Istanbul Calling
Dear Friends
I have emigrated to Turkey. I know this will come as a shock and, yes, you deserve an explanation. This was a decision uncharacteristically made in some haste and was precipitated by Monseigneur Abbot's victory in the election a week ago last Saturday. I've been fearing the worst for some time and decided to make contingency plans should what happened happen. Well, it happened. As soon as the result came through I pressed "go" and made my escape. I flew out the next day, have taken religious orders and will now be known as Zakoor Hamdin bin Gardi.
Ok. I've actually been to a conference in Istanbul, but this doesn't mean the previous weekend's result is not weighing heavily upon me. In fact, I have rounded up a small but incredibly well educated revolutionary army here at the conference, consisting mainly of deceptively feisty Swedish and Canadian post-structuralistists. We are currently planning our next move. So, fear not Australia. Once we've settled on some shared definitions, developed some guidelines, notified our line-managers, set up a web page and twitter account, and picked up some last minute trinkets, help is well and truly on its way.
First impressions of Turkey: there's something weird going on with the cats and dogs. I mean, yes, there are plenty of 'em. No surprises there. But they are seriously everywhere: in bank queues, on the trams, hanging out in the bazaars. But the really weird thing is that they loll about like it's flaming bush-week, and just seem to flop down and grab a few zeds, anywhere, anytime, utterly indifferent to the human traffic around them. And in a city of 15 million, there's a bit of human traffic. This is particularly true of the dogs; check out this lot.
All, I hasten to add, definitely breathing. But yell and scream as I might, I couldn't get so much as a twitch or raised eye-brow out of any of them. I mean, it's a noisy place, Istanbul. A lot's going on. Clearly nobody has told the animals.
Which brings me seamlessly to a second observation. Despite the bustle of the place - the harbour, for example, is a blur of criss-crossing ferries, water taxis and super tankers, and despite the endless markets and stalls and the suicidal driving and the torrents of people heading somewhere - despite all this, nobody seems in much of a hurry (see harbour view from our gracious digs).
Everywhere you go, people are standing around, chatting, waiting, smoking. Sure, people harass you to buy stuff but it's harassment of the gentlest kind. I've met a few Turkish people from other parts of the country and they seem to see Istanbul as an overgrown and heartless behemoth but, well, I've seen plenty worse. Locals seemed to go out of their way to help even the pastiest foreigner and, apart from a couple of my female colleagues reporting being ass-pinched on the tram (and, really, what better way to promote inter-cultural dialogue than a well timed and sympathetically aimed ass-pinch?), Istanbul seemed pretty sane to me.
By way of apparent contradiction: restaurant service. Empty plates and glasses last about a nano-second in front of you before they are whisked politely away. Yes, they're no doubt keen to get you in and out, but it's also a sign that - as often happens in countries that have not yet been thoroughly neo-liberalised - most retail outlets have an over-abundance of staff meaning that most of the time they're just looking for something to do. Not a sophisticated assessment of Turkish micro-economics, I grant you, but it's all I've got. (Click the link to see aforementioned revolutionary army preparing for the battle ahead with some local victuals.)
http://youtu.be/Vy2148Et8Yc
Still, I hear the more high-minded amongst you asking whether I've done anything here other than feed my face and admire the fauna. Well, seeing is believing. Towit: check out the inside of Istanbul's Blue Mosque as well as a couple of very pious locals seeking spiritual renewal.
There were also plenty of visits to the bazaars. It is said that the old city's Grand Bazaar (see pic) has 4000 shops crammed into a few interconnected under-cover streets. This is all the more difficult to get one's head around when you consider that they all essentially sell one of four things: gold, jewelry, silk or leather. How do they all make a living? For the little it's worth, I found the experience both exhilarating and oddly deflating; abuzz with humanity and beautiful objects and yet how does one value - let alone buy - anything when there are a zillian of exactly the same thing within spitting distance? For those who've read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, you'll know that the Total Perspective Vortex is a machine in which one is forced to look at and contemplate one's insignificance compared the vastness of outer space. Perhaps I lack the born shopper's gene, but the Central Bazaar is a bit like that.
