Between the mosque and the palace

The Blue mosque

The first night was short. Hard to sleep with the heath (found the clim only when I woke up in the morning) and the prayer call at 4 AM, but I managed to get a little bit of sleep.

When you visit Paris, you should see the Eiffel Tower first, right? In Istanbul, the Blue mosque is THE place to go.

In front, street vendors are waiting for tourists to sell them useless stuff or to try to get them to buy a cruise on the Bosphorus. Can't avoid it.

Inside the inner courtyard is the muslims entrance. Behind is the one for tourists. To visit, women must cover their head, shoulders, arms and legs. Men should at least cover their knees. A woman stands at the entrance to give away clothes to those who need to cover up. So there is no need to wear warm pants all day long in fear of missing out on the mosque.

From there, we went to the Cistern. Very cool (temperature wise) place under the city. Ideal for warm days.

But because the sun was still shining really hard, we went for a turkish ice cream. The real one, sour and kind of elastic. The one for which you have to go through a real show to be able to eat it. The ice cream man just tosses everything around for a while before giving the cone away.

We kept on moving to visit Topkapi palace. The harem is interesting there. Because it had many functions. And even if the view on the city is nice inside, it didn't look fun to be kept inside. At the entrance, our new travel partner found out her camera's battery was dying. But she forgot her charger at home. One less amateur photographer.

The death of cameras wouldn't stop there. Less than one hour later, while I was trying to hurry so a tourist wouldn't get in my picture, I fell and dropped my brand new camera on hard stones. Less than 24 hours after starting to use it, it was already dead. You know, when you stop smiling...

In the end, we went back to the hostel to get our luggage and got into a shuttle, which would take one hour, getting lost in the city, to reach the bus station. That place is pure chaos, with more buses than gates. People are pushing to get their tickets, they won't move to let you walk by them... Tastes like Asia.

We had just enough time to eat at the cafeteria, where the waiter might have never been tipped before... and we left for 12 hours on the bus to Göreme. That's exactly when I started feeling I might have a cold. Like everytime I travel.

In the bus, which would stop every three hours, service was included. But the smile was extra. And it seems like we didn't pay for it. One hour or two after we left, sitting at the back of the bus, we were getting to know the people behind us when we were told to keep quiet. We were disturbing apparently. Probably not as much as the baby who cried half of the night, though. There was an entertainment system too, like in planes. But with turkish movies only. Long road ahead.

Rain and Heat in Istanbul

The view on the Golden Horn, from my hostel in Istanbul

The heat is hard to handle in Istanbul, especially when you have a ton of luggage to carry on your back.

I already had enough because of the delay in the airport when I started my adventure for a one-hour metro-tram ride.

At the very end of the metro line, I had to transfer to the tram. Unlike in most big cities, the transfers won't happen at the stop itself. You have to walk around and find your way to make it to the tram. Ask for the way, it'll save you some time.

Then, a coincidence struck when I met a Kazakh girl in the tram. She lives in Vienna, where my travel partner is from.

We were getting out at the same stop and we realized we booked hostels that are a couple of meters apart. So we agreed to explore together.

For our first night, we walked in a beautiful market, saw a dancing dervish and we tried a restaurant where we had a view on the Blue Mosque. The restaurant was in an old destroyed stable and the tables placed outside were in the ruins. The rain, which brought down the heat a little, forced us to eat inside though.

We tried the testi kebab, that meat stew cooked in a clay pot. The waiter brought the pot on a little table lit on fire. And with a machete, he broke the pot before pouring the stew into a bowl. Tasty!

On our way back to the hostel, in total darkness, we saw a big group of birds turning around the minarets of the blue mosque. We didn't get to see that again the other days. It was interesting but I still wonder what happened exactly.

And while we were about to go back to bed, we decided to stop in a bar, where we literally closed the bar down. It was their last night ever. So we started the action on the dance floor. And for those who think you can't drink alochol in a country where most people are muslims... think again. Unless you're facing the mosque, there is no problem at all. But we were tired and I was jet lagged, so I stayed really calm.

Schipol and Ataturk

Gilly is sitting on the floor in Schipol Airport.

