The First Puzzle

Spot the Turks

Trace the Line

Istanbul is a city of characters. People in lines, people in cars, people on the streets... They all carry their anxieties, confusions, restless ambitions and dissatisfied life-dramas on their thick, tense eyebrows and sweaty-faces. They appear distinct- perhaps as people from any culture do- with the way they sit, the way they talk, the way they behave and the way they dress... You can spot them among a bunch of nationalities even before arriving Turkey. But, what really gives them away is how they form lines... Or rather, how they can NOT form lines. They are probably the only human form who can manage to exist in two or may be in three different lines (hence the complaint from a couple who left their son's stroller in another line: "honey, the line we are in never seems to move!"). I was behind a citizen, who was adorned with a business suit and a suitcase he probably bought in the '60s (and haven't washed since). He was quite stressful and couldn't decide which line he should be a part of. So, I asked him: "Which line are you in?". With a face similar to that of an African lion resting under the sun, pissed but ignorant, he said: "It doesn't matter." 

Hit the Frogger

Well, he was right, it didn't matter for Candan Erçetin who seemed to master the art of passing through unformed lines, glass doors and body of gawkers like a ghost...She had that air about her that noone had. She was tall, smiling and walked very fast. I don't think even the traffic awaiting outside for us all could stop her. The traffic that at times make you feel that the city has reached its capacity for cars, like noone will ever move anymore, like we will sit in our cars until the fuel runs out or until they built new roads! But somehow, those who cut you in the airport line, materialize in their cars next to you. Moving faster than you. In the service lane. Cutting the line. Again.

First lesson in Istanbul: It doesn't matter which line you are in, as long as you are in front of somebody.