#I figured out the interior last night and just have to do terrain paint and landscaping!!

[alltimefail-sims]

Upon further inspection I do not hate this build, I was just hangry. 😇

(Also I haven't done landscaping yet so please ignore the naked yard)

[callistoandfaye]

Optimal Adaptions: Chapter 1

Two hundred years after earth destroyed itself with the desolation of chemical warfare, the survivors banded together, and the planetary revival project sent the first civilian shuttle to Novasidus. The first colony stepped off the space craft and onto the mercury metallic terrain, the remnants of their old life clutched tightly in their arms. Novasidus would be known as our home planet from then on, ours to love, ours to destroy, ours to protect. We didn’t know then that the new world was an ever-changing place, ever evolving and adapting. Until we had become something more than human. 

Harper-Nyx 2.53 unbuckled the holster across her chest to release the ache from her shoulders. She expanded her lungs with a shaky breath now that they were free from entrapments. Her fingers reached down to unsnap the clasps around her thighs. Her arms twisted and maneuvered through the rough straps until the whole weighty fabric slid from her body and fell to the soft glowing floor with a thud and a clatter. Her digifiler hit first, followed by her metallic throwing knives. 

She didn't wince at the impact. The durable items were designed to endure harsher treatment than her careless late-night-on-call attitude.

She flung the harness over the back of the couch and kicked her standard boots off. She stretched her back on the way up. Then jerked her neck, first left, then right, until she heard a satisfactory crack.

Harper wiggled the digifilier from the holster strap and placed it on the table. Her tired eyes narrowed on the device, contemplating all the work she officially vowed to ignore.

It would come to bite her later, but she only shrugged in response to that revelation. 

She had been sent home from the crime scene after filing the preliminary case report and scheduling the follow up procedures. 

Her eyelids began to burn when she calculated that she had to be at work again in less than four hours.

The officer reached her arms upward, bending them one at a time behind her head to loosen her bicep muscles and as she did so she mentally catalogued the status of the apartment. It hadn't been touched since she left for the call, sleep mode still bathing the long room in sky blue light along the tiled floor and the edges of the wall panels. 

The contoured architecture of the room was exaggerated by the reflection of light. All of the enclaves in the walls, including the ones for the balcony doors and the window by the bed, were rounded off curves. Yet the couch that Harper's holster was flung across was impossibly rectangular, as was all of the interior decorations.

Harper's violet eyes trailed to the only point of disparity from her last memory of the room, the increasingly mussed red hair of the small figure tucked into her bed.

Brandy was a deep sleeper but the wrinkled and askew bedcovers indicated she had noticed Harper's lack of presence even in her sleep, reaching out for her to find cold sheets.

A purple orb surrounded the sleeping figure. Harper blinked it away.

She quietly retreated into the kitchen on the other side or the apartment to fish a bottle of absinthe out of a cupboard along with a shot glass. Leaning with the counter digging into her lower back, she poured herself a glass of liquor. The leather wraps on her forearms shifted as she knocked back the bitter liquid. Her throat burned in protest to the poison, but her limbs warmed instantly.

She spun the glass between titanium treated fingernails, bouncing colorful flashes through the surface.

Her full lips pursed in reflection. 

Someone shot one of the 800.

She set the empty glass down on the counter and rested her head against the cupboard with a thump that caused Brandy to stir. In her mind she saw visions of blue and red lights, stone faced officers with worried eyes, and electric “tape” fencing off people in clubwear from peering at the bloody body of Signus-Myles 800, the vice senator candidate for the Central and Lower Districts.

It was kept quiet down at station 3 for obvious reasons. They unofficially labeled the incident as a mugging attempt that ended badly, which was a credible excuse for the news since the body was found in the Lower District outside of the seedy “Cosmo” club. This was a cover however. Nothing was missing from the body.

Harper let out stressed breath and closed her eyes.

She found peace in that not quite darkness. A purple light glowed like the light at the end of a tunnel, and she watched the steady flickering until she could almost actually hear Brandy’s heartbeat from across the apartment. Even when Harper slept she could see that light beside her, radiating off of her wife in wisps of smoke.

Sometimes she wondered why Brandy’s usual emotional signature was purple. Perhaps it has to do with her artistic mind. She always saw the world through the lens of an art observer, so of course her signature was the color of creativity and imagination. The redhead had a way of seeing beauty in the foulest of places.

Harper smiled at that.

It allowed her to forget the outside world for a moment.

“Harper-Nyx 2.53, you appear stressed. Your heartbeat is elevated and your temperature is above average. Can I be of service?”

JENIE prodded her through internal audio. The silver earpiece in Harper’s ear flashed. When the apartment is in sleep mode JENIE always redirected to internal audio.

“Thanks JENIE. Could you open the living room balcony for me?”

The glass door to Harper’s left retreated into the ceiling and the neon lights of the city filtered through smog like a prism sending shattered shafts of color across the room.

Harper’s muscular figure was transformed by color as she walked in front of the doorway towards the left hand dresser next to their bed. As she shifted the drawer open, she cast a look at her wife’s sleeping face.

Brandy’s freckles were hard to see in the light but Harper had memorized them so well she could draw constellations in them. Quietly the officer reached with a hand still sore from filling out paperwork into the drawer, and retrieved a carxine cartridge and a metal cigarette holder. Before she returned to the balcony door in the living room, she leaned over the bed and left a ghostly kiss against Brandy’s parted lips. Harper’s muscles still buzzed with the caffeine shot she administered before going out on case and likely the effects wouldn’t wear off for another four hours. There was no point for her to sleep because by then she’d have to log into work.

Outside, the sky had changed from obsidian to charcoal blue. The orange glow to the South indicated that the suns would be rising soon.

Harper made these observations as she leaned against the railing on the balcony, overlooking the Central District below. It wasn’t the best view by any means. But it was something. Brandy sure seemed to enjoy painting the cityscape viewed from their apartment. Whatever artistic vision she had, Harper wasn’t quite sure, because if she stared at the scene longer than a few minutes she was overwhelmed with a migraine of emotional signatures.

Blues, yellows, purples, gray, red. They haunted her.

“Good morning Harper-Nyx 2.53,” The house monitor spoke in a sultry female tone, out loud this time, breaking Harper from a dangerous daydream.

Harper nodded in no particular direction, head bowed to fill the metal case with one of the carxine cartridges. She flicked the fire switch and it ignited.

The outside air was cold against her face and the exposed skin above her leather forearm cuffs. The station approved overcoat vest is protective, but not substantial enough for early mornings on windy 34th floor balconies.

As the tip of the cigarette glowed, Harper took a long drag, the smoke pooling out of her nose and mouth in a dark blue storm cloud. The air traveling through her lungs freed her.

She watched the cars navigate the narrow streets far below, and a soft whirring sound accompanied each one that passed. The skyway trains screeched as they grated against metal plates above the apartment complex, sounding like a terrible beast from ancient earth folklore. Like dragons.

They must be maintenance workers out there, she concluded. Besides officers, they are the only ones that are out working this late.

“Damn what I’d give to be an 800 right now. Even if they do get shot at,” she mumbled in a groggy tone to no one in particular, taking another smooth inhale of smoke.

The binging sound of the house monitor alerted her. She looked up at the speaker as if giving her attention to a real person clearing their throat, but it was only JENIE again, the AI.

“There is a message for you Harper-Nyx 2.53. Shall I read it for you?” chimed JENIE.

“From?”

“Message from Ezra-Charon 2.53” JENIE continued.

“Everywhere work finds me. Isn’t it nice to be needed?” Harper quipped.

“It is nice to be of service Harper-Nyx 2.53” JENIE instantly agreed.

“No wait, but I meant...I was being...just play the message JENIE” Harper smirked faintly, shaking her head and turning off her cigarette.

“Internal audio on

Officer Harper-Nyx, all is clear at the 800 district. Celest-Pedro 800 secure. Surveillance bots confirm deceased left apartment alone at 1023 hours. I am forwarding some images found at their residence. You should take a look at these

Message end

Internal audio off”

Harper may not be a fan of the candidate’s political party views, but an assassination attempt on Celest-Pedro while there are riots across the districts would be the boiling point for this city.

Talk about overtime, she thought to herself while I biting at her thumbnail. Luckily it was Ezra-Charon, Harper’s senior partner, who had night patrols at the 800 District. Harper hardly had time to sleep between night calls and day shifts, let alone monitor important political figures. Besides, she didn’t want to be involved in the political turmoil outside of bare minimum.

The death of Celest-Pedro’s vice senator candidate was enough to unnerve her.

The fact that Signus-Myles would risk going to the LD only a month before Election Day appeared more than just suspicious.

The urge to read the update Ezra-Charon sent was starting to creep up on her for some inexplicable reason that could only be chalked up to curiosity. Did you know curiosity had a color? It’s white, a silvery white.

Harper sometimes used it to light pathways in the dark.

She slid the cigarette into the chunky utility pocket on her thigh and stepped back into the apartment through the living room door. Her purple eyes caught sight of the standard operation digifiler she had tossed on the table when she first entered the apartment. The scanner chimed as it woke from hibernation.

A ray of bright light flashed, blinding Harper temporarily, to scan her retina.  

WELCOME OFFICER HARPER-NYX 2.53

File for Case: Signus-Myles 800 Updated

As she read the words, they followed across the screen with the pace of her violet eyes. They lingered on the “Open new update” button for a few seconds and it opened to the file Officer Ezra-Charon sent.

It was an image of hydroxyapatite mail papers strewn over a bar table. Naturally the candidate vice senator had many private correspondences which required the antiquated system of paper mail. But underneath letters with government seals and signatures peaked what appeared to be the edge of a painted grey and red symbol, backed by a campaign poster.

“What is that?”

Harper swiped the screen with her eyes and the next image was a full close up of the entire poster.

It was the symbol of the Radical Interplanetaries. It was spray painted across an image of Celest-Pedro 800.

The evidence was so ridiculous that Harper snickered at the image.

Perhaps Ezra-Charon was playing a joke on her. How could it be so obvious?

The riots occurring in the city are in response to a series of mandates from the senator candidates and some members of the council. The Interplanetaries are protesting the Future Generations program, the human testing program, the rejection of marriage act, and the economic gap between the privileged 800’s and the poverty of the Lower District.

