get your shoes!

6/21/2006, 19.00
Istanbul International Airport

Yup, I'm just sitting here, chillaxin' in the International Airport in Istanbul, Turkey. Honestly, how often does a person get to say that? I mean really.

So Istanbul is the most psychotic, chaotic city I believe I've ever been in. I really wish I could have seen more; as it is, I arrived at the central bus terminal & came directly to the airport. And if you really think it was that simple you'd probably do well here!

The central bus terminal (as it was called) was the strangest definition of the term "central bus terminal" I've seen this side of Mongolia. It was indeed laid out in a very centralized sort of way, but the organization - & sanity - ended with the structural design. Try to imagine along with me:

In the center of the complex is one mammoth, two-story building. I think the second story is office space. I would give you a shape, but I don't believe the shape in which it's built exists in this dimension. On all sides of it are sidewalks ending at walls, parking lots with no visible entrances or exits, & kiosks selling wares so random that even the most ardent packrat would flee in terror. Beyond the wayward lots are five or six structures resembling strip malls straight out of a Dr. Seuss book. These form the outer perimeter to the central bus terminal complex, with hundreds, nay millions of busses around the outside. And that, my friends, is the physical layout. Now it gets REALLY fun!

The strip malls contain every variety of bus company known to Turkish-kind, each one trying desperately to outdo & outshine its neighbors' billboards. The busses for each company line up on the outside of the strip mall behind their company's respective storefront. There is no central information office. There is no central ticket office. If you want to go somewhere you just have to search each storefront until you find a company with a bus that goes where you want to go. Talk about discouraging shopping around. But if you think that's fun, that's just a picnic in the park with a friend or loved one compared to what's next!

We're now at the geometrically-disinclined central building. The inside of this fucker is a rat's nest combined with an ant farm designed by a 15-year-old architect on LSD, & is overflowing with closet-sized shops, mini restaurants & enough Turks to choke a herd of long-haired Mongolian llamas. Also buried at one end is the entrance to the Istanbul metro system. Speaking as a marketer, it is downright astonishing & damn near unbelievable that all of these shops manage to stay in business simultaneously. I say that because, aside from the occasional random Turkish souvenir, they all sold one or more of the exact same things: shoes, blue jeans, & hand guns. Oh, a few of the swankier places sported cameras & knives too. After extensive searching, including a pointless stop at the Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality Public Affairs office (where none of the four men & one boy spoke a word of English) I managed to stumble across a currency exchange office tucked between two identical gun shops. Incidentally, they use the Turkish lira.

I feel now is an appropriate time to mention that NOBODY in this damn city speaks a lick of English. I mean it's ok, they're not required to; it is their country after all. But it sure is unnerving, to say the least. The best I found were two men who recognized the word "airport." Thank god for little miracles! Oh yeah, nothing is written in English either. Even signs that look important & have the same message written in 52 different languages (or maybe just six or seven) don't have an English version. It's strange not being able to talk to anyone.

At long last one of the men who recognized "airport" pointed & said "metro," & I was on my way. I arrived (obviously), but not before taking two different trains back & forth a few times in an attempt to figure out the mid-line transfer system not indicated in the in-train map of stops. And now here I sit. I'm checked in, & preparing myself for the unknown that is the security checkpoint &, after that, Russian customs. Hold me...?