The Best Shopkeeper Pick-Up Lines
"Let me help you to spend your money!"
"I love you! Will you marry me?"
"Can I have your pictures?"
"Hey Mami! How many chickens for your daughters? I pay any price!"
"Lady, you dropped something!" "No, I didn't!" "Please take my heart!"
"Texas?!? BANG BANG! KAPOW!!! You want to order??? BANG BANG!!!"
"You are from Seattle? I am from Chicago! My name is Simon, Simon Bond. 007, Bond. Come you into my shop?"
"Hello! I am talking to you! Why are you walking away? I am here!!!"
"Where are you from? France? Australia? Italy? Canada? Holland? Germany?"
"Buy one, get ME Free!!!!"
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Garden of Eden
There ıs a regıon ın Turkey called Cappadoıca, that ıs wıdely consıdered to be the Garden of Eden. It ıs thıs mountaın fılled desert that was covered ın snow. One can easıly ımagıne a lush valley tucked away between two mountaın ranges.
There are cıtıes nestled ınto the faıry chımneys and clıff faces- carved ınto the stone. They are so unbelıvably unıque! We would drıve up to a cıty - a full sızed cıty!- and not see ıt untıl we were a few hundred yards away!!
Here are some lınks to photos of the area:
http://turkeyistanbul.com/images/news/duyurular/cappadocia.jpg
http://www.turkeygoldentours.com/Image_Depo/CAPPADOCIA_17.JPG
http://e-turkey.net/turkeyguide/d/14434-2/cappadocia_goreme_s7300992.jpg
We only spent a full nıght there, but ıt was lovely and very ınterestıng to sleep ın a cave! Very cold too!
There are cıtıes nestled ınto the faıry chımneys and clıff faces- carved ınto the stone. They are so unbelıvably unıque! We would drıve up to a cıty - a full sızed cıty!- and not see ıt untıl we were a few hundred yards away!!
Here are some lınks to photos of the area:
http://turkeyistanbul.com/images/news/duyurular/cappadocia.jpg
http://www.turkeygoldentours.com/Image_Depo/CAPPADOCIA_17.JPG
http://e-turkey.net/turkeyguide/d/14434-2/cappadocia_goreme_s7300992.jpg
We only spent a full nıght there, but ıt was lovely and very ınterestıng to sleep ın a cave! Very cold too!
Tree Flockıng the Bride
Ülkü and Ertan were generous enough to invite us to a Turkish wedding. There was lots of excıtment on Ülkü's part whıle dressing and bedazzling us. We arrived in Eskişehir the morning of the wedding and spent a lovely Valentines Day walking on the cannal.
That night - dressed to the nines - we made our way to a football fıeld sized salon packed with covered chaırs and adorned wıth bıg bows. We sat ın our chaırs and talked wıth the famıly untıl the Brıde and Groom were anounced by a spotlıght on the mırror ball.
The lıghts dımmed, the volume went up and the flashıng dısco lıghts started! Then, the Brıde and Groom appeared ın the doorway and stood there whıle a fıreworks dısplay began - framıng them. We were all suprısed that the Brıdes haır (whıch was almost a foot hıgh and covered ın haırspray) dıd not a) catch on fıre or b)collapse her spıne.
After the sıgnıng ceremony, they got up for theır fırst dance as newlyweds.
To the sweet serenade of HERO by Enrique Iglesias. (Here ıt ıs!)
Let me be your hero
Would you dance if I asked you to dance? Would you run and never look back? Would you cry if you saw me cryin'? And would you save my soul tonight?
Would you tremble if I touched your lips? Would you laugh? Oh please tell me this Now would you die for the one you loved? Hold me in your arms tonight
I can be your hero, baby I can kiss away the pain I will stand by you forever You can take my breath away
Would you swear that you'll always be mine? Or would you lie? Would you run and hide? Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind? I don't care, you're here tonight
I can be your hero, baby I can kiss away the pain I will stand by you forever You can take my breath away
Oh, I just want to hold you I just want to hold you, oh yeah Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind? Well, I don't care, you're here tonight
I can be your hero, baby I can kiss away the pain I will stand by you forever You can take my breath away
I can be your hero, baby I can kiss away the pain And I will stand by you forever You can take my breath away You can take my breath away
I can be your hero
As the staıns started, the dısco ball swırled and the mırror ball threw brıght beams of collored lıghts everywhere. But these small dısplays were no match for the multıtude of fıreworks, conffettı, bubbles and fog. We thought we had seen ıt all! Untıl a man approached wıth an aerosol can ın hand at the clımax of the song and tree flocked the Brıde!