Some of these riots have destroyed whole streets of the Central and Lower Districts.

Harper wouldn’t have been so doubtful had it not been for the blatant calling card left at the victim’s home. Although the radicals are loud about their violence, they surely wouldn’t risk getting their whole organization torn apart for the murder of a vice candidate.

The officer’s head began to hurt.

She left the digifiler on the table and walked to the doorway of the balcony which she leaned against. She could see the light from fires in the distance where the riots continued.

The council had voted to let the riots continue, and allow them to naturally dissipate after the elections, rather than show force in ending them. 

They saw it as fuel for revolution Harper supposed.

Read the original story by Callisto at Callistoandfaye.tumblr.com. Search for the tag #Optimal Adaptions to follow the story and view our character boards.

[musingsofmaniacs]

We Two Dervishes: Istanbul Diaries

If you do not wish to read the whole article but are interested in a typical itinerary and tips, skip to the last section. Important tips are highlighted in Bold also.

Courtesy: Mehmet Gören (Pintrest)

Pins and Needles

To think that this trip almost never happened.

ProTip: Take the visa rules very seriously. The spirit doesn’t matter, the letter absolutely does. Also, never overestimate Consulates and Visa centres, if they say it will take 10 days, take it to mean that it will take 11 days at least and prepare accordingly.

4 days until the trip, no visa in hand, sleepless nights, continuously refreshing the VFS website for any change in the status of arrival of Visa from Mumbai to Ahmedabad, estimating time it takes for courier services to deliver a package from Mumbai to Ahmedabad and constantly flitting between self reassurance and sick-in-the-stomach worry that visa won’t arrive on time. If only we had been a day early, the situation where a small delay could fully derail the trip I have wanted to take for a long time would not have precipitated, and all the preparation, from ordering The Museum of Innocence, to vividly imagining/dreaming of being there would sink in front of our eyes. To say nothing of the monetary loss, because we had booked non-refundable flights.

The visa arrived two and a half hours before our departure to Mumbai. The VFS staff weren’t sure when the damn thing would come, so we just decided to camp out in front of the visa centre and wait for the Blue Dart mini-truck. Fortunately they were expecting a delivery in the evening, and they were kind enough to give our visas to us after their working hours (Visa Centres and Consulates are strict about their working hours. Fervently so). I am not sure when the last time I had a tsunami of relief wash over was. The package soon arrived and we heard the guard talking amongst themselves about arrival of Japanese, American, and to our good fortune, Turkish. We ran to Forex centre close by, requesting them on phone to stay open for a little while (thankfully, they wanted our business) and managed to buy a modest sum of 230 Euros, because that’s all the Euros they had.

Sigh of Relief

Battlefield

I would like to argue that the first country out of my own that I have stepped on is Turkey and that layovers don’t count, because boy Kuwait City was disappointing. The only fascinating thing that one can see in the darkness before dawn break are the fires in the oil fields. Kuwait City, especially the area around the airport looks like an empty abandoned desert, and it should because it is far from the actual Kuwait City. If you look at the map of Kuwait, you will be struck by the featurelessness of the country, apart from the dense network of roads around a small tip that is Kuwait City. The airliner from Mumbai had nice food (as airplane foods go), and a courteous and diverse staff: You had an Indian, an Arabian, a Caucasian, an African, and an Asian. The Cinema and TV selection were average, but the movies were heavily censored. Even words like ‘Hell’ were muted, and absolutely no scenes of intimacy, even those that would be demure by Bollywood standards!

The airport has 2 terminals. The old one receives flights from Mumbai, and the new modern terminal services to Istanbul. The ground staff, or the lack of them is particularly pain in the ass. It was 6a.m and passengers were to be transferred to new terminal, and the staff was scrambling to get the security officer and the bus driver to service the passengers, causing delays. This worried me a bit during the onward flight, because the return flight, we had a layover of meagre 1 hour 25 min. (And my fears came true. The return flight departed half an hour late from Istanbul, because of a fuel leakage which stalled our take-off and put us right at the end of the queue. We had to scramble to get to put flight to Mumbai, because guess what, it rained that day. In a desert.) The Security check was especially very adamant on checking each and every item in the baggage. In fact, they didn’t even allow us the toothpaste, so we had to go foul mouthed all the way till our hotel at Istanbul!

The ground staff of the airport comprised mostly of, you guessed it, immigrants. And of those, most of them are South Asians. And of those, most of them appeared Malayalis, fulfilling the Gulf dream as their counterparts elsewhere. You can easily get by with Hindi around the airport at least. And the toilets do not have urinals! This complies with the personal law prescribed in Islam. The washrooms at Istanbul do have the urinals though.

KWI of course was a battlefield in the Battle of Kuwait International Airport, a significant battle of the Gulf War between US and allies and occupying Iraq led by Saddam Hussein.

Where Airlift was Set

Why Istanbul?   

Because Istanbul is magical. A place where the streets whisper to you the tales the glory and doom, rise and fall; ascension and declination of emperors, sultans and revolutionaries; not unlike the undulating terrain it occupies. The place where the East meets West, the great continents and civilisations of Asia and Europe face off across a narrow waterbody that also connects North with the South. To see Istanbul, to understand Istanbul is to understand the history of the culture and civilisation of a major part of the world, in fact the world itself. Devout muslims, avid history buffs, Europhiles, party creatures- they will all find in the ruins and the glory of the city what they are looking for.

Istanbul is a time capsule, a place where time is laid out in space like a spread out deck of cards.

A stock photo

It’s a Church! It’s a Mosque! It’s Museum!

My fascination with Ayasofya or Hagia Sophia, or the magnitude of it, is somewhat a puzzle to me. I do not know why I have been entranced by this beautiful, beautiful Eastern Roman/Ottoman marvel. I know for certain it began when I first read about it in Netfundu magazine in my school days. Netfundu was a kiddie magazine complimentary during the heydays of Indian Airlines, the domestic govt. operated carrier before it was disastrously merged with Air India. Maybe it was about the name or it was about the architecture, but it never escaped my imagination after that. It is an important must see for travellers visiting Istanbul, and is one of those things that do not disappoint, despite a small part of it being covered with scaffolding for renovation.

Where else will you see Jesus, Mary, Allah and Muhammad together in one single place?

After capturing Constantinople, the Ottomans removed or plastered over mosaics and images  of Jesus, Mary, Constantine, Justinian and various other Byzantine Emperors from the walls, as Islam prohibits representation of human figures because no one but Allah is allowed to create. This is the reason why Topkapı, Blue Mosque and all the other Ottoman palaces (Not Dolmabahçe; we will come to that) are covered with exquisite tiles and carpets as decoration and not paintings, as a guide we shamelessly eavesdropped at Blue Mosque tried to explain his captive (and paying) group. Orhan Pamuk’s masterpiece My Name Is Red, the book that put in me the fascination to visit Istanbul, devotes a considerable portion of his book discussing this aspect of Islamic philosophy, of prohibition of creating realistic portraits, thereby challenging Allah. This attitude is reflected even now, with reports of Modern day Saudi Arabia destroying historical artifacts around Mecca to build hotels. Or ISIS destroying Palmyra. Sultan Mehmed II, the conqueror (Fatih, which now renders its name to the UNESCO heritage historic area of the old city. Note similarity to the Hindustani word ‘Fateh’) ordered a massacre of Roman residents, then asked for muslim immigrants to settle Constantinople, and converted Hagia Sophia, the ‘Church of Wisdom’, into a mosque.

The images that we see of Jesus, Mary and the other kings were restored by Swiss-Italians Fossati Brothers, entrusted with the task of renovating the mosque by Sultan Abdulmecid to renovate Hagia Sophia. Many old, precious mosaics are still lurking under the ones plastered over.

The church that stands today is actually the third iteration. Two were destroyed by fire and riots before Emperor Justinian built the third in 537 AD. The ruins of the 2nd Ayasofya found in excavations are put to display outside the building. The White marbles and sheeps will catch your eye.

Once you go inside, you will see hung on the wall a proclamation by Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the father of the modern Republic, and his cabinet secularising the mosque by converting it into the museum. This makes one realise that Hagia Sophia houses inside itself the history and the character of the city of Istanbul, and of Turkey itself. From Romans, to Ottomans, to the new secular republic, Ayasofya is a time capsule, having stubbornly endured earthquakes and  conquests and the hyper-secularisation. It feels as if the monument now stands before you and whispers to you the story of Istanbul and indeed of civilisation it has witnessed. For those with a sense of history, Ayasofya cannot be anything but fascinating, and there is no building like it anywhere.

As for the grandeur of the interior, I will let the images do the talking.

Pro Tip: Get the ticket for Ayasofya, Topkapı and Archaeology museum together for 135TL instead of getting them individually. All are worth a visit.

Hey kitty kitty! Istanbul’s cats, like her Sultans, are fat! 

Blue Mosque, the second jewel of Sultanahmet sitting right next to Ayasofya, was unfortunately under renovation, so a lot of it was covered. We managed to witness some of the famed Iznik tiling anyway. Note how this and all of the other mosques in Istanbul, and in fact the rest of the Turkey, are influenced by Ayasofya. One interesting thing we noted was that the instructions outside the gate urges the visitors to refrain from, among other things, kissing inside the Mosque. Helpful tip.

Blue Mosque seen from Ayasofya window

The fame of Blue Mosque, or Sultanahmet Mosque (Camii, pronounced Jami. Similarity with Hindustani to be noted) somewhat eclipses that of Suleymaniye Mosque, named after Suleiman the Magnificent, the ruler during the golden ages of Ottoman Empire. That should not dissuade anybody from paying it a visit, because it is indeed at par with its more famous counterpart, and lot less crowded. We obviously enjoyed it more because of the restoration at Blue Mosque. The minimalism and unassuming nature of the interior complements the huge size of the interior.  Free pamphlets and small books explaining Islam are distributed inside, and we helped ourselves to some.

