13th March: Through security and into Turkey

We woke up to a meagre breakfast at the hostel, which was swarmed by teenagers. We found out that they came from Beersheba, and their school had been closed for a few days until the rockets stopped flying over the border from the Gaza Strip. A holiday in Tel Aviv seemed a decent result for them. We escaped the hordes by taking a stroll along the beach, our first sight of the Mediterranean on this trip. The beach was not the most picturesque I have ever seen, but the sun was already warm on our backs and the scene was surprisingly peaceful. Tel Aviv is generally seen as the hedonistic alternative to the holy city of Jerusalem, but there were many young men and women reading from their prayerbook as they faced out to sea.

A Mediterranean morning

The beautiful beach of Tel Aviv

Morning prayers by the Med

It was then time to catch the taxi to the airport. The helpful guy at reception suggested that we push forward our planned departure to account for the strict security at Ben Gurion airport, but even with this warning we could not have imagined what was to come. It took us more than two hours to pass through security before we had even checked in: first we queued to have our bags scanned in an X-ray machine; then we queued to have our bags searched by hand, while we watched those ahead of us have every single item in their luggage scrutinised intensely.

One guy, presumably a professional photographer, was kept waiting for a full two hours at the search station while they decided what to do with his various lenses, flashes, and memory cards. He was still there when we left. People from behind us in the queue were examined ahead of us, leaving us to last for no apparent reason. Obviously this was rather frustrating, but I managed to keep myself in check thanks to reminders from Clem that creating a fuss would be counterproductive. Bizarrely, once we were finally searched it only took five minutes to get the all clear. At least this meant there was no queue at check-in! We rushed through the usual post-check-in security, picked up a sandwich, and finally managed to relax as we boarded our plane just in time.

The Turkish Airlines flight to Istanbul was excellent, particularly with respect to the delicious lunch we were served; an impressive luxury for a 3-5 p.m. flight in cattle class. We landed in Ataturk airport on time, paid for a visa for me (since French citizens are for some reason spared the $20 cost), and caught the bus to Taksim Square. Our B&B was very close so we decided to try to walk, but we couldn't get our bearing and the surprisingly chilly wind was starting to bite so we hailed a taksi. Our driver was none the wiser, but after some pffting at the map he did eventually find the right place. The room was very comfortable and the owner was able to point us in the right direction back to Taksim Square, only five minutes away it turned out, to buy our bus tickets for the following morning and to find some dinner.

The square was occupied by a small crowd, who were being watched by a horde of riot police in almost equal number. We couldn't see what they were protesting but decided to press on down the main pedestrian street, past luxury shops and a police armoured vehicle. We were headed towards a place recommended in the LP, down an alley off the main street, when Clem spotted a restaurant that seemed to be popular with the locals. Her gourmand radar was working well, as the restaurant (Kenan Usta Ocak Basi) turned out to be excellent; the food was great and the atmosphere fun. We were seated around the central grill, a welcome source of heat after escaping from the freezing wind outside. The waiter encouraged us to have the mezze and swiftly brought out a range of delights (hummus, roasted peppers and aubergine, taboule, etc.). The lamb spit that followed was delicious, succulent and full of flavour.