I never would have thought that something like The Karma Collection would be the catalyst to get me talking about music again… but here we are.

God, where to start? There’s so much history.

In 1998, when I moved to England, I was suddenly exposed to a whole world of Indian and Pakistani sounds that hadn’t been familiar to me before outside the music of the Beatles and some random Ravi Shankar tracks. The large percentage of people of Subcontinent descent in the UK means that their traditional and modern music has had a huge impact on the progression of UK music of all genres. I am a big fan of cross-cultural fusion, so this was fantastic news for me. It gave me a big range of new things to discover. I immediately became a fan of artists like Nitin Sawhney and Cornershop, whom I had never heard of before.

I was lucky enough to be attending university in Liverpool at the turn of the century, when Cream was having its last hurrah and was at its strongest and most vibrant. Now, it has to be said that I’ve never been a particular a fan of what I call “thump-thump” club music, but even so, the influence of Cream and Ministry of Sound (both the club and the record label) in the UK was undeniable, especially at that time. My school was just a few blocks from Cream, so of course it was like being at the epicentre of a pop culture earthquake.

By coincidence, in 2001 and 2002 the whole concept of pre-packaged “chillout” music was taking off in what we would now refer to as a viral way. This was Muzak for the younger generation, it was an updated and ultra-chic version of easy listening. For me, it was a more tolerable interpretation of thump-thump music, something I could actually see myself listening to in a non-club context, maybe. I liked it, but I didn’t love it.

And then in the spring of 2002, the Ministry of Sound record label released The Karma Collection.

It’s no secret that I’m a sucker for beautiful packaging. I think a lot of independent musicians in today’s anti-record-label movement underestimate just how much great album art and package design can enhance the experience of the listener, and indeed can entice the listener to give the music a try in the first place. I remember walking into HMV, seeing the huge display of red suede boxes with the gold embossed Buddha on them, and immediately thinking, I’m having that. And the sale was literally that easy— I picked up a copy and took it home. I think subconsciously, I was looking for a way to get into the whole club music thing on my own terms, because as much as I didn’t care for the more common thump-thump varieties, I wanted to understand what it was like to be directly affected by the nation-wide buzz surrounding major club releases, especially since I was so close to one of the major clubs in question.

The Karma Collection redefined “club music,” “chillout,” and “Asian influence” for me. It was certainly the best chillout album at that time, and even now I don’t think there’s anything that can hold a candle to it. Even subsequent Karma Collection volumes headed more in a straight-up pop direction, and none of them came close to capturing the magic of the original. This wasn’t dance music, it wasn’t pop, and it wasn’t all Asian, either. Yet, it all seemed to fit together perfectly. I couldn’t put my finger on a lot of it, and that’s precisely what I liked about it. And any musical venture that includes a Rumi text is bound to push all the right buttons with me.

When I moved to Turkey in 2004, CDs were not at the top of my packing priorities. I ripped a few things to my iPod, and left the majority of my music collection in boxes in the UK. By then I was already buying most of my music online, so it didn’t seem to make much difference in practice.

But recently, the friend in the UK whose attic houses my CDs had some free time on her hands, and asked if I would like her to do any maintenance work on my stored belongings. The very first thing that popped into my mind was that I wanted her to dig out my Karma Collection and rip it for me, which she kindly did.

Listening to the album again was like seeing an old friend after a half-decade absence. It has not lost one bit of its magic, and if anything I appreciate a lot more about it now that we’ve had a bit of space from each other. Personal university nostalgia notwithstanding, it’s just a really, really solid compilation. There’s not one track on there that I’d remove or change the order of. The progression makes perfect sense the way it is, and I can’t even bring myself to listen to it on shuffle because it would ruin the artistry of the construction.

So if you don’t like thump-thump music or regular chillout (I still don’t care for either one), give The Karma Collection a try and see what you think. Believe it or not, you can still get the limited edition suede box via independent sellers at Amazon UK, though if you want to buy it in the US you’ll have to pay import prices for a new one (used ones can be obtained for cheaper). I didn’t have much luck finding the collection online— the 2003 version is widely available in digital, but is not the same album. And anyway, I think it’s totally worth it in this case to be able to hold the red suede box in your hands and let it transport you back to the excitement of the time when club/chill/Asian crossover was just taking flight. It’s a feeling that isn’t really possible anymore in today’s watered-down market of crap-’em-out-as-fast-as-we-can pop chillout compilations, and I think going back to these more esoteric Cream-heyday-era Ministry of Sound recordings is well worth the trouble it takes to obtain one.

If the Turks only get to put one thing into our planet’s time capsule, it should be pomegranate wine. That alone would be enough to convince even the most advanced future alien civilisations that earth was a totally happening place.

Your greatest performance depends on it.

I wonder if it’s a bad sign that more and more of these shirts are looking like reasonable purchases to me.

This is the Şarampol street bazaar. On the surface, the new bazaar looks pretty much the same as the old bazaar.

Still plenty of children who should be in school. Whatevs.

One thing I noticed is that the pricing at these things is completely arbitrary. I used to pay 7 million for a tray of 30 jumbo eggs in Meltem. In Şarampol, the exact same tray is 5 million. Avocados were 1 million each in Meltem; they’re 2.5 million each in Şarampol.

I was warned that I would get lost the first time in a new bazaar, and that is exactly what happened. Luckily, getting lost is one of my favourite activities.

During my wanderings I discovered that Tuna are bigger than humans. Wow.

They have an escalator. Fancy.

All in all, I’d say it was a good experience. There was certainly more Turklish than you could shake a stick at, and quite a lot of my regular shopping was cheaper than I expected (though a few things were ridiculously expensive). So I’d say we’re back in business. The bazaar is dead; long live the bazaar!

