The P & O Chronicles Volume 2

INDIANA SLOPE

AND THE TOILET OF DOOM

DAY EIGHT

07.30

We have sailed overnight from Athens towards Istanbul where we will be
parked for the best part of two days.

07.45

Up to the Carcinoma Deck for a cup of tea and fags.

We are sailing through the Sea of Marmaris and should be in Istanbul for
12 noon.

It¹s already over 25 Celsius and the water in the pool is the same
temperature this threatens to be a very warm day.

Whenever we park up anywhere those punters who actually get off, do that
very British of things and form a queue by the gangplank, or whatever
it¹s called, long before they are given the go ahead to disembark.

Our cunning plan is to enjoy the spectacular arrival into port and then
head for the on board pub to watch football. We can then sneak off
quietly later without the risk of me becoming gratuitously offensive to
the people pushing and shoving in the queue.

09.30

I¹m on deck now reading my third book of the trip and watching the world
go by.

It¹s impossible not to overhear some of the conversations going on
amongst the fellow passengers.

Two reasons for this.

The first is that a lot of them are very deaf and talk quite loud, the
other is that I¹m a nosey bastard.

I actually heard a woman ask her husband this morning ³Do you think
that the ship generates its own electricity?²

No they bought a bloody extension lead at B. & Q. which is plugged in
back at Southampton, they¹ll start reeling it in when we leave Odessa!

Is Istanbul in Greece?

Do the crew live on board?

Why does Tony keep buying Land Rovers?

I lied about the last one.

11.30

The views as we arrive in Istanbul, which is in Turkey by the way, are
wonderful.

Asia on one side of the harbour and Europe on the other.

A fabulous mixture of mosques and minarets with sky scrapers and other
new buildings.

The harbour is manic with big and little boats rushing everywhere it
looks like an accident waiting to happen.

So long as it¹s after we¹ve gone I hope.

12.00

Our intrepid fellow passengers are, as expected, queuing to get off no
doubt eager to step over the extension lead and see what it¹s like in
Greece!

12.30

As planned, beer and lunch then off to football. Hoping for the Arsenal
game but sadly it¹s Liverpool and Portsmouth which is a crap game but
with a good result if you¹re a Gooner.

Bit of a kip then before heading off the boat sleep off the beer and
lunch and prepare for beer and dinner.

19.00

We decide to forsake the P. & O. shuttle bus and walk into the city.

20 minutes maximum and you see a lot more life that way.

We realise that it¹s Ramadan and in consequence it¹s fairly quiet.

The area from the P. & O. berth into the middle of town is pretty grim
and we begin to wonder if the bus might have been a good idea.

There are manky cats and dogs running everywhere, the pavements are
smelly and covered with all sorts of detritus and the locals look less
than friendly no doubt the Muslims amongst them are bloody hungry!

Run down buildings and filthy backstreets all around and I am getting a
distinctly uneasy feeling but I think I¹m just a bit of a Nancy boy at
heart really.

However no problems are encountered and after 15 minutes we turn the
corner and the whole walk in becomes worthwhile.

In front of us is the Galata Bridge stretching from the European side of
Istanbul, where we are, over to the Asian side.

The place is teeming with humanity.

The sounds and smells are very Middle Eastern but a lot of what we see
is completely western.

The spectacular mosques are now all illuminated as night falls quite
early here which is 2 hours ahead of the U.K.

Countless mosques are issuing a call to prayer not with the aid of some
old chap yelling but by way of powerful sound systems mounted on the
minarets. There¹s progress for you.

Progress or not this feels seriously foreign.

We are visiting the Mosques and Palaces tomorrow so tonight¹s priority
is food and beer while watching the world go by.

20.00

We wander about for a while and then decide that the best place to eat
is in fact under the Galata Bridge. The bridge carries traffic and
pedestrians between the two continents but down at water level there is
a kind of promenade with restaurants all the way across.

There is fierce competition for our custom as waiters and restaurant
owners push and shove each other whilst trying to persuade us to eat
with them.

