Breaking and Entering on Burgazada- Part II

OK, everyone!  This is the second part of my day on Burgazada.  If you missed Part I, you can read it here.

I left off at the Byzantine Monastery of the Transfiguration, which I found gated and locked.  

The sign says "Church Closed. Warning, there is a dog!!!"

I was about to leave, but decided against it.  Hadn’t I just spent the morning climbing to this place?  I warily surveyed the grounds and saw no sign of people or the advertised guard dog.  Just in case, I whistled and called, “Here, doggie, doggie”.  Nothing.

I walked along the fence to try and get an okay picture of the monastery and saw that there was a 10-foot break with nothing but a single chain separating the monastery grounds and me.

Dare I?  

My heart started beating faster, because I’m overly dramatic.  I tentatively put one foot over the chain, which was only a couple of feet above the ground.  I waited for an alarm of some sort to go off, but there was only silence.

"I’ll just take a quick photo and leave”, I told myself.

I sprinted (unnecessarily) around to the side of the monastery and snapped a picture. I knew it wasn't very good, but I also knew that I didn't want to spend time in a Turkish prison.  

Before moving to Turkey, my dad had me watch part of Midnight Express* and told me to stay out of trouble. I wasn't sure how similar the sentences for drug smuggling and trespassing were, but I didn't want to find out.

As I turned to leave, I was distracted by the view of the Sea of Maramara from the south side of the island.   The north side was speckled with red roofed houses and the Istanbul skyline at the horizon.  Here, there was just endless dark blue water and a few tiny islands in the distance.  

I was starting to relax, when a crow perched in a scraggly tree squawked, rather rudely, in my direction.  I stared up at massive black bird. It aligned it’s stupid beak and stupid beady eyes with my face, and screamed, “Caw!”

This bird was definitely talking to me.

“CAW!”

“Oh my God. FINE!  I’m leaving, okay?”, I said out loud.

“CAW!  CAW!”

I hopped over the chain and started my descent down the hill.  

As I walked, I grew really disappointed. Why hadn't I spent more time poking around? I could have taken more pictures.  Maybe there were other things to see on the grounds.  

Maybe the doors to the monastery were unlocked.

I turned and walked briskly back to the house.  I stood there looking at it for several minutes, trying to see if there were any security cameras.  

If I got caught, I could play dumb.  
No. Even the 'ignorant foreigner card' has its limits.

I started to walk down the hill.  Then I came back.

What’s the worst that could happen?  

Deportation.

After 15-minutes of agonizing indecision, I decided to flip a coin. Heads, I go in.  Tails, I leave.

I flicked a one lira coin into the air.  

Flip, catch, slap.

Tails.

“Fine”, I thought, “best two out of three”.

Flip, catch, slap.

Tails.

I sighed and decided to go for three out of five.

Flip, catch, slap.

Tails.

“Dammit.  Crap.  Okay, four out of five”.

Flip, miss, PLOP!

The coin made a quiet thud in the dirt.

I picked it up and looked over at the monastery.

“F*** it.  For Byzantium!”

The crow was not pleased with my return and let me know in his monosyllabic disgust. “CAW!  CAW!  CAW!” I gave him the finger as a response and continued around to the front of the monastery.  

Heart pounding in my ears, I walked slowly towards the gray doors.  At every rustle in the fallen leaves, I’d spin around expecting to see a dozen snipers and as many red dots dancing across my vital organs.  But each time, there was nothing and nobody.

After reaching the doors, I stared at them for several moments before knocking lightly. The sound reverberated through the metal.  “Merheba”, I called in a thin high-pitched voice.  Of course, I got no answer.  I put my now trembling hands on the heavy door handles and pulled.  Nothing.  They didn’t even budge.

I admit that I was incredibly relieved.  Relieved, but not satisfied.  I needed to know what it looked like on the inside.  I got down on my knees and peered through the large keyhole.  I could clearly see a painting of a saint and some candles.  

