Running like an Essex girl...

Last Sunday I went for a run, an hour in I still felt good so carried on and my hour long run turned into a 'long run'.

The only problem was, I hadn't prepared for it. No water, no money and no phone. At the end of two and a half hours I could feel my kidneys starting to shrivel up.

Fast forward a week and I was much better prepared for my long run today. Armed with a running belt with two water bottles and some cash for an emergency doner kebab.

The only problem was that after taking the first gulp, I no longer sounded like the soft padded Leopard I imagine I run like, but instead more like a Essex girls stomach on a Thursday night.

Slosh, slosh, slosh.

 

 

Note: I was going to use a photo of a drunk Essex girl for this post, but Google offered me some seriously disturbing images. I know your tempted to see, but only use your bosses computer if the urge becomes too much.

Starbucks queue disaster!

Starbucks queue disaster!

I am trying to be good, so while standing in a long queue at Startbucks I was readying myself to order my regular drink by rehearsing in my head what I would say to the order taker… "Venti Latte, Venti Latte, Venti Latte". Then for the first time ever, I looked at the board and noticed the calorific value for the drink… 300 kcal. It seemed an awful lot.

I looked down the menu list to find a healthier option and while I was uming and ahing it became my turn to order.

Stress. I wasn’t ready, I wanted to say "Venti Skinny Americano", or something cool like that. What came out of my mouth was something like “skinny Americano Cappucino latte with no chocolate.”

Huge groans and hands thrown in the air from the coffee order experts in the queue behind me, all of who can say lots of cool sounding words and be understood by the order taker. My Italian order taker looked at me cross eyed and confused. I know she was wondering if I ordered a drink in Urdu instead of English.

The frustrated bossy woman behind me felt the need to interrupt and interpret my order for me. I took whatever she ordered. The order taker asked me my name, I wasn't going to admit to being an idiot and again something else came out wrong and I got a cup called Kev.

I may need to find another coffee house in future, and all the way there I will be rehearsing "Venti Skinny Americano, Venti Skinny American, Venti Skinny Americano….."

I may even have to give up drinking coffee.

Istanbul taxi story No. 395

Istanbul taxi story 395

Fortunately / unfortunately, I decided on Day 2 of my break here that I would take my life in my own hands and hire a car.

AVIS checked the car I hired, marking out all the paint chips and mini dings on the car, alas no one thought to check the tyres or the spare tyre two of which were flat. Of course I made a huge fuss about reckless endangerment when I went back and I have been promised an upgrade if ever I decide to go to them.

The journey back home from the car hire place was as uneventful as an Istanbul taxi drive can be - the driver speaking on his mobile phone, shouting at his neighbour aggressively and then passively pleading with him not to call the Police after the drivers dog had bitten his neighbour's son.

Of course this Pet emergency meant having to drive around blind bends with one hand holding his phone and the other hand switching between turning the steering wheel and changing gears.

I can only assume Turkey never had a World Car Rally champion because it's most talented drivers were busy making a living driving taxi’s and living soap opera lives.

Travelling Rule No. 32

I have a rule when it comes to travelling and toilets.

If you see a Japanese man go into a cubicle, then it's better to wait for that cubicle than to go into any empty one.

I'm not an authority on Japanese toilet habits but I can tell you that the Japanese leave them spotless.

Arriving at Istanbul, umpteen coffees, teas and water bottles on the plane, took their toll. Not being a fan of Istanbul airport toilets, I jumped at the chance when I saw a Japanese man breaking off waiting for his bags to go to the toilet instead.

I got more than my fair share of suspicious side way glances, I guess that happens when your standing outside a toilet cubicle waiting for a specific man to come out.

Out he stepped, I side stepped him and pirouetted in.

Locking the door, I turned around. Ahhhh spotless, the only thing my Japanese friend hadn't done was put a triangle on the tip of the toilet paper.

The lid was down. Raising it with confidence, I then realised the error of my ways.

People from Pusan, South Korea have the same bone structure as the Japanese. Unfortunately bone structures doesn't extend to toilet habits. I am still gagging at the memory of what I saw.

Taxi Story No. 394

Taxi story No. 394

Exiting Istanbul airport is always a period of trepidation for me. Something will happen and it will either cost me a lot of money or it will make me wish I hadn't eaten on the plane.

Today's trepidation was no different, but the results were.

Waiting at the front of the cab rank was a taxi diver wearing a blazer and tie, he bade me Hoşgeldeniz, and took my bag and placed it into his incredibly clean boot. The door was then opened for me to sit in his old, but immaculate car.

The driver understood my directions first time, and when I ran out of Turkish he spoke to me in perfectly good English.

He drove at a reasonable speed, he didn't feel the need to use his horn, or curse, I felt perfectly safe through out the whole journey. So much so, at the end I asked where he lived and it turned out he was 15 minutes from my house. I asked for his name and phone number so I could use him wherever I came to Istanbul, sadly this is last two weeks driving and he retires at the end of month.

That's my story. I am sure his is different - that he met some foreigner that murdered his beloved language and he didn't want to risk ever hearing him do it again so he passed on a potentially long term lucrative contract.