Just some Turkish delight. Because puns are funny EVERYWHERE.
Articles
“A Song to Bring You Home”
It is a staggering thing to wrap up, cleanly and succinctly, something as giant as a brief life in Istanbul. I know with certainty that Istanbul is inextricably intertwined with my sense of self; tentacles of Turkey will pervade in my day to day. I will insist on tea after dinner; I will impulsively say “Cok Guzel” to everything that pleases me; I will orient with the Bogazici to the east.
But it’s far too presumptuous to assume that I can know the extent to which Istanbul has rooted itself in my heart. A mere day after my return to the United States, I’m still reeling with the differentness of a world that was once familiar. I’m currently shaken, and grateful, and entirely uncertain. I left a new home for an old home, and time seems to have lost track of itself.
There’s something so eternally poetic about being taken away from the thing you love. Circumstance, distance, time all become these theoretical villains that make for unsatisfying targets of your anguish. And it’s easy to believe that the universe is predisposed to separation, easy to believe that everything was created just to leave something else. The continents drifted, species wandered apart from one another, even our mythical Adam & Eve were brought into existence only to leave the Garden. It makes the human insistence on convergence that much more baffling, and perhaps that much more wonderful in the face of such adversity.
I miss Istanbul. I will miss it a week from now. Four months from now. Three years from tomorrow. Endlessly. And everything that follows in yearning, in missing a thing, will follow in time. It is matter of understanding what is to come, and what has passed, and how both are crucial in living.
There are times when the words of others are far more adept at detailing my inner workings. When I flounder, I find there are men and women before me who have said all that needs to be said regarding a brand new wound. And so it is, here and now, Robert Frost speaking that which I feel so intensely.
“Ah, when to the heart of man // Was it ever less than a treason // To go with the drift of things, // To yield with a grace to reason, // And bow and accept the end // Of a love or a season?”
Noted
I’ve kept a small notebook during my stay here, a city-themed Moleskine that my aunt gave me with great foresight. It has been instrumental to my enjoyment of Istanbul - city maps, spots for recording the locations of special places, etc. And, of course, I’ve accumulated a strange array of quotes, quips, stray thoughts, sketches, and so forth. I want to share a few of them here; it does not quite achieve the same effect as the collective notebook itself, but it provides a glimpse of what I have carried with me for the past four months.
+ “…Even though the passingof last cent ury’s technological ‘civilization’ has left some of its distasteful traces.” Descriptive plaque at St. George Monastery, Buyukada
+ ASIDE MEATBALLS… - a menu heading at a köfte restaurant, Beşiktaş
+ “If you understand a language you know what they are saying when they are speaking that language.” The Way of Thinking and Speaking English
+ “It’s easy to remember. It’s like ‘BONER’ but with a ‘duh’. 12.19.2011” Quoted: Stupid yabancı/foreigner overheard in Taksim
+ “Anything couldn’t be wrong whatever you want to say. I like all your words. Positive or negative doesn’t matter. 1.5.2012”
+ THIS SHIT IS DISSONANT
+ “Always together you must carry!” Old Yoda Man, Bus from Selçuk to Istanbul
+ “Jennifer has always been behind the time.” Quote taken from The Way of Thinking and Speaking English
+ 6 Bira (50 cl), 1 Bira (33 cl), 2 çay, 1 sü = 33.50
+ “I believe a strong woman may be stronger than a man, particularly if she happens to have love in her heart. I guess a loving woman is indestructible.” John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Wild Things
It would be a huge oversight on my part if I were to forget to post about one of my favorite aspects of this city. Nearing the end of my stay, I am compelled to form some kind of mental retrospective of the beauty of Istanbul, an exhibit of memories and recollections. The food is great, the people do a good job of being incredible people… yeah, it’s kind of pretty here and everything. Cough. No, all of this splendor pales in comparison after I consider the most beloved population: the feral dogs and cats of Istanbul.
