10 Months Later...

As I passed the 10 month mark of my runaway adventures this week, I realized an important lesson I left off of the list last month in my post, about 9 Things I Learned in 9 Months on the Run ... So, here you go - Lesson 10.

Stealing a first kiss on this bridge at midnight, with the city lit up before us... smooth... real smooth.

10 - Write about everything.

Street mussels - the perfect snack for a night of drinking with friends!

I've known I should learn this for quite some time. In my (failed) endeavors to become a historian, I utilized journals and field notebooks of soldiers as the primary sources of my thesis research. I've thought for years that someone who has lived an extraordinary life should document it, even though they may not think the life they've led is anything special. You never know when someone, somewhere in the future, be it a distant relative, or a curious student, will want to know what life was like for you. Seemingly boring, everyday details can be something intriguing, even vital to a historian's research, or simply interesting to future generations of your family.

He left me here with a long goodbye kiss, and a broken heart.

I've finally learned this lesson with such pain, and quite a bit of regret. I began to realize how important writing about your experiences is while reading The Museum of Innocence by Orhan Pamuk here in Tbilisi. Those of you who know me, know I don't read much. I reluctantly would try to do reading for my classes, but often would just skim through the books and hunt down a good synopsis. However, this book I read more intensely and quickly than any of the Harry Potter books... I can't even remember the last time I ACTUALLY finished a book. (I apologize to any of my professors who may stumble upon this entry and realize that I was a total sham.) Anyway, this novel takes place in Istanbul. A lot of the content is incredibly relate-able to my experiences there, since some things haven't changed, even 40 years after the beginning of the story takes place. Memories came rushing back to me not just of my experiences in Istanbul, but of other moments all along my journey since I left as well. Many of the settings are places I frequented, which made me nostalgic for those streets, the humid heat, the smell, the sounds of Istanbul - what's more? It makes me nostalgic for the love I found there. (I know, the L word... it's a big one, right? You're intrigued to know more now, aren't you? Well, tough. You'll have to wait...) That love opened up a door to a completely different part of life that I hadn't been experiencing before. A door that was opened at precisely the right moment, in the most enchanting setting I could imagine. I couldn't have dreamd of, or written a better scenario than the one that played out on its own.

It gave me a case of the feels. I literally fell asleep with it every night. 

Anyway, now that those feelings - which were so strong immediately afterwards, that I never thought they would leave, and actually wished I could rid myself of - have faded, I wish I had something more substantial I could look back on. I know that I have to live in the moment, but sometimes, much like our narrator in this book, I wish I had something to conjure up those feelings of love, and magic, to comfort me when I need it. I wish I had descriptions to go along with all of my photos and videos to try to describe what all of my other senses were experiencing. Especially as I experienced the grandeur of Istanbul (and some other places) for the first time, and again for the first few weeks of my return, I wish I had documented those sensations better. In addition, I wish I had documented the intrigue accompanying each person I met, particularly the ones that would later go on to become large parts of my life. I wish I had written down every detail of our time together. Not just with my love in Istanbul, but also the friends and loves I've been lead to since.

Here I doomed our happiness.

One of the most beautiful things about this book - it's inspired me to go back and try to write down everything I can remember about those loves. Not to look back on in agony over how short lived they were, or to relive the details, but because they affected how I experienced the city. Some places in Istanbul drew me to them, leading me to reminisce and smile, while others I began to avoid, so as not to awaken the pain resting within me from a love lost. Places that I simply spent time in with no true intention, or even desire to be there, became extraordinary because of the company kept... doesn't each fantastic experience deserve to be preserved? Just as some people bring home souvenirs from traveling to remind them of where they've been and their experiences there, I've begun collecting places. Certain cafes, or street corners where life was simply perfect, even if only for a brief moment.

In the book, our narrator describes the happiest moment of his life, and that, sadly, has a negative connotation. It means that the rest of his life could not possibly be better. That moment is gone, in the past, and everything was only downhill from there. In a sense, I have to agree with him. I don't have a definitive happiest moment in my life yet, so there's hope that I still have yet to experience that quintessential happiest moment. However, sometimes, if you realize in a moment of happiness, just how incredibly happy you are - that's the end of the happiness. Whether its because you suddenly fear that happiness can't be genuine, or the possibility of losing that happiness, it has become doomed. Don't think about how happy you are. I know it can be tough, especially when it's an overwhelmingly happy moment. Just be happy.

The Munich wintertime skating rink - one of the places where life was simply perfect, even if only for a little while.

So here's my advice:

An amazing site to come across the night we met.