Walls of Suleymaniye Mosque

Steamy

At night, we decided to try one of those famous Turkish baths, or Hamam. Most hotels will know who to call for their customers, and Mihriban hooked us up with Gedikpasa Hamam, somewhere in the mesh of cobblestoned streets, touristy hotels and heritage structures that is Sultanahmet. It was pretty cool because I had read that it was one of the oldest Hamams that still existed, probably the oldest, as it was established by the eponymous Pasha in 1453. Turns out, they have a pick-up from and drop-to service, and a big van pulled up in front of our hotel. We climbed in, and off it went, cruising confidently like it had done before umpteen times through the narrow lines and sloped terrains to an old establishment with a facade that might render it inconspicuous among the densely packed shops and restaurants, but on entering you will find yourself amongst a relic, a living history.

You are told about the various services by the receptionist, like you can use the Hamam yourself for about 80 TL, or you could get a foam bath and massage from a staff for 120 TL. For a few more bucks, you could get a honey massage, but we didn’t fancy it that much. You are led to a room where you keep your belongings and change into a towel,and tie the key on your wrist. After washing oneself, one enters the steam chamber.

The steam chamber, the actual shvitz, has marble flooring and plastered ceiling, which is dome shaped, and an aura of antiquity that makes you realise that you are sharing a public bath with 550 years of history. This feeling, perhaps encapsulates the entire spirit of Sultanahmet and Istanbul itself. The warmth of hot steam soothes you from the cold of outside, and the steam feels cleansing, although one’s breathing becomes a tad bit belaboured due to the temperature and steam content of the air. Soumya rushes in and tells excitedly that there was a guy who just took of his towel in the corridor without a care!

And soon somebody came to take out ours. An old gentleman, whose name I couldn’t catch because of the language and accent barrier asked me to sit in a corner, near a tap with a basin below it created out of a parapet of diminutive height. He started rubbing me with the foam HARD, as if trying to wipe away my epidermis. Tiny, black-brown, spindle shaped dirt started to roll away as he pulled back his hands during the violent rubbing, leaving a pink skin it its wake. He did this on the limbs, and then in the central raised floor, made me lie down, and removed my towel. For the briefest moment, I was fully in my birthday suit, lathered up it was far, far from being sensual. I also managed to catch another gentleman getting the same rubbing down. Only he was upside-down, with towel covering the valley between the hills, making it perfectly clear what awaited me. The awkward agony ended when the gentleman rearranged my towel to closely cover the unmentionables, and begin the intense massaging that flitted around the boundary of pain and pleasure. Then he overturned me and proceeded with my back and sciatica. I was able to muffle my screams of agony/ecstacy, but Soumya was crying (moaning?) out loud in response to his masseuse’s strong hands.

A file photo from the Hamam website

At the end of it, he took me back to the bathing place and cleaned off the foam. Shook hands with me and said something with the word 50. Either he was talking about his age, or about the tip (Which would have been too much, almost half the cost of the whole service).

After one is done with steam and massage, one can wash it off and cool it in a green pool in a cave like niche, finishing off a wholly tranquilizing experience in a high.

The Tale of Two Palaces

Topkapı Palace is actually a Royal complex, with multiple courtyards having buildings and rooms that served various royal functions: schooling, receiving diplomats, circumcising princes, meeting general public. Standard stuff. The highlight of Topkapı though is the one room where they don’t allow photography: The room that contains artefacts that are believed to be personal belongings of prophets in like Moses, David, Abraham, and Muhammad. It also has sacred relics from Kaaba including the door for the Kaaba. The caliphate passed on to Ottomans after their conquest of Mecca in 1517, and they brought in many holy relics from Mecca to be stored in Topkapı, including dentures and hair of Prophet Muhammad.

Courtesy: getyourguide.com

One gets a peak of the lives of Sultans in the empire from visiting the harem. Harem is the private part of the palace, and is where Sultan, his countless mistresses and the head of the household, the Valide Sultan or Sultan’s widowed mother lived. There is a separate ticket for Harems in all palaces, about 30 TL. A package deal may cost less, so take it. Since any given Sultan with his countless harems is bound to have many children, all equally entitled to the throne, almost every succession involves fratricide i.e. potential successor killing off all of his brothers to establish his succession. After Mehmed II, as I learned later through fascinating Wikipedia (back home) and Quora articles, the practice was even codified and considered a rite of passage! As I looked at the corridors, the walls, the exquisite washrooms and the magnificent rooms, I could not help but wonder of all the drama and palace intrigues that would have taken place in the harems with their shehzades, Valides, concubines, wives,eunuchs, soldiers and assassins maybe?

Panorama of the entrance

Famed Iznik tile works

One of the most remarkable dome interiors in the beautiful white dome of the library. Mesmerised, we spent longer than usual staring at this stunning dome. As mentioned earlier, the main decorations in the palaces and mosques are accomplished using tiles and carpets since representation was not allowed. There are 1-2 paintings in the administrative chambers though, that too miniatures.

The Library dome

Topkapı is located at the tip of Fatih area overlooking stunning views of Bosphorus. This makes slightly overpriced restaurant at Topkapı, Konyali, worth a try, because as you can see, it makes for a kickass picture.

Bliss atop @ Konyali restaurant

For all its glory and its size, Topkapı is still somewhat...humble. Of course, it is very difficult a claim with your gates, size, views and separate rooms for shehzade’s circumcision, but if you compare it with a typical European palace, like say The Hermitage of St. Petersburg (of which I have only gone through a coffee table book), the palace complex is unassuming and not grandiose.

This realisation strikes you only when you visit the Dolmabahçe Palace. Sultan Abdulmecid I had a somewhat similar idea, and decided that he deserved a palace just like his European peers elsewhere, even if it costed the empire a quarter of its tax revenues that year. The financial hole that the palace made contributed to the empire’s nickname as ‘the sick man of Europe’.But what a hole! The tourists with a 90TL combo ticket (Muzekart, in case any overplanned enthusiastic tourist has taken, is not accepted here) would certainly say it was worth it.

The European style imposing entrance

Dolmabahçe means ‘filled-in Gardens’, and before entering the palace after the majestic entrance, you do see beautiful gardens all around. Do take a lot of the photos, because inside photography is not allowed. My friend tried to take some, but was spotted by the guards,who only asked him politely not to do it again. Because not taking photographs when you see something like Ceremonial Hall at the end of the palace tour is just a shame. So here is an image with bent perspective of the impossibly huge hall with a chandelier that was a present from Queen Victoria, because I suppose it is impossible to capture the grandeur of the entire hall in a single frame. Places like these make you feel like staying longer because of the mild fear that there is one bit of detail you might have missed out.

Ceremonial Hall

Dolmabahçe palace is not administered by the Ministry of Culture and is not a full museum, but is administered by Ministry of Palaces, because it is an amazing venue for hosting important summits and State dinners. 

The highlight of Harem tour, that is after the palace tour, is the bed draped in National flag where the father of the Turkish Republic, Kemal Ataturk breathed his last. The clock by the table indicates his time of death. Every year, at 0905 on 10 Nov (Just 1 day after we left, because I did not know of this), the entire nation comes to a standstill in remembrance. Check out a link I have provided at the end and be amazed with the respect he commands. Also, it is recommended to read up about Ataturk, a fascinating figure in the 20th Century whose ideas about secularism in a 96% Sunni Muslim country that once held the keys to the Kaaba are at the same time inspiring and polarising and a bit of a cautionary tale about repercussions of imposing radical changes into a society.

Pro Tip: When I asked for Turkish Coffee with sugar, they gave me a small Lokum (Turkish Delight) with it. It was covered in powdered sugar, so foolishly I put it in, before realising my mistake. So, don't do that. The right way is to take a sip, then take a bite and so on. I had to fish it out with the stirrer. Fortunately, it was still very, very delicious.  

Dolmabahçe is out and out a European palace, a far cry from spartan austerity that is the hallmark of Islamic teachings. It was so overwhelming that we did not possess any more mental strength to go see the painting halls consisting of the works of art commissioned by the Europe loving Sultans and many by the last Caliph, a patron of arts and a painter himself, Abdulmecid II. History buffs will be interested to know that this Caliph’s ousting prompted the Khilafat Movement in India during the WWI. We then headed to ‘check off one of my items on bucket list’, however cheesy and corny it might sound.

Kemal and Fusun  

Orhan Pamuk is a divisive figure in Turkey. His Nobel win is touted by many as political, to force the hand of the state in the suit against him claiming he insulted the republic by recognising or hinting at Armenian Genocide. He is a somewhat liberal figure, not liked by nationalists in general. Mihriban, our hotel receptionist, guide and friend also stated that she disagrees with the politics of Pamuk, but seemed fascinated by the idea of the museum and wondered why she never went there.

Me with each of the 4000 cigarettes that touched Fusun’s lips and had a mark of her lipstick to show for that. Pamuk’s protagonist is a melancholic, lovelorn, a a teeniest bit creepy (at least by today’s standards) 

For people like me, borderline fanboys, we love his fascinating depiction of the mundane and his brilliant analysis and exposition of a nation struggling with its Westernising aspirations and traditions, and his exploration of a city that has a hankering for everything European and longing for the glorious days of the empire. My Name is Red and Istanbul: Memoirs of a City (that I read after coming back) are highly recommended.

Museum of Innocence is also a similar work where the protagonist who is somewhat like the author himself, belonging to the ‘society’ that shuns everything traditional and lives among the cocktail parties and fancy luncheons and everything else Western, falls for his cousin, a girl from a traditional Muslim family living in a crumbling middle class neighbourhood. Kemal has a bit of kleptomania which he likes to call his fascination with ordinary items, and everytime he visits Fusun’s house, he steals a small item from there. Eventually his collection grows so large that he makes a museum out of it, dedicated to Fusun. Orhan Pamuk made the exact museum with every item Kemal ‘stole’ in the book at the location where Fusun’s family ‘lived’. This fascinating concept of a museum complementing a book makes it a must visit if one admires Orhan Pamuk. What more, if you have the book, then your entry is without fee, and on a particular location in the book, there is a box where they stamp it. The book keeps referencing the museum and this stamped space is indeed a part of the story, making the book and museum complete in themself! Each chapter in the book has a shelf with exhibit dedicated so a Pro Tip: Buy an audio guide for only 5 TL. Each exhibit is explained by Orhan Pamuk and an actor essaying the role of Kemal (Yes, Orhan the author indeed makes an appearance in the book. As I said earlier, the book is complete in itself).