Then there's the spice bazaar (see below). Again, lots of people doing pretty much the same thing although the smells and abundant - and quite varied - Turkish delight seemed to dampen my existential agony.
The very old Galata Tower was also climbed, by which I mean Darren and I caught the lift to the top. Built in the late 1300s, it has both Byzantine and Ottoman history and, as a result, features of both. Much as I'd like to tell you about them, though, I'll just offer that the you get a fair old view of the city up the top.
Although no stranger to life threatening scrapes, a few members of the GRA (Gardy's Revolutionary Army) did see unexpected action. There were more student protests during the week around Taksim Square where some of the group were staying. Nothing to worry about - at least for us - but not a few innocent bystanders got an unwelcome free taste of tear gas. Sadly, another student was killed on the Thursday and this precipitated whistling into the night across the city.
On happier matters, not far from the conference we found an open square that was filled with late night "bars". I say "bars" because no alcohol is served. Instead, people gather to talk, drink tea, smoke the Hookah and play Backgammon. Seeing this reminded me of stumbling across poetry reading in the front bar of the White House pub in Limerick; it does my old heart good to know that this sort of thing still happens somewhere in the world (see pic of couple of locals backgammoning).
Purely for research purposes, my arm was twisted into sampling the Hookah (see pic of me with dopey expression mid-spinout). As Emily, the GRA's in-house Hookah oficianado, put it, it's sweet and has none of the throat burn of cigarettes. I take all this on board but, on balance, was not among the converted. As for Darren Powell, my seemingly mild-mannered, clean living PhD student however, that, I'm afraid, is another story.....
And so, purely by way of relief from my feeble rambling, some poetry. Orhan Veli Kanik was an Istanbul local who lived in the first half of the 20th century. From what I can tell, he was a bit of a modernist, rejecting classical Turkish verse structures and rhythms while trying to write more about everyday life than was hitherto the norm.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
A bird flutters round your skirt;
On your brow, is there sweat? Or not ? I know.
Are your lips wet? Or not? I know.
A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees:
I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
Next stop, Turkey's Mediterranean coast. Best to all.
MG
I have emigrated to Turkey. I know this will come as a shock and, yes, you deserve an explanation. This was a decision uncharacteristically made in some haste and was precipitated by Monseigneur Abbot's victory in the election a week ago last Saturday. I've been fearing the worst for some time and decided to make contingency plans should what happened happen. Well, it happened. As soon as the result came through I pressed "go" and made my escape. I flew out the next day, have taken religious orders and will now be known as Zakoor Hamdin bin Gardi.
Ok. I've actually been to a conference in Istanbul, but this doesn't mean the previous weekend's result is not weighing heavily upon me. In fact, I have rounded up a small but incredibly well educated revolutionary army here at the conference, consisting mainly of deceptively feisty Swedish and Canadian post-structuralistists. We are currently planning our next move. So, fear not Australia. Once we've settled on some shared definitions, developed some guidelines, notified our line-managers, set up a web page and twitter account, and picked up some last minute trinkets, help is well and truly on its way.
First impressions of Turkey: there's something weird going on with the cats and dogs. I mean, yes, there are plenty of 'em. No surprises there. But they are seriously everywhere: in bank queues, on the trams, hanging out in the bazaars. But the really weird thing is that they loll about like it's flaming bush-week, and just seem to flop down and grab a few zeds, anywhere, anytime, utterly indifferent to the human traffic around them. And in a city of 15 million, there's a bit of human traffic. This is particularly true of the dogs; check out this lot.
All, I hasten to add, definitely breathing. But yell and scream as I might, I couldn't get so much as a twitch or raised eye-brow out of any of them. I mean, it's a noisy place, Istanbul. A lot's going on. Clearly nobody has told the animals.
