What Was That I Said?...

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:

What Was That I Said?  or, One's Brilliant (mis-) Understanding of Foreign Tongues!...   More Travels / Overseas Edition!

Heartburn and other stomach disorders are not exclusively the province of the elderly, or those of us currently experiencing the joys of GeezerHood!  

SweetHeart was at one point in her various superb careers, a Flight Attendant.  She flew for United Airlines.  As such, in our early years of marriage, we could fly like pelicans, unfettered by such impediments as airfares...  well, practically!

On our honeymoon -- that was prior to the onset of GeezerHood, but, after all, one can still recall those blissful days of callow youth -- we decided to jet off to Greece, or Hellas, visit the glories of Athens, as well a few of the Greek Islands.  What the heck does that have to do with HeartBurn??  Well...   lemme explain.

Athens is replete with what I call "Sidewalk Emporiums," at which one can purchase an array of necessaries, including remedies for the body.  On a particular evening, out for dinner and a stroll near the Acropolis, I had a nasty bout with heartburn.   Never traveling without my handy language guides, including a Berlitz Book of Greek, on this occasion, perhaps needless to add, I looked up "heartburn."  No listing.  I then paged to the index to find "antacids."  No listing.  Trying a few other obtuse combinations of Greek words, I finally settled upon the words, "Heart" and "Fire."  

I announced in my finest baritone broadcast voice, hand over my left chest, "Heartfire"!  The young woman who staffed the emporium looked at me as if I were making an unwanted romantic overture, her face a mask of shock and discomfort.  SweetHeart yanked me by the arm and hustled me away from the young woman and her sidewalk shop.  "She has to think you're some kind of crazed masher," said SweetHeart.  "Let's get the heck away

from here before she calls the local police!"  We departed briskly.

 On a subsequent evening, enjoying an "Athens By Night" adventure, along with an international throng of fellow visitors to that ancient land, we told the story of "Heartfire," with many translations and belated laughter arcing and echoing through the crowd.  As the merriment began to diminish, an English couple approached SweetHeart and me, and deposited several antacids into my open and grateful palm.

********************************************************************************

Our elder daughter spent a couple of years in Estonia during her Peace Corps tenure.  We visited her in the month of February, early in the 2000's.  Estonia was not in full bloom at the time, but seeing our wonderful daughter, a photogravure palette of grey and a continuous whispy snowfall made the entire experience delightful and beautiful, an artwork of muted color.  

We settled into Saaremaa, the island off the west coast of Estonia, in the Baltic Sea, where our daughter was based.  She taught, sang and volunteered her time and talent generously for young and old alike, anyone in need.  After seeing the sights and delights of the Island, we ferried ourselves to the mainland, rented a vehicle and motored off to see her fellow Peace Corps friends in Tartu and Tallinn.

On the road, we passed through a small village, a bit too fast, and were halted in our progress by an Estonian policeman who "waved" us down using a long pole, at the end of which was a circular symbol.  I believe the symbol indicated excessive haste!  I did not have a phrase book of Estonian.  No one spoke.  Using a kind of friendly sign language, the policeman and I, that is, I agreed not to speed anymore while the nice official agreed not to assess an enormous fine!  It was the first time in my driving experience that I was "pulled over" by a standing policeman armed with a long pole and a sign at the top!  

Pannenkoeken!  Oh, and Berries!

Our daughter, Bethie, was with SweetHeart, our Peace Corps daughter, Alie, and me.  Bethie made a great and loving impression on everyone we encountered, building relationships and friendships that have endured, even today, nearly 20 years after the fact!  We met Alie's wonderful and talented friends, learned a bit of Estonian, had a kind of pizza in Tartu and generally enjoyed a delicious and highly memorable adventure.  Oh, and "pannenkoeken"! A kind of bread-y pancake-y treat that's found everywhere in Estonia...  (The Netherlands, too, we're reliably told!)  And, we met Alie's Estonian host family.  Wonderful people who enjoyed Alie, her sense of humor and her sometimes stumbling efforts to learn the Estonian language, something she eventually mastered, still uses speaking with native Estonian friends. 

