Murder on the Orient Express

In a world (i.e., my world) where the bar is already set considerably low, this is by far my least aptly named blog because what I am about to bitch write about has nothing to do with:

a) Murder
b) The Orient Express
c) Hercule Poirot (implied, not stated)
d) Agatha Christie (implied, not stated)

... although to be fair, there is a Turkish connection with all four, for we know that:

a) There are many murders in Istanbul every year - I don't know how many but probably a goodly number
b) Three of the four routes which the original Orient Express followed connected the cities of London and Istanbul
c) Hercule Poirot boarded the train in Istanbul
d) Agatha Christie wrote the novel in the Pera Hotel in Istanbul.

But let me just say one more time: what I am about to bitch write about has nothing to do with:
a) Murder
b) The Orient Express
c) Hercule Poirot
d) Agatha Christie

On Friday, Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad and I decided to pop into Istanbul for the day to do some shopping. Normally we take the bus to Istanbul to sightsee because the service is frequent and, more importantly, the bus drops us off at the ferry terminal from where we can take the ferry to the European side of the city. Having said that, the shopping district is a just 10-minute walk from the train station on the Asian side, so the train it was.

Our colleagues look at us in horror. Why are you taking the train? they ask - to which we respond, the shopping district is just a 10-minute walk from the train station on the Asian side, so the train it is. How difficult can this be? And what's so truly awful about the train?

Off to train station to buy a ticket. Unfortunately, unlike the Istanbul bus which leaves every hour, the train prefers to pace itself throughout the day at a far more slow, lethargic comfortable rate. So we sit and wait. Tick tick tick. Time passes but soon the train will be here. Suddenly the loudspeakers on the platform crackle into life and a Voice farts out a string of words which are totally incomprehensible to us. To be fair, the Voice repeats the string of words but they are still totally incomprehensible to us.

What lo! - everyone on our platform is getting up and heading towards the stairs! It appears - although we're only guessing - that the Istanbul-bound train has changed platforms. Sheep that we are, we follow the crowd and emerge onto Platform Two. Just to be sure, Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad shows our tickets to a Train Employee who points to Platform Two and nods his head.

So we sit and wait. Tick tick tick. Time passes but soon the train will be here. Suddenly the loudspeakers on the platform crackle into life and a Voice farts out a string of words which are totally incomprehensible to us. To be fair, the Voice repeats the string of words but they are still totally incomprehensible to us.

What lo! - everyone on our platform is getting up and heading towards the stairs! It appears - although we're only guessing - that the Istanbul-bound train has changed platforms. Sheep that we are, we want to follow the crowd and emerge onto Platform One but we are not completely stupid sheep - we have learned a bit in the last 5 minutes - and we feel a need to be certain. So just to be sure, I approach the Train Employee but he is talking on his cell phone and will not make eye contact with me which is odd because I am wearing a tight top. And so just to be really sure, Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad shows our tickets to a man waiting on the platform who points to Platform One and nods his head.

We are about to head towards the stairs when suddenly the loudspeakers on the platform crackle into life and a Voice farts out a string of words which are totally incomprehensible to us. To be fair, the Voice repeats the string of words and this time we catch three words in Turkish: Istambul (Istanbul), peron (platform) and iki (two). We stay put but watch in amusement as everyone on the opposite platform gets up and heads towards the stairs! We are not completely stupid smart sheep after all!

The train arrives (on peron iki) and we wrestle little old ladies struggle to find seats together. It shudders and shakes and we pull out. Rather slowly. It seems that it's a milk run. Of course it is.

All in all, the train makes 10 stops on this 100 kilometre hop skip and a jump trip and there is no complementary tea service, no cookies, no water, nada and it takes almost 2 hours. But to be fair, a simit-man - simits are bagel-like bagel-things which are sold on every street corner in the country - enters our car bearing a mammoth wicker basket of simits and we buy one. And while I am being fair, we also have in-train entertainment: a product demonstration. Yes, somewhere between Gebze and Tuzla, a man pops into our compartment with a bag of fruit and an assortment of colourful plastic juicers - disappointingly not Jello-shots as Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad first thinks - and proceeds to demonstrate the ease and convenience of these little juicing-gadgets.

I buy one.

We arrive in Istanbul and spend far less than we had anticipated. In a few hours we are set to return to Izmit. We buy our tickets and find the platform. I am a little concerned because as the first train enters the station, I notice that there is no announcement and nothing on the pixel board - which makes sense since the pixel board isn't working. How will we know which train to take? I ask Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad. Look at the front of the train. The commuters have the destination written on the engine window. And he is right. And a few moments later, when a long-distance train enters the station, he says - anticipating my question - And the long-distance trains have the route marked on its sides. And he is right.

But then a train enters the station which bears neither a front sign nor a side sign but rather, bears a billion people. And of course, we have to ask one of the passengers who is crammed into the doorway of the car and of course it just has to be our train.

So this is pretty much where the murder component of today's blog figures. Every seat is taken, every car is standing room only, and even the doorways/vestibules of each car are chock-a-block with passengers and their bags. We stand and crouch on our haunches and sit on the crappy-sticky floor the entire way. There are No Less than 14 People with Bags in the doorway/vestibule of our car the entire way which, compounded with the general low standards of personal hygiene among these No Less than 14 People with Bags, make the trip homicidal and alternately suicidal. And ultimately homicidal.

Reader, everyone stinks. The bags, for the most part, do not.

Of course, among these No Less than 14 People with Bags are the simit-men who, every 15 minutes or so, pass through our throng from car to car bearing their mammoth wicker baskets of simits. And the water-boys who, every 15 minutes or so, pass through our throng from car to car bearing their mammoth wicker baskets of water bottles. And the pişmaniye-men who, every 15 minutes or so, pass through our throng from car to car bearing their mammoth wicker baskets of pişmaniye - the local confection made from sugar and sugar with the tip-top secret ingredient of more sugar.

Did I mention that on this return journey, not only does the train stop at its designated 10 stops but also slows down at another 15 seemingly random indeterminate locations so that people in the doorway/vestibules - or rather those who have to elbow their way from the cars into the doorway/vestibules - can open the doors and jump out of said moving train onto the tracks? No? Oh. Did I mention that the handle to one of our doors falls off and out onto the tracks at one point, never to be seen again? No? Oh. Did I mention that the door banged open and shut for most of the trip - constituting what just may be a safety hazard? No? Oh.

So there you have it. Not quite an Agatha Christie novel but a tale with a few elements worthy of the Queen of Crime herself: the very least of which was the overwhelming desire to murder everyone in our doorway/vestibule, the itinerant simit-, water- and pişmaniye-men, and anyone else who, quite literally stood between us and a couple of seats.

To recap: Our colleagues look at us in horror. Why are you taking the train? they ask - to which we respond, the shopping district is just a 10-minute walk from the train station on the Asian side, so the train it is. How difficult can this be? And what's so truly awful about the train?