Chapter 4

I never thought I'd have tea with Fidel Castro's brother.

And today I didn't.

But I did share a tongue burning experience with the next best thing: the past mayor of Cavdarhisar.

We ran into him as we were snapping photos of an old Roman tower. He sauntered over, as only a local can do, and pointed over at the house across the stream. From what my 'slightly-more- present-than non-existent' Turkish told me, it was his museum. That, and the sign that said 'Museum'.

As he kept pointing to the museum with worn hands, hesitation borne from my lira-less pockets fell to curiosity. So I followed his lead across the bridge as the smoke curled from his cigarette, beckoning with its tendrils.

We passed a street sign, and he paused mid-step to tell me that this Abduallah Ozcan Street was in fact named after him.

Inside the cramped room which held his 'artifacts', he pulled items from shelves. With pride in his crinkled face, he showed me the ancient Turkish coffee pots that were donated to him, or the wool spinning devices used to make clothes.

After a few minutes of the obligatory "ooh's" and "wow's", he invited us upstairs for tea. Never one to turn down some tea with a Turk, I was quick to accept.

The creaky stairs gave us away, and before I had reached the top of the landing, his wife has bustled into the kitchen to start the tea. I was given a seat on his worn bench, and while I snapped photos, he picked up old pictures of the glory days. And in his glory days, he definitely drew a crowd.

The two Polish girls and the two Turks arrived 15 minutes later, and as we sat in the living room, lenses shuttering, his wife walked in with a tray of steaming tea. There are few things that top Turkish generosity. Actually, the only thing I can think of that tops it is the cost of a cab ride in this country when you get tricked by the driver.

Our group of 6 sat with steaming glasses, listening to Abdullah talk about how he was jailed during the war, how he became mayor here, and how he tried to turn it into a Soviet state.

To prove his commitment to the communist cause, he had his wife bring him his communism sweater.

Gold.

Well, the sweater wasn't, but the idea was. It was a black wool top, and it had the letters 'K' and T stitched into it. He listed off all of the possible things the 'K' stood for: Komunism, Kuba, Komunism. The 'T' was obviously for Turkey. So somedays he would wear his 'Komunism Turkiye' sweater, other days it was his 'Kuba Turkiye' sweater.

This let him segue into the fact that as a die-hard supporter of Raul and Fidel, in Turkey he often introduced himself to new acquaintances as Fidel Castro's brother.

What a guy.

The evidence of this chance encounter can be found here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2176027&id=94807105&l=5b855d03ce

Chapter 3

His name is Urhan Gozebe. He's deaf, but that doesn't stop him from being one of the best salesmen ever.

This meerschaum savant (a carver of the rock mined in Eskisehir) will grunt and wave his hands in the air each piece he shows you, and is careful to point out that no, YOU will not pay the posted price. For you, cheaper. Also, if you're thinking of getting that meticulously carved face of Sultan Ahmet at another shop, expect to pay as high as the sky. Or ceiling. Or both.

What he lacks auditorily (word? probably not), he makes up for in character. He'll hobble around his cramped shop to pull pieces off the wall, hold them up to the camera for a second, then see something else that catches his eye. Like a child in a toy store, he's filled with excitement surrounded by his creations.

Any hesitation when a pipe is placed in your hands is met with a follow-up newspaper article, showing an gargantuan carving, and a title that reads "The 30 Thousand Dollar Pipe". From what I gleaned with my rudimentary (see: nonexistent) Turkish, he crafted a pipe that was sold for 30 grand. Makes the 50 bucks he wants for the elaborately carved busts of Watson and Holmes seem like a catch. Which it was by the way. Yes, I bought them. How can you turn him down?

I'm not sure if the shop is small, or the sheer volume of carvings hanging from the wall make it seem like that. Either way, if you've ever felt like being dwarfed by pipes, go there, and if you don't think it's possible, go there.

In true Turkish form, tea was brought out after my purchase, and we sat down on worn stools, burning our tongues. He showed me all of the famous people he's sold to, then gestured that he'd given them a good price. Not a ceiling high one.

So I left the shop with England's greatest duo in my bag, a burnt tongue, and some great photos.

You can find them here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2175831&id=94807105&l=d68769b949

Also, a quick note on the meerschaum (from the hastily translated info sheet): It's called sea foam, since it's so light and white when it's pulled from the ground. When first mined, it can be scratched with a fingernail, so it has to be heated. This hardens it, allowing it to be more accurately carved. The most abundant and highest quality meerschaum comes from Eskisehir (I never thought I'd be guilty of plugging the quality of a rock, but I am). Since Turkey has banned the export of it for commercial purposes, the only real, high-grade pipes and other carvings come out of Turkey, specifically the Eskisehir region. So Urhan Gozebe is legit. Let's leave it at at that.

