Istanbul Hangover
Istanbul was a lot of things, and good was certainly one. Drunk another. I’ve decided that I drink best internationally, and I’ve come to realize that being sick for far too long kept me form getting my drink on. Hmmmm. Anywho.
Those that know me know that I fell in love with Turkey the first time I went, and this time was really hard coming back to the states. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got a great gig at ODU, but Turkey is Turkey and Istanbul is Istanbul. There is something about walking along the Bosporus, drinking too much white wine, and knowing that you are thousands of miles away from where you began. Yet, this time things got a little crazy.
If I ever get my laptop fixed (another story for another day), I’ll upload the delightful pics I took. Though, right now there are horrid photos of me at the conference. That is one of the many reasons why people aren’t allowed to take pictures of me. That and I don’t really care to have shots of me giving papers. I always look tried and haggard at those things. As for now, I’ve got another “Nessa had a man chase her down” story for ya. And no, this one is not as rough as “Larry the Carpenter from Ireland” in Boston a few years back. That one was just rich; particularly because there was a marriage proposal involved. Yea, I still can see the Annessa shaped hole in the side of the bar (only one of a few that I can no longer go into). . . The new endeavors. . . Classic Nessa meets insanity, though minus the booze. Well, kind of.
My weak assed Turkish got me through most of what I needed, cheap deals, and it even got me a few date offers. Yup, you read it. I now have new memories to keep me amused when I die ugly and alone. It’s okay. I came to terms with that ions ago.
First I had a jeweler enamored with me. He was nothing too major. Then there was lamp store guy number one. He wanted me to come back after he closed. Did I? I started having images of me becoming the star in an international Lifetime drama. So, no. There was a cabbie, or two. And finally, the second lamp store guy who “fell for me.” I can honestly say that I have never in my life seen a man’s eyes get that big when I spoke to him. I rattled something minor in Turkish, and he clasped his heart and convinced Tanfer, Nichole, and me to come into his shop and have tea. Nichole got free shit, and I got to hear (via Tanfer’s apt translation) that when I spoke Turkish it was “like honey to his ears.” Oh yea, he went there. There was a lot of ramble about my eyes, and upon leaving not only did I get his phone number but he licked my hand. Licked my hand. I shudder. Seriously, with someone I once rendezvoused with I used to ramble random French phrases to him on occasion, and as much as he got all skippy about them he didn’t match the lamp store dude.
After leaving we ambled through the streets around the Grand Bizarre, where we were, and Tanfer and Nichole decided to plan my mock wedding. This is one part of the story that anyone who has known me for more than five minutes can tell you FREAKED ME OUT. Plan Nessa’s wedding, mock, or anything in-between and watch her sweat beads the size of machetes. I did, and walking along I started calling out that I needed booze. That got me a cheering section. Nice, classy. I know.
Did I recover? Yup. Went to the Consulate’s house and had a few glasses of wine and the following night I got a little bombed. Though, when you go to bed at four am and get up less than five hours later there is no hangover. Nope, I was still drunk. No sleep made for a hard livin’ Saturday, but it was all good. I hear GÓ§zde was hung-over. He he he.
So Istanbul was good, and I want to be there more than before. Perhaps sooner than not. Things are working in the midst. On other notes, I did come home with an invite to give a research talk at a neighboring university and an invite for a phone interview. Cheers to me. I’m hung-over for Istanbul, and the only way to cure that is with a hair of the dog. An extended stay in Istanbul is a comin’.
Those that know me know that I fell in love with Turkey the first time I went, and this time was really hard coming back to the states. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got a great gig at ODU, but Turkey is Turkey and Istanbul is Istanbul. There is something about walking along the Bosporus, drinking too much white wine, and knowing that you are thousands of miles away from where you began. Yet, this time things got a little crazy.
If I ever get my laptop fixed (another story for another day), I’ll upload the delightful pics I took. Though, right now there are horrid photos of me at the conference. That is one of the many reasons why people aren’t allowed to take pictures of me. That and I don’t really care to have shots of me giving papers. I always look tried and haggard at those things. As for now, I’ve got another “Nessa had a man chase her down” story for ya. And no, this one is not as rough as “Larry the Carpenter from Ireland” in Boston a few years back. That one was just rich; particularly because there was a marriage proposal involved. Yea, I still can see the Annessa shaped hole in the side of the bar (only one of a few that I can no longer go into). . . The new endeavors. . . Classic Nessa meets insanity, though minus the booze. Well, kind of.
My weak assed Turkish got me through most of what I needed, cheap deals, and it even got me a few date offers. Yup, you read it. I now have new memories to keep me amused when I die ugly and alone. It’s okay. I came to terms with that ions ago.
First I had a jeweler enamored with me. He was nothing too major. Then there was lamp store guy number one. He wanted me to come back after he closed. Did I? I started having images of me becoming the star in an international Lifetime drama. So, no. There was a cabbie, or two. And finally, the second lamp store guy who “fell for me.” I can honestly say that I have never in my life seen a man’s eyes get that big when I spoke to him. I rattled something minor in Turkish, and he clasped his heart and convinced Tanfer, Nichole, and me to come into his shop and have tea. Nichole got free shit, and I got to hear (via Tanfer’s apt translation) that when I spoke Turkish it was “like honey to his ears.” Oh yea, he went there. There was a lot of ramble about my eyes, and upon leaving not only did I get his phone number but he licked my hand. Licked my hand. I shudder. Seriously, with someone I once rendezvoused with I used to ramble random French phrases to him on occasion, and as much as he got all skippy about them he didn’t match the lamp store dude.
After leaving we ambled through the streets around the Grand Bizarre, where we were, and Tanfer and Nichole decided to plan my mock wedding. This is one part of the story that anyone who has known me for more than five minutes can tell you FREAKED ME OUT. Plan Nessa’s wedding, mock, or anything in-between and watch her sweat beads the size of machetes. I did, and walking along I started calling out that I needed booze. That got me a cheering section. Nice, classy. I know.
Did I recover? Yup. Went to the Consulate’s house and had a few glasses of wine and the following night I got a little bombed. Though, when you go to bed at four am and get up less than five hours later there is no hangover. Nope, I was still drunk. No sleep made for a hard livin’ Saturday, but it was all good. I hear GÓ§zde was hung-over. He he he.
So Istanbul was good, and I want to be there more than before. Perhaps sooner than not. Things are working in the midst. On other notes, I did come home with an invite to give a research talk at a neighboring university and an invite for a phone interview. Cheers to me. I’m hung-over for Istanbul, and the only way to cure that is with a hair of the dog. An extended stay in Istanbul is a comin’.
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