. My guide book had numerous warnings about different scams that occur in Turkey. This, coupled with the normal dose of American paranoia about the Arab world made me suspicious of everyone, verging on paranoia. A guy around my age tried to talk to me in a friendly way on the metro, and I was very short with him and tried not to reveal to much. I said I was from Canada and that I had been to Turkey once before (both lies). In retrospect, he was probably just trying to be nice, but I had no idea what to expect.

At the transfer area, it was not at all clear where the tram stopped, and there were many bus stops and transit areas. I finally figured out that I had to walk up 2 flights of stairs to a pedestrian bridge and buy a token for the tram, then walk down 2 flights of stairs on the other side to board the tram in the correct direction. I finally arrived at the Sultanahmet station and was completely unable to find any street names that corresponded to the weak map from my hotel. Finally, as I wandered back and forth on the tram platform looking lost, a Turkish man approached me and asked me where I was from and if he could help me. I said I needed to find Hotel Petrol, and he pointed directly across the street to a cream colored building with the name painted 10 feet tall on the side - HOTEL PETROL.

The hotel was fairly nice, although the decor was a little on the funky side - circa 1975. As soon as I was able to rest and get my bearings a little, I took a shower and headed up to the rooftop terrace the hotel clerk had recommended for dinner. As I seated myself at the table, I was handed a dinner menu and a hookah menu. I think I was a little late for dinner, as the only people on the terrace were toking from huge hookahs in a leisurely fashion. The different kinds of herbs and tobacco smelled magnificent, and I had gotten the table in the far back corner with the best view in the place. The waiter opened the window for me to get an unobstructed view, and I took this photo from the windowsill. I was immediately enchanted.

Istanbul's Blue Mosque at Night

I had an amazing baked lamb dish and engaged in trivial conversation with the waiter and a couple of the other patrons. Slowly, my paranoia faded, and I realized that the Turkish were just a really friendly bunch of people. After finishing my meal and marveling a little longer at the misty mosque, I headed down to my room. On my way out, the waiter informed me that the Japanese guy at a nearby table wanted to know if I wanted to go out to a bar recommended to us by the wait staff. I said, sure, I'd be ready in about 30 minutes. I met the Japanese guy (can't remember his name) in the lobby and we grabbed a taxi to Taksim square, the "center of new Istanbul" across the Bosphorous strait from the old town where my hotel was located. We arrived at the square and it didn't really look like much was happening, but we wandered for a while and soon we found Istikial Caddesi, the main street in Taksim with hundreds of restaurants, bars and clubs. As soon as we started walking down the street, the crowd started to get denser and denser and we were rapidly feeling overwhelmed. We were immediately approached by guys who continually tried to engage us in English with phrases like, "Hello, how are you?" or "Where are you from?" My friend only knew the most basic English phrases, so I had to do all the talking, telling them that we weren't interested and that we knew where we were going. Finally, one guy started walking with us and would not leave us alone. He kept asking us what kinds of bars we like, whether we were straight or gay and that he could take us to where we wanted to go. We kept telling him to go away, but he stuck with us. We kept getting deeper and deeper in the crowd, and it seemed like it would never end. I was beginning to feel like there were many young men in on this game, keeping up with us to help entrap us as we got farther into foreign territory. My comrade and I chatted quickly amongst ourselves and decided to go back to the square and take a taxi home. A very frustrating night.

When I returned to my floor at the hotel, the doors of several rooms were wide open, with music spilling out, smoke everywhere, and the sounds of giggling from one end of the floor. A Turkish woman slipped by me in a bra and panties. The hotel manager came out in his boxers and a night shirt and gave me a hug, "Hello my friend, how are you?" Um, tired, I needed sleep. I quickly escaped to my room and tried to stuff my earplugs deep in my ears to drown out the sounds of the sex party in the adjoining room.

The next day I set out to explore the most famous sights in the ancient central part of Istanbul, all very close to my hotel. I first visited the Blue Mosque and the adjoining Great Palace Mosaic Museum. Both were really spectacular. The Blue Mosque is still a site of worship, so you have to remove your shoes and carry them with you in a bag and keep quiet in respect for those that who are worshipping. When I visited Morocco in 2004, I remember being told that non-Muslims were not allowed in the mosques. This had evoked a strong sense of curiosity in me... What did they look like inside? What happened in there?? When I finally got inside the Blue Mosque, it was beautiful, but not exactly the exalted experience I had expected, and certainly not as stunning as the view from outside. My guide book says that the Blue Mosque is most beautiful from the outside, while the Aya Sofya reveals its wonders once you are inside. I would have to agree.

The Blue Mosque by Day

View from the Center of the Blue Mosque

Domes of the Blue Mosque

Floor Tile Mosaic in the Great Palace Mosaic Museum

My Guide book had a really good overview of Turkish culture and also listed the five tenets of the Islam faith.

-Testifying that there is none worthy of worship except God, and that Muhammad is his servant and messenger.
-Performing prayer five times daily, after a ritual washing of oneself.
-Fasting from dawn to dusk in the month of Ramadan
-Giving alms to the poor
-The Pilgrimage to Mecca during the month of Dhul Hijjah, which is compulsory once in a lifetime for one who has the ability.

You can read more detail at the Wikipedia entry on Islam. When I first arrived in Morocco, I noticed a sort of gracious austerity among the people. In retrospect, I think this probably has a lot to do with the Islam faith, although my knowledge is so limited, I could only claim it as theory. Istanbul is much more westernized and much more cosmopolitan than the locations I visited in Morocco, but at the same time, I sensed this underlying sense of purity and kindness in most people. I have to say that the Turkish are some of the kindest and most welcoming people I have ever encountered. Soon after my arrival, I realized that I could pretty much be myself, American and all. As soon as I began to tell the truth about my nationality, almost everyone I met had something nice to say about it. Either they had been there and enjoyed it, or they had relatives living there and wanted to visit. Definitely not the image of hatred and resentment that I had expected.