I should mention that Alie was in Estonia and Saaremaa during the "Nine-Eleven" crisis, and was told to "maintain a low profile," as Americans were thought to be in peril during that period of time.  She didn't.  She wrote and recorded her own compositions, including a couple of Estonian folk ballads, and created a wonderful CD of songs.  She was interviewed and landed on the front page of certain Estonian newspapers.  Not exactly a low profile, but she achieved well-deserved fame and praise, donating the proceeds from the sales of her CD to the Estonian Children's Fund. 

*********************************************************************************

Sometime in the mid 2000's, following her time in the Peace Corps, Alie and her now husband, Tad (a remarkably fine man, I have to admit!), decided to cross the Atlantic and visit her various Peace Corps veteran friends.  She had a place to stay everywhere they went, except for France, where the friend, living with parents, did not have suitable accommodations to house

her family.  She asked if we might be interested in a trip to France, specifically the Dordogne Region, the "Smile of France," demarcated slendidly by the river of the same name.  We billeted in an old bakery building, containing an enormous fireplace, lots of bedrooms for all of us, and even a swimming pool in the back garden.  The "all" included grandson, Coen, at the time not quite three years old, and a terrific traveling companion! 

We, SweetHeart and I, took a few basic lessons in French before departing on our journey.  The airline lost all of our luggage, or most of it, necessitating a shopping episode in Paris.  Thanks to the lessons, we navigated rather successfully through the shops and markets.  At one large department store, we stopped to purchase...   Well, I asked a clerk, "Avez vous une costume du plage?"  To which the patient shop attendant responded in perfect English, "You know, we do have a word for bathing suit, monsieur."  

"Uh, " said I, a bit red in the face, "Ou est le cabine d'essayage?"  I don't think she was impressed, but pointed me to the "fitting room."  I also found the underwear department, with a little help from my phrase book!  "Vetements pour ma femme?...   Tout coton, s'il vous plait!"      

And...   a very memorable occasion on which the use of the French language bore sweet fruit:  SweetHeart drew a warm hug from an older woman in Tremolat, asking first, "Do you speak any English?"  The woman shook her head, confused.  Then, SweetHeart asked in perfect French, "Ou est le bibliotheque la plus proche?"  The old woman beamed, and embraced SweetHeart as if she, SweetHeart, were a long-lost daughter!  (The small village did not have a library, however!). Such are the rewards and wonders of attempting to communicate with native people in their own language, especially meaningful and important when in their own lands!!  The village of Tremolat, by the by,  had some of the most delectable baked goods we'd ever tasted!  "Ou est encore cette le boulangerie?"

(Special Note of Dedication:   To all the good and gracious people of countries visited over the seas whose patience and understanding made our travels so satisfying, gratifying and edifying...  We thank you most sincerely!  You enriched the experiences far more than we can adequately express!) 

Humbly Submitted, 12-07-19 -- Joel K.  

             

Travels with SweetHeart!... Domestic Edition!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        Travels with SweetHeart!...  Domestic Edition!  
  

Traveling by Train is a Tantalizing Treat!

I'm not entirely certain when GeezerHood begins and "robust middle age" terminates, giving way to the era of doddering, slobbering soup onto your tie or tunic and forgetting words and the name of your postal person of 25, maybe 30 years!! **

( **  Apologies to the elderly, my fellow seniors!  Many of us are sentient, bright and in full control of our mental faculties well into our so-called "Golden Years"!  The above paragraph is merely intended to promote modest amusement!  Thank you!). 

I was in my early to mid-50s, possibly late 40s...  It's not important.  I was younger, in any case.  We had a bit of disposable income, and opportunities to travel in those times.  We really enjoyed train travel, motoring as well, but trains caught our imaginations as if they were (still are!) mystical and magical conveyances, like a genie's carpet or a flying broomstick that could carry one to glorious vistas and unimaginable adventure.  

We discovered train travel one summer, boarding Amtrak's Southwest Chief.  At a particular stop along the route, a Native American man boarded and offered a fascinating history of indigenous people, their culture and the lands they inhabited.  The sleeping accommodations were spare but reasonably comfortable, and far superior to trying to catch a few elongated blinks in a standard coach seat or chair.  I believe we even had a private convenience and a shower.  It was something akin to luxury.