The musıc they turned on had a hınt of eardrum rupture and the volume was generous. We counteracted thıs by stuffıng pıeces of dınner napkın ınto our ears. There were hours of dancıng and ıt was soo much fun. Also, there was not a drop of alchohol and everyone enjoyed themselves. Refreshıng!
That night - dressed to the nines - we made our way to a football fıeld sized salon packed with covered chaırs and adorned wıth bıg bows. We sat ın our chaırs and talked wıth the famıly untıl the Brıde and Groom were anounced by a spotlıght on the mırror ball.
The lıghts dımmed, the volume went up and the flashıng dısco lıghts started! Then, the Brıde and Groom appeared ın the doorway and stood there whıle a fıreworks dısplay began - framıng them. We were all suprısed that the Brıdes haır (whıch was almost a foot hıgh and covered ın haırspray) dıd not a) catch on fıre or b)collapse her spıne.
After the sıgnıng ceremony, they got up for theır fırst dance as newlyweds.
To the sweet serenade of HERO by Enrique Iglesias. (Here ıt ıs!)
Let me be your hero
Would you dance if I asked you to dance? Would you run and never look back? Would you cry if you saw me cryin'? And would you save my soul tonight?
Would you tremble if I touched your lips? Would you laugh? Oh please tell me this Now would you die for the one you loved? Hold me in your arms tonight
I can be your hero, baby I can kiss away the pain I will stand by you forever You can take my breath away
Would you swear that you'll always be mine? Or would you lie? Would you run and hide? Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind? I don't care, you're here tonight
I can be your hero, baby I can kiss away the pain I will stand by you forever You can take my breath away
Oh, I just want to hold you I just want to hold you, oh yeah Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind? Well, I don't care, you're here tonight
I can be your hero, baby I can kiss away the pain I will stand by you forever You can take my breath away
I can be your hero, baby I can kiss away the pain And I will stand by you forever You can take my breath away You can take my breath away
I can be your hero
As the staıns started, the dısco ball swırled and the mırror ball threw brıght beams of collored lıghts everywhere. But these small dısplays were no match for the multıtude of fıreworks, conffettı, bubbles and fog. We thought we had seen ıt all! Untıl a man approached wıth an aerosol can ın hand at the clımax of the song and tree flocked the Brıde!
The musıc they turned on had a hınt of eardrum rupture and the volume was generous. We counteracted thıs by stuffıng pıeces of dınner napkın ınto our ears. There were hours of dancıng and ıt was soo much fun. Also, there was not a drop of alchohol and everyone enjoyed themselves. Refreshıng!
Friday, February 13, 2009
Sister Share
So, Rosie and I have spent the last week doing a home stay with the parents of Gocke, one of my Dad's friends. They are wonderful, loving people whose hospitality goes above and beyond anything we could hope for. Staying with them has been a blessing and privilage. However, sometimes their generosity can be gastronomically overwhelming. For example, we sat down to lunch today with a lovely bowl of chicken broth, risotto and chickpeas. Having finished our soups, we were given slices of stuffed eggplant. It was filled with spiced ground beef and fresh sauteed veggies. At this point we thought we were done. However, we had not even seen the home-made pizza or the spinach stuffed boerrik. Following this we were given a lovely dessert of syrup soaked pumpkin slices. For this part of the meal, we engaged in what we call, 'Sister Share.'
Ulku, the mother, has never had daughters and loves the idea of children sharing equally. So, when she wants to feed us, she calls it 'Sister Share.' We use sister share to refer to the practice of helping each other clean our plates. At lunch, Rosie took a third of my pumpkin, as I could not possibly finish. In return, I ate half of her beef in the 6 course dinner we were served only four hours after lunch. Sometimes 'Sister Share' presents challenges such as the steathy transfer of food.
We hope, that with the arrival of my mom, we will be able to redirect Ulku's affections away from ourselves.
Ulku, the mother, has never had daughters and loves the idea of children sharing equally. So, when she wants to feed us, she calls it 'Sister Share.' We use sister share to refer to the practice of helping each other clean our plates. At lunch, Rosie took a third of my pumpkin, as I could not possibly finish. In return, I ate half of her beef in the 6 course dinner we were served only four hours after lunch. Sometimes 'Sister Share' presents challenges such as the steathy transfer of food.
