“A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.” – John Steinbeck
11:15pm: Wednesday Night
Drowsy from a late night flight from Paris, my husband Paul and I hop on a bus outside of the Istanbul Sabiha airport heading from the outskirts of the city towards the local neighbourhood of Taksim. Anticipating a restful sleep within the hour, we lean back in our seats for an uneventful ride towards our hotel. As we doze on and off, we take turns gazing out the window into the light speckled night for our first look at Istanbul. Driving past glowing street lamps and traffic headlights on the highway, we catch glimpses of dimly lit homes and quiet deserted streets, closed shops and high rise hotels. The large mosques and minarets dotting the highway were visual cues for this “pinch me, am I dreaming?” moment.
Yes…without a doubt…we ARE in Istanbul. Albeit, a sleepy Istanbul.
As I looked on with my tired, weary eyes, I wondered if I’d be wrong.
12:00am Midnight: Taksim to Istiklal
Unsure of how to get to our hotel, I take out the printed Google map from my bag. “This should it, our last stop I think.” Stepping out of the cushy confines of the bus we put on our backpacks and wait for our suitcases, not aware of the frenzied adventure that lay ahead.
We move from calm to chaos in less than 10 seconds with senses smacked with the smell of roasted chestnuts and grilled kebabs, the buzz of crowds moving in all directions and traffic noise coming from the line of impatient yellow cabs waiting at several intersections. Overflowing nargile (hookah) cafes line the street with jam-packed patios of local men and women smoking fruit flavoured shisha as throngs of people walk by.
Swiftly bypassing the line of eager cab drivers ready to pick up our bags, we roll our luggage a few feet away, up the street to a corner behind a street vendor so we can look at our map without being harassed. Being a directionally challenged globetrotter, I usually let Paul lead the way. He has an inner GPS I trust, although it can be somewhat dysfunctional at night. As a travelling couple we complement our strengths and weaknesses. He leads with the map, and I do all the talking.
“The booking confirmation says the hotel is only 400 meters from Istiklal Cadessi, but which direction is that?” I say confused. We both look at the map and look around us, not sure which way to go. I take another look at the map. I head over to the young man selling roasted chestnuts a few feet away.
“Umm, Merhaba. Can you help us?” I ask with a smile. “We want to go to Nicoleport Hotel – Tekir Sokak 15?” I point to our map. With a half smile on his face, the boy shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, avoiding my gaze. I asked again. Still a half smile and a shrug of his shoulders as he went on to roast his chestnuts. It felt a bit strange, almost like he knew, but didn’t want to help. Maybe a tip in exchange for directions? Maybe he was getting paid by the cabbies next to him not to help tourists? I might have been wrong and maybe language was the issue, but no luck.
With a McDonalds right beside us, the familiar fast food hats and uniforms couldn’t disappoint right? We head over and a helpful employee points at our map in the direction of our hotel. We would have been happy if it wasn’t for the fact that he was pointing past the edge of the map. Doh!
Looking at several forks in the road, Paul holds the handle of his bag and picks a direction. “Let’s go this way and we’ll figure it out, the hotel can’t be that far.” We start walking with the crowds.
Wearing mini skirts to burqas, colourful head scarves to traditional hats, name brand tees to jeans, the hub of Taksim was filled with locals and visitors ready to kick off their night with friends and family. Whether they were shopping or drinking tea, hanging out at the square or hitting the bars, people of all ages were out.
At midnight. On a Wednesday.
Coming from Vancouver, labelled as a “no fun city” for a reason – the energy of being in a bustling metropolis half way across the world will always feel refreshing and exciting.
Exhausted, sweaty and lost, we weave our luggage through narrow brick lanes and alleys, before landing on Istiklal Cadessi, a 3 kilometer long stretch of international shops mixed with local brands, cafes and restaurants. The crowds have thickened on this wide, mostly pedestrian-run street. Loud American music blares from store shops and clubs as groups of people stroll by.
Somewhat stunned and finally realizing where we were at that very moment we stop in the middle of Istiklal.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
“Did you know it would be like this?” he asks. I watch the crowds and the shining lights, hear the pumped up music and feel the vibe of the lively atmosphere. “No. I had no idea,” I reply, shaking my head, a little dazed.
Best to always travel without any expectations right? That’s when the best surprises are unveiled. Well, I had to remind myself of that later the next day.
