AMERICAN DIRTBAG 02: The Ramadhan-a-thon goes on and on and on Somewhere between Bulgaria and Turkey I contracted a nasty case of the bird flu. I started growing goosedown in my armpits and throwing up little eggs the size of gummi bears. Inside each egg was a little tiny seagull that flew away each time you cracked them open. Oh, they were so cute. I feel much better now. I finally figured out one reason why Bulgaria was such a mess; people nod up and down to say NO and shake their head to say YES. This explains half of the ridiculous things that happened while there. What kind of horseshit is that? No wonder they cannot bring themselves to break their permanent frowns. More bullshit at another bullshit border, this time in Turkey where I was sent back into Bulgaria to buy some visa that only Americans have to get. I held up the bus a good forty five minutes and got some good glares from the turks. The glares were returned with winks and big gap-toothed smiles. Due to some mix up I arrived in an abandoned bus station at 6 am outside the city of Istanbul and was immediately greeted by hustlers and thieves/taxi drivers. My friend, my friend, my friend is how all turks begin sentences. Then they lapse into some deal about rugs or shoeshines and will not relent until you go to their rug shop or walk away. They will still follow you for a mile or two with more of this droning.... my friend, my friend. I like America, my friend. They do not take no for an answer, but I have met one or two who understand FUCK OFF, MAN. I have never met such con artists. It is truly mindblowing. Prices change every five seconds. A cup of tea begins at 1 lira and then when you pay it becomes two unless you fight for right, which one must. Everything must be negotiated. I shook a dude's hand the other night after he tried to rip me off at a cafe and I said... “you people are fucking unreal.” He was extremely offended. The streets are filled with amazing scents. Imagine an overflowing ashtray stuffed with hummus. That's as close as I can describe. There is a lady who runs the desk at my hotel. She is called Layla and she is brain damaged in some fashion. She cannot remember that I am staying in her hotel. She never knows what room I am in. She has few teeth. When ever she gets confused she grinds and clicks and clacks her teeth in the most face melting, disgusting fashion. Worse than fingernails on a chalk board, more harsh than knives on glass. Her eyes bug out and she begins to cry. As soon as her little ritual begins I haul ass immediately and try not throw up. It is a cheap hotel. I have beeen hanging around this place called the Sulthan Ahmet mosque. Hands down one of the coolest buildings in the solar sysytem, fo'sho'. They allow tourists inside for some reason. I have gone there three times in three days. The place smells of gym socks due to the fact you must remove your shoes upon entrance. Lots of loud americans stumble around saying things like, “Holy Mackerel, this place is immense, Margaret!” Lots of pushy German tourists stumble around making demands of their families, friends and strangers. Menawhile people are trying to pray to the almighty Allah while people snap digital shots. I saw some jackass, actually 3 jackasses, taking pictures of an old blindman shuffling by in his white sultan get up. Mind you this was not at Epcot, and this was not some burnout stoner dressed in a Captain Hook costume. This was an oldtimer praying on one of the holiest days of the year. I loved it. I wish I had had my camera. Since it is Ramadhan, folks fast all day then gorge like pigs in a dumpster come sundown. This is great because most restaurants are easy and not crowded during the day. At night the gardens outside the mosque become a combination of cheapo circus and tailgate party (without booze). I watched a guy juggling firesticks while The Miami Soundmachine played back up on a boombox. I did not quite understand. Soon afterwards two kids stuck out their tongues at me as they passed. I returned the gesture and one of them spit. Jihad comes in many forms, |
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