Pamuk’s scribbles

It is recommended that one visit the website of Museum of Innocence to check out Orhan Pamuk’s idea of a Museum.

The Most Instagrammable Neighborhood

Karaköy is probably called that because of its interesting graffitis, mesmerizing cobblestoned narrow alleys and the Galata Tower that rises from the middle. Travellers are forewarned that there will be a huge line at the Galata Tower in the peak season. But once you get on the top, you know why.

Galata Tower was built in the Genoese colony as a sentry tower and also as a tower to forewarn about any fire incidents in the city. So it is ironic that the tower itself fell victim to fire, and that is one amongst the umpteen times the tower has been damaged and rebuilt. It is now the primary fixture of the Golden Horn and the Istanbul skyline, and from the top, one can see all of Istanbul, from the Topkapı Palace, Ayasofya and Blue Mosque on one side to brightly illuminated 15 July Martyrs Bridge (formerly called Bosphorus bridge, renamed after the 2016 coup attempt) on the other. We climbed (rather, took an elevator) on top in the evening, in a crisp and beautiful weather, and then something fascinating happened: multiple Ottoman style mosques interspersed across the city start playing the Azan with remarkable synchronization. There are few experiences that are as unforgettable as this one, and this indeed is a quintessential Istanbul experience. It would have been nice to have a çay(chai) at this moment, but we took so much time to soak up the views of the strait and the streets (remember the FOMO anxiety we talked about in the palaces section?), that by the time we went inside to the restaurant at the top of the tower, it was closed.

Galata Tower

There was a 4D Istanbul tour waiting for us downstairs on the 3rd floor though, which takes on this simulated helicopter ride across and inside the major landmarks in the city. It’s fun, despite of it sounding a bit pedestrian (I am talking about the population that finds things like these and roller coasters nothing more than gimmicky); go for it.

The other thing that one must do in Karaköy is simply walk around and soak up the sights and sounds. And eat a delicious, mouthwatering, big baklava at Karaköy Güllüoğlu for 25 TL. Syrupy, crispy, filled with pistachio nuts, one must definitely savour as much baklava as one can while in the city.

Mouthwatering Baklava at Karaköy Güllüoğlu

To Black Sea and beyond

No textbook Istanbul trip is complete without a ferry ride across/in the Bosphorus. Bosphorus, after all gives Istanbul ALL of its identity. Everything that the place is, it’s because of the strait. The strait joins Black Sea and Mediterranean Sea through the Sea of Marmara and The Aegean, making it all important and a prized possession. The location proved so strategic that more than a dozen sieges were attempted on the city, before Mehmed II actually achieved success. Thar is why the Greeks, the Romans, and the Ottomans wanted a piece of it, why Prophet declared that whoever conquers Konstantiniyye is the most blessed. The strait is a clear boundary between the great continents, and more importantly great cultures of Asia and Europe, of Orient and the Occident, and Istanbul is the meeting point, the city with the dual identity. The city is testament to the fact that much of human history, culture and language is all about geography.

Muhammad’s proclamation on the blessed conqueror of Constantinople (Place: Ayasofya) 

So, Bosphorus Cruise. On Sultanahmet, many will try to sell you a cruise that will make a trip of the strait, the golden horn, will have a buffet, all for €20. Or there is the famous Big Bus Istanbul tour where they will take you to an all day tour of all the Istanbul places and a cruise for €30 or 60. You can go for the latter if you are on a layover trip. You can ignore the former; never too good an idea to go with the touts. You can get all the information about a cruise with food and entertainment for €20-60 from the front desk of your hotel, a very good reliable source  of information, and even better if you have a rapport with the receptionist.

Or you can rough it out (not really) and make use of one of the most bang for bucks public transport service (details of Istanbul public transport network will have a dedicated section; don’t worry): Şehir Hatları.

Şehir Hatları is the City run ferry service that, apart from its regular services to and fro the opposite banks of the bosphorus, also runs a 6 hour cruise all for, drumroll please, 25TL! There is one cruise per day and it picks you up from the Eminönü docks at 1000 hrs all the way over to the village of Anadolu-Kavagi near the Black Sea and brings you back by 1630.

The cruise itself was sparsely occupied, probably due to tourist season ending. Which is a boon because in peak season, the cruise gets full pretty quickly. Waiting on Eminönü docks for our ticket we met this guy who had a giant parrot on his shoulder, the size of which freaked out Soumya. He placed the parrot on Soumya’s shoulder and offered that we click a photograph for 15TL  I think. We politely refused, so here’s a stock photo.

The ship had 3 floors, with lower deck having cushioned benches and table a la a classic American diner, with a small stall serving snacks. The mid and top deck were outside, and if you can tolerate the cold, cold breeze, you will see sights unparalleled. As Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, Suleymaniye mosque, and Galata Tower to your right seem to get farther and farther away, you get to see the iconic Istanbul skyline which I can never get used to. The first stop is Üsküdar on the Asian side. This neighborhood, considered a bit conservative as opposed to the more liberal and open European side, is famous for its sunset views, which we missed by a few minutes on our last day, but still enjoyed çay  along the banks, where many had set up cushions for tourists and lovebirds to enjoy with Bosphorus views.

As we approach Karaköy, the view is dominated by the imposing Dolmabahçe palace. Along the way you pass 2 of the three bridges that connect Europe to Asia, numerous Bosphorus mansions called Yalis and the castles of Rumelihisari and Anadoluhisari. I did not know at that time, but Rumelihisari or Roman Castle was built by Mehmed II as a sister castle to Anadoluhisari which was on the opposite banks, and together acted as a throat or strait cutter, cutting off the rest of the city before laying siege. Other notable sight were those of gargantuan cargo vessels that sailed by and the seagulls that competed with our cruise, making use of wind currents to float and making loud noises. You will always find these noisy creatures chasing a ship, probably for food, and the Bosphorus is filled with these seagulls; they are what pigeons are to our cities: a regular feature that are sometimes just pest.

Bosphorus Panorama

Our last stop in the onward journey is the tiny fishing village of Anadolu Kavagi, which is directly opposite to the penultimate Rumeli Kavagi. The word Rum is used to denote Roman Anatolia or simply Roman or Rome. The Ottoman Padishah used to have the title of ‘Kayser-i-Rum’, the descendant of the Romans, and omission of this title in diplomatic communication was casus belli, or cause of war. The famed Sufi saint and poet Jalal ad-Din Muhammad has the title ‘Rumi’ attached to him because of his place of operation, in the Anatolian heartland., specifically Konya, an overnight journey from Istanbul by road. Although he is also known by the name Balkhi, placing his origin at Balkh in what is now Afghanistan.

Seafood at AK. Most good restaurants serve a basket of bread by default, a complementary feature. Water, you gotta buy separately.

At the AK, you have a stoppage of 2.5 hours to feast over some delicious seafood (yours truly refrains from meat and prefers to enjoy it vicariously) and visit the Yoros Castle, an outpost built by the Thrace as a strategic watchtower. The village is now occupied by the fishing community and the Turkish Armed Forces. Once you start walking around searching for a place to eat, as in any other Istanbul tourist area like Sultanahmet,the restaurant maitre-d’s (if they can be called that) start to cajole you for your patronage. We chose a seafood place with nice Bosphorus view, and as recommended by the immaculately dressed waiter, ordered a fish and something vegetarian that you don’t care for anyway (although there are good vegetarian options in Turkey). And we ordered Rakı .

Rakı

Rakı is Turkey’s national alcoholic beverage made from rice and has a strong anise or saunf taste. One dilutes the Rakı with water and it turns white from colorless! Soumya exclaimed that it looks like a local beverage popular in Orissa called Handiya.

And it gets you drunk fairly quickly, leaving you in a happy merry kind of stupor that fortunately or unfortunately dissipates within an hour. We were laughing uncontrollably, consuming the lunch extra slowly and by the time we sobered and paid up, we had already spent an hour and a half in the restaurant. Which maybe commonplace in Europe but for the Indians, almost unheard of!

This left us just about half hour to climb up the hill and visit the Yoros castle (fully sober by then, by the way). The castle itself lies in ruins, but the views of deep blue strait that merges into the Black Sea, and the beautiful Yavuz Sultan Selim bridge that straddles the waters gave us the aforementioned FOMO as the time was running out and we would be in trouble if we missed the ferry.

The hastily clicked Yavuz Sultan Selim Bridge. The water body beyond is Black Sea!

The return was mostly spent in soaking up the scenery and staring at the seagulls.

The Ice Cream Trick  

Dondurma is the Turkish ice cream made of a resinous substance that allows it to stick to a surface and defy gravity. This enables the ice cream guys to perform that trick where they pretend to give you the ice cream but snatch it away, drop it but really it sticks to the big handle, do this 3-4 times before handing the ice cream over. 

So then, at Taksim Square where we are being entertained by this ice cream cum performance  I told Soumya in hindi that let’s play the same trick and give him money but take it back. The guy sort of read our mind and pointed at a spot in the table saying ‘Put it here. I have been doing this a long time.’ Ah damn!

Another performance with food we saw was at a Kebab place in Sultanahmet where I ordered a vegetable hot pot, which they served with a sticky rice. They filled the earthen pot with the veggies like mushrooms and put it up on a small stove of smoldering coal, brought it to us and did a little performance before hitting the top of the pot, and off went that piece of pot flying. You will see this trick being performed in many restaurants in Sultanahmet.

Touristy things are fun, who knew.

Find the link to a Dondurma trick at the end. Keep searching for more, fun way to waste more time on YouTube.

Pro Tip: For the vegetarians out there, plenty of mediterranean salads like abaganoush are available in almost all restaurants. Or do what I did in a small restaurant near Cemberlitas: Ordered a chicken roll without the chicken! 

The monument to the Republic at Taksim Square. The gentleman at the front it Mustafa Kemal Ataturk.

