istanbul – One Hell of a Ride

Day 18: Trabzon

Trabzon is a seaport. As such, it has a really awesome feel somewhere between Istanbul and the oriental version of Booty Bay.

The difference is stunning — I don’t know whether it is the sea or something else, but after Erzincan and especially Malatya, Trabzon is so full of life and energy! It is so very beautiful, too!

The first thought that occurred after riding in was — “I am gonna stay here for a while.” And I did!

In fact, I stayed in Trabzon for three days — a day longer than I stayed in Ankara. That makes Trabzon city number two after Istanbul on my trip!

The streets carefully laid out of cobblestone, the revolting omnipresent smell of fish, the pubs and the noise make it such a pleasant place to be for any pirate… or adventurer!

Driving in Turkey is challenging. Although the roads are mostly very nice, the driving habits of the local drivers are outrageously bad. According to Lonely Planet: Turkey, Turkey is statistically the world’s number one when it comes to the annual number of motor vehicle accidents.

Now, by saying bad driving I do not by any means imply reckless driving. Or fast driving. Or outlaw driving. I mean just that — bad driving! There is driving outlaw, when you break the laws but still know exactly what you’re doing. And then there is just simple bad driving — when you have no idea, do not check your mirrors, drive in the middle of the lane without being aware of the surrounding vehicles, break unexpectedly, and, perhaps most annoying of all, honk your horn twenty milliseconds after the traffic light turns green. Give it a second!!!!

Yielding? Forget about it! Turn signals? I think the total amount of times I’ve seen anyone use their turn signals on an intersection for a week in Istanbul did not exceed 10. No, I am not missing a zero there!

I always thought that the Armenian drivers are really bad. We definitely break the rules when we feel like we realize what we are doing, and we like driving fast. But driving in Turkey is like a race of survival — there is absolutely no way anyone anywhere can convince me that a bus driver who pulls his wagon straight on a motorcycle at his right possibly knows what he is doing. He just does not appear to give a damn even to check his mirrors. And the worst part is, the police does not seem to be doing anything about it. They just accept it as a fact of life.

If I were to be the head of traffic police in Turkey, I would declare all driving licenses void and start a new process of harsh driving exams. You know you are doing something wrong, when in a neighboring country where the vast majority just buys their driving licenses without any exam at all, people drive better by degrees.

However, speeding on a freeway is punished harshly. When a policeman gives you a ticket for exceeding the speed limit by 3 km/h, you just wanna scream your lungs out — “Dude, have you been to Istanbul?!” But he writes the ticket anyway, and I have noticed that a lot of Turks get the speeding tickets. Also, it goes without saying, there does not even remotely appear to be any corruption when it comes to driver–officer interactions.

The pedestrians are a different story. You think in Yerevan people cross the street wherever and whenever they feel like? Meet Istanbul. It is like an arcade game called “Dodge the Kamikaze”, and it gets pretty old and stressful after several minutes. If I had to live in Istanbul (which I would absolutely love to) and commute on a vehicle to work every day, after about a month I would probably become some sort of a disturbed psychotic maniac.

Now the good news: the roads, on the other hand, are mostly extremely nice. Their quality may vary inside towns, but the freeways are very good, and the signage/markings is great. Closer to Istanbul area they are nearly perfect. After driving for about 3,500kms, I did not encounter a single pothole. It just impresses you when you see the process of laying down the roads in Turkey. I know some Turks complain about the quality of their roads, but they should know that their roads are not worse, if not better, than those in California..

One thing to watch out for on the roads is the reason of my accident. This is, in fact, a good tip, that I would appreciate to have before starting my journey.

In cities where it does not rain very often, the exhaust gases from the cars’ pipes come out and accumulate on the tarmac. I do not understand why we don’t have that problem in Armenia, but in cities like Erzurum or Malatya at some point you feel like riding on ice, not asphalt. For cars it is perhaps not a big issue, but for a two-wheel vehicle it is very easy to skid or lock the wheels. Always watch out for that and drive slowly on slippery surfaces!

Also I am assuming that if rain started with the road being in that condition, it would just be wise to pull over and wait for about 15 minutes till the nasty layer of chemicals is washed off the surface.

And the final tip is, when driving in Turkey, stretch your imagination and expect everything from every member of the traffic. I mean it.

Driving in Turkey has definitely made me sweat. But it was also a good exercise of defensive driving and good reaction. If you are into that kind of stuff, you may actually come to enjoy it!

