There are quite a few unfinished stories that lingered in my head since we arrived here a few days ago. As we've stepped up our pace a tad, I caught myself reminiscing a tad (is it blasphemous to use the term twice in a sentence?!) on everything in an almost nothing manner before we set off in another ungodly hour of 0500 towards Erzurum.
My first impression of Trabzon was absolutely something of the familiar. Nestled amidst the loving folds of the coastal hills like a child standing shyly in between his mother's flowing skirt, the city reached above to a sprawling table of suburban postcodes that hid some of the most significant relics of Christendom and Islam as well as the much Strasbourg-esque rows of shopping boutiques, eateries, pubs and hotels albeit in a subtler manner. The fish is some of the freshest that I had tasted, the lemonade couldn't be any better than if I had plucked the fruit and squeezed it from branch to tongue myself.
So what made this place noteworthy? You will no doubt access to much extensive write-up regarding the (now already evet-ed constitution from the much publicised referendum change) to the green, green grassy hills of the Sumela Monastery and highly praised preservation (being a relative word in Turkey) of the old frescoes. I delighted in my own company once again today as hubby ventured to more of Ataturk in the summer residence perched on the eagle's lookout over the coastal memory of my home town. Trabzon brought back a lot of similar pondering I had growing up in a port town with the salty humid air, little streets of hidden entertainment and great music and food, visitors pouring in from nearby smaller towns and some of the healthiest indulgence offered by the bellies of the seas.
Beyond the biblical unfolding of time-honoured stories and the perfect blend of Islamic preservation of inter-religious tolerance, the town today held little of its Ottoman fingerprints except the faces of the locals that betrayed a hint of Macedonian, to some extent, almost a mirror image of their Persian cousins too. Nothing of the old Greek heritage stood prominently and the infamous Seljuk tile artistry too laid only barely visible along some exhibited pieces in the few museums in town. But a walk down the old markets and suburban weekly stalls will open one's eyes and nose to the spread of olives, cheese, crockery and any household utensils sold by a self-respecting trader that will not let even a Turkish Lira escapes for the threat of "I have no small change" in the bargaining process.
Of course he will insist that you do need that toilet scourer. You must. You do.
So what is it that I am reminiscing about? Laughing at my own preconceived notions of a "small fishing town", I was soaking in the privilege of a lone female traveller tracing the bazaar-ish streets for bargains (and I scored well today) amongst my fellow women tourists who came as far as Tehran. Yet all of us, background none the matter, eyed the printed price tags, folded through the wounds of cloth and trinkets, politely pushed and nudged, all a flurry of girl power charging ahead to uphold the GDP statistical performance in the Trabzon's fourth quarterly economic report. Dull-faced husbands and boyfriends stood helplessly outside the shops, with some coyly pretending they had nothing to do with any of the shoppers inside that gaudy orgy of bargain hunters - only to be effectively summoned - when cash payment duty beckoned.
Tea boys cut between the jungle of mothers, girlfriends, curious and some protesting children, friends and even a handful of very determined male shoppers, balancing their trays of tulip cups cay propped by a single cube of powder white sugar. To my left, a few nodding head-scarfed women concentrated on the rows of gold bangles. To my right, pretzel peddlers fought with faux perfume sellers, enticing the afternoon air with a heady mix of Giorgo Armani and baking soda.
I drank in this excitement like one being thrown into a pool of pure golden liquor. My cheeks felt flushed and my eyes were glowing. A few lads (given my Aslan was prowling his sight on deep Turkish political history) quickly but loudly within a passing earshot greeted me and some daring ones even flirtatiously gave way for me to pass in a pavement that would shame New York City.
So chivalry has not died, I heard.
As I caressed the silky Lycra procurement that I had bought at a basement-level price, my thoughts ended and paused at a similar incident not too long ago. Stranded in a small village I got up my courage to pick up a brassiere replacement (there was only so far Nike can go) and headed to the weekly local market. As I entered the flaps of white tent, there he sat - like Lawrence of Arabia himself - amongst the towers of knickers, socks, hosiery, Long Johns paying homage to His Royal Highness. This majestic court dazzled in a myriad of colours clashing wilder than Priscilla, Queen of the desert. Meekly I walked past his lazy gaze, studying my intention on a serious buy. My waning confidence acted out my walk like I had done this a hundred times but the hour arrived that I must confront my fear. So without a woman in sight as if they had been dragged by their hair into their Neanderthal caves, I signaled that I wanted to get something for myself.
My intended purchase wasn't too complicated to decipher and professionally, he offered the enquiry of size. My digested bravery now burning off like the remaining wick of a dying candle, I mumbled in unaccounted force that would had strained even the hearing of a hunter. He paused and pondered thoughtfully as if he was signing the Declaration of Independence. Then his massive burly hands whipped out the available option - Dracula blood red or baby pink? Quite stark the contrast but I asked if he had nude. Havir.
So the 5TL lasted me well enough until I began to wash it and sad to say, the Styrofoam-cup lining didn't hold up beyond arrival in Trabzon.
And now I sighed in contentment knowing that at least I had found a much more comfortable Lycra-supported alternative at 20% less the former price! Think possible (guffaw moment)!
The wrapper did list that it provides unconditional comfort and support... oh, and fitness and seamless appearance too. Must be important after all.