We headquartered in Flagstaff, rented a vehicle  visited the Grand Canyon -- a sight that captivates far beyond the initial viewing -- climbed Mount Thomas in Oak Creek Canyon, dined in Sedona several times, exulted in the mysteries of Jerome and its fabled house made of ammunition crates.  Part of Jerome's lore is the jail that slid down a steep hill, it, the jail, having been undermined by overly zealous excavating in search of a certain precious metal.  It happened  back in the 1800s, we were reliably told.  A few inmates perished!  

We journeyed to Jerome at SweetHearts insistence and absolute delight after being told not to go there...  "It's dangerous!  They have cults and strange rituals there...   Oh, and even ghosts and UFOs and weird sightings!  Mysterious lights, New Age devilry!  You shouldn't go there...!!"   

We had to go.  It was a marvelous adventure.  The aspect we noticed most prominently was the struggle for the town's soul, a battle waged by artists and artisans on one side of the spectrum, rowdies, rednecks and hell raisers on the other!  Wonderful stuff!  (The image of Jerome, just above, is intended solely to amuse!  Residents are not being systematically carried off by ghouls and other specters!)   

It might have been the following year, maybe two rotations of the earth round the sun later, we boarded the same westbound train for a trip to New Mexico.  Santa Fe and its particular delights.  But the best of it was a road trip in a rented vehicle to Madrid.  There we visited an unusual (sort of) museum and attended a melodrama, in which spectators were issued marshmallows to pitch at the villain.  Sneers, boos and hoots were encouraged.  The museum, by the by, had the largest (recorded) collection of glass insulators, those things we used to see on telephone poles.  Delightful stuff, all of it!  

And then a couple of years later...   Heading in the other direction, we boarded Amtrak's Lake Shore Limited from Chicago to Boston.  There we rented a motor car and traveled along the coastal road bound for Bar Harbor, Maine.  The coastal road, though remarkably picturesque, was such as jagged affair, owing to Maine's "uneven" coast line, like traveling cross country vs. a leisurely trek from south to north in a relatively small state!!  Along the way we visited the Lincoln City jail with its ancient, intact graffiti left by sailors and other scofflaws who had been incarcerated there in the 1800s. 

On that same journey, we climbed Mount Cadillac in Acadia National Park.  I tried at times to effect the accent of denizens of Maine's Down East region.  SweetHeart thought I might give offense to certain of our "Mainer" hosts!  She was right, of course, and so I stopped aping the accent until we were out of earshot of the lobster-loving residents.  (We did acquire a lobster magnet souvenir at some point!  A treasured artifact!)

(Our journeys to Rocky Mountain National Park, Breckenridge, Colorado, Wilmington and Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina?   Perhaps in a future episode....   I have to think about those adventures, and recall the high points.  Oh, and we enthusiastically recommend the series of travel books -- Off the Beaten Path in...   Wonderful, often quirky destinations featured, well worth exploring this purely marvelous series of books; nearly every state well covered!! Honest!)   

*********************************************************************************
France, Estonia, Greece...   Next Episode:   Overseas Travel!  

(Special Note of Dedication:    This posting is for SweetHeart, the best traveling companion I have ever known.  Fun, funny, loving, adaptable, delightful in every way!!  Our travels to Greece and a few of the islands in the Aegean were...   well, stay tuned.  Thank you, and Good Night...!)  

Humbly Submitted 10-25-19 -- Joel K.

      

Where Are They? Where'd They Go...??!!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:     What Ever Happened to.... ??!!


It's an outrage!  Something must be done!...   Arthritis? Gout? Pustules?  Boils, pimples?  Back spasms!  Knees that sound like a chuck-a-luck game? An

elbow that's constantly being banged into hard, immoveable objects?  Pain?  LOSS!!  I mean, why is it that those of us who have fallen into the pit of advanced age...  I like to term it, "GeezerHood"!...  have to suffer so many agonies and indignities, including the scourge of Ageism itself?  

Most importantly, most significantly, where the hell are all my great and good friends and family members? I mean...  where'd they go??!!  Why!!??  

Steve, Pat, Jim, Boobers, Patty, Karen, John, Bob, Carol, Tommy, Morry, Abi...  so many others.  Where are they?  To what train, bus or duty station do they repair (meaning, report, as if commanded to do so by a kind of tribunal...  a military term I never quite understood! ...sorta like the mystery of Military Time!!)?  Where do they go once they jump off the mortal trampoline and disappear into the ether, a dense fog, mystical smoke...? 

