Today was Sunday, which means attending church. It was also the Eurasian Marathon here in Istanbul. It rained, it poured, it showered, it drenched, etc. "Good thing I wasn't running in it" I chuckled to myself as I looked out my window this morning. However, what happened today was ten times worse than running 40 kilometers in the pouring rain. You must remember that complaining is still pretty high up there on my list of favorite things to do. Anyway, remembering last years marathon we stayed ahead of things by not even going to the bus stops to see if the busses were running. The bridge would be blocked off until 1 PM. So we walked in the pouring rain to the ferry boat port which took us 30 minutes. Looking back, I realize that was a very stupid move because I ended up very disappointed with myself for yelling at my kids more than a dozen times to get out of the puddles of water. We should have forked over the 5 or 6 lira for a taxi to the port. At least I would have been able to tell myself that I still resembled a kind and loving mother.
I can tell this post will be very long if I include everything. So to make it a little shorter I'll just include the concise version. Got off the boat. Walked to the train station. It was blocked and therefore not working. We waded up a hill for 30 minutes. Susan and I got in a taxi with a grumpy driver with five children on our laps in the back seat. She lost 70 lira as we got out of the vehicle. Some of our children spent church half naked and barefoot. Church ended. We again waded to the bus station from church. We forded a river which was where the street was supposed to be. (If you are thinking about travelling to Istanbul, don't. Wait until spring.) We squeezed into the bus. No chairs available. Shermy fell asleep standing up. Got off the bus 45 minutes later. Got a taxi home. Cinci cried when we got out of the taxi. Finally stopped when he was naked and in the warm bathtub. Had a divine, warm meal made by me. Rice. Red lentil soup. Leftover simit. Water. Everyone ate heartily. Everyone was happy. Looking back on the day it didn't seem as bad as it really was. However, I remember distinctly telling myself as I was walking across the Galata bridge, "This experience is worse than anything I've ever experienced and if I try to tell myself different tonight, I will be severely mistaken." As I look back on the horrible experiences of my life, I could probably count them on one hand. If this is one of the most horrible, then I must really have it good. I've decided that for next years marathon, I'm either running it, or having church at my house.