When I finished at the mosaic musuem, I headed over the the Aya Sofya nearby. The thing that most struck me was how obviously ancient it was and the layers of styles from hundreds of years of renovations. It was built in 537 by Emperor Justinian as part of his effort to restore greatness to the Roman Empire. It was reigned as the greatest church in Christendom until the Conquest in 1453, when it was converted into a mosque by Mehmet the Conqueror. In 1935, Turkish Ruler Ataturk proclaimed it a museum. The main dome is apparently the greatest of all domes (thanks to Lonely Planet for these facts).

Aya Sofya

Inside Aya Sofya - The Madonna and Child

Pulpit within the Aya Sofya (It´s Huge! Notice the Person at the Lower Right)

Near the Aya Sofya is a carpet and kilim museum inside an ancient hammam (Turkish Bath). The carpets weren´t really my style, but I loved the beauty of the old hammam. Later that day, I went to a hammam, but it was much more run down and not nearly as striking. It was very relaxing, although I´ll never really understand how you´re supposed to use the bowl to take water from the basin and wash and rinse in a graceful fashion while ensuring that you keep the swath of fabric around your waist.

Ceiling of Ancient Hammam in Istanbul

Hammam Windows

Nearby was the Basilica Cistern. I had seen the entrance earlier in the day, and couldn´t figure out why there was such a huge line for this little box of a building. Once I got inside, I understood. Underground there was a huge cavernous room supported by these amazing ancient pillars. It was built using the pillars and materials from ruined ancient buildings. Two of the pillars have sculptures of the head of Medusa at their base. No one knows why one is sideways and the other is upside down.

The Basilica Underground Cistern

Head of Medusa in Basilica Cistern

That night, I went to bed early, as I had a 7 a.m. flight to Cappadocia for a two-day tour. I awoke the next morning at 3:30 a.m. due to what I think was jet lag. I hadn't had much of a chance to stop and reflect and spend time alone since the beginning of the trip, so I took this time to listen to a guided meditation session that I'd downloaded to my ipod before I left. I was so proud of myself that I had actually awoken before the minarets sounded their pre-dawn call to prayer that I recorded a video to prove it.

When I had finished prepping for the trip, I went downstairs to wait for my airport shuttle. When the shuttle arrived, it was actually a taxi with two very drunk guys who had probably been up partying all night. They said something about the regular shuttle breaking down and that they'd get me there in no time. The driver was a really stocky gruff construction worker type and his copilot was like the skinny jokester. Driving like maniacs and giggling like schoolchildren, they sped me to the airport, pointing out various city sights in broken English along the way (the old city walls, for example). The driver had this really gravelly voice reminiscent of a Turkish Yoda or something. Both of them drank out of plastic tumbler and chain smoked the entire ride. The whole scene was WAY too surreal for 6 a.m.

When I finally got to the airport (alive, YEAH!), there were huge lines everywhere. After checking with the Information desk, I found the correct line, but was very tight for making it to the gate the required 30 minutes before my boarding time. Why hadn't my shuttle drivers... oh, never mind. When I was almost to the counter, I realized that I had left my regular passport in the safe back at my hotel and all I had with me was a photocopy. After much consultation (with beads of sweat forming on my brow), the clerk gave me my boarding pass (whew).

Cappadocia

When I got to the airport in Kayseri, there was someone from my tour group holding a sign with JEFF CHROMY in black magic marker. They quickly rushed me into a small tour van with several others, and then drove for 30 minutes to catch up with the tour that had already begun. I arrived to Cavusin with 10 minutes before we had to board the bus for the next stop. Very cool place for a first impression, though.

Cavusin

On the bus, I took the last open seat next to an Australian guy from Perth. The majority of the bus was Korean high school students, so I made small talk with the one Australian and several women from New Zealand.

Our next stop was Kaymakli underground city. The guide asked before we left the bus if anyone in the group was claustrophobic. She had the coolest pronunciation - clow-stro-phew-bic. I had occasionally felt a little boxed in if in a small space, but nothing that would prevent me from checking this out. As we began the tour, we were sandwiched between two other tour groups, and the corridors of the city were mostly too low to stand up completely. Every 20 or 30 feet, there would be some sort of kitchen or meeting room or ceremonial spot where we'd stop and the guide would give us an overview of the activities of the ancient inhabitants. The fourth corridor we traversed was over 100 feet long, and so low that you had to squat the entire time. By the end of the corridor, when we entered into the next chamber, I began to hyperventilate and my heart starting racing. I kept obsessing on the fact that we were several levels underground with many people and little oxygen and that I was going to die. I knew this was completely illogical, but felt powerless to stop it. I was fortunately able to find an empty room where I could go and breath very slowly, counting 8 seconds in and 8 seconds out for each breath.

I knew that I was probably just dehydrated and tired and fatigued from so much travel in such short time, and above all, I knew that I had to keep my mind from spinning off into the possibilities and distract it from the reality that I was several levels underground. Slowly, I was able to regain my composure, but I had lagged behind so much that I almost lost the rest of the group. That could have been really tragic, although I probably would have been pushed through by the next wave of tourists, anyway.

I made sure to stay a little behind just to ensure that I had enough cool air and space not to lapse back into anxiety mode. A couple of chambers after the attack, we came upon one of the air chambers that connected to the surface. This seemed to ease my mind enough to make it through the rest of the journey. Whoa, that was weird. I had only felt that sensation once before when I was stuck on an underground metro train in San Francisco packed with people in the middle of a power outage.

In retrospect, the underground city was really amazing. I wish I had been a little more coherent to enjoy it. At one time, 15,000 people lived underground there to either escape invaders or the weather or religious persecution. They had 8 different levels and would do pretty much everything underground. They had a whole system for storing sewage in containers and then bringing them above ground when the conditions were more amenable.