So we boasted (or opposite of it) to Mihriban that whatever crowd she thinks we will encounter at Taksim, it can never be as bad as India, because well we are the crowded country, aren’t we? We were proven so wrong at the historical Istiklal Caddesi or Istiklal Avenue near Taksim. Generally we did not find Istanbul crowded, but that may be attributed to the end of peak tourist season. But the crowd  at Istiklal Street on a weekday was comparable to the crowd at, say, Connaught Place or Chandni Chowk! The street is lined with Ottoman era buildings (European style, so perhaps late Ottoman, when European influence became marked), shops, restaurants of all kinds-doner kebabs to your KFCs and Burger Kings, intriguing street performances here and there, and the classic Taksim- Tünel tram line. While the trams running in Istanbul, used for commuting, are all fast and modern built by Alstom, the Taksim- Tünel line has been kept mainly as an attraction, the slow old trams of the olden days. There is just one coach that does the up and down from Taksim to Tünel, and it is crowded by tourists who want the touristy experience of the Old Istanbul. We decided to skip that and just walk the whole way, from Taksim to Tünel and beyond. At Tünel, you have the Funicular line, which is essentially 2 coaches on a long looped rope and pulley mechanism such that when one coach goes up the other goes down. Mainly used to go up and down a sloping, hilly area.

Historical Funicular at Tünel

There are streets that branch out of Istiklal with interesting restaurants, all having a musical performer to entertain their guests. Unfortunately the restaurants are so close that you can here 3-4 guys singing loudly at the same time, resulting in utter cacophony!

We managed to find a vegan Lebanese restaurant in the street, and had delicious falafels there.

The People We Met

Graffiti we encountered on a walk in Beyoğlu

One important component of travel to a place is the people one encounters or meets. While I myself have difficulty in opening up to strangers, it helps if I have a slightly more outgoing companion or a person easy to talk to.

Which is where Mihriban, our 30 something Kurdish friend from Ankara who has a degree in Turkish Literature, likes fitness and does not like Orhan Pamuk, and has a disarming style and persona comes into picture. She also very kindly took us to Suleymaniye Mosque, shop at Mahmut Pasha and the nearby more famous grand bazaar, and a rooftop coffee with lokum with views of Golden Horn and Bosphorus, which the reader may tire of but I most certainly did not.

Turkish Coffee at a rooftop joint

One stop at Mahmut Pasha we took was to buy some Shawls, beautiful silk ones which I later learnt were called stoles. I realised that I was bad at picking clothes for women when Mihriban pooh-poohed almost all of my choices (Thank God). After shopping for a good 8-9 stoles between the two of us, the shopkeeper decided to offer us some çay (tea), instead of giving us further discounts. In a typical Indian manner, we finished the tea while Mihriban had not even reached the halfway mark. This led shopkeeper to exclaim in surprise that we finished it off way to quickly, and Mihriban interjected that we must savour things more deliberately.

From the crowded Mahmut Pasha,filled with vendors selling all the varieties of lokum possible, we moved to the Grand bazaar, another quintessential Istanbul attraction with vendors selling everything from lamps to carpets to tiles to lokum to spices-you know, your typical Oriental market, only way expensive. We did get our hands on some beautiful Iznik tile coasters at Iznik Works in Grand Bazaar. The Iznik form of ceramic pottery originated from the Iznik towns and was very much in demand by Ottomans to decorate their palaces and mosques. Be it Topkapı Palace, Suleymaniye Mosque or Blue Mosque, you will find these tiles adorned as mosaics everywhere.

For some reason, we decided to lunch at the Burger King at Cemberlitas, and I had the one vegetarian option available on the menu- a bean burger. It was yum.

ProTip: There are  types of Lokums that I gather are available. One is a slightly cheaper one that resembles those dense gelatinous halva we have in India. The other types are more expensive (100TL for a kg) that are filled with variety of nuts and have richer flavour diversity. Buy them either from franchise stores like Mado or Hafiz Mustafa or explore on your own, in Sultanahmet, Mahmut Pasha, Grand Bazaar, or that bazaar near Blue Mosque. Also eat tons of Baklava, an advice worth repeating.

ProTip: Much to my frustration, during a bit of googling for this piece, I discovered that Zomato operates in Istanbul! What! And oh, by the way, Wikipedia is banned in Turkey. This I discovered only when I returned. That’s why I was not able to open there.

Mihriban also used to make çay  for us in the evening when we had returned from our trips, and we would discuss about religion, cultures, exercise, family, living in Istanbul, and how Istanbul is the number one destination for bald Arab men to get hair plugs (You see a lot of bald men with bleeding head or head covered with cotton) and so on. Mihriban’s demeanor brought in many friendly guests of the hotel, and one such was a wise old man from London called Abu Bakr John, who came with his wife Hatija. Abu-Bakr was a Mauritian immigrant to London, and had a little bit understanding, at least an inkling of Hindi, because obviously his forefathers were from India. His wife Hatija adored Shah Rukh Khan, just like Mihriban adored Aamir Khan. Mihriban claims to have seen all of his movies and to prove her claim, she referenced the giant colorful ass-chairs the three protagonists of ‘3 Idiots’ sat on. Then we proceeded to talk about the latest bollywood film she watched, ‘Padman’, and I showed her the TED talk of the actual Padman, Arunachalam Muruganantham, on Youtube with Turkish subtitles, which she found pretty delightful.

We also talked about the Turkish TV viewing habits, and how Turkish people prefer watching Indian soaps over local fares, which is more popular in Azerbaijan (Azeris watch Turkish soaps, Turkish watch Indian series, Indians watch American series and Americans just watch their own!) Also, Mihriban, and by her I guess most of the Turkish TV viewers, think that the streets on India is filled with cows, the cows that we worship, which she found amusing. I can’t say I don’t agree with that stereotype.

We also tried to chat with a bunch of Moroccan ladies from Brussels in the lobby. The trouble was that they knew only French and Mihriban had to use Google translate for the simplest of the things. We were also talking about Muslim marriages and the concept of Mehr when the Belgian lady asked whether we were Muslims. I said no. We tried telling her, probably through google Translate that we were from India and we were Hindus, and she just replied “Buddhists?” We nodded and just left it like that. While retiring for the night, we were talking about how difficult French was and I tried to pronounce ‘Au revoir’ as O-re-vwa. One of the Belgian ladies heard us and said what I thought was ‘Au wa’. The guttural r is simply not an Indian thing.

Transportation

This is a Protip chapter. Much to the annoyance of many, I have a love for efficient public transport. And Istanbul’s has one USP: Integration. From Ataturk Airport, if you have to go to say Üsküdar, you can take a taxi that will drive you all the way to one of the Bosphorus bridges and drop you there, and charge a bomb. Airport transport from our hotel, which is on the European side, same as Airport, takes €60, which is astronomical. The cheaper and more pleasurable way is to take a metro from the airport, change at Zeytinburnu or Yenikapi to the tram, take the tram to Eminönü Tram station, cross the road to the Ferry station and hop on to one of the Şehir Hatları cruise. And it is fast with no hassle. Metro has a frequency of 10 min, tram of 2 and boats of 30, and purchasing an Istanbulkart at an automated dispensing machine at every bus, tram or ferry station, which is just 6TL, and rides that are equally nominal means you have covered 20+ km journey in 15-20TL! The transport system that connects the massive city integrates Metro, Bus service, Tram, Funicular, Ferry, and an undersea train service called Marmaray (which we unfortunately did not try).

Istanbul Transportation Map. Zoom/open separately for clearer view. 

The Alstom built trams are ridiculously fast and modern, except the antique one at Taksim. Therefore, be careful when you cross the roads.

TLDR

Hotel: Best place to get a hotel if you are in Istanbul for the first time and if you want to visit all the sites is of course the Sultanahmet area in Fatih district, as major old city attractions are all within walking distance, there is a seaside promenade nearby for sunrise/sunset strolls/jogs, and lot to eat! We booked at Harmony Hotel Istanbul, a cozy hotel with free executive breakfast, a spacious balcony and lounge with great sea view if you get top floor.

Tipping: Something Indians are not too attuned it, but is expected outside. We stuck with the 10%-20% almost across the board (towards the lower side of that range we must admit.) Most places have a tip box where you can contribute.

ATM & Currency: International Debit Cards are accepted almost in all ATMs. Withdraw from ATMs of known international banks or Turkish banks like AKBank or DenizBank. Remember, they all charge 3% conversion charge. Currency can be exchanged at the AKbank counter in the Arrivals of Ataturk airport, or at many exchange (Doviz in Turkish) centres in Sultanahmet, Grand Bazaar or Taksim. We exchange the €50 we had saved for the end of the trip at Ağaoğlu Döviz near Cemberlitas tram stop.

Sultanahmet Area: From Ataturk airport, catch a metro, change to tram at Zeytinburnu or Yenikapi going to Kabatas, get down at Sultanahmet stop. Walk around, it is amazing. See hippodrome with obelisk from Egypt (That was day 0).

Day 1:

Ayasofya or Hagia Sophia: 3 Hrs, 135 TL for combined Ayasofya, Topkapı and Archeology Museum Ticket. (Closed Mondays)

Blue Mosque: Free Entry, but do check out the timings.

Hamam: Turkish bath at Gedikpasa Hamam for 120 TL. Rejuvenating. Pickup from and drop to included in most packages. Contact front desk of your hotel.

Day 2:

Topkapı Palace: Separate tickets for Harem, but worth it. Get an audio guide. (Closed Tuesdays)

Gulhane Park: A park near Topkapı, beautiful, lush and has a mosque within for a prayer.

Day 3:

Istanbul Archeology Museum (Closed Mondays): For history buffs. Artefacts from Mesopotamia, Sumeria, Hittite, Phoenicia, Greeks and Romans.

Dolmabahçe Palace [Location: Karaköy]: Reach by tram from Sultanahmet, get down at Kabatas. Tickets to Palace + Harem is 90 TL. Audio guide is free and is also available in Hindi. Attractions are the European style grandeur, and the resting place of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. There is an upper limit on number of people allowed, so go as early as possible especially in peak season. Also, no photography inside.

Museum of Innocence: Get down at Tophane Tram station, walk up a hill few hundred meters till you find a small house with vertical banner proclaiming itself as The Museum of Innocence. 40 TL if you don’t have the book, open till 6 (Closed Mondays). Guides available at 5TL with voiceover of the man himself.

Karaköy Güllüoğlu: Get down at Karaköy station and walk. Get a big baklava for 25TL.