Day 11: Magic

Istanbul is enchanted. It is a magical city, and the magic is so intense that you can almost hear it in the air. This cannot be explained, as it is a completely different dimension, but it is not any less real. Every stone, every trash can (there isn’t many of those) and every bench, every dirty beggar, every tree, every wave of Marmara, every train, bridge and the bolts on them, every boy selling water, every Vespa and every roof are magical, filled with strange energy — not negative or positive, not like anything that can be described. It is a very strange kind of extraordinarily attractive energy — it fills you and wraps you and floats you away, in this amazingly sweet slumber, chanting soothing melodies to your ear, touching the most special strings in your soul, and going so deep that it cracks your very essence open to you and the city. It is a city that makes you surrender instantly — and completely. Surrender to being happy, for you are real.

I am forever in love, and I need not pretend. I desperately, hopelessly and endlessly love Istanbul.

Pathetically sentimental and poetic? I am one of the more cynical people out there, but one has to be a shallow douchebag to not feel the immense sorcery that this city is filled with!

When the night comes, the stars gently swim down from the sky into the Bosphorus and become mermaids, whispering tales of the great unknown and stealing your heart as you stand there, seduced, speechless, like a statue, your spirit floating above the dreaming city, caressed by the seas.

Tomorrow, I am going to hop on my motorcycle and head to Eskişehir. A piece of my heart, however, is forever going to stay here in Istanbul, between Europe and Asia, Marmara and Black Sea, somewhere along these curvy streets and wrapped around the heels of the gorgeous Turkish ladies. I have to come back, or I shall always be heartbroken. Thank you, Istanbul, for enriching me so much that I feel like I need a bigger body to host myself comfortably. Thank you for changing me forever, for making me so endlessly self–sufficient, and yet thank you for reminding me that I still know how to love.

I needed you so much.

Day 10: Hagia Sophia

Hagia Sophia is a sad monument. It is powerful and magnificent, of course, but it had me drowned in tears when I stepped in and walked around.

It is, without doubt, one the most impressive monuments erected by men. Inside, every square inch tells a story.

After being conquered by the Ottoman Turks sometime in the 15th century. the church was turned into a mosque. In fact it became the main mosque of the Ottomans’ new empire. They have, of course, immediately modified the interior.

Most of the artwork on the walls was covered. Some of it is irreversibly lost. I personally found Hagia Sophia to be simply defaced. I couldn’t help but ask myself a question — where are the people who built this? How did they fail to protect it? Why would you want to take something and change it into something else? In the oriental, Islamic setting it just does not look right!

But then I realize that the monument has been under the Turkish rule for over 600 years — only a little less than it actually existed as a Byzantium temple, and that the Muslim art in the interior is also centuries old, and it makes me even more confused, raising even more questions and making things more complicated.

I am truly grateful to Atatürk for turning Hagia Sophia from a mosque into a museum. I think it was the wisest decision for this place, for the century being.

And so it stands, a beautiful and sorrowful monument that was admired by kings and their slaves, by messengers from the lands far away, by knights and templars and sultans and their viziers, by archaeologists and by the retired American couples, and by me in my Converse chucks. It tells you — you, too, will pass.

Yet even more brazenly, it stands as a vivid reminder to all, about the painfully simple importance of the army before the culture, the soldier before the architect, and the sword before the pencil.

But then you can’t help feeling the presence of the Old Gods under the earth beneath the temple, and that’s when you get them goosebumps. The swords and the missiles and the numbers are useless before them. It makes you want to tread lightly. Who knows what great plans they weave for the millenniums ahead about the temple and the peoples who are involved? You walk out, carefully, not to disturb the cosmic forces under the floor and the dome and the arcs. The Old Gods — you don’t wanna fuck with them!

And when you are finally out, you take an eclair and some coffee. It is always good.

Day 8: Taksim

We have decided to visit Taksim the next day.

Taksim is one of the shopping and entertainment districts of Istanbul, and a famous place to be. To give a general idea of how busy it is, there are 3 Starbucks coffee shops on one street alone. The main street is mainly used by pedestrians, however service and Police vehicles do patrol the street every now and then, causing major discontent among the walking public.

The Police in Taksim drive… Mini Coopers! Yes, they are that stylish!

The architecture as marvelous. You come across every single style you can think of, from Victorian to Byzantine to Brutalist to Arabic to Modern! The greatest thing is — none of it looks fake, and it all fits really well together!

Apparently Taksim hosts some opposition party headquarters or something that the government really dislikes. There was some protest going on, and there were more policemen than actual protesters.

The protesters were yelling some things and applauding. The police didn’t intervene, although they did stand really close to each other and formed kind of a tight circle around the protesters.

Of course they had full riot equipment ready!