12:30am: The Lost Adventures
After what seemed like an eternity we hook a right on a darkened side street – a narrow brick lane with a steep hill going down. Suited up bar owners and bouncers, some clad with a thick Turkish moustache, stood outside night clubs with JLo tunes blaring through the sound system. We roll our suitcase to the side, over a few bumpy broken bricks, moving out of the way of speedy taxis trying to fit through the compact pedestrian-run lane.
As we keep walking downhill, now going further and further away from Istiklal, away from the crowds and the central hub and finding more and more darkened dead end streets, my exhaustion has now turned into frustration. And my excitement slowly turning into disappointment.
I shift the weight back and forth from my tired feet and give Paul the look. “Maybe we should just give up and take a taxi. We’ve been walking around for over half hour. This is taking too long. I really want to go to sleep.”
“We’re close, I know it. Come on, we’ll find it.” Although at the end of my rope and irritated at my stubborn husband, I follow him further and further down, dreading the steep hike up the next day if our hotel is anywhere near the foot of this hill. We reach the bottom and come across a main road with a few taxi drivers standing outside on the corner. We ask them the direction of our hotel. They are friendly and don’t pester us to take their cab. We seem to be getting close as one of them points to the left and says it’s within walking distance. But then again, another taxi driver points to the right.
Not a good sign when the locals don’t even know the name or location of your hotel. Uff.
12:45am: Where Are We?
We went with the majority, turning left and crossing the street. We see shabby apartments in need of new paint and quiet, dark and deserted streets. A complete contrast to what we saw earlier in the night.
Paul sees the sign. “Tekir Sokak. This is the street!!” We see stairs leading down a small, steep hill. However, the excitement of this small triumph was trumped by the next set back.
The sound of a growling, unwelcoming, stray dog. Shit!
Hesitating, we decide to go to the next street over in hopes of avoiding the dog. Having a hard time reading the street signs, we come across an open shop this late at night. Being the only tourists in the area out of place with our backpacks and rolling luggage, we stayed on heightened alert and kept an eye out for our belongings.
We see the shopkeeper just outside his door and ask him if he knows where Nicoleport Hotel is located. He didn’t know any English, but understood the name of the hotel. He pointed up. Up towards the steep hill. With the barking dog.
Doh! The street we were trying to avoid. *Forehead SLAP!*
The shopkeeper was nice enough to walk us up and show us the way, but I didn’t see a hotel. All I saw was a dark low rise apartment building.
<Cue mini meltdown.>
1:ooam: Surprise Surprise
“This can’t be it right?” Then I saw the sign and my heart sunk. This IS Nicoleport.
“Oh my god, this is NOT what I was expecting for 7 nights! What the hell? The hotel says it’s only 400 meters from Istiklal. It took us almost an HOUR to get here!!”
The shopkeeper rings the doorbell of the hotel. A sleepy man without a shirt peeps out of the 2nd floor window and exchanges Turkish words with the shopkeeper.
“Paul, I don’t want to stay here for the full week. The location SUCKS!” Frustrated, tired and thirsty all I want to do is scream.
After a few minutes the door opens and a woman welcomes us to the small lobby. “Hi, my name is Maria. Come on in. I tried calling you on your cell to see what time you would be arriving, but couldn’t get a hold of you.”
No 24 hour reception.
The man from the second floor also arrives, now properly dressed to welcome us. Too late with the first impressions.
We walk in looking like a mess, sweat on our foreheads, worn out from exhaustion. With my mind reeling I decide to ask. “Maria, in case we want to change our schedule and decide to stay for 1 or 2 nights instead of 7, would that be possible?”
She looks at me knowing how tired I look. “As you know, refunds are not available as everything is prepaid. Sleep tonight and stay a couple nights. Give us a chance, I know you will like it.”
A little deflated, but too tired to negotiate, we follow her up the stairs, carrying our luggage to the second floor. Our room, surprisingly, was really nice and spacious. Small, but newly renovated bathroom, flat screen tv, double bed and a kitchenette. This room was bigger than the one we had in Paris. The hotel wasn’t the problem. The location was.
As I lay in bed thinking about the crazy night, I hear the growling dog barking outside through the thin walls.
Writer Paul Theroux once wrote that “travel is only glamorous in retrospect.” I agree.
Good night Istanbul. Here’s hoping for a less bumpy start in the morning.
Want to know what happened next? Read Part 2 of my Istanbul Adventures!
