İznik, Turkiye

My one-night stay at the Hans Hotel in Istanbul included a buffet breakfast that ended at 10:00 (am). I imagined breakfast buffet to mean "Turkish breakfast." It did not matter that it was 3:00 (am) when I finally got to bed, I set my alarm for 9:00 (am).

My alarm went off, I sleepily dressed, stumbled out to the "lift" (elevator), pressed the lift button to "-2," walked two short sets of stairs, and passed through an ornately-furnished room before entering the restaurant.

The ornately furnished room had dark, heavy, wood-carved furniture with colorful geometric-patterned thick fabric covering the seats. It was typical Turkish-style decor. I remembered drooling over this decor last year while in Turkey and Uzbekistan.

Inside the restaurant was a buffet table lined with fresh sliced cucumber, tomatoes, oranges, red peppers, a variety of bread-based delicacies, three kinds of cheeses, two kinds of olives, three kinds of meats, and boiled eggs. There was probably more than that; that is what I remember. Around the corner to the right of the buffet table was a table of drinks. The first offer was a traditional preparation of Turkish tea (Çay). There were two pots: one with strong hot black tea, the other with hot water. The hot water is to adjust the strong black tea to your liking. There were other drinks: Turkish coffee, juices, water. I went for the Çay.

Across from the buffet table was a full menu (in case the buffet was not quite enough). The full menu was "extra" (not included). I did not need more food, though when I saw Menemen, I was mighty tempted.

While eating, I noticed the colorful, mainly tentacle-themed, graffiti-like wall art.

Outdoors was another area of the restaurant where customers could order food and drink, smoke and play table games.

After eating, gathering my luggage, checking out, and asking the hotel concierge how to get to the ferry toward İznik (which he wrote on a small square of paper and handed to me), I walked out of the hotel. I walked a long way, too long, the wrong way. I asked a man passing by, "Metro bus?" He turned me around and walked me to the metro station, which was not a bus station but rather a train station.

There, he and another man (with a bicycle) commiserated in Turkish, apparently about me. They asked me questions (in Turkish) and I showed them my little square of paper. When the train came, they ushered me on (with them). On the train, the first man (who I had met on the street) pointed to the line of stops lining the inside wall of the train. He pointed two stops down the line and pointed to himself. He pointed about 15 stops away, at Pendik, and pointed at me.

The train started. Both men looked at me and smiled, nodding, like they were saying: "Do not worry. You are on the correct train. You are heading in the correct direction. You will get to your destination." One-by-one they got off. I remained. There were other Turkish-speaking passengers who I met on the train, who spoke with their hearts through their eyes, nods, and smiles. There was a woman who unsuccessfully tried to hold the seat for her husband, who was standing next to me. He was busy ushering the seat to me, when another woman sat down. The husband and wife and I shrugged and smiled at each other. When the woman got up to leave, the husband again ushered me to sit next to his wife. I did and looked at her. Again, we both shrugged and smiled. When the passenger on the other side of the wife got up to leave, the husband finally sat next to his wife. This time, when we looked at each other, we all laughed. It was a releasing, robust, loud laugh.

Then there was the old man who also wanted my seat. He looked weary as he leaned on a pole in the middle of the train. I would have given him my seat had I not been generously ushered into my seat (twice), had luggage, a long ride, and was falling asleep standing. I knew that the old man understood because he looked at me multiple times when I yawned out loud and again when my luggage fell over. When he was able to sit, across the train aisle, I looked at him and sighed a "phew" gesture, sliding my hand across my brow. He smiled as if to say, "Yes, my dear. It is alright. I am alright. It all turned out alright. Do not worry. We will both rest now."

The train ride was long, more than an hour. I got off at Pendik. The first thing I wanted to know was how to get to the ferry station. The man I asked pointed down a long cobbled street lined with shops and said "straight." Later, I asked a group of police standing together on the side of the street, talking and seemingly joking in Turkish. They pointed along the same path and laughed. I imagine many travelers before me have looked as weary as I felt while asking, "Pendik ferry station?" I imagine many before me did not understand just how long of a walk it was from the Pendik train station to the Pendik ferry station. I imagine we ignorant travelers look silly to local police who are constantly asked the same questions.