Take the time to write, maybe a little before you go to bed, or when you wake up in the morning... what is the day like? Sunny? Cold? Hot? Dry? What smells and sounds make this place unique? Trivial, seemingly mundane, things will help complete the overall description of your experience, as well as accent the more monumental moments. Sensory memory can be a wonderful thing. Some day, you may smell or taste something that sends you back to that time, but it's even better if you can distinguish just which place and time it brought you back to. I've heard from people who have traveled extensively that in some places, everything just starts to blend together - you can't really distinguish where that memory took place. It's something I've begun to fear will happen to me one day, something I fear has already begun because I haven't adequately documented my experiences.

Take the time to type a private blog, jot down notes about something interesting or special about how your day has gone, hold on to little pamphlets or wrappers and make a scrapbook later with a description of what made that so special, or straight up journal about your travels. It's even cathartic to physically write down the little or private things that you don't want, or think the public will want to read. It's good for you to get these thoughts out somewhere, even if no one ever reads it.


Think about what you've done in your life, and what's going on in the world around you. No other person is leading your life. No other person will. Especially if you travel. You want to capture the fascination and excitement of your trips, so one day someone (even you, yourself) can look back on them, and appreciate all that you experienced. Think about it. Fifty years from now, wouldn't it be nice to read about that fateful day in some far off place, when you met the greatest love you've ever had? How the air smelled and felt? How their eyes mesmerized you from the moment you met? How you just wanted to be close. How butterflies fluttered in your stomach when your hands accidentally brushed up against each other as you walked down the street - that spectacular moment when your hands sought each other out, latching on and lacing fingers without any reason, as if they were magnets drawn together out of natural force? Don't you want to remember the things you learned about yourself? How each love left you more confident and helped you realize something more about what you want, nay, what you deserve, in a relationship? It's so easy to back track and think that someone is fantastic and treats you well in the next relationship, when you've completely forgotten what you loved about your previous relationships. This advice goes for places as well as people. Months after returning or moving on from a place, you may not remember it as it truly was. You may gloss over the negative aspects of a place and remember it as being more enjoyable than it was, then if you return there, be disappointed. The contrary can happen as well. You may look back on these writings and realize that a place was even better than you recalled.

He looks proud, right? Such a lovely grandchild to have!

Writing will give yourself, and people who care about you a better record of who you were, and of everything that contributed to the person you became. You never know if you're going to have a niece, nephew, grandchild, or great grandchild who is absolutely fascinated by you, because you are part of them. They may like to know what led you to become the person they one day knew, or who their parents knew. They may be a little too young, or too shy to try to ask you directly, but if one day they have something you wrote to read and learn a little more about you, I'm sure they'll appreciate it. Like I said before, you are part of them. Which brings me to part of the reason why this post is a week later than I had intended to publish it - I want dedicate it to one such person in my life. The first man in my life - my grandpa. I hope I made him proud with my adventures, even though they kept me away from him for a lot longer than I had intended, and prevented me from being there in person to celebrate his life with the rest of our family. I still love learning more about what made him the man I knew, the man I love, the man who will always be a part of me. Тебя люблю навсегда.

One of those farewells you sense is going to be your last, but hope with all your might it won't. Unfortunately it was.

So, take me back to Constantinople...

Okay... I'm doing things out of order, but that's because the topic of this particular post is, in my opinion, hilarious... I'll go back to my 1st visit to Istanbul and my time in Bishkek later, this needed to be posted before all of that... we'll just have to Tarantino things a bit, so here goes, Istanbul - Round 2:

It's true that one never steps in the same river twice. Returning to Istanbul, the city is the same, the experience is different.
The Old City as seen on the ferry from Kadıköy (Asian side) to Karaöy (European Side) about to dock.

DISCLAIMER - this post makes generalizations of Turkish men, and is not meant to offend those who break the stereotypes, though it may serve as a guide for them to be wary of their actions in order to further defy these stereotypes. I'd say I'm sorry to the few who may stumble upon this and do get offended, but I'm not. If you get offended, chances are you're afraid that you're one of these guys and can most likely benefit from reading this. This isn't just my, or an American perspective, this is what almost every foreign woman is dealing with here, and it's overwhelming, especially for those of us who are virtually invisible back home.

Right now, there is only 1 word I can think of to describe Istanbul... Istanbul is... THIRSTY... if you don't know what that means, I refer you to Urban Dictionary: Thirsty. "But Kate, every city has its share of thirsty guys (and girls too) why do you think Istanbul is particularly thirsty?" I'll get to that in just a bit...

This time I'm traveling alone, which I highly recommend everyone try at some point. However, I was concerned when I first got to Istanbul that I'd feel lonely. So, I thought it would be a good idea to find other ways to socialize with locals and other travelers, other than meeting them at my hostel, especially since they usually have great suggestions of where to go and what to do beyond the normal tourist attractions. Plus, I figured a little company doing these things could be nice too. "How are you accomplishing this goal?" you ask... oh man... this is where things start to get interesting...