Mostly well-kept, with only a little mange creeping in on the borders, the stray dogs that roam the streets and sleep in bushes are the easiest forces of mirth. They are at once tame and terrifyingly wild; a dog will sniff your hand, rub it against his head in a kind of self-guided pet, then turn to rejoin his madly barking fleet of renegade mutts. When they group and gather, they remind me that the term “pack of dogs” had to come from somewhere; in stray-controlled America, there are few places were enough dogs can form a street gang, so I forget their inherent tendency to group and subsequently terrorize. And any dumb American can see the divide between two rival groups materlialize, even if the cause is unknown; after patting a docile and contented dog, suddenly you’re facing two opposing groups that have accumulated during the period of inattention, clearly antagonized by the other’s existence. “Gang Wars” should probably film an episode featuring the dogs of Istanbul.
But don’t let me lead you readers astray! These brutes can be used for good! Indeed, most of the time, they hardly resemble brutes. Rather, they’re like house dogs that somehow escaped the confines of domestic life, but don’t have the wherewithal to find their way back when the rain comes and drenches their dirty coats. At night, dogs will walk me from campus back to my dorm, temporary and self-selecting guides that growl at passing men. A particular campus pack barks at any approaching male, benevolent or malevolent, when my friends sit at the scenic overlook. It’s this loyalty, even as wild animals, that baffles me; we humans really did a number on the genetics of these poor beasts.
A quick listing of my favorite dogs of Boğaziçi is appropriate here, I believe:
1. Stumpy Doug - disproportionate in stature, with six-inch legs and a hulking body, but his heart and courage compensatate for his diminutive height.
2. Old Big Mean Dog - growls at anything, particularly abhorrent of taxis, and, suffers from night terrors (my diagnosis).
3. Badass Single Mom Dog - TLC needs to get on her story, because she raised 4 puppies by herself amidst Istanbul traffic. Give credit where credit is due…
4. The Poopies - the aforementioned puppies accidentally renamed by my Turkish friend whose English had a momentary (read: hilarious) lapse. Adorable, and the light of MY life.
5. Token, Mythical Pug - a tiny ADORABLE creature that appeared one night at our favorite campus bar, snorting and grunting in all its nasty pug glory.
These dogs play their part well, protecting and prowling in one day. The cats are entirely different, and entirely mysterious to me. They truly belong to no one, have no real bent towards humans, and exist solely to sit contentedly in the Turkish sun and eat chicken scraps. To name them is to pee into the wind; names will land haphazardly, and will likely just smack you in the face again. One identifiable one, Grungy Cat, was born with the sorry disadvantage of white fur. He sits at a nearby bus stop, accumulating the dirt of the street and neglecting to clean himself effectively. He has my saddened sympathy; I just want to take him home and clean him, but I suspect the ensuing fight would give me some variation of Cat-Scratch Fever. I abstain.
Only one cat has made an enemy of itself in the process of trying to steal my poğaça (read: tastiest pastry treat). That cat has a death wish.
“What’s In This Drink?”
Baby it’s cold outside. In Istanbul.
My Christmas in the intercontinental city that jokingly calls Christmas “Early New Years” was surprisingly and refreshingly festive. This year marked my first celebration of the holiday away from my family, a detail that did not go overlooked no matter how much I enjoyed myself. It’s an non-religious thing to us, but the chance to be uncompromisingly happy on a holiday has always been valued by my family. That being said, an adoptive family composed of other orphaned exchange students and sympathetic Turkish friends kept the Christmas spirit alive for about 36 hours, assisted by the large amount of food and drink consumed by all.
There was a general silliness to the whole affair; acknowledging that this was entirely unlike any kind of conventional Christmas we had enjoyed, we couldn’t help but laugh at ourselves for lighting sparklers in bars under the auspices of “celebrating Christmas in the traditional way.” We dissected song lyrics from popular Christmas songs (ever listened to “Baby It’s Cold Outside” seriously? Guess what, I got you coercive sexual encounters for Christmas! My title proves as much) and reminisced about varying traditions of our respective families, all the while destroying those conventions and abstracting the whole thing for our purposes.
