Chillout Hostel in Beyoglu Istanbul
Armando’s starting a new job filming local places and doing interviews, which have to be uploaded and sent to New York. He also has films uploaded on great sites advertisers use.
I write online for a sort of stock company, who then shops out my articles to various sites like Reddit, et al. We’ve chosen our strengths and built upon them so they’re travel-able. This means that we need an internet connection to work. Thus, the very sweet hostel we don’t stay in, but feel like we do.
We’ve met so many Good People that I can’t begin to mention them all- but I can take a small stab at the notables.
The Hostel Staff
Mehmet is the guy that wrote Armando back, offering us a place to shower and use the internet. He’s an integral part of the backbone at Cengo, and he’s full of stories and life.Handan is a student that is also a writer, and she hopes to do a combination of traveling and writing in the near future. She’s helping us chase down our lost sheet. And she’s got a lovely stalker. Grin.
Without these guys, we’d literally be lost.
The Hostel Denizens and Guests
There’s a sort of ‘Syrian refugee camp’ in the hostel, which I mean in the most kind and affectionate sense. They all have stories that need to be told, or at least relayed via a second party- me.
I know that most people in the U.S. haven’t a clue. Nor did I, I’m not ashamed to admit. I think you don’t pay attention to things that are too abstract, a war-torn country that you have no personal connection with.
They made an appointment, waited for days on end- only to be told in a short ten-minute meeting they were denied a visa.
Because their Turkish visa was for three months, one month had been spent- and the States would consider them illegal immigrants looking for work. Bureaucracy, in all of its beauty.
Forgot to mention: his dad lives in Alaska, legally.
They tried Sweden, who had posted on their Embassy site in Arabic that they’re taking in refugees from Syria. The soldier at the gate turned them away, and no one’s picking up on the embassy phone.
Another Syrian, the Soldier-Poet, is just looking for peace. He wants to get his message out, about what is happening in Syria. To quote him: ‘We marched without weapons and they shot us down. I have seen things, lost people… no one should have this. No one.’ For a young guy, he’s got a visible age and wisdom about him.
The Oz Skater, Scott, is also on his way to Egypt, just to visit and surf/dive/what-have-you. He’s a night owl/wry lifely observer (which I find most Aussies are, Mel Gibson excluded). There were two busloads yesterday, one German/Finnish ‘I English speak perfect’/Swedish and one Czech. I didn’t bother letting on I could understand their moon* language, since they spoke mostly in curse.
