Downtown Antalya
Some days are just so frustrating. Like the other day, which started with an unadvertised bus route change that had me touring the entire region on the way downtown.
I'm in an irritable mood by the time I get to the bank to make the deposit needed for my residence permit . I'm briefly optimistic when I get number 688 from the machine and see that 686 is currently at the teller window, but alas, the next number to flash on the screen is 403. Then 535. Then 382. My irritation increases as I wait in the overheated bank with no idea when my number will be called.
After I make my deposit I notice there's no record of it on my bank statement. I ask the teller for my balance and she tells me the correct amount. I explain I need the document to show the balance required for my residence permit. She says I have to go upstairs for that. Not wanting to start all over with a new number and more waiting, I decide to take care of this another time. Every other time I've made a deposit I've received an accurate balance statement. I don't see why this now requires a special appointment.
So I leave the bank and attempt to console myself with a cup of real cappuccino at a cafe that uses the Italian Lavazza brand. Last time I was there it was delicious. This time it was awful. I remind myself that lack of consistency is a theme with restaurants and cafes here, and wonder why I didn't just go to Starbucks.
Leaving the coffee shop I come upon a demonstration and am glad for the entertainment. Turks are very politically active. When I first got here they were demonstrating against the U.S. voting on the Armenian genocide resolution. More recently there was a protest about school testing. They even demonstrate when they're in favor of something: At the last demonstration I saw, giant flags unfolded as the crowd chanted "we are all Turks" in support of Turkey's invasion of Iraq in pursuit of Kurdish terrorists. Today's protest is against NATO. I make a mental note to check the news when I get home.
"Print, detentions, arrests, we can't be intimidated!"
I don't usually have my camera when I come upon these events, but this time I not only have my camera, but I've recently learned how to use it: Apparently even point- and-shoot cameras have settings. Armed with this new information I set my camera for "night" and am able to get a decent shot of the protest. This modest accomplishment lifts my mood a bit as I continue my stroll past several shops full of New Year's Eve lingerie. I enter a department store and my irritated mood returns when the salesgirl follows me so closely I can feel her breath on my neck. She tails me all around the store, up and down the stairs until I can't take it anymore.
A typical display of the red lingerie worn on New Year's Eve.
It's getting a bit chilly so I head home. I board the dolmus that takes me directly to my door. Well, last week it did. But this time it doesn't make the right turn to my house, so I have to jump up and press the stop button before it heads any further afield.
At least I can stop on the way home and pick up a pide (Turkish pizza). I go in and order a kiymali (chopped meat) pide to go. The nice old lady welcomes me warmly and offers me tea. As I sip my tea my annoyance with the day begins to subside. By the time I've finished it my order's ready, so I pay the cashier and am on my way.
A minute later a young woman in a headscarf and a floral skirt catches up with me and hands me a five lira bill. She's out of breath as she tells me I paid too much. I thank her and go home to enjoy my fresh-baked pide accompanied by the melodious chanting of the call to prayer. Bad mood gone.