Underground City of Kaymakli

View of a Meeting Room from the Hallway in Kaymakli

My New Friends Trying out the Living Room Seats in Kaymakli

Later that day, we took a tour of an onyx gallery and watched them cut and polish the stone (yawn). We also visited several other scenic viewpoints and hiking areas. At the end of the day, we visited Pigeon Valley. Legend has it that the first inhabitants of this valley were fairies. Later, when humans settled in the valley, the fairies were unhappy, so they turned into pigeons, and still inhabit the valley today. The people living in the valley revere the pigeons and have built houses for them in the rocks. They collect their droppings for use as fertilizer.

Pigeon Valley

That night I stayed in Goreme, a town popular with backpackers and tourists. There are these crazy land formations that they call Fairy Chimneys. The hostel where I stayed had rooms inside one of the fairy chimney, but I got one of the regular rooms.

The next morning, I took a hot air balloon ride at sunrise over the crazy Cappadocia landscape. It was one of the highlights of my trip. Just the whole process of getting up into the air and then the feeling of floating and rising and falling is amazing enough, but coupled with the surreal landscape, it was a mind-blowing experience. Check out these videos I took while we were up in the air: video of the landscape featuring moi at the end; video of us barely clearing a mountain top; and a broader view of the spectacular landscape.

There were several balloons up that morning, but I think that we got the most skilled pilot. He was able to bring us so close to the mountain tops that it looked like I could reach down and touch them, and then we would glide effortlessly past to the next valley.

Crazy Cappadocia Landscape

Me in the Hot Air Balloon Over Cappadocia

Later that day, we saw Uchisar Castle. Looks kind of melted from erosion, but very intense. Our guide didn't really tell us much about the history, but it sounds like it's been used for many things over the centuries.

Signs of Life at the Top of Uchisar Castle

We went on to explore the Goreme Open Air Museum, which is a park area that is home to many of the best preserved rock-cut dwellings and churches in the area. Christians created the churches between the 9th and llth centuries so that they could worship in secret during periods of religious persecution. Here is a video of the inside of one of the churches. Careful not to get vertigo... I make a few flips and turns to show all of the different frescoes.

Rock Cut Church Goreme Open Air Museum

Frescoes Inside a Church at the Goreme Open Air Museum

One of the unique features of the Cappadocia landscape is the presence of many types of fairy chimneys. Below is a picture of Love Valley with many fairy chimneys clustered together. Can you see where it gets its name?

Fairy Chimneys in Love Valley

After two days and one night in Cappadocia, I took an overnight bus back to Istanbul. Only another 11 hours of uncomfortable travel… By this time, I was used to it. Right as I was getting ready to board the bus, I saw the Australian guy from Perth who had been my seat mate on the tour bus the day before. We swapped notes on our vacation and then made out way to our respective buses. Then, I had the unexpected fortune of running into these two kind of gothic people from Cleveland who had been on my hot air balloon ride that morning. They were on their way to Sofia, Bulgaria for the next leg of their European adventure, but had to return to Istanbul to get their connecting bus. Nice to have someone to shoot the shit with (my Nebraska roots coming out there…) during the two late night pit stops at the Turkish version of a truck stop. They had this really hilariously dark sense of humor that comes in handy at times like those.

I awoke at dawn to the guy in the seat next to me pointing out two of the big bridges in Istanbul. The nature coming into the city was really pretty, with all these rivers and waterways everywhere. It was really cool to watch the layers of the city unfold in the morning mist as we traversed the urban sprawl and closer to the heart of the city. Istanbul is huge - approximately 11 million people – and looks and feels like a real metropolis. I was really struck by the many mosques dotting the landscape with their minarets reaching to the sky. I guess that in a country where prayer is customary 5 times daily, you always need to have a mosque nearby.

Once I made my way back to my hotel and had a moment to relax, I set out for some sightseeing. Unfortunately, it had started to rain. I decided to go to the Bazaar in central Istanbul, an indoor market where you can get amazing bargains on everything from Turkish rugs to knockoff D&G belt buckles. AND, it’s almost all indoors and safe from the rain.

The Bazaar in Istanbul

More of The Bazaar

That night, after a nap, I went to McDonalds for dinner. I know, it’s awful, but I was feeling so alienated and really just craving something familiar. Once inside, I started thinking about American interests abroad that had been bombed in the past. Suddenly, everyone in the restaurant became a suspect, every bag a potential explosive. I realized this was ridiculous, but at the same time had this underlying tension.

I went back to the hotel and got ready to go out for the night. Determined to find a gay bar, I asked the man at the front desk of my hotel to call a cab that spoke English. The cab came, and as soon as I got in, I could tell that he did not speak a word of English. I showed him the address and name of the bar I sought – Barbhace. He didn’t know where it was, and yelled out to some other men standing on the street, asking them where it was. They didn’t know, either, so he drove somewhere where other cab drivers were and finally we were off. He stopped in the Taksim Square area at a Road Closed sign and said something about how he couldn’t get to the place because of construction, I think. As soon as I had walked a block, I was completely lost again, didn’t recognize any of the street names. Fortunately, I was able to find the main area of Taksim and then just set out to wander through the back streets and try to find one of the names of the gay bars I had seen in the Out Traveler article on Istanbul. I had finally been there long enough that I didn’t have that totally horrified newcomer look, and found that if I walked fast, I kind of blended in. Finally, I recognized a sign – Purple. This was one of the gay bars. I paid like $15 U.S. to get in and the door guys were totally chuckling at me. I realized why when I got inside… nobody there yet. I guess the Turkish have similar nightclub hours to Madrid, and it was only like 11 p.m. I got my free drink and sat around for a while before getting up the nerve to ask the bartender about other gay bars. He grabbed another bartender that spoke English (and was adorable, to boot). This guy told me that Purple had switched to a straight club a few weeks earlier, but that he would recommend the best gay bar in all of Istanbul, called Prive. He drew me a little map and sent me on my way. FINALLY, I was on my way to a gay bar in Turkey.