Galata Tower: Walkable from Karaköy station. Keep walking towards that tower with the conical top. Roam around in the Karaköy neighbourhood. Expect a line at the Galata. The view is worth it. Also get the 4D ride at 13TL. It’s down at the 2nd floor though.

Day 4:

The Bosphorus Cruise: Starts at 10 AM from Eminönü docks, goes all the way to Anadolu Kavagi and back. Visit for the beautiful Cruise views, seafood and Yoros castle.

Day 5:

Suleymaniye Mosque: Walkable from Sultanahmet, or catch a tram to Bayezit. Sublime. Free reading materials on Islam for those interested.

Shopping at Mahmutpasa and Grand Bazaar: Shawl, lokums, carpets, tiles, lamps etc.

Maiden Tower or  Kız Kulesi, taken from the Asian side. Galata Tower in the European side seen in background

Üsküdar and Kız Kulesi: Ferry from Eminönü . Visit for beautiful sunset if there are no clouds. Sip a çay  as you enjoy the Bosphorus views. Kız Kulesi or Maiden Tower is not worth it.

Day 6:

Basilica Cistern: In the Sultanahmet area, walkeable. Beautifully lit underground water reservoir dating to the Roman Empire. Visit for Roman architecture and columns with Medusa heads on it.

Commemorating Ataturk.

The Dondurma trick

[wispyatomica]

The Rabbit, The Rat, and the Hog (Chapter 3 - Welcome to Junkertown)

Was she crazy? Absolutely.

There was no doubt that Hana Song was indeed, losing her mind. Was she actually seriously contemplating on violating direct orders from the captain of her mission? How in any reality was she going to be able to slip her MEKA out of the military frigate it was resting in, and then sneak it halfway across the country? That was some of the most dangerous terrain, known and mastered by the Junker society that inhabited it.

This is crazy. D.Va! Get a grip on yourself! You have to get it out of your head!

The gentle tapping of her balled fist timed perfectly with the beat of her thoughts as she stood in front of her MEKA, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. It was her night to watch the MEKAs in their ship, and as such she had to patrol the area every few hours to make sure employees on the frigate were still working and all machinery in its proper place. Yet here she was, around 1:42 in the morning in her routine and contemplating on committing a felony that could very well put her in jail for the remainder of her life.

The daunting reality of jail was set aside when a thought occurred to her, what if she could find reason to take her MEKA out to perform a routine performance analysis, it could provide the perfect scapegoat for her. Hana approached the carbon black painted MEKA, her eyes glistening off the golden accents as she hopped up on a nearby scissor lift, opening the rear hull. The immediate interior was fairly open and empty, save for wiring and paneling to protect the pilot. She climbed part way inside, one leg raised to provide extra balance as she carefully pulled some wires out of their place. Her heart was pounding as she heard footsteps enter the storage room. She quickly backed out of the MEKA, acting as naturally as she could as one of the routine officers passed by, giving her a warm Korean greeting.

“Everything alright, Private Song?”

“Mhm! Just starting the maintenance check for my MEKA.”

“Everything appear in order?”

“So far so good! I was planning to boot up the systems and make sure everything was tip top shape.” “Understood. Go for it. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen the maintenance routine the pilots do.”

Hana nonchalantly nodded her head, her heart was still racing in her chest as she moved the scissor lift a few feet away from her MEKA. Each unit had corresponding gauntlets that the pilots wear in order to call their mech onto the battlefield in case of emergency self-destruct, as well as to provide a much more intimate control with their respective MEKA. Upon activating these devices, her mech failed to start up. A holographic projector appearing from her wrist signaling a system error. Attempting to act as genuine as she could, she tilted her head and pressed the button a few more times.

“System failure? But nobody’s touched the mechs this week.” Though she was mostly speaking to the officer in the room with her, she was also commenting to to herself to keep calm and collected, less she be discovered as the saboteur to her own MEKA.  

The officer, whom was named Devon, crossed his arms and relaxed slightly as Hana attempted to figure something out. “Weren’t you just poking around in compartment? Maybe you knocked something loose in there.”

Hana nodded her head, “Good idea. I’ll check.”

Moving the scissor lift back to the side of her machine, she climbed back up in the suit, making a few grunting noises and moving paneling around in an attempt to sound like she was searching for the source of the issue. She rummaged for a few more minutes, muttering comments in Korean to herself in an attempt to seem inconspicuous. Once she felt she had searched enough, she cursed loudly in Korean, receiving a quick response from Devon.

“Everything alright?”

“No!” Hana cursed again as she backed out of the hull, showing the damaged wiring to Devon briefly. “Some idiot must have damaged the wiring when they were moving the MEKA from place to place. Now I have to redo the wiring and just hope I can make it functional again.”

Devon raised a brow, looking over the wiring in Hana’s hands for only a brief moment as the young woman pulled them back into the hull of the mech and started opening mechanical plating. He shook his head, chuckling slightly as he grabbed a tool box and gently tapped the scissor lift. Hana reacted with a slight jump, before backing out of the hull to see Devon offering her the tool box. “You might need some of these to get everything back in order.”

Hana nodded her head, reaching down from the lift and grabbing the tool box, opening it and grabbing a few of the necessary tools she would need for repairing damaged wire. “Thanks Devon, once I get this fixed I’ll have to take her out for a spin to assure that all of the systems are fully functional; fusion cannons, boosters, everything.” The mere mentioning of this gave Devon pause, a skeptical look crossing his face as Hana started tinkering inside of the mech, adjusting to a more comfortable sitting position. She pulled her brown hair out of her face and began to repair the wires she had damaged previously. Several moments of silence passed from Devon before he finally responded to her inquiry of running a test on her MEKA to make sure all systems were functional.

“You will have to confirm that test run with Captain Seo in the morning. No MEKA is to leave this ship without his orders. You know that, Song.” His tone was more serious now, causing Hana to pause. Beads of sweat gathering at her forehead as she looked out of the mech at the officer accompanying her. “It’s just a simple test run, I wouldn’t be gone for very long.”

“Those are the direct orders from Captain Seo, Song. They are to not be broken, not even by you.” Devon added the last bit with a slight chuckle, Hana had a reputation for not always following orders directly when it came to combat maneuvers, often taking liberties and risks that most MEKA pilots would not dare, and yet still she was one of the Korean military’s most skilled pilots.

“Come on Devon, Captain Seo wouldn’t authorize it and you know it!” She complained for a moment, setting one of her tools down, tapping a hand on her knee. “What if something happened and we needed the MEKAs? What if another omnic attack happened right here and I didn’t have a functional MEKA!”

Devon seemed to contemplate this reality for a moment, still giving the young woman a skeptical look before nodding his head in agreement. “Alright, but you have to have the MEKA back in the frigate before the next shift takes place at 0900 hours when that new blonde recruit takes over for you.”

Hana gave Devon a cheeky grin, giving him a thumbs up. “It will be our little secret, Devon, and the new recruit is named Nari by the way.” A slight hint of blush appearing on Devon’s cheek at the mentioning of her name, and a very obvious change in his posture was present.

“Oh hoooo, Devon’s got a crush!”  

“KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN!”

Hana laughed heartily as Devon flustered at the bottom of the lift. She waived a hand to him, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” Subtly, she was reminding him of the agreement they had just made to keep her test run on the MEKA secret, which he seemed to catch and bid her farewell with a wave before exiting the storage bay.

It felt like a brick wall was lifted off her chest as soon as Devon had left the room, the American had moved to South Korea after serving under the joint American and Korean military services before transferring to become a permanent member of the South Korean military. “Not all Americans are bright are they…” She commented to herself, quickly repairing the self made damage to her MEKA. Repairing the wiring was simple enough, and once she felt that she had a good window of opportunity, she moved the scissor lift away from her MEKA, quickly making pace to the uniform lockers where all pilot MEKA suits were left. The suit in her locker was still her trademark light blue suit with pink, black, and white accents, adorned with all of her marketing logos. She looked at her suit and command headset for a moment, tapping a foot impatiently.

I can’t go out there in my pilot suit, if something goes bad I can’t get recognized as being part of the Korean Military….

She thought to herself for a few more moments, pushing her pilot uniform to the side and instead digging into the bottom shelf of the locker, where she had a maintenance outfit stored. The outfit was plain, a pair of off tan cargo pants with a cropped mint colored tank top. Various stains of grease and motor oil could be seen on both the pants and the shirt. It was just what she needed to be as unrecognizable as possible. She quickly stripped herself of her military garments, storing them in the bottom of her locker, shoved as far behind her pilot suit as she possibly could get. Once her clothes were on, she slipped into a pair of heavy duty boots. A final glance was given across the storage bay as she moved to her MEKA suit, making sure the coast was clear.

She activated the gauntlets on her wrists, opening the MEKA’s hull and allowing her to literally jump inside of the suit with ease. The systems all engaging properly and displaying the holographic interface on the plexiglass in front of her. Her arms were poised in a set of mechanical braces, ones that allowed her to control the movements of her fusion cannons. “Alright, everything looks good.” Hana commented to herself, heart racing in her chest as she moved towards the storage facility door. Luckily the button to open the door was large (and damage resistant) enough to be pushed by a MEKA without being crushed. Once the door was open, she made her way as quietly as she could out of the storage bay. Luckily, the next rotation of officers shouldn’t be there just yet, she had just enough time to use her boosters and get off of the boat before they would notice. Her eyes gazed upwards at the faint starlight of the Australian night sky, stars unfamiliar to her eyes as the hull of her MEKA activated night vision, allowing her to easily see the nearby coastline. She found a perfect landing spot, one far enough away from the Korean frigate for her to make a quick and quiet escape.

Without skipping a beat she gripped the joy sticks in her hands foward, moving the mech towards the edge of the frigate, jumping off the edge with ease. Seconds into her fall down, she activated the boosters by kicking her joysticks forward and turning them in slightly. The rocket boosters kicked to life on the rear of her suit, propelling her forward rapidly. The boosters provided a quick and efficient way for the pilots to maneuver out of dangerous situations, but had to be used sparingly, as they had to recharge between uses. Hana had just gained enough arc and velocity when her boosters cut out. The MEKA continued to fall to the ground in the direction she had thrust forward, and narrowly landed her on the coastline with a few feet to spare between her and the ocean.