Chapter 2

Despite the unsolicited advice from Turks that Eskisehir was more than 20 hours by bus, or at least 3 by a rival bus company, I arrived in no less an 4 hours, and paid no more than 9 dollars (significantly less than the hundreds of Euros I was quoted).

The city is very European, yet still strikingly Turkish. It's European in the sense that the buildings are a throwback to Prague with a river right out of an Amsterdam guidebook. The Turkish part comes into play when I realized that kebap or doner restaurants occupy 90% of the commercial space, and I've become immune to both frequent sightings of garbage carts pulled by donkeys, and full families fit tightly onto a scooter (helmetless of course).

Eskisehir has been quite for the last few days, since everyone has been with family in other parts of Turkey to celebrate Bayram, the end of Ramazan holiday. The fact that everything has been closed hasn't deterred my from exploring the city and university.

The evidence of such explorations can be found here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2175302&id=94807105&l=49bef962de

I'm living in my own apartment, fully furnished, since the student I was supposed to live with thought it would be a hilariously great idea to say "I'll host a student", when what he really meant was "I'll be in Italy for at least a semester. Don't tell him until he gets here." So it's just me, a gas stove, a redundant tea pot (credit to Hilary Beaumont) and a toaster oven that I have yet to figure out. All of those combine forces to create the most practical, unoriginal breakfasts imaginable: hardboiled eggs (I can't find a frying pan) and tea.

Living on my own has also taught me to prioritize- from now on, buying water (since they tap stuff is undrinkable) is MORE important than Facebook. A quick lesson on the second day reinforced this timeless wisdom.

While school starts next week, I've had a chance to register for courses and tour the campus. It's oasis-like when compared to the surrounding desert of the city, and is a student's haven for prices. A full meal in the cafeteria will set you back about 75 cents, and if your budget permits, a movie will also set you back the same amount. Splurging for a meal at the nice cafe will gouge the wallet about 4 dollars, but that'll include coffee for after the meal too.

So I've settled into the Turkish lifestyle (at 15 cups of tea a day, could it be anything but Turkish?) and if I don't kill myself on a gas powered stove, or die of thirst from forgetting to buy water, I will survive another week.

Chapter 1

They say in stand-up comedy that you always bomb your first time. It's a washout. It happens to everyone. That said, if I ever decide to enter the comedy ring, my token bomb lies in an embarrassing, awkward and sober night at a Mexican resort's "Improv Night".

I assumed the same would work for my trip here- a big embarrassment within a few hours of stepping off of the plane, and bingo- I'd have nowhere to go but up.

So after a day here in Istanbul, I have nowhere to go but up. That's the good news. The bad is that I couldn't even wait until I was off the plane.

No sooner had we taken off from London, I was asleep to Ben Stiller's voice in Night at the Museum. Although my eyes were closed, my mouth definitely wasn't. While being woken up for meal time on the plane (yes, they even have the kebaps on the plane), I couldn't help but notice the flight attendant glance down at the massive, Ontario-shaped drool stain on my shirt. I'd like to thank my mouth and lack of control for the three hours of embarrassment.

I'd been hesitant to fly here because of the flooding in Istanbul that swept through the city only a day or two ago. On my cab ride to the hotel, the streets were dry, the sidewalks and houses were and it seemed that the only water was on my shirt. Still.

The most surreal part of the Istanbulian experience is the call to prayer throughout the day. Although it's not done by the muezzin anymore (having been replaced by loudspeakers), the haunting song can be heard throughout the city. The Blue Mosque starts the call, and all the smaller surrounding mosques chime in, making for an eerily orchestrated event.

So far, I've learned three things about Istanbul:

1) Lanes on the highway, speed limits, turn signals, traffic lights and pedestrian rights are, for the most part, arbitrary and meaningless.

2) Air conditioners only need/have one setting- Turbo.

3) The AK-47 is the weapon of choice for guarding information booths.

The proof of my travels can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2174734&id=94807105&l=de6c0614cb

Next stop: Eskisehir. I've been told by one Turk that it's 15 hours there, another told me 3. One said it would be around 30 Euro for a ticket, another told me 250. I'm beginning to think that the city is made-up.