I've got to rewind a little bit here, back to Bishkek - week 3, I believe. I'm sitting at a cafe with new friends and they mention something about one of our classmates being on Tinder, which was surprising purely because of who that classmate was, and Tinder's reputation. (Again for those of you who don't know what it is I refer you to Urban Dictionary: Tinder)

So... these friends, being the drunken enablers they are, encourage me to download Tinder, which I did, because I thought it would be funny... If I had known then what it would turn into... there will be another entry reserved purely for the shenanigans that ensued in Bishkek, I'm sure you'll enjoy it...

ANYWAY... I arrived at my hostel in Istanbul around 10am (local time) on Sunday, September 13th. While waiting to check in, I enjoyed some çay (чай, tea), and once I was bored with my Facebook feed, decided to check my Tinder in hopes of finding some new people to hang out with... I NEVER SHOULD HAVE GONE DOWN THAT RABBIT HOLE! Well, actually, it has made for some interesting times, and y'all are getting my 1st entry in 4 months as a result of it, so I guess traveling down that tinder rabbit hole ended up being a good thing.

Here were my parameters: show me men within 30 miles of my location, ranging in age from 23 - 35... yes this makes me look like a panther, but whatever, most of my closest friends are around 23 years old anyway, so quit judging! I fully expected it to be filled with fellow travelers, and some expats... in hindsight, that was really dumb, since half of the men we found on there while in Bishkek were Turkish pilots or flight attendants...whatever, I hadn't slept in over 24 hours except for a nap on the plane...

So... here's where things start to get out of control... remember, I never used Tinder in the US for fear of it being just way too depressing that I wouldn't match with anyone, and even if I did they would only want to hook up for sex, which if you know me, you know that's not me. At all.

Within just a few hours, the matches, and messages began to flow... so did the Facebook and Instagram requests (actual numbers to follow), and considering everyone in my hostel left for the day before I got checked in, I decided that getting coffee with one of these men who messaged me wouldn't be a bad idea. I mean, why  not? It's a Sunday afternoon, let's get coffee, show me somewhere cool, maybe make a new friend to hang out with later... it actually was pretty lovely... he brought me to a hidden gem of a cafe, that I never would have found on my own. 

Even my date had trouble remembering where this cafe, not far from Galatasaray, just a few blocks from Istiklal Caddesi, was located. We had to walk through a corridor, and down a few flights of stairs before coming upon this lovely place.

We chatted for a while, and coffee turned into beer, and chatting turned into probing whether or not I'd go home with him... I insisted that I was too tired to stay out much longer and needed to adjust my sleep schedule to Istanbul (when we left at 7pm, it was 10pm in my head). We walked back to Taksim Square, where he tried one more time to convince me to go back to his place to watch the football match (re:soccer) and drink wine. I politely turned him down, and went back to the hostel. Since then, our only communication was 4 weeks later when he propositioned me for a one night stand.

Seriously bro? You didn't even pay the whole check.

By the time I got back to the hostel and could start checking my social media and Tinder again (I hadn't turned my cell service back on so I'd been relying solely on wifi for communication) the floodgates had opened. 41 Instagram requests. In less than 12 hours.

As I began to tell a friend about this, he gave me the brilliant idea to collect the data and post a blog entry, so really all of the credit should go to him. (Thanks Phil!) At that point, I started to crunch the numbers... I had about 20 matches, and 10 messages - I was batting .500! Plus 4 of the men who had messaged me were actively pursuing a meeting... 

Here's what I've learned first hand about the stereotypical Turkish man: they seem to really love Instagram, photo filters, selfie sticks, working out, not writing anything in their profile descriptions, creeping on girls they see on social media, thinking they are the sexiest thing alive, and foreign girls. Not giving you enough of an image? Okay, imagine the biggest douche-bag, "God's sexual gift to women," frat boy you've ever encountered... got it? Now, give him a beard, a tan, and generally dark features. Then, put him in clothes that would make you play "gay or European?". Toss in some broken English, add a foreign accent, and there ya go! The stereotypical Turkish man.

Now, think about how young, western women are portrayed in popular films... THAT is what these men tend to expect. THAT is what they imagine will happen. Regardless of where you meet them - tinder, couch surfing, facebook groups, even people you meet through other people - they're all just as bad. Now, this is just another generalization, I know there must be some very good Turkish men out there, who knows, maybe I'll even find one to keep? However, in my interactions with men here so far, even when they are trying to go against the stereotype, they still fail to avoid it completely.