Deciding that this was as close as I was going to get to inside the monastery, I stood up and dusted off my sausage casings.  As I was taking a few more pictures, I noticed the barred windows for the first time.  I guess I’d had tunnel vision when I started my mission.  I stood on tiptoe and looked through the bars.  I could make out some shapes, but the glass was clouded with a thick layer of dust.  Just then, I saw that the windowpane was ever so slightly ajar.

This was it.  Balanced painfully on the balls of my feet, I slowly pushed the window open and stuck my camera into the Monastery of the Transfiguration of Christ.

Ta da!

I accepted that this truly was the best I could do.  Surely putting an entire limb into a building counts as "entering".  

Quite pleased with myself, I left the monastery grounds and started my final descent.  I walked down the dusty path feeling very devil-may-care and whistling “Bad to the Bone”.   About 15-minutes in, I saw a police car approaching.

“Busted”, I thought.  

I tried to look natural as I wracked my brain for the Turkish words for “I’m innocent”, “have mercy”, and “I’m not saying anything before I speak to my lawyer”.

I got as far as “avokat istiyorum”, when the car stopped in front of me.  Instead of reading me the Turkish equivalent of my Miranda rights, they asked me how I was and where I was headed.  I told them I was coming from the peak.

“Are you alone?”

Twenty-six years of being Marianna Steele’s daughter had me prepared for my answer.

“No!  I’m with my friend.  He’s coming right now.”

I wanted to add, “He’s a trained killer.  He once crushed a man’s skull with his bare hands for talking to me.  The peasants call him Skull Crusher”, but I just smiled at them.

“Oh.  Where is he?”

I gestured vaguely to the the foot of the island and said, “Down there”.

This seemed to satisfy them and they wished me an "iyi günler" before driving away.

Flying high from my recent foray into a life of crime and my narrow escape from Burgazada's boys in blue, I set my sights on going to the beach.  

I walked downhill for about thirty minutes and took a treacherous downward path through a forest to reach the shore.  After my magical nature experience atop Hristos Tepe, I thought it would somehow be symbolic if I soaked my feet in the sea.  After careful maneuvering over some rocks, I removed my shoes, took off my sweat soaked socks, rolled up my appropriately named sausage casings, and stuck my feet in the Sea of Marmara.

I instantly regretted it.  The water was slimy and smelled revolting.  Clearly, magical moments with nature are limited to one per day.  I made a mental note to find a euphemism for “putrid stench” when writing about the island for the app.

I walked along the deserted stony beach, taking pictures occasionally.  Disgusting water aside, it was really quite lovely.  I thought to myself that there are worse places to be exiled.

Afterwards, I made my way back to the city center, passing more cats and beautiful houses.

Who wouldn't want to live here?

Apart from service vehicles (i.e. the coppers), Burgazada is free of motorized vehicles. The main modes of transport are bikes and horse drawn carriage.

This half-tailed kedi loved me.

When I stopped for lunch, I saw the same police car from the summit and realized that it was most likely the only cop car on Burgazada.  I guess it was a small island after all.  I saw the cops and they saw me...sans Skull Crusher.

“Busted for real”, I thought.

We awkwardly ignored each other.

I ate lunch at the place on the left.

There were two other monasteries on the island that I needed to visit.  The second was, of course, closed.  I considered breaking in. I was Laurel “Interloper” Steele, after all.  But it would have required considerable acrobatics over some barbed wire and beehives.  Yes, beehives. The Greeks can keep a few things for themselves.  

The third church, the Monastery of Hagios Georgios, was also closed.  I knocked and shook the locked doors a couple of times, but got no response.  Maybe the life of crime just isn’t for me.  

My day on Burgazada was unforgettable. If you have the chance, definitely go. But if anyone asks, you don't know me.

*Fun Fact: Billy Hayes, the person on whom the film Midnight Express is based, was imprisoned and ESCAPED from one of the Princes Islands that I happened to be distracted by while at the monastery. Whoa!