Apparently there’s another level of towels to resort to when regular welfare is not enough:

I like how all the Gs are a different font from everything else. How does that even happen?

I’ll put a full Şarampol bazaar report together this evening. It’s cool. And different. And interesting.

Two weeks ago, without any warning whatsoever, they shut down our street bazaar. Just like that. The court decided that’s how it was going to be, and now it’s just gone. Forever.

I have no idea how long the bazaar had been here before I moved here, but I’ve been attending nearly every Thursday for almost four years, and from what I understood it had been going on for many years before I arrived.

I’m angry and disappointed at the short-sightedness of the court’s decision. The municipal judge was quoted as saying that “street bazaars have no place in a civilised society.” Not only is that statement jaw-droppingly ridiculous, it’s downright offensive, both to the people who make their living as bazaar vendors, and to the traditional Turkish culture that spawned such a wonderful, rich institution where local people can meet, talk, and do their shopping once a week, right here in the streets of their own neighbourhood. There are not many places left in the world where you can see something as amazing as that… and now there’s one less.

I mean, forget the funny t-shirts— that’s a peripheral thing. We do our food shopping at the bazaar. Those vendors made their living from us. One of my elderly neighbours often mentioned how thankful she was that the we lived right in the middle of the bazaar, because she doesn’t find it so easy to get up to the shops anymore. Now I don’t know what she’ll do. No one in her family has a car to take her anywhere.

The bazaar was one of the last remaining remnants of real Turkish culture in this neighbourhood, and now it’s gone in the blink of an eye. All so the SUV squad can drive their fuel-guzzling monstrosities through here a little more conveniently on a Thursday. If that is what we term a “civilised society,” Turkey’s in worse trouble than I thought.

As you can see, a few vendors have stayed in defiance of the ruling (these photos were taken today), but I don’t think they’ll be here for long. I mean, a big part of me hopes they’ll band together and come back stronger next week, and even stronger the week after that… but that’s the part of me that watches too many underdog movies. I know it’s more likely that this trickle will die out completely within a month or so.

So what does this mean in terms of the Bizarre Bazaar photos? Well, nothing, as far as I’m concerned. I’ll just go to the Şarampol bazaar on a Friday instead (you know, until they shut that one down, too). I mean, I have to find some place to do our shopping anyway, so there’s no reason not to keep taking photos of t-shirts no matter where I end up. It’s not like the Meltem bazaar had the monopoly on Turklish production.

It had occurred to me that maybe this would be a good opportunity to wrap things up and move on, maybe do something else. But you know what? Although I fully embrace the idea of doing other things on this site as well (which you’ll know all too well very soon), I don’t feel that other features of the site and the bazaar posts have to be mutually exclusive. I feel privileged that the bazaar is as popular as it is, and I don’t think getting rid of it at this point will accomplish anything. In this day and age where people on the internet find it too taxing to pay attention for longer than 10 seconds, I’m honoured that I have managed to create something that people have enjoyed for nearly three years and counting. The bazaar is by far the most popular part of this site, and the subscriber numbers have grown steadily since its inception. Don’t get me wrong, I want to take it out on a high note when its time comes, but I just don’t feel that now is that time. People still get a lot of enjoyment out of it, and there’s no danger of it jumping the shark, as it started out on the wrong side of the shark to begin with. That’s kind of the whole point.

Oddly, back in March, I went through a thing at the bazaar where I was acutely aware of how special it was, how lucky I was to be living in the right part of Antalya/Turkey/Earth at the right time, and how I should soak it up as much as possible in case anything ever happened. I had no idea how soon that “anything” would come to pass, though. I was thinking more along the lines that eventually, in a few years’ time, we might be moving into a different house or a different city or whatever. I never dreamed that the bazaar would be the one to leave me, before I had a chance to say a proper goodbye.

Anyway, I’m getting sad again now. I’ve been experiencing something over the past two weeks that’s not entirely dissimilar to mourning.

We’ll fix it with laughter tomorrow, I promise.

[Photo courtesy of Patrick Rasenburg]

So that’s one half of the year done and dusted. Tomorrow, things are going to change with the bazaar. In fact, they’ve already changed, but tomorrow you’ll actually start to see the changes on your end. So please stand by… thank you for your coordination.

Linguini aganta. Pasta with calamari, shrimp, octopus, and peppers, lightly dressed in a pesto sauce. Ample amounts of warm, fresh bread rolls on the side. Delivered to my door, and so good that I ate it straight out of the aluminum container without even thinking about anything as time-consuming as getting a bowl from the kitchen.

If ever you’re in Antalya and looking for a reasonably-priced place to get something other than Turkish food, I highly recommend Redi’s. It’s one of a handful of restaurants in Antalya that do this sort of generic faux-Euro fare really well. Just don’t try to order from their web site, because I found out the hard way that the form isn’t actually connected to anything right now. After a suspiciously long wait I called to check on my order, only to learn that they hadn’t received it. Nonetheless, the man who answered the phone was very apologetic, spoke perfect English (bonus— I didn’t expect that at all), and got my meal out to me in record time once he understood that I was hungry and waiting.

Pretty much as soon as I took the first bite, all was forgiven with the web mix-up. It was some of the best pasta I’ve had in Turkey, and 11 million is a ridiculously good price for any seafood dish, especially at this high standard. In the future, though, I’ll know just to phone them up to begin with, and save the trouble of wondering whether my web order went through.

If you’ve never visited Photofunia before, I encourage you to go and waste some time there. I used to frequent it a long time ago, but it’s been awhile, and I was shocked today to discover that they have tons of cool news ways to turn photos of yourself into strange and wonderful things. It’s a lot of fun, and all you need is one picture to upload. Give it a try. Link