Saturday, May 1 dawned fair and bright. It was here. My friend had met his match-age 30 had arrived.
After plenty of festive celebration the night before, we made grand plans to depart for the Princes Marmara Islands promptly at 9 a.m. This was our first mistake. Planning to move ten people around in the US of A calls for some significant strategizing. Planning to move ten people around on a foreign continent calls for a cluster.
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| Headed to Buyukada |
Some educational information first: The Princes' Islands are made up of nine islands in the Sea of Marmara, four of which you can visit. All are accessible by ferry, no cars are allowed, and it is a convenient day trip from Istanbul. Our island of choice was Buyukada.
The birthday boy himself did not even arise out of bed until past the time of intended departure. Which, if you know him at all, is not the least bit shocking. By the time we all made our way to the docks to find a ferry, the boat had of course, long ago left us behind. Furthermore, we weren't even at the right dock, due to the fact that in Turkey, most of the signs are in, well, Turkish. To be expected of course, but usually somewhere there is English. Not so much in Istanbul. To compound this, aside from the touts who want to sell you a million dollar ride on the Bosphorus, there are not a plethora of English speakers just waiting to help a band of ten straggle their way to a boat.
Aaaaah well, we were already late and there was no point hurrying now. Finally meandering our way to the proper dock a short time later, we got on with ease and awaited our departure. While we were waiting, this nice man on the right decided to ram our large boat with his large boat. We are not completely sure why, but I suppose it has something to do with how they like to dock boats. All I know is, it felt a little Titanic-esque without the iceberg. Why on earth anyone would try to parallel park a seagoing vessel?
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| Our sea chariot |
Once underway, we find things a bit breezy and chilly, but not altogether unpleasant. Mostly we are just excited to get out of Istanbul for the day and see a little more of Turkey. After the eternal and blustery voyage, we finally disembark at Buyukada and immediately need food. Since we are way behind schedule, we are way behind on food. I am way behind on the bathroom, (the ferry had squat toilets and I had no desire to squat) so I speed race off to locate a civilized toilet. When I return, I find our group comfortably seated seaside, with a table square in the warm sunlight. Perfect.
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| Mr. Fishy |
Preferring Morton's fish sticks to most freshly caught sea creatures, I elected to share a kebab and rice plate and a side of zucchini fries with Mary. Yes, zucchini fries. I was more than excited to find them in Turkey. At this point, the never-ending lunch commenced. We waited. And waited. And waited some more. Somehow, I was elected spokesperson of the group and had to continually get up to ask this guy (Mr.Fishy) when he thought our food would be arriving, per chance? Now, I am not that American who goes abroad and expects everything to be the same as it is at home. But THIS was really pushing it. His answer? "Oh, just a minute! Or two." And then, after a moment of thought and consternation he offered "maybe 5 more minutes?" Oh dear. Lunch didn't sound as if it had even been caught yet.
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| Zucchini deliciousness |
After a length of time that certainly exceeded the dubious promise of "maybe 5 more minutes" the food comes rolling out. When there are 10 people eating, it just sort of comes out in a tidal wave. First course of appetizers were decent, the zuch fries surprisingly good. The grape leaves, disgusting. Good thing I enjoyed my fries, because once the main meals started arriving, that was it for me. My little kebab never made it from the waiter to the cook and there I sat. Hungry. You know what happens when I am hungry. Bad things. Once more, I approach Mr. Fishy to assess when said kebab would be arriving. He looks at me, surprised, and tells me "two more minutes." Yeah right. We have been there at least two hours at this point. By the time he does actually bring our food, Mary is so put out by the length of the lunch meal, that she..... SENDS IT BACK!!! Are you KIDDING ME??! A reverse tug-of-war ensued, with Mr. Fishy attempting valiantly to put the plate down in front of her and with Mary adamantly refusing to allow him to do so. And all I can do is look longingly upon it, as its spicy, pungent scent wafts gently past my nose. She was sticking to her guns, I had no choice. We were apparently standing on principle.
Mary won the war and off went the kebab. It crept its way back into the bill though, at which point I trudged back over to Mr. Fishy to tell him we would not be paying for the kebab. He appeared not to understand, but eventually it disappeared from our tab. In its place? A "chef tip." Siiiiigh. 2 points-Fishy. 1 point-us.
Now, as I am on the eve of the birthday mentioned at the beginning of this post, I would like to know how you readers celebrated your 30th. If you are not yet 30, how do you plan to celebrate or is it just not that big of a deal?