More than anything, I was grateful for the good things that enabled me to enjoy myself as much as I did. The collective effort of friends to keep each other in good company attested to their incredible character - and the attempts by my Turkish friends to create a festive environment demonstrated a similar compassion. And it’s just another day in their lives; my Turkish friends consistently do things for me and show things to me that matter, that demonstrate how incredible this city is, and how genuinely excited they are to be my friend in a foreign place. How can you be sad in the presence of the kid that takes you to an ancient fortress to watch the boats sail by on the Sea of Marmara?
This photo was taken a few weeks back, but it’s the best that I can do to demonstrate the mood I’ve been in for some time. It has only been compromised by that looming departure with which I seemed so preoccupied in my last extended text post. But I’m resolved to enjoying this moment, or rather this seemingly ongoing fest composed of beautiful moments. They’ll have to drag me onto that plane - I can’t imagine going willingly.
Ok so that last post was a little morose. Forgive me. Accept my apology in the form of the best Turkish song ever written. And, no, I haven’t lost my English; I know what the word “best” means still. Fight it all you want, “Ay Lav Yu” sounds just as romantic.
“Bless our house and its heart so savage”
I have written and rewritten and rewritten a post many times now. Setting things down on paper, or in emails, or here in this silly post, has become far more difficult than I would have anticipated. Every anecdote I think to describe loses its beauty, outside of the original and beautiful context of Turkey. And now, I’ve resolved to say something, ANYTHING, but I’m at a loss.
And frankly, life here is increasingly more like life, and it doesn’t occur to me to remark on it. Before you shoot me for false philosophy, I only mean to say that my day-to-day activities are not fake or surreal to me anymore. This is reality, and can be again in the future. I am feeling an intense sense of purpose, even though it is not clearly defined or explicit. I just know this feeling. The prospect of establishing my life here grows daily in appeal.
The Turks know the word “melancholy” because their exact translation is “melankoli”. They know it acutely, with all nuances. It’s a comforting feeling, to be among so many people who see in me this melancholy that stems from the realization that I leave Istanbul in just about a month. A collective understanding. It’s really quite nice.
Flight AZ704 to Istanbul
SOME GENERALIZATIONS that MAY or MAY NOT HOLD TRUE WITH TIME - NOV. 28, 2011
- ALL duty free stores are tacky or gaudy in some decorative or substantive way.
- ALL connecting flights in the Rome-Fiumicino Airport are purposefully located clear across the airport from one another.
- ALL babies scream for the duration of a flight, EXCEPT during landing [which, objectively, is the scariest part by far, further proving the irrationality of babies].
- ALL 7 am flights are first accompanied by a taxi ride in the fog.
- ALL Thanksgivings, from this point onward, will be held in a lovely white studio apartment in Paris with good people.
- ALL Alitalia flights incorporate a kind of personal discomfort or inconvenience… but also serve delicious cookies.
- ALL views of the Eiffel Tower are unbelievable, no matter how many times you might have seen it in photos or movies.
- ALL nights should somehow end with meandering walks through a city you are falling in love with.
- ALL flight instructions spoken in English by non-native speakers are immediately, inherently funnier.
- ALL museums pale in comparison to the Rodin Museum: a sculpture garden in the truest, most literal (but beautiful) sense. [Addendum: the Musee d’Orsay enjoys an exception here - it is wonderful just the way it is.]
- ALL reunions are bittersweet.
For him, there were no empty hours, no hours that were merely bridges spanning to richer ones ahead, and nothing which lay worthless along his path, nothing he could pass by as a stranger.
Richard Beer-Hofmann, The Death of George
Bayramania
As previously mentioned, I had been traveling through Central and Southern Europe earlier in November during my school’s break for Bayram. While the delay in my post is quite notable, that does not diminish how lovely the experience was. My traveling friends and I made it to five cities in eleven days: Vienna, Bratislava, Budapest, Venice, and Milan. Of course, we did many exciting activities in each city, and recounting each little vignette would promptly turn this post into the self-promoting kind of circus that I try to avoid. My life is enough of a side show ordeal as it is.