Come back, damn it!  Wherever you've gone, they don't need you.  We need you!  We want you here, with us!  You left far too damn soon, too young!  

I remember a support group to which I once belonged.  We were discussing the existence of a deity and the possibility of an afterlife, the concept of reincarnation...

One member of our group opined that he actually did so, or wanted to believe in reincarnation.  It seemed to the member that additional lives tend to reconcile all of the inequities of human existence.  "Why are some people born rich and privileged, while others are thrust into spheres of poverty, disease, racial caste systems, physical and intellectual infirmities, to languish in sadness, mediocrity and misery?," he asked, sort of rhetorically, to no one in particular, or to the group as a whole, perhaps.

"I mean," the member continued, "why can't we come back, be reborn in circumstances that are different from those of a former life?  Poverty to wealth...  perfect health to lack of it...  Conversely, why don't the rich and privileged, those who never truly suffered, come back into a life of poverty and abuse, even a smattering of abject stupidity...?  Now that would be true equality!"  The rest of us pondered deeply the member's passionately-expressed musings! 

"I'd like to come back as a big fish," one member countered   The rest of us looked at him as if he's been suddenly lobotomized.  No one asks why "a big fish?"  (Why not a pelican...?  Just wondering...  What about a Bonobo!?....) 


I think I'm getting off the track, sort of!  I guess I mean to ask the great, unanswerable question:  "Why does it seem that, too often, the best of us die young, too young?  And why do so many 'great souls' (so to speak) leave us too soon, when their lives had so much meaning, and they had so much more to share and to give to the worlds in which they lived, and to the people and worthy organizations with whom they co-existed, or for which they volunteered?"  

I mean, there was so much more I wanted to say to and discuss with my friends, meaning the "departed ones."  So much more I wanted to do with them...  travels, adventures, and, yes, even educative activities such as reading and talking about good books, voluntarism, intelligent films...  politics, too, of course, dependent upon one's philosophy, attitudes, beliefs, values!  (Politics is tricky stuff, we're often told!)

Steve!  Patsy!  Patrick!  Booby!  Where the hell are you, and why don't you visit anymore??!!  Dreams?...  I talk to my dead loved ones in my dreams!  Sometimes the conversations are a bit silly, sometimes rather poignant!  I talked to Steve, recently, while he and I were seated on an unrecognizable concrete stoop.  "What's Sue really like," Steve asked me.  I told him my thoughts.  He looked at me for a long moment, smiled and appeared to accept my assessment.  We also talked about the haircut of an athlete we both admired.  What the hell was that about?...  I have no idea...  Oh, and Larry?  Steve never knew him, but asked his age.  "Lare the Hair" was my friend from the other side of the continent!  (I wonder if HE's still with us??!)  

I keep pictures, images, of two of my dearest friends on my computer desktop.  One or the other pops up unexpectedly, every so often, when I turn the thing on in the morning.  I talk to the "popped-up" one for a brief time when that happens.  We smile at one another, and then go on with whatever tedium commands our attention at the moment, content, I suppose, to have had a brief encounter!  

Not a real photo, but an artists's depiction of spectres,
or ghosts, rising from tombs, or some such,
preparing to visit the living...  maybe??!!

I miss my dead friends, and family members, too, of course, who are no longer interacting with us in the realm of the living!  Emotions boil to the surface...  anger, resentment, frustration, sadness, longing...  Resurrection of the dead is not in our domain, unfortunately, except in memory or dreams,  or perhaps the mental wanderings that seem to affect us all when a pleasant stare into nowhere and nothing becomes a reverie, a journey into a distant sphere of consciousness.  I wonder...   Maybe I'll dream about P.T. tonight!!  We'll have a fine little chin wag...  that I may or may not remember upon waking!    

(Special Dedication:  To all of our dearest dead friends and family members.  We'd like to hear from you when possible!  Give us a sign or something...  For example, when Patty died, she returned as a butterfly and landed on us, and once on Boober's golf club.  Booby came back, we think, as a house fly.  We enjoy those kinds of signs (sort of like "medium-ship" -- inter-spiritual communication, maybe?) and reappearances of the departed too, of course!!  "Hello?  Hello??...  What was that you said? What?...")  