We hope, that with the arrival of my mom, we will be able to redirect Ulku's affections away from ourselves.
Canceled and Delayed
Last week, we woke up at 4 am and took the night bus to Dublin International Airport for our 7 am flight. After a tango with a representive who was very fond of rules and regulations, and several fees later, we were on our way to security.
We need to take a moment to mention our previous encounters with security checkpoints. I have managed to bypass five of them, without anything being siezed. Even though the contents of my carryons include: a large swiss army knife, many locks and abnormally large padlocks, sealed glass containers, unlabled pills, batteries, needles, a multitude of various liquids, satelite transmitters, and god knows how many chords.
Rosie, on the other hand, carries only clothing and one water bottle. Said bottle, or "flask" as it so often called, has managed to send flags up and down the security line. It usually goes a little something like this.
"Miss, is this your bag?" "yep." "Is this a flask?" "yep." "Is it empty?" "yep." "Miss, please remove the flask from your bag." "yep."
The flask is then removed as if it was a hand grenade sans pin, and thoroughly inspected. After they are convinced that she didn't have anthrax, agent orange, or all of al queda, tucked away in it we are allowed to continue. On one occation, Rosie was given an agressive pat-down, complete with a hand inside the pants.
At one point, Rosie also had in her possesion one 150 mg container of expensive lotion from Macy's. That was until we went through the security at Salzberg.
To me, "Miss, what is that dark blackish blue blob?" "Just a padlock." "Ok, thats fine. And are these glasses?" "Yep." "Great, have a nice flight." To Rosie, "Miss, what is this?" "Lotion." "Miss, you are not allowed to carry more than 100 mg of liquid onto a flight. We are going to have to confinscate this." They were unimpressed with the fact that half of the container was empty.
At the Dublin Airport however, they did decide to confinscate my swiss army knife. And Rosie was given the above mentioned pat-down, as well as the standard water bottle inquisition.
When we finally got to the gate, we sat down and began setteling in. On our intinerary, we had three separate flights booked with different airlines. The first was with Ryanair from Dublin to Luton, London. The second from Luton to Istanbul with Easyjet. And a third with Turkish Air from Istanbul to Ankora. All flights were booked close together to minimize the airport experience.
As we sat munching on the rare treat of organic baking, things were looking pretty good. That is, until we heard this announcment. "Flight number FR 332 departing to Luton, London has been canceled, as this airport has been closed. Passengers are asked to collect checked baggage." We sat there in stunned silence as we realized we just missed all three of our flights.
Then I ran to baggage claim and Rosie raced to the Ryanair counters with three hundred of our closest friends. After waiting in the endless line, we were able to get a full refund from the lovely representative.
At this point, for the first time in twenty years, a gentle snow began to blanket Dublin.
Meanwhile, it was time to scout out the next flight to Istanbul. The only option was via Turkish Air, departing in one hour. We negotiated at ticketing for the lowest possible fairs, then raced through security again, ("Ma'am! Is this your flask?!"), arriving at the gate just in time to board. We snuggled into our comfy seats, accepted bags of hazelnuts and free drinks, and waited for take off.
Four hours later, we were asked to please disembark the flight, as it had been delayed. We were encouraged to walk around the terminal, and informed that our baggage was being kept in the airplane's hold.
One hour later, the departure board listing of "Istanbul Flight TA976" began to flash CANCELED.
Moments later it was joined by every other departing flight. And we were informed by a friendly representive via loudspeaker that Dublin Airport was now closed.
The difference between man and beast has never been so small. Instant panic insued, as the masses began to push towards baggage. Again we joined by many people we would grow to know and love in the endless lines winding back from the counters. This time though, we knew we could wait until the flight was resceduled - as we had booked all of the way with Turkish Airlines. So we did what any true Seattlite does when in a dilema. We paid a visit to the airports Starbucks (which refused to take my Starbucks card), and walked away with two peppermint hot chocoloates.
Then I settled into bag guarding and baby watching with the other passengers from canceled flight TA976. While Rosie braved the que. Or rather the pool of chaos that was referred to as the que. Teams were quickly formed as we waited our turn to speak with the hassled counter girls for ticket refunds, itinerary changes, and hotel bookings. On Rosie's side was June, a sixty year old grandmother from the countryside who had a mouth of a sailor, Alex a flamingly gay 22 year old Israeli American, and Laura a sassy dublin-ite.