A deep breath left her chest as she looked back to the frigate. There was no flash lights visible from the sides that she could see, nor any apparent movement or activity behind any of the unlit windows. She was in the clear. She turned her MEKA away from the frigate, looking inland to the Australian countryside. She removed a hand from one of the joysticks, tapping a blank location on the HUD and displaying an active map of Australia, including the supposed location of Junkertown, revealed to the world by those undercover Australian cops.

“Game On.”

...

Hours seemed to pass by slowly as Hana trekked her MEKA across the ruthless Australian outback. Her focus was less on her destination, as it was on her departure point. The HUD in her MEKA read it was now around 5:56 in the morning, and her nerves began to get the better of her. In less than three hours she would have to return to the frigate so Nari could take over her shift and she was already four hours away from the coastline. There was no way that she was going to make it back in time. This was such a bad idea. She could hear Captain Seo issuing her arrest warrant in her head, a thought that ran chills down her spine. She stopped her progress in her tracks, looking down at her arms and debating whether to turn back around or continue forward. Her thoughts were interrupted by something she was not expecting, an ear piercing explosion.

“Huh? What was that.” Hana inquired, lifting her head and removing the holographic interface on her MEKA so that she could better see the terrain around her. She was no longer in the repaired part of the country, wherever she was located now was a barren wasteland. Dust could be seen blowing in the faint light of dusk, and any structures that she saw were blown to bits as well as covered in huge dust dunes. Broken weaponry lay scattered between the generously spread buildings, and in the distance she saw what had drawn her attention. The light faded quickly, but the edge of an even more broken and tattered city was illuminated by the blast. She felt her jaw drop down for a moment, as she slowly moved her MEKA forward, approaching the city edge at a cautious pace. She had made it to Junkertown. “Game on.” 

…...............

“C’mon c’mon! I gotta know what that was, Roadie!”

The ever so impatient Jamison Fawkes was riding side-car on Mako Rutledge’s motorcycle through the outback. The latter was not thrilled to have been dragged out to the one city where everybody knew their names and faces, all for the sake of entertaining whatever had caused that loud explosion earlier. When it came to explosions of that proportion, Junkrat was always the first to be on scene. His passion for explosives knew no bounds, even if it meant venturing to the town where everybody wanted the bounty that was on his head.

“Still think this is a bad idea.” Roadhog commented, hardly audible for the passenger to hear from the wind and motorcycle engine revving, and yet Junkrat still responded accordingly.

“Oi! If it ain’t worth stealin’ or investigatin’ when we get there, we’ll leave. Simple.”

Roadhog simply shook his head again, moving the motorcycle across the outback at an impressive ninety-five miles per hour, turning the normally two hour trip to Junkertown into around an hour and fifteen minute trip instead. The duo had their own way of entering the town unseen, unbeknownst to even the most seasonal of residents to the shanty town. It was an abandoned mechanic’s workshop on the edge of town where they often left their escape vehicle, after investigating it thoroughly, the Junkers had raided everything of value, and because it was such a small and undesirable location for those to make residence in, it was left untouched. Roadhog coasted the motorcycle into the shop, setting it to rest as Junkrat leapt from the passenger car and immediately made way for the exit.

“Alright Roadie! Let’s get to it!”

“I’m not going.”

“What!? The hell yer not going!”

“This is a stupid idea.”

“It’s not that stupid! ‘Sides, I hired you as a bodyguard! You have to go or the deal is off!”

Roadhog visibly changed his posture, grunting angrily as Junkrat tapped his peg leg anxiously on the ground. The criminal explosives master was not used to sitting still for long periods of time. An angry glare directed at Junkrat, he laughed nervously, holding his hands up defensively. “C’mon mate, I promise we can ignore the town after this.” A heavy sigh left Roadhog’s chest, as he grabbed his scrap gun from the sidecar, arming himself properly.

Junkrat leapt upwards, grabbing the frag launcher off of his back, loading one of the crudely made grenade clips into the weapon as he waited for his much larger companion to follow him. Being on the outskirts of Junkertown, they were able to sneak into the city fairly easily. They avoided any lit areas, sticking to shadows and abandoned buildings for cover. The terrain was easy for them to navigate, as they had done this many times before, and the layout of the town had been memorized after years of moving in and around the town.

The duo was making good pace, with Junkrat smelling the air to determine where the explosion came from. Years of exposure to this environment gave him the ability to discern between old and new scents, especially when it came to explosions, not to mention the farther in the town they went, the more people they began to notice. Their movements became more stealthy, as they moved from the ground level, to the rooftops, opting to stick to higher ground to avoid being detected. The scaled an empty building, careful of their movements, yet still they got caught off guard.

Junkrat was rounding a corner, his frag launcher in hand when the sound of footsteps caught Roadhog’s attention. They were not from his companion. He quickly grabbed Junkrat’s shoulder, pulling him behind a cement support as a group of Junkers passed into the building. Junkrat instinctively reached for a concussion mine, should he feel the need to blow those drongos out of the sky, but Roadhog raised his hand, signaling towards the group as they moved from one side of the building to another, without being in the line of sight of the two international criminals. Their voices faintly echoing in the abandoned building.

“C’mon lads, we gotta hurry to the mech fight!”

“What’s so special about this mech fight? We all know that Slayer and his mech are gonna turn any challenger into scrap!”

“Yeah didn’t he just finish off his last opponent? That was his best fight move!”

“I saw some exy new mech from those prissy city slickers in Sydney!”

“Here? In Junkertown? Do you really think it will stand a chance against Slayer?”

“Hah! Probably not, but it’ll be fun to see it get blown to bits!”

The voices of the group faded out as they moved from one level to another, giving Roadhog and Junkrat enough time to process what they heard. “I bet that explosion had something to do with that.” Roadhog mulled as they waited a few moments before continuing their ascent to the roof tops. “Yer probably right, we outta check it out though Roadie, might be somethin’ we should know about.” For once, Roadhog agreed with Junkrat. Upon reaching the rooftop, they were easily able to sight the source of the explosion from earlier, where torchlight was visible in the dusk hours. The closer they got to the source, the more prominent voices could be heard, it was the sounds of excitement; yelling and shouting, whooping and hollering. The duo took point on a rooftop not far from the source when they arrived, far enough to be able to observe and not be seen directly by spectators.

A building laid in freshly destroyed ruin, smoke still emitting from pieces of rubble. A mob of junkers scattered around the flattened building, using the surrounding buildings and rubble as perches, and in the center of the abandoned structure lay the source of the explosion. True to the commentary of the junker group Roadhog and Junkrat had overheard, there was a large mech parading around the opened area. The mech was crude, built from scrap metal and what looked like destroyed omnic parts, giving it a humanoid form on two legs. The pilot was visible in the center of the mech, with his torso and head exposed, his arms and legs poised in the respective arms and legs of the mech. This pilot had to be the Slayer that group from earlier had referred to, as there was the letters “SLYR” painted on both forearms of the mech.

“Well that drongo sure is makin’ a presentation.”

Roadhog grunted in response, as both of their glances shifted towards an opposing pile of metal scrap. Whatever that pile of metal was before, it was no more, and whatever pilot or controller there was for it was too gone, as there was a crimson liquid decorating various plates of the scattered metal pieces. The two criminals switched their attention back to the parading victor as he bellowed out to the crowd in a thick and deep Australian accent. “Is there nobody who can defeat me!? That was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Junkrat gritted his teeth, for whatever reason, there was something about this Slayer that he did not like, maybe it was his cockiness after brutally murdering his opponent, he was unsure of the reason, but something about this guy just seemed off. Roadhog tapped Junkrat on the shoulder, “We should get going.” Junkrat nodded his head, grabbing his frag launcher from its resting position on the building. “Yeh, yer right Roadie, no point watchin’ that slag parade around like he owns the place.” The duo moved from their position, slowly making their way back a building rooftop that would give them the quickest access back to their escape vehicle hideout, when an unfamiliar sound caught Jamison’s attention. “Wait a tic, mate. Somethin’s comin.”

The two moved back to their position just in time to witness the entrance of the stylized mech that the group from before had mentioned. The machine itself was impeccable in appearance, carbon black that blended well with the gray toned buildings surrounding it. Illuminating lights surrounding the pristine cannons adorning the front of the mech, and just above it a plexi-glass hull, camouflaging the pilot, whose arms were the only exposed portion on the suit. The headlights on top of the machine illuminated the victor of the previous match, blinding Slayer temporarily and causing him to stumble backwards before righting himself in his place. “Oi, I ain’t seen that kinda tech in this town before. You dare challenge me?”

There was silence from the pilot behind the mech unit. Junkrat observed the machine carefully, noting the word MEKA imprinted on the side of the hull, he was no doubt impressed by the entrance this mech had made, though he was wondering who would be crazy enough to bring a machine that fancy into Junkertown, it was just asking to be ripped apart. A few more moments passed as the pilot behind the new mech grinned, the heavy tint to the HUD fading out to expose the face of a young woman behind the pilot, determination in her eyes as she glared down the opponent in front of her.

“D.Va ready for combat.”  

[rusticrevivals]

You can’t really completely live self-sufficiently and in an eco-friendly manner unless you have an animal to help you in the bush with your wood to heat the home, to help you plough the garden and even the driveway in winter, and an animal to offer you milk for all your dairy products.  And of course chickens, for eggs and meat!  But the latter will have to wait a while because the former have already taken up a LOT of time and energy!  Mostly the energy of Richard, his brother, and his niece’s fiance.  That is to say, the ‘menfolk’. ( But I’ve been leaving off baking bread and basement gardening and spending most days wielding a hammer lately as well….)

Back in February we bought the Clydesdale/Belgian cross on recommendation alone (that is that he was only 5 and that he was BOMBPROOF quiet, which Richard needs as he’s not used to horses, and after 3 back surgeries and some busted-up knees, I ALSO now NEED!) He came from more than 3 hours away, and as I knew we couldn’t justify a trip that far just to have a  look at him, I asked for a video clip of him hauling logs, and was more than satisfied that he was excellent at this chore.