Rather than write an all-encompassing post about each location and the associated experience, I will instead provide a detailed account of the many bathrooms I was so lucky to encounter on my journey. I found that much of my time in each city was spent confused, baffled, and amused in varying WCs, and since we can’t all just decide to get along and standardize the damn toilet, I will give its variations due attention.
1. The Bathroom at the Bucharest Airport - Layover, Day 1 : The first bathroom encountered, and certainly the most alarming in its instructions to users. The facilities themselves were pleasing enough: toilets orderly; sinks clean; flushing function still intact. The warning on the baby-changing table, however, was troublesome: “Please Kindly Do Not Hang Child from the Table.” This kind of admonition led me to assume Romanians are either genetically bred to be cruel, cruel people, or have the sickest sense of humor. I prefer a combination of the former and latter. It is, perhaps, the most accurate.
2. The Bathroom at the Milan-Bergamo Airport - Triumphant Flight Home, Day 11 : Notes on cleanliness are again unnecessary here. Rather, my three-fold bafflement is the most worthy of topics. Walking into a pitch-black, completely enclosed stall and navigating the unique process of peeing in total darkness christened my bathroom experience in Milan. The foot pedal-powered sink was the second conundrum in the challenging WC, leaving me to dangle my hands in the basin of the sink, searching desperately for water that would simply not come without the insistence of my foot on a hidden pedal. Finally, after conquering that petty pedi-machine, it seemed the bathroom would not let me leave; the turnstile I chose to exit through was a one-way affair. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice, shame on the Milan Airport bathroom’s peculiar brand of torture.
3. The Bathroom in our Hostel Room in Venice - Berlusconi’s Resignation, Day 8 : A cockroach friend is not the best friend to have. Using cups of water to wash him back down the drain in the shower from which he arrived, gloriously and courageously, proved to be more humorous than the situation realistically encouraged.
4. The Bathroom in the Restaurant near the Duomo in Milan - Overwhelmed by the Wealth of Others, Day 10 : Well, what would YOU do with 7 toilets that flushed continuously, ceaselessly, at full speed? Water flying everywhere, the cacophony of rushing plumbing completely deafening you? Exactly.
5. The Bathroom in a Restaurant in Venice - Emma Accidentally Orders “Black Spaghetti” [Squid Ink], Day 9 : In the academic study of toilets, there is an overarching theme regarding the dichotomy of Western and Eastern styles - that is, seats vs. squats. Divisive in almost every community, the debate, when broached, is liable to ruin friendships. Preferences are just that important. This restaurant offered the closest resolution, however, in the form of a squat toilet WITH flushing capacities. It is this kind of ingenious solution that might be the key to bridging all cultures, repairing rifts, and offering order to the otherwise disorderly world of toilets and humans.
6. The Bathroom in the Bar in Budapest - Edelweiss Beer with Lemon, Day 7 : The most curious of bathrooms, and perhaps my FAVORITE bathroom. Envision a single room, no dividing walls to indicate stalls, and therefore intended for solitary use. Envision further the choice that must be made between two toilets, presented in identical form, that face the user. Two toilets, one gal; is there anything more magical than that? You’re right. There isn’t.
This is only a sampling of the many lavatories I was exposed to, for the world offers a variety unparalleled. For each type of human on this planet, there seems to be a toilet waiting for them somewhere in Europe, waiting patiently until the day that they meet. Never underestimate the beauty of the bathroom; it is, perhaps, the purest.
Meandering
I’ve been notably absent from chronicling my days, and I apologize [in a way]. Part of it is that there are times, more and more these days, where I have trouble formulating a way to explain the special-ness of a moment, or the significance of a conversation. Thins about life in Turkey are becoming pretty ingrained in me to the point where I’m losing my ability to differentiate between the novel and normal.
But, more importantly, I’ve been travelling though East/Central Europe! I flew to Vienna last Thursday with a stop in Bucharest, and have moved on first to Bratislava and now to Budapest. I am enjoying this kind of Europe… though there are many things about it that baffle me or run up against my idea of being abroad. I will write more on that later.
I will be in Budapest for the next 2 days, then will fly on to Venice and Milan. I’ll write a longer post about all the craziness when I return next Sunday!