I found Prive pretty easily, but it too was dead. I grabbed a water from the bartender who told me that Prive was the first gay bar in Turkey, and that it had been around for 15 years. By my calculations, that would mean 1991 – a little over 20 years after the gay revolution in the U.S. After about an hour, the people started to stream in. The first guy to talk to me was really drunk, but had lived in New York for several years. He kept warning me to watch my wallet and be careful. It didn’t really look like a dangerous place, so I just thought he was drunk and kind of crazy. A little bit later, this really cute, really husky looking Neanderthal-type guy came up to me and got really close and smiled and said, “Where you from?” I told him from the U.S. Then he said, “I leave soon. I sex you?” I got turned on immediately, because he was really hot in an animalistic way. I told him that I wasn’t sure. I think he had already used the extent of his English vocabulary on me, so we just stood there and he stared at me like a puppy dog. He seemed really harmless, but something about what the other guy said rang in my head. He walked away for a minute, and when he returned, I asked him if he kissed. He said yes. I said would you kiss me now? He said no. A couple of minutes later, I told him I wouldn’t go home with him. He seemed disappointed, but then just wandered away. Then another cute waifish guy came up to me and said hello, where are you from. He said he was going to another fun gay bar, and asked me if I wanted to come. The warnings from my guidebook were floating around in my head, so I turned this guy down, too. As I stood there on the edge of the bar, I began to realize that all of the cute boys, including the ones I had spoken with, were friends with this old queen in the corner. After more observation, I came to the conclusion that they were all hustlers, and the queen was the pimp. I was very glad that I had not left with any of them, and at the same time really pissed that I had to be so concerned about being victimized. After a few more songs, I made my way to the street and caught a taxi back to my hotel.

The next morning, I had a breakfast baklava and coffee at this place recommended by my guidebook. The baklava was even better than I expected, and it was soooo awesome to have a really good coffee instead of the usual Nescafe at my hotel. The Turks aren't really into coffee, so good coffee is hard to find. They seem to be more into tea (cay, as they call it).

I set out for Topkapi Palace, but on my way there, I got into a conversation with one of the shoe shine guys in the square near the Aya Sofia. I had on my hiking shoes that are like 90 percent suede, and he somehow talked me into letting him give me a shoe shine. He was the cutest fucking shoe shine guy I have ever seen, which may have had something to do with it. Anyway, the whole interaction was really cool until he wanted to charge me an outrageous amount for a shoe shine that I told him I didn't want and really couldn't even use to begin with. We finally settled on a lower amount, and I figured it was the price I had to pay to hang out with a hot local for 15 minutes. The 10 percent of my shoes that were shine-able looked damned good, though, I had to admit. He also used a brush on the suede, so I guess I left with a better foot forward than before.

I eventually made it to Topkapi, and spent the afternoon wandering through it's splendour. Much of the first and second courtyard looked like your usual palacial grandeur, but when I got to the third court, there was some really crazy stuff. One of the first rooms I entered had the actual arm and skull of John the Baptist of biblical fame. The arm was sheathed in silver armor, and you could just see the bones of the hand through an opening. It took me a second to register that this was THE arm of THE John the Baptist. Now that's some major history before your eyes, huh? I noticed that one of the other rooms had a huge line to get in. I walked up to see the sign on the door before deciding whether to wait. It was the room with the famous Topkapi jewels. I had the good fortune to be waiting in line next to an amazing woman from France who is currently living in Jerusalem named Natalie. We hit it off right away, and stuck together through the Topkapi jewels and the holy relics sections. The holy relics contained many personal effects of the prophet Mohammed, including part of a tooth, hair from his beard, and a cloak that he wore. The intensity of emotion in that room and the people pushing their way to the center to see the relics was really overwhelming.

Tired from the day and ready to sit down and relax, Natalie and I went to the cafe at the palace for a coffee with an amazing view of the Bosphorus.

Topkapi Palace with Natalie in the Foreground

The Circumcision Room (That's Right)

After coffee, I accompanied Natalie to meet Chetin, the Turkish man she had met the day before at the bazaar. He invited us to the multi-leveled jewelry store/carpet gallery/crash pad where he worked and we relaxed over a tea. We all needed to rest, so resolved to meet up later in the Taksim square area for my last night on the town.

I returned to my hotel exhausted, but I wanted to make the most of my last hours in Istanbul. I decided to go to the gay hamam that I had read about somewhere online. The hamam was busy and exotic and intense. I'll never forget the color of the light through the steam as the day drifted into twilight and the men sat around in towels talking and laughing in Turkish. As I was getting dressed, one of the men started talking to me in English. After we talked for a few minutes, he said that he and his friends were going to a cafe nearby, and invited me to join them. I, of course, obliged, and was off on my first true adventure with the locals.

The man who invited me was the only one of the three who spoke English. I have unfortunately forgotten all of their names and lost the slip of paper with the email address of the English speaker (sorry sorry sorry you guys). They took me through the maze of streets in Taksim until we eventually came to the building with the cafe. We had to go up three flights of stairs and then ring a buzzer to be let into the gay cafe. As we sat down and talked, I got a little bit of a feel for how much different gay life is in Turkey. My friend said that he was excited because sometimes, if you're lucky, they'll let two men kiss at this cafe. I was like... it's a gay cafe, isn't it? Well, things are a little different in Turkey. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and somehow (this plays into my complex of always being the freak in the crowd) I accidentally hit the bidet and squirted water all over my pants. There are pretty much never paper towels in bathrooms, and this was no exception, so tried to air dry as quickly as possible, but it was obvious when I came out that something had happened. No one said anything, so I just tried to act like it never happened (and fanned my pants a lot to speed up the drying process).

Then, they took me for the best hamburgers that you get to go and we ate them as we wandered the maze of streets.

Christian Church in Taksim Square Area

Istikial Caddesi in Taksim Square Area

Hamhocks and Interviews

Motherfucker, I have had a bitch of a day. This stomach parasite is making me sooo weak and I have never felt anything like the morning emptying session. It was like I lost 30 pounds and I´m NOT kidding. Then running around and trying to find aparments and be charming and interested and all in Spanish. Not great timing here. I figured that I should hit it kind of hard today, though, since it´s my last day in Madrid. Tomorrow I kick off the five-day trip to Jerry´s home base of Ciudad Real. Looking really forward to some down time to relax and work on things.