The hunt for a dairy goat has been going on since last October, but they are even more rare in this province than a good draft horse, so that has been a problem indeed.  It’s also one of the reasons I’d scheduled Richard and me for a 3 or 4 hour lesson at the goat farm in Maine; I wanted us to feel confident with all the extra skills and knowledge needed to have a few dairy animals. (I owned a goat in my 20s, but just having one around and being responsible for breeding, raising and selling its kids, and sanitarily milking it are very different circumstances indeed!)  We were scheduled to attend the farm in Maine on Sunday, but sadly our truck decided to have over-heating and thermostat problems and we had to cancel. THAT is what today’s blog was supposed to be on, so I’ve had to do some hustling to get ready for this special feature – the preparation for and arrival of our livestock.

The potato quonset that we call part Richard’s workshop/garage, and part ‘barn’ is a big ole piece of tin with a massive cement floor and an echo in it that could stave off the advent of Satan.  While I do enjoy going out at night sometimes and bellowing out some Bee Gees tunes to hear the reverb., it’s not a great environment for spooky animals, and besides, Richard in NO WAY wanted the animals being walked past his precious ’73 Chevy Nova. So we needed a run-in shelter with attached paddock (horses are much happier if they can come in and go outside as they please in all weathers), as well as a separate goat stall, although we were really hoping that whatever goat we had would be mostly in WITH the horse as they are compatible critters to each other.  In fact, many race horse owners will have a goat actually living in the stall with a hot-tempered equine to calm them.

I designed the lay-out of the ‘stall’/run-in, and since Smitty refused to use the kennel/dog-house I built for him last fall (he tore it apart in under 2 hours on 2 different occasions.  It’s what ya call radical co-dependency!) I decided the goat could have the ‘kennel run’ and massive insulated dog-house.  To start with, then, Richard and I took bolts out of the tin on two sides of the furthest end of the barn, one for a large 8.5 foot tall door for the Clyde cross, and one man-door for us to run in and out without worrying about going through the paddock area and gates, etc.  After he and I took out all the bolts, he started cutting the metal, which really impressed me as I thought that was too scary a job for an accident-prone fella like him:

This is the livestock door, with Richard’s impressive cutting from the outside!

This is the ‘man-door’ for quick trips in and out of the barn.

  Next, we had our neighbours’ relatives come in with an excavator and cut the adjoining cement from the foundation, as well as make a slope out into what would be the paddock or corral for both horse and goat.  This took a lot less time than I would have thought! Only a few hours and  it was finished!

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So, ta-da!  Great to have all this light in the other end now!

  The next step, of course, was to buy the rough lumber, which we got at two different mills in two local towns.  Our favourite mill owner lets us have HUGE discounts on 4 by 4s and even the wood-chips/sawdust mix I’m using for  footing over the cement. A whole trailer-load for 15.00!  (I’m BEDDING the horse on straw, as no one likes to lie on CHUNKS of wood, and sawdust doesn’t drain well when urinated on, BUT there are no proper wood-shavings  – peeled pieces –  sold in this part of the province, so we’re making do with a combo.!)

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Once Richard did all the mathematical figuring (about 8 times over!) we laid in a good supply and asked the family for help.  Richard’s niece from Saint John is getting married here at the farm next year, so Carriann came up to work on wedding plans with me, while the 3 men, Richard, his brother Jean-Marc, and Matthieu got hard to work digging post holes. Richard already knew from experimenting that the manual post-hole digger I had him buy wasn’t going to work in this very rocky soil, so he’d even arranged to rent an auger for the weekend.  Those hubbies sure worked hard for 2 days straight getting those holes dug and the posts (which we tarred first for protection on the underground portion) set into the hilly terrain.  Note:  although I’m told that pressure-treated wood is no longer poisonous for livestock with a tendency to chew, I don’t trust it, and besides it’s MILES more expensive per foot! (Slideshow can be clicked through to make it faster, if you prefer).

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We didn’t get the posts as deep as I’d hoped – it is suggested that in this part of N.B., the frostline is at 3.5 to 4 feet, so I wanted the posts deeper than that, but there were so many rocks in the ground and poor Matt seemed to have the dirtiest job of trying to heave them all out, so we compromised with just a little over 3 ft down.  We may have to do the paddock over in a few years; we’ll just have to wait and see what the winters bring!  (also note: the tar shouldn’t be exposed where animals might chew at it either, but they painted the posts thinking they’d be in deeper. However, the goat fence I knew we’d have to install would protect greedy mouths and bored little brains from taking a chomp on this black stuff.)

TIP – When building a fence of this type, so many non-farmer folk think it looks ‘prettier’ to have the boards on the OUTSIDE; this is a common mistake. Livestock ALWAYS lean on the fence (ie: the grass is always greener) and can either split the boards more easily, OR pop the nails out if the boards are on the outside.  If you MUST do this for aesthetics, make sure you have an electric fence system strung ’round on the inside, to keep the livestock off your rails or panels.

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After the rellies left that weekend, Richard and I spent two full days cutting and nailing up the boards, although we did frequently ‘cheat’ and use the massive nail gun, which shoots 4 inch nails deep into the posts!  I then continued -in rain, sleet, wind and, when sun was out so were the blackflies!,- to put the goat fence up by myself, whilst Richard worked on building the wall of the stall/run-in (attached in part to what was formerly Smitty’s kennel, built by myself out of old doors from the inside of the house, and a huge television stand Richard had made for us years ago – which will now also be part of the chicken coop!)  REMEMBER – REUSE, RECYCLE AND REDUCE!   (As always, you can click on any of the photos to enlarge for details).

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Above, top two pics are of me nailing up not only the goat fence (so they can’t climb out or under) but also putting old 1970s mouldings from the house over the top edge of the wire so no one gets hurt on it. Not sure how the mouldings will hold up over the course of a winter, but it’s one quick, eco-friendly and inexpensive way of the protecting the animals’ skins without going to town for yet more supplies!  Another hope for the goat fence – it will help prevent predators from easily getting access into the barn which is where the chicken coop will eventually be.             Bottom 3 picks are of my drop-rail gate, with skinnier tree trunks below to keep the goat out, and heavier ones above in case the horse leans over.  This horse-shoe gate arrangement has always held me in good stead for a quick and easy solution, and the trees we cut were already being crowded out by larger trees, so needed to be thinned anyway…

BELOW, Richard not only worked on the wall and gate for the run-in shelter, but had to build a massive door frame for the loose and jagged tin, and fill in holes left by the cement foundation being removed:

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We planned the wall 4 boards solid to a) help keep out predators again from the eventual chicken coop which will also be attached to this wall and b) so that the goat won’t jump up and get a leg caught, as goats are prone to do!                   Also, in the far corner of the stall, note the two beams on the floor that I’ve put to make a separate ‘bed’ -Richard calls it ‘the mattress area’.  So while there are rough chips in most of the interior for just standing up and off the cement, the straw is on top of this base foundation in case either animal wants to lie down.  Also, it may be hard to see in this photo (and I’ve since put on ripped bits of bright-coloured plastic bags that have triply served their purpose in the house for covering foods, etc.,) but each day the horse will be pastured in an electric fence enclosure for grazing, and the goat will be tethered nearby.

Thus, as you can see from the below two photos, both the outside and inside enclosures are now complete, and we are so happy and exhausted from making them so!

And now, for the fun part!  Introducing Chevy the horse (Richard decided he was about the same size as his beloved Nova, although I pointed out he’d be a lot more EFFICIENT AND USEFUL !  In my head, I think of “Chevy” as either short for “cheval” OR as a representation of Chevy Chase, who was the star of Funny Farm, mentioned in the blog posting from our move here last May…) and, along with him, his little friend, the female yearling “Cammie”  (Richard also chose this name – really, for Camero – show emoticon of my rolling my eyes here – but Cammie does seem to suit her…) We hope she may someday become our first dairy goat, but for now, she’s just along as a ‘friend’ for Chevy, and so that we can give her some special attention as she’s rail thin and as co-dependent on us as Smitty still is!

Here’s their arrival last night, in the god-awful, far-too-low-for-a-draft-horse cow trailer, on which they stood loaded for nearly 7 hours while cattle were taken on and off and they were driven all over the western part of the province before finally alighting here. I took a shot of my first view of Chevy and my first view of Cammie, also:

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They were VERY glad to get into their run-in and paddock, and on terra firma!  The blue collar is for Blue Belldon Farm, of course!

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Richard had a few tender moments with Cammie, who is very sweet, and though I’ve told him we’re not making hand-feeding a rule (it leads to a nippy horse, and no one needs that!) I let him try feeding Chevy an apple.  FLAT PALM!!!!!

Both animals are underweight and in desperate need of some good grooming, but time on grass and elbow grease will solve those matters, and they are both very kind and quiet, as advertised by word of mouth through the ‘grapevine’.  I don’t recommend buying animals – esp. a horse! – sight unseen, but again, I’m experienced in what to look for, and who/what questions asked, and we purchased from one of the most reliable draft people in the province, apparently.   A certain amount of luck is always involved anyway, no matter how many times you may go try a horse, get him vetted, etc.! So in this case, we just clung on to faith and gave it a shot. NOT recommended for first-time homesteaders, though!

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  So, thanks to the husband for all the work and effort, thanks to the OTHER hubbies for their time that post-hole-digging weekend, and please enjoy this wonderful quote about “Animal Husbandry” by Tom Robbins:

“Hardly a pure science, history is closer to animal husbandry than it is to mathematics, in that it involves selective breeding. The principal difference between the husbandryman and the historian is that the former breeds sheep or cows or such, and the latter breeds (assumed) facts. The husbandryman uses his skills to enrich the future; the historian uses his to enrich the past. Both are usually up to their ankles in bullshit.”

Stay tuned for more from the Chevy/Cammie side of life at Blue Belldon Farm!

NEXT WEEK :   Before and afters of the upstairs hall-way floor (Mom’s suite). From darkly stained plywood to ‘weathered and worn old pine boards!’………. HOW?

Husbands and Husbandry You can't really completely live self-sufficiently and in an eco-friendly manner unless you have an animal to help you in the bush with your wood to heat the home, to help you plough the garden and even the driveway in winter, and an animal to offer you milk for all your dairy products.