I walked and walked, pushing along my carry-on rolling suitcase with the broken wheel and two bags bungee-corded to the telescoping handle. By the time I got to the ferry station, I had missed the three time options Fusun had told me to take. Now, it was a two-hour wait for the next ferry. So I waited.

The ferry ride was rather glorious. I was dressed in my warmest clothes. It was a clear, windy day. The sun was out. The clouds were fluffy. What more could a girl ask for? Maybe a hot drink? I ordered a cup of hot water at the ferry canteen, mixed in a packet of Host Defense Mushrooms Mycobrew Mocha (that had been stashed in my now broken-handled "secret extra luggage" neck wrap), sat down to see where we were heading, and enjoyed the ride.

When the ferry landed in Yalova, walking off the platform, I met a woman from Iran, traveling through Turkey. She spoke a little English and ended up walking me to the correct mini-bus, that would be going to İznik. I had noticed her on the other side, while waiting for the ferry. She had a large pink rolling hard suitcase with two matching soft bags slung over her shoulders and wore a large puffy purple coat. She reminded me of myself, only her suitcase was bigger (and sturdier, not broken) and her color palete was pink and purple (not teal and maroon). I liked her.

I settled in on the mini-bus across from a very friendly Turkish-speaking woman. I had to get off the mini-bus to get my external battery for my phone (because the battery was down to 6%) so I could use Google translate. My external battery was stored in a section of my broken carry-on suitcase that made it easy to plug the phone in from outside the suitcase. The mini-bus driver had stashed my suitcase and bags in the back of the bus. We had not moved. We were waiting for the bus to fill with passengers. Still the bus driver seemed annoyed with me. I tried to explain by showing him the battery and dead phone, pointing to the friendly woman on the bus who he had seen was trying to talk with me. He did not smile.

Another woman got on the mini-bus. The three of us started talking... the two women in Turkish, me via Google translate. Google translate helped me understand that the newly entered woman used to live in İznik, now lives in Istanbul, and travels between the two. The woman who had been on the bus when I got on lives alone in İznik. She asked me to visit with her while I am staying at Fusun's. She is my new friend. As the two women chatted in Turkish, my new friend very excitedly conveyed to me that they were both named Şükran. I thought that convenient... that I only had to remember one name. I thought "sugar" and told my new friend that I would remember her name because she was sweet, like sugar. She beamed and laughed and hugged me.

My new friend told me that the roots of the name Şükran are Arabic, and it means “thankful.” Just now, I looked up the background and meaning of her (both women's) name. Here is my favorite part of what I just read: "[the name Şükran] embodies a sentiment of appreciation and acknowledgment of the blessings and mercies one receives. In Turkish, the name Şükran retains this meaning, often serving as a reminder of the importance of being grateful. The name also carries a spiritual dimension, as it is common in cultures influenced by Islam to express gratitude towards God. Therefore, Şükran is not just a name but also a reflection of a fundamental value in these societies." That's my new friend, Şükran.

The mini-bus filled up and began the journey to İznik. At one point during the ride I started feeling sick to my stomach. Maybe it was because I was typing and reading on Google translate while moving in a vehicle. Maybe it was because I had not pooped for days. Either way, something was brewing. I Google translated to my friend that I wanted to look out the window and watch the view. I also said: "tuvalet" because suddenly, I had a strong urge to expel something from my body. My new friend repeated what I had said in English: "toilet," and then turned back to the other Şükran. I do not think she realized I was asking, "How much longer? Should I get off to use a toilet? Can I get back on if I do? What shall I do?" I stayed on the mini-bus.

It helped to focus on looking out the window at the clouds. It also helped when I saw, off in the distance, the water of İznik Lake and the mountains surrounding it. At that very moment, I felt - knew - for the first time that I was headed in the right direction (soulfully speaking).

At one point during the drive my new friend grabbed my head in both her hands, turned it rather forcefully to the window, and excitedly said: "Gökkuşağı!" She said it a number of times, torquing my head over and over toward my left. I did not understand. She pulled up a picture of a rainbow on her phone. Then I saw it - a rainbow stretching across the Turkish sky. This was a sign. Yes, I was definitely going in the right direction.

