It has always been part of my personal narrative, my autobiographical memory, that I ended up in Istanbul by mistake. My original destination was Athens, but I could not find the right road out of Saloniki. That is how I found myself on the road to Istanbul – by getting lost.
We know about the vagaries and fragility of memory, and my otherwise trusty travelogue does not show the above to be the case. But my notes are not infallible – I can record times and meals, but not the details of everyone who was kind enough to risk giving me a lift. Given the strength of my belief, I am standing by my narrative.
I left the BP campsite around 09.30 hrs. It took a few lifts to reach Istanbul. One truck took me to the outskirts of the city. I waited by the roadside for another lift and somehow found myself being bundled into a minibus – a dolmas (shared taxi). The name is derived from the Turkish for “seemingly stuffed” – a reference to how they only set off once they are completely full. Obviously the same etymology for dolmades – the stuffed vine leaves I had on Day 20 in a Greek field.
I was then unbundled in the city centre and relieved of the 3 lira fare (about 10p). I walked to the famous Sultanahmet Square. Someone recommended a hotel for me – the Hotel Gangor, right next door to the famous Pudding Shop. I booked in for 3 nights at a total cost of 24 lira (about 80p). Before you get too excited, this got me a bed in a large dormitory and a locker for my things.
After securing a place to rest my head, I visited the Blue Mosque (officially the Sultan Ahmet Mosque), so named because of the predominantly blue tiles that adorn its interior. Someone told me the Mosque was built with deliberate imperfections because only Allah is perfect.
As for tomorrow, you know I will still be in Istanbul.
Psychologist on the Move 