Token of Kindness in Karaköy

The Ferry Station at Kadiköy

I step carefully out of the back seat of the yellow Dolmuş at Kadiköy. Leaving the sardine feel of the dolmuş is a relief.  I exit right behind a young man with a soft, brown, leather briefcase in his left hand.  His long legs put him way ahead of me, by the time I step up the curb, away from the busy street. He isn't even looking down!  He impresses me. I watch for cobblestones everywhere.  They bubble up and down, uneven and unpredictable. I don't possess the Turkish Radar that naturally helps them navigate around obstacles, whether walking or driving.

On Side Deck of Ferry

I find a machine, after three tries, that isn't "Out of Order", and get a token for the ferry to Karaköy.  Once I board the ferry, I relax and enjoy the people, the sound of the water, the birds and the ever-changing scenes as I travel. I can hear music down a ways, from the cabin area I'm sitting in.  The benches are comfortable, like pews with red cushions.  I don't turn to watch the musician playing the accordion, I enjoy the sound as I look out across the Bosphorous.  A little girl, about five, slowly walks around, holding out a small cup.  She isn't timid, as she looks right into the passengers' eyes and asks for money for the music.  I never hesitate to give a couple lira.  I love the serenade.

When we dock at Karaköy, I shuttle off the ferry, with everyone else,  across the small metal ramps, slammed down between the boat and the dock.  I walk in a crowd of about eighty other passengers as we're directed to the right of the Karaköy station building.  The next group of passengers are ready and waiting inside, for the double doors to open, so they can board.  They look like children leaving school when the dismissal bell rings.  Half of the passengers opt to step from the boat to the dock without using the metal ramps.  They seem to know the rhythm of the bobbing up and down of the boat.  Not one falls into the water.

Men Fishing Along Dock at Karaköy

I remember how to go under the busy street to reach the funicular after I leave the dock.  There are so many directions to choose.  When I reach the underground shortcut it's a maze along with many distractions.  Brightly lit stores with wall-length windows.  Shoe-shine men with their little golden boxes.  Sellers lined up along the walls with their blankets loaded with wares.  Kiosks selling drinks, cigarettes, candy and newspapers.  This place is like a busy city street. People coming and going from all directions.  I head straight for the "Tünel" sign and take the steps up and out of the underground shortcut.

Shoe Shine Tools for Shoes and Boots

The Tünel is a well-hidden place.  It looks like an ordinary, old, tall building along-side many other old, tall buildings.  There are some historical pictures on the entrance wall with some information about Tünel.  If you don't know it's a mode of transportation, you might walk right by.  (I spent a lot of time finding it my first time in Istanbul) 

I walk down a few steps into the building to get a token for the ride up to Istaklal.  There are no machines.  I see many people get through the gates with their passes.  There are no slots for tokens.  I breathe slowly, so as not to panic. (It never helps me, anyway).

I spot a small gray booth, to the side of the "people" gates for boarding.  An older gentleman with a blue uniform is sitting inside.  He has a full gray mustache and full head of curly, gray hair.  I can see he's looking down, reading something.  I walk up to the small window he's sitting at.  My shoulders at the same level as the small window.

I'm not able to say, "What do I need to take this train?" in Turkish.  So, I put my right hand through the small curved opening, in the window, and show him one of my tokens for the ferry.  I twist it back and forth in front him.  I exaggerate shrugging my shoulders while putting the left palm of my hand up.  He smiles at me and without a word, holds up a blue card for me to see and puts up four of his fingers.  I laugh and say, "Oh? Dört?"

I happily proceed to dig out four Turkish lira, to pay for the ticket.   He exchanges the ticket for the money and puts out his hand for mine.  A little embarrassed,  I say, "Teşekkür ederim!" and shake his hand.  He gently holds on to my hand, slowly lifts it up and kisses the back of my hand.  He describes me as "Çok Güzel", smiles and gives back my hand.

I walked through the gate, using the blue ticket, just in time to board the train.  I smile and feel very beautiful, indeed. I feel the train pull its way up the steep hill, in the dark underground, heading for Istaklal.

Galata Tower by Istaklal

Wall Across the Way  From Fenicular Exit

 I won't forget the understanding I received from that gentleman.  He probably sits in that booth all day, every day.  He could have disregarded me as a "Stupid American".  He could have waited for me to try to slaughter the Turkish language.  He could have waved me away, to get help somewhere else.  But, he didn't.  He made me feel special for trying my own way of communicating with him.  And he returned the favor, by communicating to me in such a simple, elegant way.

Lia After Preschool, Visiting With Local Cat

Friends I Visited in Galata
(Petting and talking to a street cat)