I had three apartment interviews today. The first one was the most awesome location, only a couple of blocks from my hostel. A cute room, and two seemingly nice female roommates. I couldn´t really tell if I made a good impression or not, but I´m not holding my breath. That would be soooo great if it works out. A little out of the price range I set, but the location alone would be worth it. Extra special added bonus - air conditioning. Very necessary, since it´s on the 5th floor. I´m gonna leave it up to the Gods... The other two places I saw (well, one that I saw and, oh, you´ll see) weren´t too great. The first was another place for students. Very nice 23-year-old guy from Barcelona who is the only roommate at the moment, but the place is very basic and pretty far out of the central zone. It´s by a huge park called Casa de Campo. There also appears to be an amusement park. I guess it would be nice to have the option of a quick roller coaster ride for breakfast...

The third one took me FOREVER to get to from the metro at the second one. Once I got off the metro, I had to weave through many levels of stairs and half-closed passageways due to major construction that´s underway on one of the main legs of the metro there. I was told to then ask for the restaurant Museo de Jamon (literally Museum of Ham - pictured below).

Anyway, I got directions from someone at a restaurant who said I had to cross the bridge and look to the left to see the restaurant. The bridge was pretty long and was more like a freeway. It was also under construction, and there was no visible sidewalk or pedestrian thoroughfare. I now understood why the crotchety old lady on the phone kept saying that I had to catch the 86, 85 or 79 bus lines once I arrived. I saw a woman who was starting to trek over the bridge on foot, though, so I decided to go for it. How hard could it be? After about 100 feet, when the next wave of traffic came, I realized that this was not a good idea. There was barely enough room for the two lanes of traffic, and the cars were only able to give us about 2 feet of clearance (not including the mirrors, for which I had to duck to the left). Then, I saw a row of huge buses coming at me. For the first time in a while, I feared for my life. I was too far across the bridge to really go back, but still had a long way to go. I decided to catch up to the lady and just hope for the best. Every new wave of traffic brought clouds of dust that just added to the debris already being blown around by the wind that had picked up. All of it was sticking nicely to the new layer of sweat that had formed all over my body from the fear of death. I didn´t want to wipe it off because my hands were sticky from holding onto the diseased handles on the metro trains, ICK!!!

When I finally got to the other side, I did a little dance of sacrifice to the Gods for allowing me to make it alive. I can´t believe that I actually considered continuing on to the apartment, but after a moment of consideration, I decided that cheap rent was not worth that hassle. The woman had a knowing sound of resignation in her voice when I called and said, "I´m sorry for your trouble, but this is way too far out for me."

Just a little side note on my lunch incident earlier today. I ate an amazing spaghetti bolognese at this outdoor restaurant near my hostel. While I was waiting for my food, I saw this woman standing next to a car nearby with a light blue plastic bag with something sticking out of it. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the protrusions were hooves! This made me very curious, so I pulled out my camera, and waited to get a better look at what was in the bag, but she hid behind the car. Then she went into this grocery store where her friend was already hanging out. They made some strange motions and then both rushed back to the car and drove off, hooves in tow.

Now, I´m going to need to do an entire entry (or several) on the food culture here, but one of the things that first struck me was how real the food was in the restaurants and shops. The huge ham hocks aren´t just hanging in touristy places like the Museo de Jamon, but pretty much everywhere that you will be eating them. OK, not everywhere, but many places. It leaves me wondering if the woman just had a one-off beast that she needed to unload, so she thought she´d pop into town and try to sell it at the neighborhood market. I´m pretty sure the legs had brown hair on them, though. Isn´t that a deer? Ugh, I knew I should have paid more attention when Dad showed me his last prized buck.

Although I was unable to get a photo of the mystery hooves, I've included a pic taken in a friend's kitchen, to give you an idea of the alleged protrusion. Museo de Jamon (also pictured) is a veritable fiesta of hooves, day in, day out.

Hoof in the Home Setting

Hoof - Detail

Museo de Jamon - Literally "Museum of Ham"

The Unraveling of the Jeff

I’m officially over it… over looking for apartments, over being lost, over having people misunderstand me or talk to me in bad English because they think my Spanish isn’t good enough. Tired of being tired from the parasite and the cold virus and the moving from place to place. Tired of listening to the woman in the next room climax again and again and wondering whether she’s really having that much fun or faking it and... just for a brief moment, wondering if it’s actually a porn movie on the television in the next room and some older guy jacking off to it rather than the sex live in person just inches from my head in this box, the 8th box I’ve lived in since I left SF 3 weeks ago. Going to box #9 here in a couple of days. At least that’s the box within the box of a good friend and should be more comfortable and certainly she will have the courtesy to refrain from loud orgasms while I am the guest.

Hopefully, by then the medication I’m taking for the parasite will have kicked in and I’ll stop having these tragic bathroom emergencies. I was really proud of myself tonight, when I was able to feel the emergency in the making and still able to hold it off long enough to finish my internet café session, eat a gyro and go out to the local gay leather bar for a quick beverage before deciding that I really needed to go and then talking to the gay activist guy at the metro station for like 10 minutes before catching the metro and walking 10 minutes back to my hostel. I should get some sort of medal for intestinal control. That would at least be a silver, right?

On a happier note, I left the gay hostel (good riddance). I take back anything nice I said about the place. The woman who runs the place is a bitch and took some sort of twisted pleasure in the fact that they couldn’t accommodate me for any additional days. Everyone there was sooo unfriendly. The breakfast area in the morning was always full of people and they were all so good at ignoring each other. I have never seen people try so hard not to make eye contact or smile. There was one really cute French gay couple and one single who actually at least gave me weak smiles, but I missed the days of the friendlier hostel mates a couple of days back.

