LH1780 MUC ADB 1105 1435 321 7BC

We thought we'd have the row to ourselves, but at the last
minute they boarded some standbys, and a pleasant Indianish
woman took the window. Desultory conversation revealed that
she was going to be in town for a conference (my father had
come here for a conference back in the '70s or '80s and had
liked it very much, so I envisioned this as New Orleans on
the Aegean, which it isn't except for maybe the western-
style shopping and entertainment districts).

Lunch: pasta that lived up to its pastelike etymology with
a sauce flavored with a similar industrial solvent to
Continental's, but with tomatoes. I was hungry and ate it.
Warsteiner beer; some red ink for her.

Immigration was a snap, much easier than Istanbul, but
finding the train station to get downtown not so. You go
out, past a construction site, turn left and go down an
unpromising-looking concrete path, and eventually it's
there. A series of futile gestures and pathetic doggy
eyes with a fistful of lira got us two tickets (with
transfer at Hilal) to Basmane Station, five minutes' walk
from our next destination, the well-reviewed Oglakcioglu
Park Hotel, which is pleasant in a datedly 19th-century
European way, small rooms, ornate lobby, and I guess
you were expected to spend time downstairs.

We had a cheap rate, so we got a small room with a view
of a concrete wall. The quarters were too tight - one of
those places where the twin beds and the double bed are
the same, only the former are equipped with twin sheets.
Anyhow, the bathroom was clean and the beds were comfy.

It was still going to be light for a couple hours, so
we wandered around town seeing the sights and smelling
the smells; went to the souk, or whatever they call it,
and the precincts of the Hisar Mosque (I was wearing my
many eyeletted lace-up walking shoes so didn't bother
going in), and then back whence we came but a few blocks
to the south. The plan was to go out again within the
neighborhood and find a sitdown restaurant, possibly
the one at the hotel, which is supposed to have some of
the best kebabs in town and Efes beer for only twice
what it would cost out on the economy.

So off we went, peering in my case very myopically at
the restaurant menus and poking around the storefronts.
It was still early, just getting dark, but one stall
smelled somewhat better owing to having a wood-fired
oven out front, so we parked there.

I got the iskander kebab, lamb gyro meat and pita triangles
smothered in tomato sauce and yogurt, with very fragrant
(rather smelly) sheep butter poured over, which sort of put
me off; this came with a small pile of generic pilaf that
cut the dairy product adequately. lili didn't want lamb
and so asked for a beef sandwich. This came as similar if
not the same meat, dragged through the garden, on a hoagie
roll. I tasted the filling, and it was also lamb, but she
didn't mind it. After having had several bites she asked me
if the lettuce was safe to eat. I guessed saying no would
have caused a crisis, so I said that I thought so. Right
answer - both reassuring and as it turns out accurate,
thank the gods. To drink: she wanted a beer, so I asked the
guy at the counter if they had it. Consternation. Of course
not. So she got a bottle of water; I had some local soft
drink, not interesting. The experience had been decent,
wholesome, and cheap; all we really needed. A slightly
better and fancier meal, or in fact one that had recently
been kissed by the smoke of that wood out front, would have
been welcome, but feeding two people to bursting for US$7
with drinks, one can't complain.

We were too tired to go out boozing afterward and turned
in pretty early.