(Another Thing -- a Definition:   dead... /ded/  Adjective
1.  No longer alive.  "a dead body"...   synonyms:  deceased, expired, departed, gone, no more, passed on, passed away...  (In Botswana, I believe they prefer "Late"!  Kind of a nice euphemism, eh??)  (I find that many people in many different societies and cultures don't care for the word, "dead," but tend to use euphemisms, such as those listed above!  Interesting, what?). Oh, what about "Past Tense," maybe "Former Person"!!  

Learn to pronounce

adjective

1. 
   

     

       

Nibbles to the Masses... or, Adventures in Food Delivery!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      Nibbles to the Masses...  or, the Adventures of Food Delivery Professionals!


It began a year ago April.  They are now some 15 months into the process.  For those of us in "robust advancing age," we discover there are diminishing career opportunities for the greying.  Happily, there are organizations that will employ anyone who's breathing, slightly, and can produce necessary credentials, such as a valid driving license, for example!


This is a story about an intrepid couple who, joyously, accepted their fate, and secured employment in the restaurant food collection and delivery profession.  The experience has been suffused with adventure.   And they have learned, along the road, so to speak, a great many new and wonderful lessons about life and the fascinating individuals who populate our urban landscapes!

Some examples...  Delivering a "Bento Box" style meal to an Asian individual, the male component of the delivery duo stated confidently to the recipient:  "Wing Wei Woo?!  Your order sir!"  The man's name was Zhang Kao Ding.  The deliverer meant no disrespect; he merely thought he was uttering the recipient's correct name, trying valiantly to greet his customer with warmth and a kind of wisdom, certain he had the correct name in his memory bank!  The recipient looked confused,  but not the least offended.  He put it down to occidental ignorance!  

The couple delivers a great many food orders to residents in inner-city neighborhoods.  On one memorable occasion, the couple picked up two orders of fine cuisine, one a burger and fries from "Lard Man Lenny's" food truck, the second from a fine Asian restaurant.  The former was packed in a brown bag, dotted with grease splotches, the latter in a pristine white plastic sack.  The couple mixed up the orders, delivering the Asian food to a young couple.  The nice man who was handed the brown bag, immediately telephoned the delivery people, demanding his correct portion of far more expensive food stuffs. 

Undaunted, the intrepid duo, given a total of 15 minutes to correct the delivery error -- the restaurant was closing in those 15 minutes! -- sped crazily back to the restaurant, probably some 15 minutes away from the south side Milwaukee home of the recipient.   They plunked down $35.00 for the replacement food, and sped back to the originally intended recipient.  The trip was worth approximately $25.00 or so (time and mileage plus a generous payment "boost" available that particular evening).  The customer, now appeased by the duo's commitment to delivery excellence, not to mention admission of their error, their culpability, presented them a $10.00 tip!!  Proving, once again, the value of integrity and superior customer service!!

Here's another example...  Honesty is a Golden Policy!  The couple delivered a fine food package to an African-American woman, not greasy fast stuff!  She handed the male deliverer $65.00.  "No, no..." the man protested, "You've already paid for your food on the App (meaning the application on a SmartPhone)!  I can't take that money."  (The man likes to term it an "Ape," amusingly, he thinks!)  

The woman said, "Well then, here's $40.00...  your tip."

"Good gosh," said the man, "That's too much, that's too generous!"  

"I admire and thank you for you honesty," the woman replied.  "Here, you must take this."  She handed him $25.00.  She would brook no further argument.  He thanked her profusely and went on his way, with his wife and partner, of course, to the next summons, the next pickup and delivery!

Over the months of their new career choice, the pair has made many remarkable discoveries.

 Among them, in inner-city neighborhoods, the residents tend to receive their food packages and

generously tip the delivery drivers.  Not always the same in wealthy neighborhoods, where privilege seems to override the need for gratitude and courtesy.  There are of course exceptions.  Additionally, in the inner city, there's a wonderful sense of community.  People sit on their porches with friends, neighbors and family members, chatting amiably, often laughing, sharing both the day's trials and its triumphs.

The two, the "Dynamic Duo" (with apologies to Batperson and BirdBoy, and the people who created various comic books!), do not always earn as much currency as they'd like, even as in the not-too-distant past, but they do tend to make their "nut," or enough to sustain life and limb each working week...  sort of!!   The earnings downturn is due in large measure to the stinginess of the parent conglomerate.  Perhaps the aforementioned will loosen its hold on its coffers as summer surrenders once again to the icy bite of Winter!  