The tourists and the random pedestrians, however, were not disturbed by the protest. Everything seemed OK. We shopped, had Starbucks, and really enjoyed the place. Even though the personnel are painfully slow, the stores are really nice, and you can find almost any brand you want. I got myself some pink Converse chucks and a Diesel wristband!

Starbucks in Turkey, by the way, is really pricey. Here’s to being a programmer!

Besides the stores, you can find several museums of different kinds. One of these even hosted some contemporary art sculptures dedicated to motorcycles.

Taksim is gorgeous during the night. It is well lit and not any less lively than it is during the day. It also hosts a number of quite cool clubs, some of which play electronic and dance music. I think Taksim’s idea somehow resembles our very own Northern Avenue in Yerevan, except its architecture does not suck balls and people actually live and party there.

Content with my day, I rode my motorcycle back to the Asian side to get a good night’s rest — Sultan Ahmed Mosque was waiting for me tomorrow!

Day 7: Silivri

“We in Istanbul do not really understand the politics against Armenia”
—Alaattin Balta

The next day I walked out of my hotel and walked to Alaattin’s Honda Service. We were both on the Asian side, and it was no more than a 15 minute walk. On my way I met a real motorcycle-only washing service, and 2 policemen on a Varadero who wanted to wash their bike.

See the couch and the armchairs on the background? That is a general sight here even for outdoor places of least significance (like a motorcycle wash service down in Kadiköy)! The guy resting on the armchair is the owner of the place.

In Honda, Alaattin was already waiting for me. “Your tires have arrived 5 minutes before you!”

While usta was changing my tires and balancing the wheels, me and Alaattin were talking about things. Apparently his grand grandparents had moved to Turkey from Adigey Republic long ago.

“We in Istanbul do not really understand the politics against Armenia”, he shrugged

“So, do you think I am safe here?”

“Of course, no problem at all!”

I wanted to finish early, because I wanted to ride to Silivri to meet some of my Armenian friends who also happened to be in Istanbul with their own affairs. There was also a Portuguese lady who I really wanted to meet. So I rushed Alaattin Bey.

“Women eh?” he smiled wide. I think he was really into women. “Women!~”

Alaattin was really proud of the job his usta did on my bike, and I was pretty happy as well.

“We are connected to Honda’s global motorcycle maintenance system. It is completely online. Every single thing that we did on your bike is recorded in the system. So next time you take your bike to any Honda in Turkey, Europe, USA or Armenia, they will have access to all that information!”

“We don’t have an official Honda in Armenia!”

“Really? How many motorcyclists are there in Yerevan?”

“Very few!”

“Very few? How few? Around 500?”

“Around 50!”

“50? Five and one zero? How many people live in Yerevan?”

“Over a million!”

“Aslan Bey!” he yelled to the chief usta, followed by something in Turkish, laughing.

“I just told him there are only about 50 motorcycles in Yerevan! That is crazy! Maybe I should open business there! Do you think there is good potential? In a million-man city with only 50 bikes there must be!”

I didn’t know what to answer. “Maybe if you promote motorcycles really well, people will start riding!”

“We’ll stay in touch about that” he concluded.

They took the motorcycle off the stand and washed it. Alaattin then rode his beautiful white motorcycle with me to the nearest petrol station where I could refuel.

Turkish 95 fuel looks much different from the Armenian 95 (“Premium” as we call it in Armenia). It is a lot greener and its smell is much more intensely chemical.

“Use 95! 97 fucks your motorcycle! Also be careful for the next 200 kilometers because of the new tires, and be easy on your brakes! Ride safe, call me if you need anything!”

“Thanks a lot!!”

I rode to Silivri. That is about 80 kilometers from the Asian side of Istanbul. After the carburetor tweaks and the new fuel, the motorcycle was flying! I felt like I had purchased a new motorcycle with at least 20 more horsepower!

The way people drive in Istanbul deserves a separate dedicated post, or perhaps a dedicated book. But anyway, the motorcycle ran perfect, the roads were awesome, and I arrived in Silivri to meet Masheé and Dina and spend some fun night at a beach with dozens of young foreign architecture students from all over Europe.

Day 6: Honda

“Normally, we are the best Honda service in all of Turkey.”
—Alaattin Balta

The bus was some huge fancy Mercedes and the comfort level was no less than in the Airbus A380 that flew me from San Francisco to Paris.

The personnel of the bus were extremely helpful in trying to make sure the motorcycle is fitted securely and arranging my actions after I arrive in Istanbul.

Some of the crowd, however, were not exactly the positive kind. A couple of guys on the back seats who were waiting for the same bus at the station were very obviously talking about me and making some jokes between each other.

