I was so relaxed, yesterday afternoon, as I got ready to leave Askin’s apartment in Cihangir. We could check into our new place, an AirBnb in Kadikoy (on the Asian side of Istanbul) after 3. I wanted to avoid traffic, so we were packed and set to go by 2. I carried my (somewhat oversized) suitcase, purse, dog carrier bag filled with dog stuff, other dog carrier bag filled with groceries, and actual dog downstairs. I booked a cab through an app. The app, like Uber, tells you how much it’s going to cost to get from where you are to where you’re going. The cab arrived.
But we ain’t in Ottawa* anymore.
The driver took one look at me, Django and our pile of stuff, and informed me that my trip was going to be 4 times the price quoted, because “traffic”.
“No,” I said.
“Traffic, lady,” he repeated. “Traffic.”
I’ve been in Istanbul long enough to know that this happens all the time, and not just to dumb tourists.
“Cancel,” I told him, making slashing motions against my neck.
He lowered the price slightly. I said no again. He may have tried to threaten something. I shook my head. He drove off in a huff, and I felt proud of myself, until I realized I had zero idea what to do next.
I ordered an Uber. Success! Until I got a notification: “Driver has cancelled. Finding you another driver.” It did this again, and then 6 more times. I tried the first app again, but it wouldn’t work at all now. There is no other way to get to where we were going than by taxi, and I had too much stuff to walk out to a taxi stand or down to a main road and hail one. Even if I did, it was incredibly likely that I’d have this argument again and again until I gave in and paid a small fortune to get where I was going.
By this point it was drizzling. Django was trembling. I called my friend Lisa who has a place nearby, has lived in Istanbul for 10 years and has been an awesome source of guidance, support and macaroni and cheese. She didn’t answer. Django started barking. Loudly. I hissed at him to shut up. People started staring. I started, ever so slightly, to panic.
A woman leaned her head out of a third story apartment window.
“Are you okay?” she called out.
"I’m trying to get a taxi!” I called back. “No one will come! They are raising the price!”
She shook her head disapprovingly.
“I will call my friend!” she said. She smiled and waved at Django, who barked back, and then disappeared into her apartment.
Lisa called. She was on her way to work, which was in the same direction as my new digs, and her taxi driver could take me for the amount I was supposed to pay in the first place. I signalled to the third story lady and told her my news. She cheered and introduced herself.
“Do you live here?” she yelled.
“I will soon!” I yelled back, because I felt like it.
She welcomed me, and added that she had a cat and a dog. I wanted to hug her. And with that, off to Kadikoy we zoomed.
Not that anyone zooms anywhere in Istanbul, but you know what I mean.
We are now in a little Hobbit flat on the top of a 5-story building, with sloped roofs and cosy nooks and two incredible views, sea-wise and other-wise. Huge, comfy double bed. Two big balconies. Aside from the fact that you have to walk around on an angle in some parts because of the low ceilings, it’s heaven.
So far, I love Kadikoy. If Cihangir were (let’s be honest) an Instagram influencer, Kadikoy would be her rebellious sister in the corner, dressed in black, smoking and wearing emo makeup. There are vegan restaurants and also smoky, divey street food shops full of old men. There are coffee labs** and also shops full of greasy mechanical parts. There are street dogs (even the street dogs are too self-conscious to go to Cihangir). There are enormous, magical murals everywhere. The air is filled with seagulls, and wind, and the sounds of boat horns honking in the distance.
The Hobbit House sounds delightful. Getting around sounds like quite a challenge.
Happy your settled in your new place. Am very much enjoying your dispatches. :)