Vincent isn’t wasting any time. Right after breakfast he went to the tourist information office and found the address and transit information to the Iranian Consulate. Coen went with him but they said there was no need for me to come with them. I am a bit uneasy about being left out, and aware I will always be a third wheel. But of course they share a past and a future when they return to Holland. It is only my loneliness talking.
I take the opportunity to clean my bike, which I haven’t done since Blageovgrad, Bulgaria. I am only half way through when they return. “We should leave soon,” Vincent tells me. “They close at 2 pm.”
Getting to the Consulate requires an hour or so. First we take a bus to Eminonu to catch a ferry across the Bosphorus to Sirkeci. The morning sky is cloudy. We pass an ancient, decorative lighthouse called Kir Kulesci, or the Maiden’s Tower, which is
now a restaurant by guide book tells me. From there we catch a bus for half an hour along an artery on the Asia side. When we get there we find it isn’t open to the public. Apparently, this building is owned by the Iranian government and has some consulate functions but the consulate for applying for visas is in Sultanahmet, where we came from. The Iranian official at the door gives us the proper address.Vincent isn’t amused at first, but soon he and Coen are laughing it off. “Well, at least we got our first taste of Asia,” Coen smiles at me. “Do you think we’ll make it in time to apply today?” I ask Vincent. “Netsimukelut,” he laughs.
On the way back, retracing our route, we tell stories about our travels so far. I share stories about the bristling anger between the Dutch and German travelers I have met. “I don’t think Dutch and Germans should travel together,” he says. “Sooner or later the German will say something disrespectful or careless and it will start an argument. Germans are always right in their minds so when they refuse to apologize, we always say ‘Give back my bicycle’ and that shuts them up.” “Give back my bicycle?” “When they ran out of gas in late 1944 they stole Dutch bicycles to return to Germany. We love to remind them of that, because they have never returned any of them.”
We make it back to the Iranian Consulate in Sultanahmet before it closes, just before, because they kept us waiting outside the gate for twenty minutes. When we did get it they gave each of us an application for a visa but we had to submit proof that we had a valid Pakistani visa to exit on the other side. This wasn’t going to be as straightforward as we had hoped. So Vincent leads us back to the busy Tourist Office to get information on the whereabouts of the Pakistani Consulate. It is near Taksim Square in Beyoglu, the district north of the Karkaroy ferry docks. There is a bus to Taksim from Sultanahmet, I tell them. Coen calls the Pakistani Consulate and finds out they open at 10am tomorrow morning. Their public hours are over for today.
Well, that was a whole day spent on nothing, I muse, but Coen and Vincent are more positive. This is nothing like the run around we got in Amsterdam, they told me. Yes, we are perhaps a small step closer. I hope tomorrow we will have the Pakistani visas, but today is already over. We wash up for dinner and head for the cafeteria.
PHOTO 1: The Maiden's Tower
PHOTO 2: the Iranian Consulate in Sultanahmet
PHOTO 3: the Suleyman Mosque at sunset from the Galata Bridge
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