Bitterness in Istanbul

Is it me or have I been a little too preachy lately?

Like way over the top hunky-dory?

I really just need a dose of reality.

Chokes on cutesy.

Barf.

Oh do shut your trap you self-righteous sponge.

Well. I mean I warn you about it on the “About” page but, COME ON, you say. Let Negative Nancy have her day! There’s no way you can be that happy all the time. Every other Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday cannot be like a dawning day of revelation for some sort of life-changing lesson. You run and eat cupcakes — your life is not difficult.

And I say, right you are sir/ma’am/other.

Even I’m sick of me.

So lest you start believing that Turkey was a completely unbelievable dream and thereby exempt from slandering libel, I’m here today to write on the BITTERNESS and the INJUSTICE that happened to me in Istanbul. INIQUITY, I say.

NUMBER ONE.

(*Like for cyber yelling!)

This disgruntled bus driver who told Cassie and me to like quiet down on a bus. OH HO. We were talking and giggling. ON A PUBLIC BUS. I can’t remember the conversation, but it was probably about Ewan McGregor. And who doesn’t go into a rollicking frenzy when that’s the topic at hand? What’s wrong bus driver? Did your Aunt Myrtle sit on your face as a toddler? Is that why you look so sad and disparage at the happiness of others? Hmm?

Yay for passive aggressive photos!

Yay for passive aggressive photos!

B-260, more like B-2 poopy pants.

Huh huh. Good one.

————–

TWO.

I am from the Pacific Northwest. I wear Chacos.

Besiktas Istanbul Turkey 2013 (11)

I RESERVE the right to be snooty about outdoor wear. I wear gear designed for strenuous hikes or river wading or pueblo people appreciating when there is no river, mountain, or ancient American civilization in sight. In any weather. And I’m proud. RUGGED OUTDOORS. Flaunt.

Mostly I like their pretty colors.

But apparently to nearly every person (old, young, bathed, or not) in Taksim I was a…well…I’m not sure what they thought of me, but they actually tut tutted me. A lot. Like, *Tisk. *Tut. *Click with tongue. A lot. And loud. Whenever I wore my beloved sandals (excellent for walking around the city for days) I heard the stark sounds of disapproval reverberating in my cavalier outerwear’s finely crafted threads. *Sob.

Although, after a few months of being tut-tutted, I learned from my friend that the Turks were just concerned about my welfare — get this — a woman who does not keep her feet warm is at risk for…infertility. Talk about buzzkill.

(If you really like the shot from above, of my foot (firstly, who are you, weird foot fetish person (hi!)) then check out one of my favorite blogs, toemail, where I was featured. People from around the world send in pics of their feet or pics of statues of feet and I think that it’s delightful. BACK TO BITTER.)

——————

NUMBER THRES.

Cheery, blissfully ignorant travelingcookie apologizes for my Shakespearean potty mouth in advance.

It’s late. I’m standing in the cold, rain, looking for shelter beneath the bus stop bench. I FINALLY get a turn out of the cold rain when this INCONSIDERATE CLOTPOLE starts smoking. UNDER. THE. SHELTER. With his back turned to the glass wall. There was no place for that smoke to go except in a cloud above my head.

GARBAGE. Filth! Scum of the earth! Little hair on the soap bar!

As if there weren’t anymore cause for concern about the future of my posterity…

THANKS CLOTPOLE.

THANKS CLOTPOLE.

Between this and the three months spent waiting for the promised millions from the Turkish guy I gave my bank account info to — BITTER.

——————

AND FINALLY.

AND THE MOST. HEINOUS. UTTERLY REPULSIVE. THING TO HAPPEN TO ME IN ISTANBUL WAS THIS:

Taksim Food Humor Istanbul Turkey 2013

LOOK AT IT.

Taksim Food Humor Istanbul Turkey 2013 (2)

LOOKS LIKE CHOCOLATE RIGHT?

Wrong. WRONG!!

THEY’RE WALNUTS (or chestnuts.).

OR CHESTNUTS.

PROBABLY CHESTNUTS.

(More like chestbutts. Heh.)

BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY: IT’S NOT CHOCOLATE.

IT LOOKS LIKE CHOCOLATE. BUT. IT. IS. NOT.

And it SMELLED AWFUL. Like a chestbutt.

NOTHING BROUGHT ME MORE IRRATIONAL OR AUTOMATIC RAGE THAN THIS. THE PROMISE OF CHOCOLATE ONLY TO BE STOMPED OUT BY A CRUMMY ROASTED CHESTNUT. THING.

Rage.

Snort.

Sniff.

Mmmhmm.

Right.

Sigh.

So since I can’t leave this post brewing in negativity (Istanbul I love you.), here’s a picture of a motorcyclist who I passed as I was crossing the street at Besiktas.

Besiktas Motorcycle Humor Stranger Istanbul Turkey 2013

The reason why it was great is because he was playing Christina Aguilera’s song, “Fighter” reaally loud.

Go back and look at the picture.

I thought it was outstanding.

HAVE A GREAT DAY.

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