Istanbul day 10

 The final day in Sariyer with Kivilcim’s family. After this I won’t see anyone I know until I get to Melbourne, about a month from now. Kivilcim is starting the day by making crepes for us. I’m struggling to fill mine. We Americans aren’t often exposed to savory crepes and the Turks aren’t partial to sweet breakfast.

In the late afternoon I say my goodbyes. Gul and Reshat have been incredible hosts and I’m sad to leave them behind. Spending time with Kivilcim and Jake has also been a breath of fresh air, there’s nothing quite like people who know you.

I hop the metro to the golden horn where I will stay for the next few days. Now is my time to enjoy Istanbul at my pace. I check in to my hotel and they offer my tea and a rest before going to my room. I’m beginning to like this place. I drop my bag and I’m off in search of Doner. After a short walk through a sea of tourists I settle for a lamb kebab plate. Hardly a tragedy.

My next stop for the night is Nardis, a jazz club near Galata Tower. To get there, I take a tram ride and meet my first hair transplant recovery of the trip. This city is somewhat infamous as being the spot to go if you’re a man in need of more hair. Here was a patient from Manchester taking a medical vacation with his wife. Bandaged head beginning to sprout fibers, still covered in the surgeon’s pen marks.

After crossing into Karakoy, I transfer to the Tunel, a hundred thirty year old funicular that takes people up and down the hill in this part of the city. It’s a goofy tourist trap these days but at least it’s an adventure and saves me the trouble of hiking up the hill. I get to the club a little after the start of the performance and manage to snag a seat at the bar. The band is playing beautifully but the audience is stiff. I suspect they’re not accustomed to the usual raucousness that accompanies jazz in the US. Naturally after an old fashioned, I lead by example.

In the bar I spoke with an Argentine working in Saudi. We related similar feelings of loneliness on the road and talked about his country’s politics. He’s a rare bird in the US, pro peluca. After the show ended I talked to the musicians and went next door for a nightcap. The man next to me was a 50 year old Mykonos washout. He’d worked the party scene there for some years and claimed to know Lindsay Lohan, even going as far to show me her contact in his phone.

Time for bed. I took a taxi back. It’s too cold to walk at night and somehow even slower to take transit. My night ended with a technological miracle. The driver’s credit card reader was broken until I told him I had no cash on me. Absolutely magic, what an incredible sight.