When we arrived in İznik, Şükran walked me to the Ayasofya Mosque, where Fusun was waiting for me. Şükran and I embraced and promised to communicate through WhatsApp. I turned to Fusun and embraced her.

Fusun and I found each other through an online forum. She was looking for someone to look after her place from November 5 - 24. In lieu of rent, she was asking for plant and garden care, and to feed the two feral cats there. We met as little celled busts on Zoom before finalizing the exchange. In 3D, Fusun looked and felt exactly as I might have expected. We put my baggage in her car and drove the dusty dirt road toward her home.

OMG... oh my Goddess. Fusun lives in what I might call a compound. It is lovely. The land is lovely. The gardens are lovely. It is heaven. After I set down my things, we walked around the inside and outside. She instructed me what did and did not need doing. Much of the garden is wintering and needs no attention. Some of it needs a caretaker. I am now the caretaker.

After our tour Fusun lit the kitchen wood stove, we talked, had dinner (steamed cauliflower and carrots, cooked greens from her garden, yogurt, and smoked oysters and nuts that I had brought). We cleaned up and parted ways. Fusun had an online meeting at 20:00 (8 pm) and I needed the toilet. It was the third time since arriving that I needed the toilet. Landing in the right spot was very moving.

That night I stayed up until 4:00 (am) arranging my belongings and writing the first travel blog. I hope you enjoyed the first blog of this new travel adventure. Maybe you have not read it yet. It is there, waiting for you to read it :).

Fusun had to leave by 9:00 (am) the next day so I woke at 8:00 to say goodbye. After she left, I went back to bed and slept until 13:00 (1 pm).

When I made my way downstairs to the kitchen, I found a place setting ready for me. Fusun. Sweetness.

I have been enjoying sleeping, walking around the grounds here, and meeting the kitties. I have found my favorite spots to eat, write, and meditate with our online Meditation Family. I am taking lots of pictures to share.

Here is my room. My room (and bathroom) are upstairs, above the kitchen. Fusun put an electric blanket under the upper duvet and blanket, that I turn on before getting ready to retire. The room is cold and my bed is warm, and I am very happy with this set up.

My shower, sink, and toilet are off the bedroom. I have been using Fusun's shower because hers is solar heated and mine is heated by a separate electric water heater. Even if I do not use the shower in "my" section, I appreciate how cute the bathtub is. It is tiny.

It is so civilized that the toilet is in it's own nook, and has a hose built-in, as all Turkish toilets have.

Fusun informed me that the septic system at her home can not handle toilet paper, as is true with many Turkish toilets. Most Turkish people use the water from the built-in hose in the back of the toilet to wash and the most luscious thick toilet paper to dry. I prefer to wash and then dry with a cloth. I brought two cloths for just that reason. One now lives in "my" toilet nook. The other lives in Fusun's bathroom, where I toilet when in the house, shower, and use the washing machine (that is also solar operated).

I have noticed that Fusun has very cool signage around the house and grounds. Every toilet, for example, has a sign by it picturing the universal "I have to pee" icons, in both male and female forms.

The best part of "my" room is the view. From "my" deck, I can see the (fresh water) İznik Lake and surrounding hills...

Out from one of "my" bedroom windows, I can see a stretch of Fusun's home, land, and gardens.

Here is a view of Fusun's home. (My living quarters are pictured on the right, with the stairs going up).

Her home includes Fusun's bedroom, another bedroom for her son and daughter-in-law (who visit from Istanbul), and another bedroom for their children/her two grandchildren. Each bedroom has its own full bathroom, closet, and storage area. Outside, near the children's room, is a trampoline. Next to the trampoline is a pergola, housing, among other things, a hammock. Near the pergola there is a frog pond. Between the bedrooms and the outdoors is a long, enclosed sun porch. It is all magnificent.

The entry to the kitchen is around the corner from the stairs to "my" section of the house. This is where the two feral cats come to eat. Fusun told me they do not like to be touched. They are definitely cautious. I hung out and waited. They now come to me, curling around my legs. I pet them and they purr. Sweet kitties.

I have been told that when my posts have a lot of pictures it takes a long time to download (or upload or just plain ol' load) the post. Because of this fact, I will end this post now and write a part two with the rest of the pictures I want to share with you...