Pot of Joy (PART I)

This entry is written in note form to firstly condense style, secondly to give more freedom, and thirdly was inspired by a chapter in my book.

N.B.
*no details made up or exaggerated in party scene

*çay (pronounced 'chai', means tea in Turkish)

Part I

26th April, London to Izmir

Stansted Airport Fined £100 for not having a railcard, even though I did. Why can't these ticket men understand that life isn't black and white and defined by tick boxes? Smooth check-in and security check. Bought myself a hot pink lipstick, 'it's non-smack' the lady told me. Proven to be a lie as was swiftly removed when I ate my sardines in the toilet. Sardines are my 'go-to' snack when travelling, in fact, my 20kg suitcase was mostly made up of these handy tins.

Pros: transportable; very healthy; a good hangover cure (seem to always be hungover in airports); filling.

Cons: attract strange looks so mostly one must eat in public toilets; the oil gets everywhere; is embarrassing to dispose of tin (trying not to slice fingers on metal lid or smear fish oil on said fingers - also a challenge); smell of fish is everywhere; scales stick in teeth.

Since the pros outweigh the cons, these fish (and an occasional boiled egg) will continue to accompany my journeys, and ensure you'll be the best friend of your fellow passengers. On flight man offered me a mini Toblerone in a gold packet, very welcome treat in terms of sugar and kindness. 

19:00 Arrived in Izmir in a catastrophic storm. The drama and strong smell that rain brings is wonderful. Helped an elderly German lady with her bags, told myself again to learn German. It was exciting to navigate to the metro under the heavy raindrops. Gold railings in metro, made my day. Rivers whooshed down the escalator and streets and I arrived at my hostel sodden from head to foot. 

20:30 Lotus Garden Hostel Serbian volunteer greeted me, quickly found out that he grew up in Italy and had a lovely little chat in Italian. He said that I had to be back by 00:00 because the hostel gets locked, thought this silly as I just wanted dinner and bed. 'You never know' he said. Met a French guy in hostel, gold-tinged eyes, skin, hair. Other people were Russian, Portuguese, and Greek.

20:45 Raining steadily when I took to the streets again. Bakeries were still open and market stalls were wrapping up their goods from the rain. I squelched down the seedy alley, happy to be moving and absorbing unusual sights again. Poorly lit tea bars were filled with men who played backgammon or some sort of word game. They stared and although used to that, wasn't too sure of myself, a lone female in a Muslim country. Keep eyes straight ahead, back straight, confidence. All potential cafes were completely men-filled and a little intimidating. Then heard music and clapping to my right, opposite a bakery, where some sort of celebration was going on. Decided to return. Got cash and returned. 

21:00 Stood in the doorway of the bar, an open kitchen to the left, horses racing on two TV screens to the right, a portrait of Mustafa Kemal on the wall, and people dancing around tables in front of me. After less than a minute a man grabbed my hand and drew me into the jumble. 'Bitch better have my money' started playing on the speaker. It reminded me of a time in Armenia when my friend and I were stuffed in a tiny Lada with a priest in a habit and a bemedalled general who we'd picked up along the way. The driver presently put on his youtube playlist and 'you're such a fucking ho, I love it' played out. All nodded along to it, morbidly unaware, while I clucked in disgust and my friend pissed himself laughing at the incongruity.

Similar clucks of disgust came from the few women in the bar and Turkish music replaced Rihanna. We danced some more and I was surprised at how easy it was to dance, completely drenched, with utter strangers. It felt so normal and joyous. 

Here begins the evening's revelry:

Cast:

Travellers:

Me, bedraggled busgoer, English

Nathan, gold-tinged hitchhiker from hostel, wears a magic mushroom tshirt, French

Victor, vibrant-eyed cyclist, tanned, French

Bar-dwellers:

Dance Partner, friendly and paternal, often likes to entwine little fingers with you, nice green ring

Great-Gramps, life etched, repeatedly hugs you, touches his heart and head, often says 'thank you'

Kyrgyz Lady, speaks a smattering of Russian, repeatedly invites you home to stay, great dancer

Kyrgyz Lady's Husband, often on video call with various relatives (who are in bed), and shows them to Travellers, doesn't dance much