Fort the first day of a trip, is there anything better than spending hours after hours in some airports?

Technically, I spent quite some time in PET in Montréal, waiting for KLM flight to take off to the Netherlands. There, a three hours stopover awaited.

I knew Schipol for spending a short time there on my way to South Africa. But this time, I had to wait longer. And I can't say I appreciated it that much.

Of course, I applaud the fast passport control, if you consider staying in Europe. But for the rest...

First, the wi-fi, free for two 30 minutes sessions, can help kill some time. But when you have three hours to kill, it's not as useful. In the transit section where I was, it was hard to find a free seat to sit. Waiting rooms are locked behind some glass walls, at the gates themselves. So I did like so many others and I sat on the floor.

On the other hand, the marketing thing is pretty good. If you walk around looking for a chair, you might end up sitting in a restaurant, where you'll buy some food...

There is also security, very strict, which you have to go throught at the gate. Problem is they grab you everywhere, more than they need to, even if it is obvious the metal detector rang because you forgot some coins in your pockets.

Nothing to reassure the security guards, or maybe they did know they would be tested, false "terrorists" were standing just in front of me. They had forbidden objects in their luggage but seemed to be working as "mystery clients". They were spotted pretty fast.

Got to Ataturk Airport in Istanbul after that. Got there a little late, and once we walked off the plane, it was total confusion. The queue was very long.

Note that you might need a visa to visit Turkey. You can get it online, on the gouvernement website, or directly at the airport. There, all you need to do is pay the entrance fees to get a sticker. For Canadians, fees are high... 60 $ US.

After, everybody had to wait for passport control. The queue exceeded the gates made for that. It took two hours, after 10 hours on the plane, to get the stamp.

From there, we had to search for our luggage on the conveyor belt because the screens were not showing our flight anymore. By looking around, trying to spot other people from our flight, we finally found them.

After that long day, all that was left to do was to take the metro and the tram to the hostel. Useful and giving you discounts, the Istanbul Card, identical to the Octopus Card in Hong Kong or the Oyster Card in London, is a magnetic card you can charge and use in public transport. Only problem, the vending machine doesn't take the 50 turkish liras bills you get in the ATM's.

On my way to Turkey

Here I am, on the road again. Yes, again you'll say. Never enough, I would add.

So at this point, I'm somewhere between home and Turkey. Crazy? Bah!

I had chosen not to travel this summer. But I changed my mind. Hesitated between Switzerland, Croatia, Turkey, and the UK. Asking around, I found myself a traveling partner ready to board for Turkey. Decision made!

But now, the conditions got worse there. Protests are going on and on in Erdogan's country. Go or not to go?

Of course, there is the financial aspect. Flight was booked and I won't get a refund unless I'm sick or it's way too dangerous to go there. And I have that feeling that the risks, ever present in Turkey, one must admit, are probably concentrated in some public places like Taksim Square. Would be surprised if the protesters invaded the mosques and the other very touristic attractions.

So I'm leaving. I'll see. My instinct will be my first ally. Nothing keeps me from changing my plans if I feel unsafe. But for now, after looking at the warnings on the government website, I'm not worried.

Let the adventures begin...

Hostels in Amsterdam

With Brel's song in mind (Amsterdam), I started looking for a hostel in Amsterdam. Just in case. Because I usually travel in the low season. But not this time. And it appears the city of vice might get crowded in June.

Conclusion : when hostels get full without any effort from the owners, there is no need to offer a good service. When you look at this, the average rate on hostelworld, for any of these hostels, is pretty low. Cleanliness, staff, apparently, everything is "not so good".

So I gathered my informations from friends living in Amsterdam. They confirmed : the hostel world in that city is a jungle.

A jungle because you might end up with smoking, drinking, noisy roomates. With the Red Light nearby, you know... That's where you might want a hostel with a no-smoking, no-drinking policy.

A jungle too because when you read previous customer's comments, you understand it's gonna be pricey for average service. When your description states the showers don't work that well... and you don't plan on fixing them, it means you probably still make a lot of money out of your crappy hostel.

