The Kindness of Strangers

The Bosphorus, Sariyer, seen from a minibus.  This is so where I want to be living and jogging.

I'm beginning to think that my spiritual home is the front seat of a minibus driven by a cheerful, maniacal driver who doesn't mind being spoken to in English.  "Can I get down here mate?  Thank you!"

They'll pick you up from practical anywhere and drop you off ditto.  And there's nearly always someone on board to help if you're not 100% on your destination. 

And god I needed help today.  

Today was D Day.  Or better yet B Day.  The beginning of the huge bureaucratic process in which one gains residency and employment in a country as a non-national.

The first step was to get hold of my work permit.  At the university.  45 minutes away. 

Armed with my hard won Istanbulkart I waited at the bus stop only to be told some 10 minutes later that I could get on a mini bus that would go straight there. No Istanbulkart required. Of bloody course!  And how did they know that I was going?  Because there seems to be a need to look after other people here.  It's bloody wonderful.

Or at least it was until I got to the uni which is on the top of a mountain 15-20 minutes drive away - depending on the recklessness of your driver - and they wouldn't let me in.

Koç Unıversıty. On a mountain in the middle of a pine forest. The air is amazing.

With Covid, they photograph everyone's ID and since I didn't have one I had to get off the bus while we discussed my situation via Google Translate and they rang various people, none of whom were there because the university is on holiday.

Not a biggie really but the thing you can't see in these photos of the uni above is that the security gates are over 2km from the campus itself.  And the campus is huge.  And all the buildings are identical.  And there is no signage. Just a huge pine forest, a whole lot of sunshine, and a single, winding HILLY road.

Sigh.

Fortunately, a truck driver who had been cleared to go in offered me a lift to where the University Post Office should have been according to Google Maps.  

It wasn't there. Naturally.  After wandering around campus for 30 minutes (honest to god it's like living in Balmain again - up and down and up) I flagged down a human and asked. Repeatedly.  Finally someone marches me through several doorways and there it is. In the basement.  With my work permit. 

Of course I needed my passport to demonstrate I was really me and of course, that was at the security gates.  Two kilometres away.

They took pity on me eventually. Handed over the card with my name mercifully spelt correctly. 

Rare to get a card with my name spelt correctly on first go.  

I begin the long trek to get back to the security gate and my passport in the 30 degree humidity to decide, a few metres in, bugger this!  

I see a mini bus and I run out in front of it waving, clamber in and Google Translate  "I'm too old for this! 😂" to my new mini bus driver, telling him my age by holding up fingers.  He insists that I look 40 - all in Turkish and Fingerese - and we're back at the main gate for my passport, most of my make up having slid off my face and been absorbed by my mask.

Several more GT conversations ensue, with one security guard stopping incoming cars and demanding to know if they spoke English and I am back in my 3rd mini bus for the day - headed for the big city and a hospital.

The day continues as before, so I simply note:

• Istanbul metro stations are at least as far down underground as St Petersburg's - but instead of taking one elevator for up to 3 minutes (I've timed it), you take 5 (I counted) and it takes even longer. Going back to my mini buses.
• When they close off a metro line [Sigh] they do not put up alternative routes in the directions.  Some poor lady stands there telling everyone the same thing - even taking my phone and tapping it out in Google Translate...
• There is a bloody huge Trump Tower in the middle of Istanbul. In fact they have two: Trump Towers plural.  
• People here are UNBELIEVABLY kind. 

Trump Towers, Istanbul.  Shocking but true. They're the first I've ever seen.

The hospital turns out to be on the top of a hill. Of course.

My English translator (I got given one by the hospital for the day - so cool!) meets me - after I attempt to get lost several more times.  Four hours later I emerge with a lung x-ray, 12 blood tests and a doctor's report which gives me a clean bill of health. 

Triumph!

After 8 hours on the go and still not having eaten, I fall into the first restaurant I can find whose food is not bread based.  It is an offal soup shop.  Of course! "Maaaaa" the owner says to me by way of explanation, and I can't resist choosing the mutton.  Or rather mutton head - cheek, brain and god knows what else.  He demonstrates with a real sheep skull to make absolutely sure that this fat sweaty foreigner really knows what she is letting herself in for. 

The Offal Restaurant Owner.  What a dear man.  And such a good communicator even without GT.

Sheep's head soup.  With added garlic water and vinegar.  Sounds disgusting. Tastes delicious.

I finally head home, arriving 10 hours after I set out.  Buses again. Lost again. And then found.   

Of course by a mini bus driver. 

Hope you get where you're going. 

Sim, the Mini-Bussed.