God bless Americuh

Tourists, who are probably American, walking toward Hagia Sophia.

I have this problem where I assume every tourist is an American. They could be Asian and I think, “Asian’s! Maybe they’re from Irvine.”

…They aren’t. I make sure to ask all 500 of them.

I decide to take a group tour of Istanbul since I don’t feel comfortable wandering around alone – especially upon realizing that just because I speak English doesn’t mean everyone else is obligated to learn the language.

I’m sitting on the tour bus waiting for the guide and eavesdropping on conversations around me. There is a German couple, a Brazilian couple, an Indian family from England (I was confused about this for a good half-hour), the entire population of Japan and FINALLY an American couple who sits right behind me (jackpot).

They are in their late forties, early fifties and are both wearing a hat that says, “USA.” Not only are they loud (which makes my eavesdropping easier) but they are also unaware that since this is a tour in ENGLISH, the other passengers prooobbabbblllyyyy understand what they’re saying.

 “Look at all these Asians,” the man says to his wife.

“Yeah, I know! Weird, huh?” she replies.

Mind you, these Asians are sitting across the foot-wide isle. Their ears are literally inches away from the couple’s mouths.

“Where are we going first?” the wife asks her husband.

“I think that one mosque…” he replies.

“Oh where the sultan lived?” she asks, as if there was only one sultan who lived in the only mosque they could possibly be talking about.

“Yeah, with that woman.” (I catch myself making a, “What?” face.)

“Oh yeah, I read about her. Apparently she didn’t take shit from anybody. She would make him do things.” (I’m still making the face.)

“Oh, yeah? That’s unusual for that time, I think.” (I nod to myself. It really was.)

“Yeah, she probably caused a lot of trouble. I kind of respect her ‘cause she sounds like a tough bitch.”

At this point half the bus, including children, has turned around to stare at the couple.

…Ah, Americans. I am home.

That "one mosque where the bitch lived."

Lunch during the tour was sufficiently awkward. Since I was the only solo traveler, I had to choose my seat wisely…obviously I chose to sit by the Americans. I figured we need to stick together.

As I approach their table, I overhear their conversation. On purpose.

“She’s going on a boat to Mexico,” the man says.

“Is she trying to get pregnant?” his wife asks.

“What?! What does that even – why? What?”

I take that as my cue to step in.

“You – speak- English?” the wife asks me. Like I’m a cavewoman.

“Yes. I’m American.” I proudly respond.

“Oh well welcome, welcome!” she says, as though she’s the official spokesperson for Turkey. “You’re here alone?”

“Yes, I just wanted to see the country,” I explain.

“Well you are just the bravest - ”

“Wait, what do you mean?” the man interrupts, still talking about the boat impregnation.

“Well you’re American,” the woman turns to me. “What do you think about a single woman in her 40’s going on a boat to Mexico?”

I pause. “She’s going to get pregnant.”

“SEE! I told you!” the wife punches her husband triumphantly.

So there I am, thinking about Mexican pregnancy and domestic violence when lunch begins.

A Muslim couple I hadn’t seen on the bus sits by us.

After speaking in English for a good 15 minutes, explaining they had just visited Mecca but live in South Africa, the American woman leans forward, wide-eyed and mystified by their story.

 “Africa? Wow! So do you speak African or English?”

I choke on my food and from then on, I chew slowly.

The tour ends with the guide walking up to me and giving me this look where his shoulders are up to his ears, his head is tilted to the side and his face is scrunched like he ate something sour.

This can’t be good.

“We missed your stop, we’re going to Anatolia,” he says. Anatolia is the Asian side of Istanbul and I was staying on the European side, which is separated by a strait. If I cross to the Asian side, I’d have to swim my ass through the large body of water, avoid getting run over by a boat all while keeping my camera dry. I consider renting a bus.

“You have to get off here…”

I look out the window.

The view from my window.

“Wait…here?”

“Here.”

I decide to stare at the tour guide until he changes his mind.

He stares back, still scrunching his face faking sympathy.

The bus doors open.

...Damn.

And that is how I end up in the middle of a random intersection with cars honking at me and no sidewalk in sight somewhere in Istanbul.