July 13, 2008: Sloth in Istanbul, Turkey

After travelling countless miles involving dumploads of dust and constant packing and repacking, it was time to stay stationary for a bit and rehabilitate myself for re-entry into the real world. Personal hygiene was at an all time low (despite months of accumulated grime embedded in my pores, I was distinctly uninterested in showers) and I had developed an obsessive compulsive habit of noting and ranking potential tent spots five times daily using a complex decision matrix. I needed to reacquaint myself with things like refrigerators, UPS, and sun-dried tomatoes. I needed to sleep in something other than a sleeping bag for more than two consecutive nights. I needed to cook a meal on something other than a noxious, tear-inducing smoky fire. My friend's apartment in Istanbul seemed just the right place get back into the swing of (mostly) Western life.

Once I was ensconced in my friend's apartment, the siren songs of great views, wireless, and modern conveniences like electricity conspired to keep me on the premises. It didn't take much encouragement.

I mean, seriously now, why leave when you have these views?:

In no time at all I had embraced sloth like a long lost lover and my butt had created permanent hollows in the ridiculously comfortable couch. Deadly sin, shmedly sin. Sloth was willing to be a complete couch potato with me and not leave the apartment for multiple consecutive days. That's right, there were several times when I did not step foot outside the front door for several days running. The cleaning lady simply vacuumed around me as though I was a piece of furniture. Which, for all intensive purposes, I guess I was.

It's not all fun and games being a stationary sentient being. It is necessary to keep the brain occupied so my friend and I devised a plan to start watching marathon sessions of TV series on DVD. As a complete side benefit I figured I would have an excuse not to shower. Two complete seasons of 24, one season of Heroes, and most of a season of Rome later I came to the conclusion that it required more discipline and effort than any marathon that I have run. Here I thought it would be an amusing and frivilous experience -- little did I know I would have to treat the endeavor as a job. Who knew sloth could be so demanding?

I've been trying to avoid the whole job thing -- even for sloth -- so occasionally I found it necessary take a break from the TV marathons. In desperation I would shuffle down the block to buy groceries, stagger down four flights of stairs on my partially atrophied legs to take out the garbage, or pull the apartment windows shut when it became too windy. It wasn't often, but when I was feeling really trapped by too much 24 I managed to break through my two block radius barrier to go to a couple of concerts (you haven't lived until you hear 8,000 Turks singing along in French with an American band), visit a museum or two, and check out what else but more mosques.

One of my favorite exhibits at Istanbul Modern contained thousands of books suspended from the ceiling adjacent to the library. Looks like they are flying off the shelves from this perspective:Mosque at the juncture of the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn:Lit up at night:Bridge over the Golden Horn:Mosque door detail:Sunlight on tiles in a mosque:Detail of ceiling section in a mosque:

It was tough to do these other activities because I felt compelled to be back to the apartment once the sun set to watch the nightly fireworks. Somewhere in recent history a Turkish wedding party decided it would be a good idea to celebrate their nupitals with excessive amounts of colored flame and loud explosions. It was probably more like a sparkler or two initially, but, as with most trends, it has now escalated arms race style into increasingly extravagant displays lasting up to 15 minutes or so. Some (actually most, who am I kidding?) of the shows are bigger than the annual weather dependent Fourth of July fireworks in my hometown. One night, no joking, I watched six different displays from the apartment. Six! And that was just in one small section of Istanbul. Talk about an, ahem, booming business. I guess there could be worse ways of making a display of wealth than fireworks. The only problem is that it is a very public show and probably sets the tone for the rest of the marriage. The bride will either be able to hold her head up high, becoming an important part of Turkish society and having a marriage full of all the trust and love that only obscene amounts of money can buy, or never be able to appear in public again because of the shame at the poor showing, turning into a bitter, foul-mouthed crone, forevermore berating her father for attempting to lob a few flares in the air.

Happy bride:Sad, sad, sad bride. The fireworks didn't even make it over the bridge:The rest of the bell curve:

Despite all the distractions, I did leave Istanbul feeling somewhat more prepared for my return to the U.S. I can trust postal systems, I no longer have to stock up on unnaturally processed cheese with a shelf life longer than the average life expectancy of the citizens in the nations in which it is most prevalent for my dairy needs, and I don't feel jittery if I haven't set up my tent by nightfall. I may never catch up on pop culture, and showering on a regular schedule didn't go so well, but hey, I need to have some goals. And I'm not talking about showering.