Case in point: one of those 4 men pursuing a meeting with me managed to claim me for an actual date the next day. He wore a suit. I wore a dress, painted my nails, and put on makeup. He delivered when he promised a beautiful view, and that he would not only make me smile, but make me laugh. He got us the best view possible for a Monday evening without a reservation, and in such a popular area. He ordered for both of us (because I'm laid back and am willing to try anything new, not because he's that much of a chauvinist), and when the bill came, he didn't give me the opportunity to even offer to pay, claiming that he wanted to show me his city, so it was his honor. (How effing adorable, right?) 

Our view for a sunset dinner at Midpoint on Istiklal St.

After dinner, we walked along Istiklal Street, and he walked me back to my hostel, like a gentleman. That's where he began to fall short in his efforts to defy the Turkish man stereotype. At the beginning of the night he tried to emphasize that his parents moved here from Greece, and that he hated the way Turkish men treated women. He asked if the men had been treating me well, and if the man the day before had tried to kiss me or not, which then turned into probing whether he had a shot at getting a kiss, or even more... bless his awkward little heart... we also haven't talked since the day after the date.

Even with the language barrier (another post on that will be coming soon), this was a much better date than my 1st ever date last year. Those of you who remember that night should remember how stressed I was leading up to it, how the date itself was only alright, and how I quickly learned to be glad that I never dated. (Who the HELL would choose to put themselves through the stress of choosing an outfit and makeup - ugh!)

Still wondering where those numbers I promised you earlier are? These aren't all inclusive as it got just too hard to keep up with counting the various types of requests I've received across all of social media, but here's what I've got for you:

By midnight, day 1:
25 matches, 15 messages, 5 actively trying to meet, 50 Instagram requests

By 9:30am day 2:
Didn't even bother counting matches, 5 new messages, and 59 Instagram requests

By Day 6:
I had no internet access for 7 hours that day, and came home to 19 new messages (plus 6 I didn't read before I went out for the day).

Here we are, about 5 weeks in, and I've stopped counting matches, messages, and active attempts to meet me. I'm now sitting at about 15 Facebook requests, a few couch surfing messages, and over 40 Instagram message requests. I only had 98 followers before I got here, and only follow 87 myself. I should figure out how I can somehow profit from adding about 200 new followers, huh?

If I really played my cards right, living in Istanbul would be the cheapest place ever. Eat a big breakfast at the hostel, then go on a date with a different guy every night, right? Let these poor chumps think that they've got a shot with me, get free dinner, a nice view, sometimes decent company and drinks, then never talk to them again. Boom. Cheap travel at its finest.

Still not convinced that Istanbul has more of a thirst than other cities? There will be more posts about how men treat foreign women, and dating fails, trust me. Wondering why it is that you won't hear many local girls complaining about this thirst? Is it just that they expect it, because it's their culture? No. That's not why. It's because it doesn't happen on this kind of scale to the local girls. Why? Because of double standards. Virtue is still incredibly valued around here when picking a wife. So, the men want to go out and slut around and think that hey have some sort of sexual prowess, while the women are expected to remain chaste. Even if they don't remain chaste, they often have to fake it when they finally do get married. I tried to find credible sources of statistics regarding this issue, but I failed. This isn't exactly a procedure people want to boast about getting or performing, after all. Instead, I will refer you to a website for a clinic dedicated completely to hymenoplasty located here in Istanbul - for the low, low cost of $2,500 you TOO can become a virgin again! Why on earth would a woman want to go through losing her virginity twice? There are many reasons, most are based on societal pressure and fear of violence against her from her family or husband if it is discovered she isn't a virgin on her wedding night. Some women will only date casually outside of their family and friends' social groups, so if they should have an indiscretion, it will be harder for the influential people in her life to find out.

Again, I must add a disclaimer - virtue isn't important to EVERY man around here. I've talked to a few young local men, and they at least feign that they believe this double standard is ridiculous. They do admit that it is also one of the reasons why the locals thirst so hard for foreigners. The men can slut it up without harming the virtue of a woman they may actually want to marry. They can also keep lying to themselves that their women have remained chaste just for them, and that they actually have any sexual prowess.

Now we come to today's lesson: be picky. Be picky as hell when talking to men in Turkey, ladies. This place is a sexual dessert and foreign women are the oasis which the menfolk have been praying isn't a mirage.

And lastly, for your entertainment pleasure, I leave you with some of the weak ass game that these boys try to pull:

Nope. Not anymore.

Because GOD FORBID a girl has a life outside of tinder!

Oh yeah baby, you know how to turn me on!

If at first you don't succeed...

I no answer to u because I no want to...

At least he gave up earlier than others?

Awww... thanks sweetie, but I'm not your babe...

Hmm... maybe if I try writing something vulgar in another language...

HAHA! That LITTERALLY made me LOL

OOOh... a married man... just what I always wanted!

He actually understood the reference... he might be a keeper!

Title credit: "Istanbul (not Constantinople)" by The Four Lads (cover by They Might Be Giants)