Once again I’m teetering on
the brink of the known-to-me world. I’m in the airport in Toronto, waiting for
my Turkish Airlines flight to Istanbul. I’ll have an overnight and a morning
and then will head back to the airport to catch a flight to Tbilisi. It all
feels so exciting.
But I am out of touch. To
most people these days who travel at all, Turkey and Georgia seem fairly
ordinary, an extension of Europe. They skype and FB and tweet about being here
or there, and none of it seems momentous or difficult.
After years of travels to
Burma for my BURMA book, a place where there was no ATM machine or
accessible-to-me cel phone to the outside world, and very limited internet
access, I feel I’ve jumped into a new generation of travel. I’m not used to
modernity in travel and feel like an old-fashioned person catapulted into a new
travel generation. All this has happened in the last five or six years…
+++
The above was written
yesterday, in Toronto. Now I’m in the lounge in Istanbul airport, sipping a
very good double espresso and waiting until it’s time to head to the gate for
my flight to Tiflis, as Tbilisi is known in Turkish.
Yesterday’s arrival here
was a short course in the international-hub nature of Istanbul, a real wow.
This is the gateway to Central Asia and also has a foot, and more, firmly in
Europe. It’s an enticing combo. But to go back to the arrivals, as a Canadian I
needed to get a visa. There are 37 countries listed as needing a visa,
including Norway, USA, Yemen…an eclectic list. But Sweden and France get a by,
and so does Brazil. It cost me $60 and is a ninety day multiple entry visa,
which will allow me to come back through here on May 1.
After the visa line came
the passport control, divided into Turkish and “all other countries” lines,
snaking through barriers. The line moved very quickly, at a continuous walking
pace, and was a snapshot of the people that stream into this country these days.
There was a whole batch of Turcomen women, in long dresses, all rich blues and
wine-reds with small-flower patterns and embroidered borders. They had the gold
and steel teeth of the ex-USSR, and headscarves that bared the beautiful bone
structure of their faces as well as their ears, all with gold earrings. Then
there were Russian speakers, the women in lipstick and tight trousers or
elegant skirts with patterned stockings, the men tall and imposing. Among these
were scattered Europeans, mostly older prosperous looking couples from Norway,
France, Germany. And then of course there were a lot of people I could only
guess at.
The passport control was
quick and amiable, and then the rest was easy: a taxi to my small hotel, and I
was done.
The rainy streets last
night were full of hurrying people, stopping in to the green-grocer for green
almonds (slightly furry little green ovals) or fresh fruit (so much on display)
or tomatoes, or into the butcher for a cut of meat for the night. The woman who
cleans the hotel I was at took me in hand and pointed out several small fish
restaurants nearby as she was on her way home from work. I picked the liveliest
looking one. Grilled sea bream was my choice of main. It came with half a lemon
for squeezing on. And I ordered a salad. It was large, enormous and beautiful
in a glass bowl and was not tossed but left for me to toss or taste as I
wished. It had everything in it: parsley, basil, dill, and tomatoes, grated
carrot, cabbage of two colours, and a little shredded lettuce, as well as
slices of cucumber and carrot at the side. The server drizzled on olive oil and
pomegranate syrup and then as I ate I squeezed on lemon juice and added a
little salt.
I like eating alone in a
new place. It gives time to reflect, and to digest - pardon the pun – all those
first impressions, or at least some of them. I know I’ll forget this newness as
I return here on more trips into the region. Certain things, from airport
layout to how taxis work, become habitual and we cease to notice them. This
first beginner’s mind time is precious.
And so today in the pouring
rain I walked the few blocks to look at the Sea of Marmora, grey in the dim
light, and yet still magical as an idea… I don’t want to lose the sense of
magic that these places steeped in myth and history - yet very much alive and
modern right now - evoke in me.
I guess my version of a
traveller’s prayer is, “let me never take anything for granted, and may I
always have a sense of wonder”.
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