Indiana comes into his own here and insists that he is familiar with
exactly the restaurant we need.

So we manfully stride on ignoring the pleas of the waiters and
restaurateurs. We get to the other side and Indiana seems confused
having not found the restaurant he knows about.

No problem, we walk back across but it¹s still not there.

The waiters are now getting quite pissed off.

I can be a bit slow but it finally dawns on me that Indiana hasn¹t got a
bleeding clue where we are going so I assert myself and we opt for a
fish restaurant on the harbour side.

The proprietor hands us the menus and Indiana decides to greet him in
what he believes to be Turkish. Whatever language it is, it clearly
isn¹t Turkish so I opt for the old fail safe of shouting at him in
English. He seems quite happy with that and is clearly used to it.

Indiana persists with his ³Turkish² to no avail. The proprietor
eventually takes to saying ³Bon appetit² to whatever Indiana says. This
is clearly the Turkish way of taking the piss.

As we sit at our table fishing lines are dropping from above and passing
a few feet from our table into the harbour and then being hauled back up
with struggling fish on each of the many hooks.

We decide to order fish maybe it¹s a subliminal sort of thing going on
here.

We clearly don¹t get what Indiana thinks he¹s ordered. Thankfully the
waiter has decided that he¹s some kind of weirdo who¹s speaking in
tongues so he makes his own mind up.

The best meal I¹ve had for years turns up.

Typical Turkish mixture of cold starters, then a shrimp hot pot (very
spicy and will play hell with the arse cancer later) and finally fresh
sea bream. All accompanied by a fabulous salad.

This is just what holidays should be about having your senses
completely assaulted by new tastes, smells and experiences.

Indiana is strangely quiet and it seems is offended that his efforts to
speak the native tongue have failed.

After a further period of silence he finally admits that he had been
speaking Arabic that¹ll be it then!

The local wandering musicians are now out in force and we linger over
coffee watching the world go by.

Eventually as we leave the proprietor shakes my hand and wishes me good
night.

Indiana gets a surly ³ au revoir tosser².

22.30

The Ramadan fast for the day is over so the place is now heaving with
people out for much needed food and drink.

This place is full of contradictions.

Lots of completely covered up women as you might expect, but equal
numbers are scantily clad and looking distinctly western.

Most surprisingly a lot of gay men are walking hand in hand along the
bridge which I would not have expected to see in a Muslim country.

I think perhaps I¹ve been guilty of the ignorance that our wonderful
press peddles and have imagined all Muslim states to be intolerant and
fundamentalist when clearly they are not.

23.00

Wandering back to the boat we pass through what looks like a massive
outdoor market place. It turns out that it is entirely made up of cafes
and restaurants.

You cannot move it¹s so packed. Countless hookah pipes, loads of roast
chestnuts, which did surprise me, and many other local delicacies but no
booze to be seen. People young and old are packed in watching T.V.,
playing chess and backgammon and generally enjoying a booze free
Saturday night.

It turns out that this place will be packed into the early hours due to
Ramadan I can think of worse ways of spending an evening

23.30

As ever our night is far from booze free, so back on board for more
beers and gay coffee whilst we exchange stories with the various other
piss heads we¹ve met up with so far.

I hear that Chelsea only drew and that Arsenal have stuffed Spurs so
life is good.

Indiana confides in me that he too is sending some kind of diary home by
e-mail. He calls his analbasis or something like that.

If it has found its way to any of you please e-mail it to me forthwith
so that I can begin my terrible revenge for any untruths he may have
told.

01.00

Off to bed but not before a walk around the promenade deck.

Istanbul is still going strong and in fact seems busier than ever this
is certainly a place for a longer visit soon. The view at night is just
out of this world.

Looking forward to doing the cultural bit around the city tomorrow
morning.

01.15

As ever into bed more than a little shit faced and off to sleep very
quickly to dreams of Indiana speaking Welsh to Arabs in Turkey.

Hope the Captain remembers to unplug the extension lead before he goes
to bed.