One of them finally found the courage to speak.

“From?”

“Armenia”

(giggling) “Ermenistan?”

“Yeah”

“City? Erivan?”

“Yerevan”

“Yeh-reh-van! …What is?” he points at the Leatherman tool on my belt

“My Leatherman”

“Give!”

I handle him the Leatherman with a smile on my face. They play with it a little then give it back to me. How very typical.

“Photo!” they noticed the camera on my neck. They pose. I take a photograph. They make me show it to them. They don’t like the result. “Again!” — I take one again. “No, delete!” — I delete it.

“What is?” this time they point at my watch

“My watch” I shrug

“How much dollars?”

“Quite a few!”

“Give!”

“No way” I smile

“Gift to me?”

“Dude I am not giving you my Timex Expedition as a gift, sorry!” I know he doesn’t understand what I’m saying

“Change!” he points at his crappy $10 watch

“Sorry, I am not interested”

“Gift, gift!”

“No, sorry!” I smile wide again

I change my seat. They keep laughing about some things then get bored with me. Good.

After 18 hours of driving, 3 thirty-minute breaks and an annoyingly snoring man next to me, we arrive at Istanbul. The bus driver calls Honda, tells them where he “unloaded” me, tells me “wait here” and drives away. After about 40 minutes a white minivan with the Honda logo arrives. Two energetic young people ask me — “Motosiklet problem? Erzurum?” and as I nod they load my motorcycle into the van. I feel safe. It is a great feeling to know you can count on your brand!

As we drive in the van, the guys ask me questions. The one in red looks more shy than the driver who is in white. So the driver asks.

“…From?”

“Ermenistan”

“Ooo!”

After a while of driving we arrive at an official Honda “servis”. It looks very impressive. A mid-aged man approaches me with a welcoming smile and pretty decent English.

“Where are you my friend! I was calling you, but your phone was off!”

Meet Alaattin, the owner of the most awesome Honda motorcycle dealer and repair service you can imagine. After 5 minutes my motorcycle is already on the stand, and an “usta” is working on it.

The guy with glasses on the last picture is Usta’s apprentice. His job involves looking closely to what Usta does, handling him some tools if he asks for something, pumping air into the tires if needed and unscrewing the bolts Usta asks him to. Screwing them back is handled by Usta.

The folks have every single tool for the job. How do you find out the RPMs of an engine if the tachometer is broken? This is how!

Alaattin has about 10 motorcycle stands and all of them are busy. Judging by the amount of the motorcycles being serviced and the amount of those parked outside waiting to be serviced, the business is good.

The guys are doing a spectacular job at extraordinary pace. Alaattin talks to each customer personally.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asks

“Not lately I have not!”

He calls some guy who runs his affairs. After 15 minutes two kebabs and a can of coke are waiting for me at the personnel’s room.

Alaattin is aware of every little detail about his business. Oh and he loves to use the words “fuck” and “normally”. People say he is a “dinosaur” in motorcycle business in Istanbul. He’s been around since the 80ies of the past century. After repairing my bike Alaattin personally gives it a test ride to ensure everything is fine.

“It runs very good now!”

“Thanks, you guys got really awesome service here!”

“Thank you! Normally, we are the best Honda service in Turkey!”

“You look like you would be!”

“You need to change the tires as well, they won’t be good after less than a thousand kilometers!”

He is right. My tires are worn out. The worst part is, there are no motorcycle tires in Armenia.

“OK, how much would that cost me?”

“About 300 dollars for both!”

“What about the service cost?”

“It depends on whether or not you are taking the tires!”

“I will take the tires”

“Then the service will cost you $250!”

“Do you think you could drop that a little for me?” (long live Uğur!)

“What is your suggested price?”

“I don’t know… $200?”

“Deal!” — he dials Michelin and places an order for my tires. “The tires will be here tomorrow! You can leave your motorcycle in the store, and take it tomorrow after we change them — it is safe here! Do you have a hotel you will stay in?”

“Not yet!”

“Normally, I would offer you to stay in my home. But I have a 1 year old baby girl and she cries in the nights, so unfortunately I cannot do it now.”

He calls one of his employees.

“I will tell him to ride you on his bike to Deniz Hotel. We have a deal with them and they give our customers lower prices!”

“Perfect!”

The guy who rides me looks like a very typical Armenian kebab type of a person wearing an earring — an exceptional combination! I try to take some pictures as he rides me through Istanbul’s chaotic traffic.

Boy oh boy, my motorcycle is fixed, I got new tires, I only spent $550, and Istanbul looks amazing!!!!

Tag: istanbul