Pirate, headscarf and good English, nicknamed thus due to job as a tourist guide on boats

Ghostly Pale Man, cloud of fuzzy grey hair, makes peace signs and shouts ERIC CLAPTON, ROBBIE WILLIAMS

Cook, speaks German to Me (thought 'must learn German' the second time that evening) uncomfortably flirtatious, when shaking your hand, scrapes his middle finger down your palm

Dance Teacher, choreographer, talent finder, fount of unusual moves, makes a dancer out of Victor

Waitress, shouts at the top of her voice inexplicably, laughs a lot at Travellers

Crazy Woman, badass energy, shouts a lot, initially thought she was in charge of the troupe

Dark Horse, thick leather gilet, permanent grin, moustache, likes to dance low low low

Scene 1

Me, Dance Partner, Great-Gramps, Kyrgyz Lady, Kyrgyz Lady's Husband, Pirate, Ghostly Pale Man, Cook, Dance Teacher, and Waitress all dance, clap, click, shout ERIC CLAPTON, drink beer/raki/çay, or sit and watch.

Enter two Frenchies, Nathan and Victor. Both behold the scene in doorway with amusement. Kyrgyz Lady, cigarette in mouth, sits them down at our table.

I am pleased to have witnesses to the bizarreness unfolding. Nathan had met Victor in Athens the month before. Nathan speaks disconcertingly perfect English, at times with a northern accent. Victor is staying with a host from Warmshowers, a community like Couchsurfing but for cyclists. The dancing carries on behind us. Kyrgyz Lady's Husband, when first meeting Victor writes in google translate 'I want you' and pouts his lips, Victor alarmed. I'm not much in the mood for small talk and wanted to dance again. We dance. A lot. Use coats and umbrellas and lots of napkins as props. Ghostly Pale Man puts on a song by Robbie Williams.

Scene II

They all cavort together for a while, Travellers not quite believing the situation. Plates of tomatoes and cucumber come out and three mussels are put on the plates of the Travellers, they sit again.

Pirate proffers a mussel at Me. They are shut. !Alarm bells! 'Never eat a mussel that won't open' my parents taught me. I also spent too many times food-poisoned to accept. Nathan bravely eats one. It is stuffed with rice, how that intricate little detail came about we have no idea, but they turn out to be lovely. Ghostly Pale Man puts on 'Angie' by the Rolling Stones, shouts ERIC CLAPTON, does a peace sign and we sing. Dance Partner drags Me up again by the little finger and dances very slowly. Kittens appear and Victor scoops one up, continues doing so throughout the night. Kyrgyz Lady's Husband brings Travellers another relative to say hello to.

Enter Crazy Woman

Crazy Woman sweeps into bar and clears all cast off dance floor. It's clearly her turn to dance. Dance Partner isn't up to scratch as DJ as there is much shouting before finding her the appropriate song. Out comes her belly and untold sass. Travellers try not to laugh and fail. Her moves are hilarious and pretty shit, but her overall aura of confidence is cool. All join in after and dance some more. Dance Teacher makes Victor put his beer bottle down his trousers. Nathan explains to Me some rather complex choreography, dictated by Dance Teacher. Waitress puts Great-Gramps on beer crate for him to match my gigantic stature which makes her hoot. Ghostly Pale Man finally puts on a song by Eric Clapton.

Exit Crazy Woman in mighty shrieks and theatrical swishes of scarf over shoulder. Clearly harbours much distaste for us all. Stray dogs howl with her.

Scene III

Me and Nathan worry about the time and the hostel's rule of closure after 00:00. Enter Dark Horse.

This guy pops out of nowhere. Permenantly beaming, he immediately bends his legs and goes low, shifting his weight from one knee to the next. Challenge accepted. Most of cast do the same and he starts to point to each of them to go low low low in turn. Victor gets very excited and does handstands and break dance moves. All mightily impressed. The atmosphere is so intoxicating, Travellers think they might explode with joy. They try to leave swiftly and fail. Peel themselves out of Bar-Dwellers' embraces and go laughing onto the street.

The End

23:58 Rushed back to hostel in rain, hoping to not be locked out. All fizzing in wonderment at the evening. Swift goodbye to Victor, spicey tea with Nathan in kitchen, bed. 

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