In the meantime, given the rampant ageism that infects our society, the pair feels fortunate to have a means of earning a few shekels, or geld, florins, dinars, pesos, pounds, francs, krones, birrs...  you know, MONEY!!  And they plan to soldier on until they are no longer termed "fiduciary imbeciles," or some such offensive name calling, by the monied set!!  The two plan to continue their quest toward amassing great sums of retirement income!!  Of course, death might well intervene before that happens...   Sigh!!  

p.s.  The "Sigh" is merely an empathetic gesture on behalf of, in support of and in honor of, too, the subjects of this piece!!  Thank You, and may all of your Delivery Take Away orders be fresh...  or Hot, or cold, maybe, if that's how you ordered the stuff??...!   

Please Note:    Other practitioners in the delivery trades are welcome to comment or share their own experiences.  Those who drive and deliver stuff to earn their livings deserve to be heard, not to mention, deserve respect and admiration.  Damn Right!!  











     

Turkish Delights! A Brief, Personal Travelog... Adventures, Too!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        Turkish Delights:   Ne zaman geliyorsun?  Arkaya bak, Genç adam!


Among the proclivities of those of us gazing dreamily through the autumnal mist of GeezerHood, is the beckoning wraith of semi-conscious retrospection.  That is to say, we tend often to stare backward into the fading light of memory, to recall unashamedly the adventures of another time, perhaps a distant incarnation!

Turkey!  Wonderful!!...  No, not the fat bird of a holiday in November, but the country, the adventures and joys of being there!  I spent some 18 months in that marvelous land during my time in military service.  And there are many treasures still buried deep in my psyche, like images on a Viewmaster.  Click...  click...  Oh, I remember that one, and that one, and that place, too..!

Upon our arrival, back in 1961, a lifetime ago, a wormy little man, the gnome who welcomed us as we crawled off the commuter plane (or was it a bus?), arriving in the airport town of Yeşilköy, some 11 kilometers west of Istanbul, announced excitedly, "You will love the 'fah-cil-eee-tees!'"  That's how he pronounced the word, facilities.  He referred to the US Air Force station to which we were assigned, namely,  Karamürsel.  

Both the town in which we first landed, and the site of the AF base were beautifully situated on the Sea of Marmara!  The facilities were spare, but some of us, myself included, loved the place.  We were billeted that first night in the gorgeous and elegant Hotel Cinar.     

Behind the base were colorful hills that wanted to be mountains, almost were in height and width.  Base officials, including officers and civilian workers, warned us not to venture into the hills.  "Too dangerous...  don't you know what's living up there?...  Big wild boars with tusks..."  A companion and I didn't need any further encouragement.  On a day off, we headed for the hills.  We spied one wild boar, but it didn't charge, and appeared to be occupied with foraging and showed no particular interest in us.  The best encounter:  We met a family of quasi-nomads who lived in a combination cave and lean-to.  They welcomed us into their home, offered us food and çay (pronounced Chi)  (traditional Turkish tea) and extraordinary hospitality and friendship.  We stayed with them for some three hours, conversing, learning about their lives.  We conducted our conversation in a combination of Turkish and English, with the help of a Turkish language and phrase book.  



With the same companion, in Istanbul, at the Bosporus, we boarded the Litva -- uninvited, of course -- a Black Sea pleasure liner.  We wandered throughout the ship, eventually entering the bridge where we fiddled with controls including the water-tight doors.  It seemed the ship listed a bit.  Ship's crew members, wide-eyed and seemingly angry, caused us to scamper from the bridge, running to find our way out and off of the vessel.  I was more anxious than my companion.  

"Why should we be concerned?  I mean," he continued, "What danger is there from a bunch of Greek crew members?"  

"Uh," I began, "This is a Russian ship, a Soviet Russian ship.  You must have mis-interpreted the script on both cabin posters and signage on the bridge.  We're American GIs," I continued, "with sensitive information in our heads.  Wouldn't have been a good idea to have them detain us..."  My friend's face lost its color, as he nodded, finally, in tacit agreement.

