From inscrutable Malaysia to incomprehensible Turkey ;)

Alhamdulillah, I could not have hoped for a better flight this time around. I slept stretched out across two-and-a-half seats: four hours and deep enough to dream. Along the other two-and-a-half seats was my friend Julia, who very cleverly slept the whole way. I watched bits and pieces of movies too: the new Footloose: the OLD Footloose...and I watched, transfixed, ALL of the recent Aussie film Red Dog. Anyone who hasn't seen that, should. I laughed aloud and cried aloud so I don't know what the other passengers must have been thinking...

Which brings me to one of the topics of my blog today. If I felt I wasn't quite sure what Malays were thinking some of the time (because they are so dang nice you can hardly believe it!), I had none of that problem arriving in Istanbul. It was quite obvious that the women at the visa counter did not like me. They did not like anyone. I know because I had to go back to the desk four times and dealt with both women there. Where a Malay women will immediately twinkle her eyes at you, and a Malay man will put his hand on his heart and dip in a short bow toward you, it is much harder to court the Istanbul personality. I don't get them and they don't get me either. Yet!

They think I am Turkish because of my scarf and my odd word of Turkish, sparse but confusingly well-delivered.I can see them trying to figure it out: she's not Turkish, but she is fair-skinned and wears a scarf and says masha Allah and insha Allah. What is she? I find myself having to spell out "I am Australian" and "I am Muslim" in more certain terms here. Finally they understand and are pleased. There is less English spoken but some speak extremely well. I am so psyched to get my Turkish going!

On the way in on the train it was freezing. Delightfully, it was also snowing. We were crammed into the carriage. There seemed to be an abundance of Turks, mostly men, going...somewhere. We assumed to work. They were all bundled up, like us, in coats and scarves, their skin pale olive mostly, and their expressions blank but with very alert eyes, without the Malay glaze of immediate warmth. But heck, these guys were heading to work in sub-zero temperatures, so I forgive you Istanbul!

I leaned back further and further into fellow group member Tiffany as the train continued to fill with Turkish men. I covered my face with my scarf to keep my nose from freezing off, but it was also a comfort psychologically under the unfamiliar gaze of all those sharp male eyes. There was one very kind gentleman who helped me with my bags as the carriage continued to fill unmercifully. He also helped me drag my cases across the tracks at Sultan Ahmet before disappearing into the snow.

Almost immediately my perceptions of the Istanbul personality were shattered as a couple outside the famed kofte place at Sultan Ahmet greeted us jovially and in excellent English, offering directions and smiles, and asking for nothing.

After a few days I learn that sometimes you just have to dig a little deeper in Turkey. It may also have been a matter of waiting to adjust culturally, because, quite frankly, arriving in Istanbul, fresh from a week in Malaysia, was like having blasted through a worm hole into a new dimension. In any case, what I have discovered is that the Turkish austerity can be deceiving, and tends to melt suddenly, like the snow into sunshine here, into enormous generosity. For example, a woman on the train who cut short her haughty glance as soon as I smiled, in the next moment was offering her seat to my companion, who was visibly tired and struggling on the packed train.



The staff at the Seraglio Hotel displayed a very dignified and industrious hospitality which was steeped in an unwavering culture of generosity, such as I have not seen in the service industry before. Honestly, I am convinced they would have lent me lira had I been short. Read my review of the wonderful Seraglio, among many other glowing ones here.