The only nice workers at the hostel seemed to be really overworked by the witch who owned it and the younger one had kind of a Cinderella air about her. She was really pretty in a simple way and always had a few wisps of hair falling out of her ponytail as the sweat dripped down her face from mopping the 50 floors or folding the huge piles of laundry. She’d always gave me a weak smile and tried to answer my questions the best that she could. To top off the evil gay hostel experience, the elevator has been broken the last couple of days. The hostel is on the 5th floor and it’s a total pain to walk in normal circumstances, but today I had to move The Monster big bag to the other hostel. I refused to drag that piece of shit down 5 flights of stairs, so I spent like 10 minutes in the elevator pushing different combinations of buttons to try to fake it out. It seemed like it didn’t like people to go directly from floor 5 to the ground floor, so it would continually open and close and never move when I’d try to go down. Today I finally got it to go down after pushing ground, letting it open and close again, and then pushing 4th floor and then the ground floor buttons (finally). I’m also very very happy that the new hostel owner offered to store The Monster for an indefinite period for 1 Euro a day. I was planning on dropping it at the train station today, where I’m sure they’d charge about the same as the 3 Euro fee at the airport.

I'll end with a happier note on the apartment search. I met with these two Italian cousins last night who sounded optimistic about their room for rent, but it wouldn’t be available until 5/16. That would mean 2 more weeks in hostels. They also said they’d think about other possibilities to help me out in the interim, so I’m supposed to call them on Monday or Tuesday. I’m continuing to call and interview for places just in case that doesn’t come through, though. Ugh.

The Vacation is Totally Over - Part II (title added after original publication date)

If I can ever figure out how to put titles on these things, I think this would have to be "The Vacation is Totally Over - Part II." My stomach has been feeling kind of strange, and I've been feeling really fatigued, but I just thought it was from the new foods and the cold and too much running around. This morning, I finally decided that I probably had gotten some sort of parasite in Turkey. Damnit, I knew I shouldn't have been lulled into a false sense of security by how pretty and clean the salad was at that tourist buffet. I have suspected this for a couple of days now, but this morning I was sure. I called my friend Jerry, the font of all Spanish knowledge, and he recommended that I go to the pharmacy rather than spend the money on an expensive private doctor here. The pharmacists here have much more authority to prescribe things without a doctor's approval. I remember this same type of system in Costa Rica. You would not believe the stuff they sell essentially over the counter.

So, I went in and said that I had diarrhea (same name in Spanish, different pronounciation that I can never get right... deeearrayuh) and that my stomach hurt and was being noisy. I then did a quick imitation of the noises that it made, since I didn't know the word for gurgle. The woman at the counter smiled, walked to the back for a second and returned with a box of pills that I need to take three times daily before meals until gone. Being the untrusting freak that I am, I immediately went back to my hostel and looked up the name of the pills online. I found more info that sounded like they probably cover just about anything. It seemed like I was feeling much better a few hours after the first dose, so I'm living in hope that I will soon be back to normal.

The illness has made apartment hunting and pretty much everything seem so insurmountably difficult. I have actually been doing pretty well in spite of everything. I interviewed for 2 apartments yesterday. One place they pretty much offered it to me, but it was expensive (380 EU/month) and really tacky, dingy and gross. The other was pretty nice, good location and cheap (280 EU/month), but the two girls said that they had received a flood of calls and visits. I also don't think I made a very good impression since I didn't feel well and every couple of minutes, I'd get totally stuck on a word and make and ass of myself. It is very difficult for my personality to come through in Spanish. I try to be witty, but it just comes out confused.

Finally, today, I interviewed for another place, and my Spanish seemed to finally be kicking in. I really think that I'll be pretty smooth with it after a month or so. I hope I hope I hope that I can hang out and converse with Spaniards. I know for a fact that one of the reasons I didn't speak better Spanish at the end of my six months in Costa Rica is because I spent much of my time with Americans speaking English.

Last night I broke the no American rule and went out with a group of American girls who are students at a language academy in Madrid. One was from Nebraska and knows my other friend here. We had a really good time drinking, eating, drinking, talking. They gave me great information on the English teaching scene, Spanish culture, and the differences for which I should be prepared. I got the supposed low down on Spanish men from them. I guess that the straight guys are bisexual and the bisexual guys are gay. So the gays must be REALLY gay, I would deduce. I have a theory that the closer a country is to the equator, and the warmer the climate, the hornier the population and the more sexual their forms of expression. This was certainly the case in Costa Rica. And, if Spain is anything like that, I have a feeling it's going to be a crazy summer in Madrid. It gets as hot as an oven and the people are packed in the streets and the subways and the bars and the restaurants. They certainly don't have any problem touching each other in passing. My personal space zone is pretty much in a constant state of violation. I've really been trying to just be tranquilo about it and understand that there are going to be cultural differences that will seem strange to me.

The one thing that seems to be a common resentment for Americans and keeps coming up in conversation is how cold and uncourteous that Spaniards are in comparison to Americans. It is just a cultural difference, but very difficult not to take it personally when someone runs you off the street into traffic or cuts in front of you at the corner store buying groceries. I am beginning to see them as total brutes. Especially the older ladies. I swear, when they're barreling at you down a narrow street, you can see the smoke coming out of their nose and you can be sure that they're not going to give an inch, so you just better move. If it wasn't so ingrained in me to be kind to women and especially to women who are my elders, I would be tempted to play a little game of chicken. Instead, I just become passive/aggressive and stop in the middle of the street and make them go around me. Maybe some day I'll speak Spanish well enough to get one of the older women's perspective on the whole thing. Oh, I am so American...

The Vacation is Over

I believe that my vacation has officially ended. It probably ended the night before last when I went bar hopping with Adrian, the Australian guy from my hostel. If not, it most certainly ended after my morning coffee with Aristide (also a hostel-ite... I luv gay hostels) from Venezuela yesterday morning. That is when I embarked upon my large-bag-retrieval voyage to the airport. When packing for this trip, I packed my backpack and my smaller suitcase with the things I would need for the Istanbul leg of the trip. I stuffed the larger bag (which I affectionately refer to as "The Monster") with everything I´d be wanting once I returned to Madrid. I dropped the big bag at a baggage check at the airport when I first arrived in Madrid. I knew when I dragged The Monster down the stairs to the storage area that night and then tried to lift it four feet up to the opening of the locker that it would be a pain in the ass to come and pick it up.