Which brings me seamlessly to a second observation. Despite the bustle of the place - the harbour, for example, is a blur of criss-crossing ferries, water taxis and super tankers, and despite the endless markets and stalls and the suicidal driving and the torrents of people heading somewhere - despite all this, nobody seems in much of a hurry (see harbour view from our gracious digs).
By way of apparent contradiction: restaurant service. Empty plates and glasses last about a nano-second in front of you before they are whisked politely away. Yes, they're no doubt keen to get you in and out, but it's also a sign that - as often happens in countries that have not yet been thoroughly neo-liberalised - most retail outlets have an over-abundance of staff meaning that most of the time they're just looking for something to do. Not a sophisticated assessment of Turkish micro-economics, I grant you, but it's all I've got. (Click the link to see aforementioned revolutionary army preparing for the battle ahead with some local victuals.)
http://youtu.be/Vy2148Et8Yc
Still, I hear the more high-minded amongst you asking whether I've done anything here other than feed my face and admire the fauna. Well, seeing is believing. Towit: check out the inside of Istanbul's Blue Mosque as well as a couple of very pious locals seeking spiritual renewal.
There were also plenty of visits to the bazaars. It is said that the old city's Grand Bazaar (see pic) has 4000 shops crammed into a few interconnected under-cover streets. This is all the more difficult to get one's head around when you consider that they all essentially sell one of four things: gold, jewelry, silk or leather. How do they all make a living? For the little it's worth, I found the experience both exhilarating and oddly deflating; abuzz with humanity and beautiful objects and yet how does one value - let alone buy - anything when there are a zillian of exactly the same thing within spitting distance? For those who've read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, you'll know that the Total Perspective Vortex is a machine in which one is forced to look at and contemplate one's insignificance compared the vastness of outer space. Perhaps I lack the born shopper's gene, but the Central Bazaar is a bit like that.
Then there's the spice bazaar (see below). Again, lots of people doing pretty much the same thing although the smells and abundant - and quite varied - Turkish delight seemed to dampen my existential agony.
The very old Galata Tower was also climbed, by which I mean Darren and I caught the lift to the top. Built in the late 1300s, it has both Byzantine and Ottoman history and, as a result, features of both. Much as I'd like to tell you about them, though, I'll just offer that the you get a fair old view of the city up the top.
Although no stranger to life threatening scrapes, a few members of the GRA (Gardy's Revolutionary Army) did see unexpected action. There were more student protests during the week around Taksim Square where some of the group were staying. Nothing to worry about - at least for us - but not a few innocent bystanders got an unwelcome free taste of tear gas. Sadly, another student was killed on the Thursday and this precipitated whistling into the night across the city.
On happier matters, not far from the conference we found an open square that was filled with late night "bars". I say "bars" because no alcohol is served. Instead, people gather to talk, drink tea, smoke the Hookah and play Backgammon. Seeing this reminded me of stumbling across poetry reading in the front bar of the White House pub in Limerick; it does my old heart good to know that this sort of thing still happens somewhere in the world (see pic of couple of locals backgammoning).
Purely for research purposes, my arm was twisted into sampling the Hookah (see pic of me with dopey expression mid-spinout). As Emily, the GRA's in-house Hookah oficianado, put it, it's sweet and has none of the throat burn of cigarettes. I take all this on board but, on balance, was not among the converted. As for Darren Powell, my seemingly mild-mannered, clean living PhD student however, that, I'm afraid, is another story.....
And so, purely by way of relief from my feeble rambling, some poetry. Orhan Veli Kanik was an Istanbul local who lived in the first half of the 20th century. From what I can tell, he was a bit of a modernist, rejecting classical Turkish verse structures and rhythms while trying to write more about everyday life than was hitherto the norm.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
A bird flutters round your skirt;
On your brow, is there sweat? Or not ? I know.
Are your lips wet? Or not? I know.
A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees:
I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing.
I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed.
Next stop, Turkey's Mediterranean coast. Best to all.
MG
posted by MG at 12:48 PM
1 comments
