Istanbul

Today news abounds of our planet on a turbocharged hand basket to hell, equal parts comedy and tragedy, a golden hammer driving a diamond nail into the skull of a handcuffed cherub. But all I want to do is tell you about this apple I just ate.

Being an exotic fruit around here - what with this being a desert, the opposite of say apple-topia Washington State - the apple cost about $4. I can't help but compare it to the Thai massage I got just yesterday in Chiang Mai for almost the same price, which in turn back home would run between $80 and $150. Funny how different parts of the world value different things.

The apple looked otherworldly: Red (passionate). Small (real and natural). Shapely (suggesting magical qualities bordering on sensual). I bit into it with humble, quivering anticipation. And let me tell you, this was the most disgusting apple I've eaten since the Red Delicious variety defined the entire impotent, saggy offering on Safeway shelves back in the early 1990s.

That almost encapsulates the feeling of my 7.5-hour layover at Istanbul's Ataturk airport en-route home after a month in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It's an odd sensation, trapped in this utterly despicable cauldron of aviatory misery having left Shangri La and headed towards a fascist keg party where someone's cigarette butt has already lit the corner of the house on fire. There's a bald eagle on the roof. And its foot is trapped in one of those plastic 6-pack holders we thought went extinct decades ago.

More about this airport. Everyone working here is comically angry.

Man at desk: "Boarding pass please."

Me: "Hi!"

Man at desk: "Boarding pass Please."

Every interaction is punctuated with someone lazily kicking a desk as if to say "there's your answer, now fuck off!"

People walking around fall into two groups: (1) Drunken elephants walking into you rather than past, giving zero fucks, and (2) languidly bumbling along the middle of a walkway as they peer into their cell phones. There is nowhere to sit! The only place with wifi is Starbucks, and it doesn't work!

If there is one bright side other than free samples of Turkish Delight (trying to coax you into buying a $24 tiny box of it) it's people-watching. Citizens of Africa and Middle Eastern countries that seemingly never make it to California, wearing some amazing and exotic capes, gowns, and especially hats. And showing off their most boorish, misanthropic behavior.

At 8:30 AM I go to an airline attendant and ask if I can get on an earlier flight.

"No other flights"

"Ok. My flight isn't for 7 hours. Is that enough time to head into the city?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

I randomly find a bit of information online that says "if you have a layover of 5+hours, Turkish Airlines provides free tours into the city! Departure time is 9:30." Wow!

I look at the clock. Its 9:27. I run. This is too ludicrous to be happening.

Where do I go?

"Downstairs then left."

Dead end.

Back up to desk that gives me the WTF do you want stare. "Go ask desk next to Gate 224."

Dodge group of 7 strollers filled with crying babies surrounded by 14 Samsonite-wielding businessmen on steroids. Almost trip over 3year old on triple espresso rampage.

At desk I say "Sawatdi kaap! I mean, hello!" as the woman behind me jams stroller wheels into my ankles.

"Go down lift, two floors, through the aidhebxitn to the ghydkabnd." Um, ok. Running.

"What you doing here?" I'm looking for the free tour into the city for long layovers. Cross look, then "ok go to desk."

At desk I explain again. She looks at me: "No possible. You late."

I go back to the guy from 8:30 AM. "Remember me from an hour ago? You didn't mention there was a free tour at 9:30."

"Maybe next time!" he says with a smirk.

Right before I board my jam-packed 15-hour flight, in a middle seat, one row from a requisite screaming child, I sit down and have the most painful Vipassana meditation session of my life, with the sensation of a knife jamming into my ribs coupled with nerves twitching from the black tea I drank, free courtesy of the coupon Turkish Airlines gave me to fluff up my extended stay at Ataturk International Airport.