I had avoided this moment as long as possible, but I was now completely out of many things that I had in that bag (um, underwear, for one). So, I made the long trek out to the airport via 4 different metro lines with a bit of trepidation coupled with a good dose of exhaustion and topped off by chunks of phlegm from the cold that had settled into my head over the past few days. My search for the baggage check was fairly typical of my experience with finding things here in Madrid (the lost part, not the unearthing of the airport hookup zone... you´ll see what I mean). I exited the metro at the Barajas stop (the name of the Madrid airport) and asked for directions at the information booth nearby. The kind woman informed me that I had exited at the wrong metro stop, that they had no such luggage check at Barajas and that I would need to board the metro again and return to the Aeropuerto stop. Fortunately, they let me fish my metro ticket out of the trash can to hop the metro back to the prior stop.

At the airport stop, I followed the signs for the gate that looked like my arrival gate from that initial trip into Spain. After about 5 moving sidewalks, I needed a bathroom break, so stopped by the nearest public toilets to pee and blow my nose. I entered the bathroom quickly and had to wade through several people to get to the stalls. When I found what I thought to be an open stall, I pushed the door and heard a loud grunt as the door slammed in my face. Hmmm, occupied, I guess, but unlocked and halfway open - my first clue that this was not a normal bathroom. I went to the next stall and was able to take care of my business, but then sort of nervous as to what I had unearthed here at airport Madrid. I made a point of washing my hands in the sink with a mirror view of the urinals, and sure enough, there was more than urinating going on in there. As I walked around looking for the luggage check, I kind of wondered what I had missed in the crazy bathroom. After asking directions three times and literally going completely in a circle twice, I finally found the luggage (and checked back on the bathroom - I wasn't really missing much anyway).

SO, the point is that I finally got my bag. So now I had to drag The Monster through four metro lines with three transfers, two of which did not have escalators and had several sets of up an down stairs. The Madrid metro is very good in the sense that it goes pretty much everywhere you´d need to go and runs frequently and efficiently. The down side is that you almost always have to transfer a couple of times. I seriously thought I was going to die dragging The Monster up that last set of stairs in the Plaza del Sol at rush hour, but NOW I HAVE IT!!! It has my laptop and a whole new world of clothes, my large Spanish dictionary (I bought a small one a couple of days ago, but it´s like the vocabulary of a 12 year old). Extra special added bonus - I was able to hop onto someone´s wireless connection from my hostel room!!! A Jetsons moment in the land of Flintstones. Very helpful, since I´m spending many hours online looking for a sublet or apartment share. I´ll also soon be able to post photos, YEAH!

The Lucky Ones - An Escalator in One of the Myriad Metro Tunnels

One of the Longer Metro Tunnels (NOT the longest)

Asia to Europe

Yesterday, I had my final moments in Istanbul. I took a taxi to the Taksim square area and tried to capture in photos and video the vibrancy and beauty and intensity, but sadly they are mere silhouettes of the true experience. I will do a full retrospective of the Turkish leg of my Journey when I am more grounded with consistent internet access with MY computer and not some random freakshow setup in an ergonomically void box in some far-flung corner of the world.

I left Istanbul with a pretty intense sleep deficit, the beginning of a nasty cold, and a very short night´s sleep ahead of me in Zurich. Fortunately, I had spent a night in Zurich on the way to Turkey, so was familiar with my hotel and its surroundings. My first impressions of Zurich were of a clean, modern, friendly and cosmopolitan place where everyone spoke perfect English. My return impression turned to one of a land of the entitled where one can´t even find a simple snack for less than $15. I was starving when I arrived and had left the Swiss Francs that I had been saving for this part of the journey in my other bag that I´d checked through to Madrid, so I decided to just use the credit card and have a decent meal. I was wearing the same clothes from the day before and hadn´t had time to take a proper shower before I left, so already felt like kind of an outcast. To top it off, the head cold had rendered my brain cells incapable of forming a complete sentence in English.

I finally decided on one of the many nice restaurants after wandering around for a while marvelling at the prices. The meal was an extraordinary black pasta dish with osso bucco and a creamy leek sauce, but the experience was kind of pathetic, as I had to eat reeeaaaallly slowly and raise my glass to drink with the utmost care to make sure I didn´t dump everything in my lap while on display in the restaurant window. When I planned this trip, I found that even the cheapest hostels in Zurich were $60, so I decided to pay a little more and book my room in the only gay hotel in Zurich. The added bonus was that they had a bar and discoteque in the same complex. The down side for sleeping was that they had a bar and discoteque in the same complex. On this Easter night of the delirious and sick Jeff stay, they had a special party for the holiday weekend. Apparently, the Swiss also get the day after Easter as a national holiday, so the gays of course wanted to make the best of this by cramming as much debauchery into those last few moments as possible. I knew that I wouldn´t be able to stay up until the fun started, so decided to do an early bedtime in the hopes of waking before my 7 a.m. flight to sample the big party. As planned, the pain and stuffiness from my cold woke me up at 4:30 a.m., just in time to go down to the disco for the tail end of what seemed like a lot of fun. I was glad I was able to see it, but not really able to enjoy it due to the aforementioned illness and delirium :(

The next morning, upon my arrival in Madrid, I realized that I had erroneously booked my reservation at the Madrid hostel for April 18-20 and was actually arriving on April 17. Fortunately, they were able to accommodate me. (I would have died if not, and I´m not kidding.) I wandered around a bit for the first time without Jerry, who had accompanied me the entire time in Madrid before the Turkey trip. Strange, I thought I knew Madrid pretty well, but found myself walking in a seemingly familiar direction, only to be spit out on some foreign corner. Resign yourself to the confusion, resign yourself to the confusion, it will be this way for a while. I have to remember that. I honestly don´t know what I would do if I had to work this first month. I really think I´ll need this time to adjust to the culture, get settled and find my way around.