At 11 that night, we were bussed to a hotel where we were allowed 3 hours sleep before making our way back to the now familiar Dublin Airport. We spent that morning and afternoon waiting at the gate while the plane waited for the only de-icer the airport had. We were number 54 in the que. Finally, we took off and spent a lovely flight to Istanbul and then Ankora.
We need to take a moment to mention our previous encounters with security checkpoints. I have managed to bypass five of them, without anything being siezed. Even though the contents of my carryons include: a large swiss army knife, many locks and abnormally large padlocks, sealed glass containers, unlabled pills, batteries, needles, a multitude of various liquids, satelite transmitters, and god knows how many chords.
Rosie, on the other hand, carries only clothing and one water bottle. Said bottle, or "flask" as it so often called, has managed to send flags up and down the security line. It usually goes a little something like this.
"Miss, is this your bag?" "yep." "Is this a flask?" "yep." "Is it empty?" "yep." "Miss, please remove the flask from your bag." "yep."
The flask is then removed as if it was a hand grenade sans pin, and thoroughly inspected. After they are convinced that she didn't have anthrax, agent orange, or all of al queda, tucked away in it we are allowed to continue. On one occation, Rosie was given an agressive pat-down, complete with a hand inside the pants.
At one point, Rosie also had in her possesion one 150 mg container of expensive lotion from Macy's. That was until we went through the security at Salzberg.
To me, "Miss, what is that dark blackish blue blob?" "Just a padlock." "Ok, thats fine. And are these glasses?" "Yep." "Great, have a nice flight." To Rosie, "Miss, what is this?" "Lotion." "Miss, you are not allowed to carry more than 100 mg of liquid onto a flight. We are going to have to confinscate this." They were unimpressed with the fact that half of the container was empty.
At the Dublin Airport however, they did decide to confinscate my swiss army knife. And Rosie was given the above mentioned pat-down, as well as the standard water bottle inquisition.
When we finally got to the gate, we sat down and began setteling in. On our intinerary, we had three separate flights booked with different airlines. The first was with Ryanair from Dublin to Luton, London. The second from Luton to Istanbul with Easyjet. And a third with Turkish Air from Istanbul to Ankora. All flights were booked close together to minimize the airport experience.
As we sat munching on the rare treat of organic baking, things were looking pretty good. That is, until we heard this announcment. "Flight number FR 332 departing to Luton, London has been canceled, as this airport has been closed. Passengers are asked to collect checked baggage." We sat there in stunned silence as we realized we just missed all three of our flights.
Then I ran to baggage claim and Rosie raced to the Ryanair counters with three hundred of our closest friends. After waiting in the endless line, we were able to get a full refund from the lovely representative.
At this point, for the first time in twenty years, a gentle snow began to blanket Dublin.
Meanwhile, it was time to scout out the next flight to Istanbul. The only option was via Turkish Air, departing in one hour. We negotiated at ticketing for the lowest possible fairs, then raced through security again, ("Ma'am! Is this your flask?!"), arriving at the gate just in time to board. We snuggled into our comfy seats, accepted bags of hazelnuts and free drinks, and waited for take off.
Four hours later, we were asked to please disembark the flight, as it had been delayed. We were encouraged to walk around the terminal, and informed that our baggage was being kept in the airplane's hold.
One hour later, the departure board listing of "Istanbul Flight TA976" began to flash CANCELED.
Moments later it was joined by every other departing flight. And we were informed by a friendly representive via loudspeaker that Dublin Airport was now closed.
The difference between man and beast has never been so small. Instant panic insued, as the masses began to push towards baggage. Again we joined by many people we would grow to know and love in the endless lines winding back from the counters. This time though, we knew we could wait until the flight was resceduled - as we had booked all of the way with Turkish Airlines. So we did what any true Seattlite does when in a dilema. We paid a visit to the airports Starbucks (which refused to take my Starbucks card), and walked away with two peppermint hot chocoloates.
Then I settled into bag guarding and baby watching with the other passengers from canceled flight TA976. While Rosie braved the que. Or rather the pool of chaos that was referred to as the que. Teams were quickly formed as we waited our turn to speak with the hassled counter girls for ticket refunds, itinerary changes, and hotel bookings. On Rosie's side was June, a sixty year old grandmother from the countryside who had a mouth of a sailor, Alex a flamingly gay 22 year old Israeli American, and Laura a sassy dublin-ite.