Other downer : unless you want to go far away from the city, the fares double for a bed on Saturday. Yes! You won't find a bed under 60 $... in a dorm.

Anyway, I booked to ensure I would sleep somewhere. Took a cancellation insurance. If I find some people to share a room, it might be cheaper in a hotel...

That said, I won't hold back from commetning once I get there. Stay tuned.

La Nouvelle

On another subject, I now write a column called Le Bourlingueur in the weekly newspaper La Nouvelle. French readers will find me there once a week.

Those who leave

We never really come back from a long expedition. Or maybe we do. For some. But nostalgia, as small as it can be, never turns itself off.

There are those who inevitably go on, who keep on traveling once you're home. Like that girl I met four days before the end of my own adventure. She was in the first week of six months of exploration.

And there are those others who look at you with eyes wide open when you say you haven't been home for months. They're jealous and believe they can't do the same. Or they face too many obstacles.

Then you have those who write to you to ask how you did it. Write back again to say they are planning their own round-the-world trip. And, like my friend Ben, who I met in Japan, they start their own blog to keep in touch with their friends and family.

Ben is leaving in less than a week. For six months. And I can see myself, one year ago, just about to jump. The unknown staring at me. Knowing my adventures would bring me far away from where I thought I would go.

I smile thinking of Ben embarking on his own journey. And I'll follow him with a lot of interest.

What advice could I give him? Plan a little. Not too much. Be open and go with the flow. Try new things. Get to know people. They might be the best friends you'll ever know, even if for only a few hours. Embrace the lows. They are moments to regroup. Accept what you can't change. Don't let fear get the best of you, but listen to yourself when you get that feeling you should stray from your path... Have fun, and if you can, stop in Cambodia for a least a couple of days.

So there are those who are leaving, and those who already understand that feeling. Those who make us feel better when we believe nobody shares our way of seeing the world. So I found that post, which I recommend you read if interested in how traveling affects you. It's called Date a boy who travels.

A simple goodbye to Africa

Cape Town, South Africa

There was no way we would let our last day in Africa go without making the best out of it. The optimists thought four hours were all we needed to go from Wilderness to Cape Town. Me and my friend woke up at 6 AM to bring back the car where it belongs.

We're still debating to see if we should be proud of it or not, but we litteraly "opened" a McDonald's like others "close" the bars. For breakfast. Because no other options. No time to lose : the road ahead was long enough.

In the end, it took five hours, maybe more, to reach our destination. After the third "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go", rain started to fall. Hard. Well, not that much. But enough for the radio to ask drivers to stay home. Several accidents had already happened and were blocking the roads in the big city. It felt like a big snowstorm in Quebec. For a simple rain shower.

Anyway, the wheather situation, with temperature going down, was reassuring about us missing out on the expedition to Robben Island. We would have been miserable had we gone. My shoes, the only pair in my bag, were still damp from the day before. Nothing to help.

So we spent the last part of the day eating, comparing the price of items we bought to see if they were cheaper in the souvenir shop or after we negociated with locals (generally, we saved money. Woot!) and visiting District 6 museum. One needs time and a taste for reading to appreciate the museum... When we got out, while we had paid for our parking, a street guard tried to get some money out of us. We couldn't leave Africa without escaping a scam.

But that was not the end of the adventure for us, who were a little short on time to give the car back and make sure my copilot would catch his plane. Yes, yes, yes, a big traffic jam on the highway. And... yes, yes, yes, the fuel sign lit to tell us the Ferrari was thirsty, right there, in the middle of a sea of cars. You know, when you really don't want to see what happens when you run out of gaz and need to search for it while driving to the airport.

With stress on our mind, we fueled the car and got to the rental desk on time. We still needed to clean the car (two guys, two weeks, a car... See the picture?). Anyway, we had time to eat a snack and to dry my shoes before we split.

The copilot disappeared for the security controls while the check-in counter for my flight was still not open. I saw my friend's plane take off before I could finally get rid of my luggage.

Boarding the KLM plane, after having three hours to kill on my own, I had that strange feeling I would be back soon on the african continent.

And for those wondering, yes, we got the picture from the photo radar. Speeding on the South African highway didn't go unnoticed.