As I left the train at Vagnhärad I stepped into spitty spotty rain and almost spread my arms in joy as the temperature hit me. Istanbul was way too hot for me, being back in Sweden I was instantly happier. And what better way to celebrate my return than attending Taco Friday with KSP and Jonas, Carl Frederick and Charlie (eventually), Nicoline, Anna Boom-Boom and Peter and, naturally, the puppies.
Of course, given the distance I had to travel, I was surprised I made it. Mind you, I did better than Charlie, who only came from Göteborg but arrived well after I did.
My trip had been smooth and only a little bit eventful. A highlight was finally getting to see Gayfreddy.
Gayrettepe is a station on the Istanbul Metro system. It’s where you join the newest line, M11, which takes you to the airport. I christened it Gayfreddy when I first worked out how I’d get to my plane home. It only goes to show how childish I am.
I was travelling alone because my plane was leaving a number of hours before the UK bound Weasels. Apart from the obvious adventure, I love travelling alone in foreign cities, particularly when I use public transport. It’s on trains and trams and things that I meet interesting people.
Today I met a young chap who offered to help me with my case. We were standing at the door to the Metro and we chatted while we waited for the train to arrive. He instantly clocked that I was Australian. When I told him he had a rare talent, he shook his head and claimed it was obvious.
He was coming from A&E where he’d been patched up after being punched in the mouth during his shift as a security guard. His face was a bit puffy and he was very sleepy, having not slept. As he left the train a couple of stops before me, I told him to get some sleep but he said he was visiting his mum.
He told me he thought I was brave to wander the world with a suitcase and a stick. He said, if he was as old as I, he would sit at home. I told him that the world was waiting and he shouldn’t miss it.
If I think about it, most people I’ve encountered in Istanbul – I mean real people as opposed to tourists – have been very kind. I’ve been offered seats, arms, sympathy, all sorts of generous gestures. All in all, a big impression I have about Istanbul mostly concerns the kindness of strangers.
I managed to get to Istanbul Airport an hour and a half after leaving the house. This, of course, gave me a lot of waiting time. Which was mostly spent in queues. Istanbul Airport is, apparently, the biggest in the world. I don’t know about volume but it’s bloody long. It’s a hike every time you want to go somewhere. Or a queue. There are a lot of queues.
In fact, the weirdest thing about the airport is you have to go through security as soon as you enter the terminal. Then you check-in, then you go through passport control, and then, as if the first one wasn’t good enough, you go through a second lot of security.
Given all the faff, I was rather pleased I was so early. It meant I wasn’t hanging around for too long, though I may have had a beer and a wrap during the little waiting time I did have.
Overall, the flight was fine. I was sat beside two African ladies whose command of English was non-existent. We had some very short conversations like “Toilet?“, “Hi!” and “No English, sorry.” They both seemed very excited to be visiting Stockholm. Of course, I’m assuming they were just visiting. For all I know they were a couple of refugees escaping some war torn country and were just happy to be somewhere else. I’d love to know what they thought of the drop in temperature.
If the African ladies were delightful, a lot of the other passengers were not. There were constant, random little children wandering all over the place, basically getting in the way and annoying me. It was like some little kids school had arranged for the the class to go to Stockholm on a ‘Let’s Annoy Gary Trip’.
Mind you, none of them were worse than the devil child in seat 23A. This kid would scream and screech and repeat things constantly. He would bash the kid in the seat in front of him (who did fight back) then lean over the back of his chair to annoy the Kiwi in the seat behind.
And loud! I think everyone, staff included, would have happily put him in a box and make him travel in the hold. I exclude his mother in the ‘everyone’ category. She wasn’t bothered at all. She even held his hand while he sat in his seat well and tried to summon all the evil hordes of hell through demonic screeching.
There really needs to be a rule. Like, if your kid is a rotten little shitbag, he should not be allowed in any plane going anywhere.
There was also a bit of a to-do over seats, which saw us leave half an hour later than scheduled. This time was, somehow, made up and exceeded. As we approached Stockholm the plane did a bit of loop around Nynäshamn as indicated by the onboard digital map of our flight.
As it turned out, we landed five minutes early and I was standing in the baggage reclaim quite quickly afterwards. My bag took an age, otherwise, I may just have made an earlier train home. As it was, I had a bit of a wait for the 7:43.
I was in constant communication with Mirinda so she could sort out the logistics for our arrival for dinner with KSP and Jonas.
I was met at the station by two very excited cockerpoos and a not so excited Nicoline. I say that because she wasn’t bouncing around the back seat nearly as much as Emma and Freya.
Happily ensconced around their dining table, I spent a lot of time recounting my adventures. It helped me sort out how I actually felt about Istanbul and the trip as a whole.
I enjoyed it, mostly. I liked the people, but not the traffic. The food was mostly excellent. The heat was awful but the beer, cold and crisp. The opportunity to wear a paper frock in public was pretty high on the enjoyment level. The almost constant up hills put me in mind of a demented Escher city where everything is a climb. Also, there are a lot of mosques in Istanbul. I’m sure god is happy about that.
Generally, I had a wonderful time – there was a lot of wonder. It was, indeed, another successful Weasel outing. Thank you, John, for organising such an excellent trip.
And thank you, Sarah, for the amazing selfie above. The minute she shared it, I knew it had to be my sign-off image. It was in our first mosque and we’d just managed to miss a horrendous storm by being inside. That’s clearly why we look so pleased.