At 11 that night, we were bussed to a hotel where we were allowed 3 hours sleep before making our way back to the now familiar Dublin Airport. We spent that morning and afternoon waiting at the gate while the plane waited for the only de-icer the airport had. We were number 54 in the que. Finally, we took off and spent a lovely flight to Istanbul and then Ankora.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The People You Meet in Hostels
Over the course of our trip, we have encountered many strange people. This post is an attempt to illustrate just how bizzare some of them are.
We arrived in Krakow one night and met the only other hosteler, an American who told us he was leaving the next morning to return to teaching English in the Ukrain. We saw him the next morning as we left to go explore, and he said goodbye. When we got back that night, he was still sitting at the same computer, obviously not in the Ukrain. We sort of chatted, and he asked about our trip, then how old we were. When I said 18, and Rosie, 19, he exclaimed, 'OH! Your just kittens!'
The next morning, while Rosie and I sat there, eating breakfast, he came into the kitchen and asked if we were making out. And then he laughed. He would have other men over, and they would talk about girls they were meeting on online sites. But he whole 3 days we were there, he never once left the hostel, and in fact, was still there when we checked out. Most likely, he is still there.
Another interesting person we met was in Prague, his name is Geoff, and he is a New Zelander. He has written a screenplay about the doomed romance of a prostitute named Lucky and a bum. They meet on a subway and help eachother out of their respective bottomless pits. It is a charming story that leaves you wondering about the nature of forgivness and asking yourself how you want to die. He was looking for a producer and recommended that we see the torture museum before we left the city.
Here in Galway, there is a group of French people. I honestly don't know if it is culturally acceptable to stare in France, but these people will not stop. One of them is particularly avid. He will sit there for half an hour, just staring at you...not saying anything...not looking anywhere else...
We met a girl the other day, who was in the room of some aquaintences. Apparently, she kept asking about Katie's laptop. 'Can I hold it?' 'What kind of laptop is it?' 'Can I touch it?' 'Where are you from?' 'Can I hold it?' Katie was so scared this girl was going to take the laptop and run off with it, that she slept with it in her arms.
We arrived in Krakow one night and met the only other hosteler, an American who told us he was leaving the next morning to return to teaching English in the Ukrain. We saw him the next morning as we left to go explore, and he said goodbye. When we got back that night, he was still sitting at the same computer, obviously not in the Ukrain. We sort of chatted, and he asked about our trip, then how old we were. When I said 18, and Rosie, 19, he exclaimed, 'OH! Your just kittens!'
The next morning, while Rosie and I sat there, eating breakfast, he came into the kitchen and asked if we were making out. And then he laughed. He would have other men over, and they would talk about girls they were meeting on online sites. But he whole 3 days we were there, he never once left the hostel, and in fact, was still there when we checked out. Most likely, he is still there.
Another interesting person we met was in Prague, his name is Geoff, and he is a New Zelander. He has written a screenplay about the doomed romance of a prostitute named Lucky and a bum. They meet on a subway and help eachother out of their respective bottomless pits. It is a charming story that leaves you wondering about the nature of forgivness and asking yourself how you want to die. He was looking for a producer and recommended that we see the torture museum before we left the city.
Here in Galway, there is a group of French people. I honestly don't know if it is culturally acceptable to stare in France, but these people will not stop. One of them is particularly avid. He will sit there for half an hour, just staring at you...not saying anything...not looking anywhere else...
We met a girl the other day, who was in the room of some aquaintences. Apparently, she kept asking about Katie's laptop. 'Can I hold it?' 'What kind of laptop is it?' 'Can I touch it?' 'Where are you from?' 'Can I hold it?' Katie was so scared this girl was going to take the laptop and run off with it, that she slept with it in her arms.
There was a man we met who would have been at home on the Lord of the Rings set. He was about 7 feet tall, had massive amounts of flaming red hair, and kept an obscene moustach in a very, very, long braid. Something about him said he would be happy to swing an axe or broadsword over his head.
Although we have had our share of bizzare roomates, the people we meet in hostels are wonderful and fun to go out with. We spend almost every night with a different group of people we meet around the communal breakfast bowl of cereal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)