about zombies, but only like three or four of them. It was in a science facility/man made river park, and all or most of the lights were off, and me and my companions had to stay alive, naturally, the main and scrutinizing difference being that these three or four zombies acted more or less like normal people who were wordless and very much wanted to kill us. Also we couldn’t kill them in the conventional way–the only way to kill them was to not be afraid of them. If you had any hope or fear that killing them would work, they wouldn’t die. So there was a lot of really freaked-out running around and doing the normal action movie blam blam blammo with whatever, except the zombies would just keep on going. It was terrifying.
With that digression yesterday was a real blast–Anna and Alex and I went to the beach (ALEX THIS IS YOUR SHOUTOUT AGAIN). We took a three lira ferry to the Prince’s islands. On the ferry, we met
1. an Iraqi guy whose son was in the hospital in Istanbul, and he’d been there for like three weeks already with nothing to do, so he decided to go to the islands and then followed us around all day (spoke medium english)
2. a group of recently graduated english people who were “on holiday” (???)
and this made our motley party 9 persons. We got off at the biggest island and a crush of people flowed through the marketplace. We pushed through to find a beach. Several minutes of walking revealed nothing but tiny playgrounds, bad restaurants where nobody seemed to be eating, and rocky piers (with people swimming anyways) but we wanted a beach beach. With sand, or something. So we found some horse chariots (taxis?) and paid them twenty lira to take us to the beach. We chariot raced through the cobbly streets of the big island, passing little spike fences, street cats and kittens, several weddings, and flowerhung residential neighborhoods. They left us on top of a hill to the “family” beach. Midway down the hill, we met
3. three french-turko-canadians who spoke no english, but fluent french and turkish, but luckily one of the english people spoke fluent french, so we had this sort of three way translation backlog
anyways we got to the beach and there was a little toll booth and a wall, and all the crumpy men managing it were sitting across the street and smoking. “How much to get in?” I asked. “Twenty five lira,” the oldest one said. His voice was husky. He looked like he was decomposing. “For everyone,” I said, and counted all of us–12– “one hundred eighty lira.”
“Bye,” he said. “Gule gule.” And he went to go sit down.
“Ok fine, two hundred.”
“Bye.” And he hunched back on his fold-out chair. A boy of about eight appeared out of the toll booth and planted himself, arms akimbo, to block the entrance. We gathered in and talked it out. The crusty man spoke to his entourage and lit another cigarette. As hot as we were, we decided twenty five lira was beyond expensive to sit at a private beach.
“Wait,” he said as we were going. He said something to the turko franco canadians, who said something to the english girl, who addressed the group: “He’ll let one of us go in to take a look at the beach and see if it’s worth it.” I, of course, volunteered. The crusty man nodded to the boy, who nodded back and sprung aside. One of the younger members of the crusty man’s entourage stood up and led me in.
A series of rectangular astroturfed platforms led down to the water. A float chain cordoned off a section of the black sea about as large as a living room. It looked a little like a mini-golf course, with fat people and deck chairs as obstacles. The young man yammered in turkish next to me, pointing features out. “Çok güzel,” were the only words I caught. “Very beautiful.”
We emerged from the gate. “What happened? What’s it like?” they asked me. I came out laughing.
“It’s terrible. Let’s go back to where we came from.” And we rambled back through the narrow island streets and swam off the rock pier with the rest of the riffraff.