Jumpers and Shoes
On Monday night we packed our bags into an Amman mini-bus, said a tearful farewell to the Chili House and headed off to the airport. Our flight was at 4:30am but the couple of hours or so before we checked in passed quickly enough. We both managed to sleep for the entire 2 hours we were in the air which had the happy consequence of us missing whatever meal gets served at 5am.
When we reclaimed our bags we noticed that something had been taken - the toolkit which is normally attached to my bike but which we'd moved to the tent bag for safety. It's a pain and we have notified the airline and await their next move...
Istanbul has caused us to shift the stuff around our bags so that suncream and shorts are down the bottom and weird things like jumpers, shoes and socks are dragged out of semi-retirement. It's a nice change to wander about wrapped up in what for us is chilly weather.
On Wednesday we visited the amazingly ornate Blue Mosque which is very active but peaceful at the same time. Yesterday we had a Turkish bath which is a real not-to-be-missed experience. You start by relaxing on heated marble slabs before the bath masters arrive to whisk you to an ajoining room. The first stage is a good soaking with warm water and then an all over scrub with a rough cotton mitten. Dead skin and black muck of some nature is stripped away from what you assume is a reasonably clean body. It's a bit like putting the Dyson round for the first time. After the scrub comes a lathering up with what seems to be a pillow case full of shaving foam. You lie down for this part which leaves you so relaxed you can't defend yourself against the massage which is a combination of pinching, kneading and squishing followed by the sort of treatment normally administered in a pub carpark. I now know what Metallica's drumkit feels like. Saying that, it does feel good when it's over!
The afternoon was spent bargain hunting in the Grand Bazaar. I bought a couple of shirts and, faced with a rainbow of colours, chose red yet again. I don't know if the end of the trip will see me swear off red shirts for life or cling on to them like a sartorial security blanket. As we walked along one shopkeeper shouted across that he recognised me from last year when I was in Istanbul, but that last time I was here with my Russian girlfriend. I think he was mistaking me for Sean Connery in From Russia With Love but I'll forgive him for such an easy mistake.