Being young and perpetually "thirsty," another great friend and frequent companion and I often frequented Istanbul's many "pavions," nightclubs, often combination inns and taverns.  The aforementioned friend and I had access to and stayed in a basement apartment in the heart of Istanbul, waking to the shouts of "Sicak, sicak," meaning hot and pronounced "see-jak."  We'd head outside to purchase delicious street food, including ground lamb seasoned with powdered salt and pepper served on huge portions of Ekmek, traditional Turkish bread. 

Street drugs were plentiful, and seemingly far too available, but that's another story entirely.  The "Black Market" in Istanbul was a lucrative allure.  A carton of American cigarettes could fetch up to $50.00, often much more.  A box of American laundry detergent, the giant size, could net the seller up to $100.00.  And U.S.-made denim jeans?...  a small fortune!  There were Turkish friends whom we came to know well, and who would or could become valued contacts in the Black Market trade.  That too is another story...   um, perhaps for another time!

The Island of Buyulada is truly a "Beautiful Island,"
complete with lavish homes, many occupied by
wealthy Turks.  Friends had a summer "cottage" on
the island with a view of the sea!

Through a contact that my father knew who had relatives living in Turkey, I had the good fortune to meet and spend a good deal of time with a family of Armenian Turks.  The family had an apartment in Istanbul, but more attractively, a holiday home on Büyükada, an island in the Sea of Marmara, the name meaning "Beautiful Island."  We gathered there on several occasions.  The mother was a superb cook and often served us spectacular seafood dishes, including swordfish steaks, Midye (mussels) and Levrek (sea bass). 

Ferry boats ran regularly from the port of Yalova, about 20 kilometers from Karamursel, to Istanbul, stopping at Buyukada and also Heybeli Ada where the Turkish naval academy was

based.  On one occasion, a Turkish submarine raised it periscope accidentally under a ferry, punching a hole in its hull and nearly causing a disaster.  No one died, we were reliably told, but

The Turkish Island of
Heybeli features many
beautiful, traditional homes!

some got a bit wet, probably crew members in the Engine rooms!!

The ferry trips to Istanbul were always enjoyable, even when the sea was less than hospitable... Deniz, c(h)ok fena!  However, frequent consumption of Vodka-Lemones  and pistachio nuts made it all completely bearable!   

Turkey is rich with history...  an understatement.  Izmir, Ephesus and Troy.  Remarkable sites such as the mosque Hagia Sophia, the fabulous Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace and Kapali Carsi (pronounced "Sharshi," owing to the cedilla symbol under the "C"), meaning Istanbul's Grand Bazaar, a labyrinth of 61 covered streets and more than 4000 shops!  There's also the beautiful district of Uskudar on Istanbul's Asian side.   Too much, too many fabulous places and landmarks to enumerate...  

The Galata Bridge in the heart of Istanbul!

One additional aspect of knowing my Armenian-Turkish friends.  An uncle of theirs owned a fleet of taxi cabs that prowled the streets of Istanbul.  People could jump in if the cab were heading in a favorable direction.  On one occasion when I had asked to drive, a man jumped in and ordered me to take him somewhere in that vast city.  My knowledge of Turkish was rudimentary at best.  The angry man exited the cab at his first opportunity, shouting at me and using language best misunderstood!  I received retribution on a few occasions when taxi cabs ran over my feet!  But, inebriation helped measurably to numb the pain!!  Generally, taxi drivers did not stop to apologize, but instead would shout at victims to "get the hell out of the road!..."

We eventually spent a pleasant day picnicking, swimming and generally enjoying the waters of the Bosporus!  What a time it all was for a young man seeking adventure and the kind of education only travel can provide.

Oh, did I mention "Belly Dancing," originally termed Danse du Ventre, or dance of the stomach?  Turkey is famous for its version of the tradition.  Many outstanding practitioners perform the dance in various venues, in pavions and at special events and social gatherings.  Oh yeah, my wife, SweetHeart, and I -- she at the time a new bride -- spent our honeymoon in Athens and other parts of Greece.  An "Athens By Night" event included a "famous Turkish Belly Dancer," but not one I knew from my youth!  (A close call, maybe...!)

(Special Note of Gratitude and Dedication:  The people of Turkey and Armenia whose friendship and hospitality are legendary, particularly to those of us who served in Turkey during our US military terms of duty.  Thank you, and...  Sonra gorusuruz ve volun acik olsum! 

Humbly Submitted, 07-14-19 -- Joel K.