I finally found my way back to the hostel and laid down for a "nap", only to wake up at midnight after 8 hours of sleep. What the $%&! happened to my alarm? Fortunately, I´m in Madrid! The bars are just getting started at that time, and I was able find a kebab place for cheap eats on the way. Most bars were pretty quiet, but I found the loudest and most happening one on Chueca Plaza and hung out as long as I could stand the loud music and thick cloud of smoke. The crowd was very young, cute, hip and mixed (I think). My gaydar is completely whacked here, since the straight guys dress much more colorfully, and listen to much more techno music than their American counterparts. I was still uncertain at this place until later in the night, when the lesbians pretty much took over one corner and the rest was straight couples (or gay guys with straight women?) making out. I found it advantageous to play down my knowledge of Spanish when a creepy trollish guy latched onto me in my corner oasis of calm and continually kept trying to start a conversation. Fortunately, his English was pretty much 0, so he eventually resigned himself to dancing next to me sans conversation. I finally wandered home and was able to get back to sleep pretty quickly when I returned to my room at 4 a.m.

This morning, during my first lost period of the day, I came across the filming of a movie on Gran Via. It was kind of cool to see them try to integrate their actors and extras with the random folks passing in the street to make for an authentic street scene. It's quite possible that I'm in the film, since I walked through the area at least three times before settling on my final direction.

Action! - Filming in Madrid

The pic below is almost all extras trying to create the look of an authentic busy street scene. When the camera started rolling, they all just started walking and blended in with the other foot traffic. The guy in the beige suit is the star. He kept doing the same 30 second clip over and over again.



The Star

I´ve been playing this game of trying to see how little money I can spend now that I´m in Spain and living on savings for the moment. It lasted well until lunchtime today, when I just had to break down and buy a full meal for 10 Euros (approximately $12). But, for that price, I got a yummy soup with a roll as a starter, a huge pork chop and french fries for the main course, and bread pudding for dessert. Now I understand why they need a siesta after lunch :) Of course this is perfect Jeff food, and if I can just find some pancakes for breakfast (unlikely here), my life will be complete!! I chose the budget option called the Menu. Apparently, each restaurant is required to have one by law, and most have the regular and the higher-priced Menu Especial. I honestly don't know how the residents here afford it. I mean, I´m living on the weak dollar, but the average wage in Madrid is only $20,000 Euros annually. Everything seems to be about the same price in Euros as things are in dollars in San Francisco, and the average wage there is much higher. I guess I´m existing in the most expensive zones and it is perhaps possible to live on much less every day.

When I first arrived in Madrid 12 days ago, I mentioned the contrast between Munich´s hyper-modern and exceedingly efficient airport to Madrid´s Barajas, which seems like a bit of an anachronism with its dingy walls and 70´s decor. My friend Jerry said that while I was getting accustomed to life in Spain I should prepare myself to expect "The Flintstones." I laughed, thinking he was joking. Later, during a discussion about the famously oppressive summers in Madrid (one of which I am about to experience), I said, "But, they have air conditioning, right?" To which Jerry broke out in song, "... from the town of Bedrock, ­it´s a place right out of history..." This rang true to me today when I was searching for an internet cafe where you can both use the internet AND relax with a coffee and pastry in a comfortable environment. I asked the attendant at the internet box where I was currently checking email if such a thing existed. He pointed to the cappuccino machine in the corner proudly and said, "No problem, we have coffee here."

Inceptıon

ugh, so i am so tired and begınnıng to get the fatıgue that comes from draggıng all of your belongıngs around wıth you from place to place, contınually packıng and repackıng, losıng thıngs and then fındıng them and then losıng them agaın. ı can tell that thıs wıll grate on me quıckly and ı`ll need to really focus on fındıng a semıpermanent place when ı get to madrıd. sounds lıke that could be dıffıcult, but ı guess ı,ll see. ı just came from an amazıng few days ın ıstanbul and then cappadocıa ın turkey and am now back ın ıstanbul for 2 more days before goıng to zurıch for one nıght and then back to madrıd. ı counted yesterday that I`ll be on 7 planes ın 11 days. could ı have planned thıs trıp to be more scattered? perhaps ı`ll feel even double super grounded when ı get back to madrıd due to all the prıor chaos... maybe ı shouldn`t count on that, huh? ı`m really goıng to have to fıll ın the blanks later on thıs blog thıng, because ıt tıres me so to try to type on these foreıgn keyboards and ı cant get any real stream of conscıoussness goıng because ı have to stop every 10 seconds to fıgure out how to do a comma or somethıng rıdıculous lıke that. oh and pardon the dot-less ı`s but thats whats ın the ı space on thıs keyboard and ıts close enough for me to not want to expend the extra effort to hunt for the dotted ı that exısts somewhere near ENTER. ı truly cant waıt to share my experıences and pıctures and vıdeos thus far, as ıts been a really great experıence ın all of the places ı`ve seen on thıs trıp - madrıd, zurıch, ıstanbul, and cappadocıa. cappadocıa was partıcularly surreal lıke somethıng out of a faıry tale wıth the ıts crazy land formatıons and long hıstory of ınhabıtants dwellıng wıthın them. ı took a hot aır balloon rıde over the most ıntense parts of the landscape and wıll share the vıdeo wıth you when ı get a lıttle more wıred. ıt stıll hasnt really sunk ın that ı was actually present for those moments, so ım glad that ı captured them electronıcally for future revıew and ınspıratıon. ı have no ıdea how much tıme ı have left on thıs computer and have just arrıved at the maın bus statıon ın ıstanbul from an overnıght bus trıp from cappadocıa so ı better sıgn off for now. lookıng forward to a couple of days ın a nıcer hotel to relax and take a much needed shower. untıl next tıme...