The Hard Part.

I love travel. I love being away, adrift with only my wit and skill at mime. I love the emerging from the airport blind to the local culture and the slow realization of recognition over several days.

But.

It is a pain in the ass. Flights change, people cheat you, and mime is not that effective when you have to pee really really badly. And money is always a problem. Even when you have it, it can be hard to access. Linda just tried to use her Visa at a cafe and the bank said no. We were puzzled and concerned because an ATM had already eaten her other card. After several attempts at the international number, two MODA ice creams (made with goat's milk! Yummy!), she finally got someone at her bank who said it should be no problem. Le sigh.

Get Lost.

We are in an Internet cafe in the Old City. We are hot, both impossibly attractive and boiling in our skins. I am speaking quickly because I have yet to learn patience with these keys. (I will edit these posts when I return. And then they will be utterly brilliant I promise.)


We are having all sorts of adventures. I tend to drag Linda around because I am impulsive and rather prone to getting on long ferry rides without an idea of how to get back. Thankfully she´s rather sensible.

We have a system to being lost. We attempt to hoard off the relentless local attention without being ¨those assholes who won´t quit bombing people.¨ We sample local snacks depending on availability, hunger and/or who feels faint. Our visit could be subtitled- Brea and Linda in Istanbul: An Accidental Tour of Snacks.

Today after hopping a Bosphorous tour, we ended up in a suburb famous for yogurt (we had some with powered sugar- mmmmm.) We were miles from City Center without a map or more than two words of Turkish between us (Linda´s two words). We walked along the road along the river- gasping as we rounded every corner and met the view again. Eventually we hopped a Number 15 bus back to another ferry stop and back to the City. Where we promptly got enormously lost in the shopping district. And had ice cream. And fısh sandwiches. And big purple grapes. And cookies and peach nectar and liters of tomato juice. We are out to eat this city.

And now I must go to the grocery store.


Oh PS- Linda is documenting the mad days with her camera. The above photos are mine but her better ones are to follow.

Dumb Americans.

Last night, our room. We are discussing transport details for a trip to the Prince´s Islands.

´´So how much do they charge?´´

´´About a lira per leg I think.´´

´´Oh... you know I just thought you meant one lira per actual physıcal leg?´´

´´Double amputees ride for free!´´


Perhaps you had to be there.

Of bare knees and strange keys.

Hello there. Mer-ha-ba. Or something like it. That is hello iın Turkish. Or something like it.

İ am in an internet cafe with a Turkish keyboard. I had no idea İ was addicted to the letter İ until it ceased to be accessible. The pain is tempered by my amazing view past a few outdated bean bags.

İ love Turkey. We are having a wonderful tıme and are absolutely stuffed wıth yogurt.

Yesterday we stumbled into town- worn out and confused. I dıd no prep for coming and in hindsıght- rather dumb. (Cannot fınd commas- please excuse.) But we checked ın and stumbled arounnd ın the general direction of the water.

We passed men sunbathıng on the dock rocks like fat walrus- shimmerıng wıth oıl on their fat bellies. We stumbled through a park- to a hungry atm that ate Linda's card and to a tea shop stocked only wıth Coke bottles (see enclosed). I ate dry, sticky ice cream (There ıs a comma! Whoo!) and bıts of kebab. And everywhere we went, we received massive amounts of attention.

Before coming to Turkey, I invested in sundresses, lıght and cool. But I wanted to be modest so İ chose carefully. Two dresses end just above the knee but İ paired them with a little jacket and figured I was okay. Not so. Everywhere we went, people carried on about them. At the park, a young man trıed to explaın my nudity ın Turkish wıth frantic handmotitıons toward my legs and his legs. A troupe of little boys rushed us, pulling on my skirt. And everywhere, people stared.

We ended up gettıng quıte lost ın the rows of pastel decay of the old town. Laundry hangs everywhere. Boys and old men roam the streets, the women peakıng over the wındow raıls above. And eyes followed my knees for hours.

More when I am fınıshed processıng and am on a more famılıar keyboard.

Turkey tıme.

Hey Dad and Mom! I am here. Alive and well and eatıng ıce cream.

Dry run.

Hello! Tomorrow we are off and I am running around like a mad woman, as usual. I cannot do anything early.

The past two days have been busy with a terrible photoshoot (the enclosed hair was better than the final product- think Deb from Napoleon Dynamite) and a trip to Long Island. Because what better way to prepare for the impact of centuries of history, a melting pot of civilizations Eastern and Western than a trip to the Hamptons? It's a melting pot of Upper West Side and Upper East Side, the culmination of two centuries of white people vacationing!

But tomorrow, I am officially getting out of town.

Introducing...

Linda and I are going to Turkey. Watch this space. Hoorah.

(Enclosed please find a picture of us. Guess who's who.)