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London in the Rear View Mirror Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 15 Sep 2014 02:12:00 +0000

August 19, 2014

On the morning of Tuesday August 19th I had an appointment at Bloomberg London with the fellow who directs their internship programs. I'd been introduced to him via email and he had been receptive to offering me a tour of Bloomberg's fancy digs in Finsbury Square in the Islington Borough, just north of the central part of the city. I dressed up in the work clothes I'd brought for the occasion and headed out early on the tube along with the other commuters, feeling like a real Londoner.

Bloomberg's London Office in Finsbury Square

Bloomberg's London office was a very impressive place. It rivals every tech company I have been to in California for its pizzaz and perks (an open cafeteria, large open work spaces that were clean and high tech). Its design scheme was centered around massive fishtanks full of exotic fish. I was able to catch Bloomberg's newscast delivered live from their news floor and I left with a better sense of what type of journalism school students make best candidates for their jobs and internships; altogether, a great learning experience for me.

After my appointment in Islington, I wandered over to Leicester Square and got myself a ticket to a London musical. My guidebook pointed out a kiosk in the square where one could get deep discounts. I don't think I got much of a price break, but I wasn't complaining. The choices were the same as I'd expect to see in New York: Lion King, Phantom of the Opera, The Book of Mormon, Cats. I chose Billy Elliot both because I loved the movie and especially its dancing, but also because the story is set in the U.K.. The show was scheduled for 7:00pm, so I had the rest of the day to wander the city.

Soho

First stop: Soho, an area in Westminster Borough and part of the West End of London. I learned that there were few public transportation options criss-crossing the area, giving it more of a quiet neighborhood feel. I began with locating the Covent Garden Market, another of London's famous public market places (now trendy, but at one time one of the primary covered food markets delivering fresh produce to the city) and began one of my guidebook's walking tours towards Soho. I bought a warm falafel sandwich from a street vendor (so far, the best food I had eaten in London were sandwich wraps from street vendors) and walked while I ate.

Soho felt a bit like Berkeley, a community that clearly liked being a bit "off the grid", and counter culture. Soho once had a reputation for sex shops as well as night life and film industry, but I found it to be very upscale. There was a fabulous bookstore called Foyles, a full 5 floors of new books and reading spaces, with a cafe on the top floor. From the looks of Foyles, I'd say the book industry is alive and well in London.

Smile!

After Soho, I headed back to Westminster Castle. I had yet to get any good photos of the traditional Queen's guard. When I had asked Aisha what she wanted from London, all she had said was "a picture of you with one of the red-uniformed guards" so I had a promise to keep.

The problem was, I felt sorry for the young men in those red uniforms. Tourists swarmed them and shot selfies with cell phones, and they worked hard to keep their poses. I couldn't bear to do the same. So, I shot this picture from a distance and went on my way.

Here's a quick video of my bus ride around the city.

By this point it was 4:30 and I was cold and tired, but I was NOT going to miss the theater show. So, I found a Mark & Spencer mini-market across the street from the Victoria Theater that had a seating area on its second floor, bought a salad, and sat down with a free daily newspaper to catch up on the news. Soon enough, it was time for the show.

Billy Elliot Musical at the Victoria Theater

Take a look at this trailer to get a picture of what I saw that night. It was a really dynamic performance and I loved the music. By it's end, I'd been on the move for 14 hours. I headed on home on the tube and collapsed on to my bed. One last day to go.

London in the rear view mirror

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 01 Sep 2014 05:35:00 +0000

August 17-18 Greenwich and my move to Southwark

I realize this is posted long after my return date - alas, it has taken me ten days at home to find the time and the space to post these final pictures. But I owe it to you all to provide these last few stories to round out my trip.

Classic Brittish breakfast: roasted tomatoes
and mushrooms, poached eggs, bacon and sausage

Sunday, August 17th I took a short Thames cruise to Greenwich. Only a short hour away, the village of Greenwich, in the larger borough of Greenwich,

Borough map of greater London

is a quaint maritime town with lots of attractions making it a popular day trip for tourists based in London. It's main attraction for me was its location at the prime meridian, located at longitude 0°, the line separating the Western and the Eastern Hemispheres. Not a big deal, right? But I must admit there was something magical about it. I was reminded of visiting the Four Corners Monument in Southwestern U.S. back in 1997, where four states meet at one point: Utah, New Mexico, Colorado and Arizona. Standing on the prime meridian I imagined the two halves of the earth sewn together in this one place. The earth felt very small and fragile in that moment. Greenwich is also the place where world time is measured (as in Greenwich Mean Time). The Royal Observatory in Greenwich houses many tools developed for sea navigation in the 17th century.

Greenwich: The Cutty Sark, a
surviving 19th c. tea clipper

I walked around the town and ducked in to boutiques to

Greenwich: For sale in a boutique

avoid the rain, which fell about noon and stopped not long after it began. I'd learned to carry a small umbrella, and not let the rainfall deter me. Rain in London seemed a part of the backdrop much like the red busses and the now out-of-use phone booths. A highlight for me was the Greenwich market, which was full of arts & craft stalls and food booths. I was impressed with the quality of the items for sale: hand-turned wood bowls made from green and seasoned locally-sourced lumber and a local photographer selling gorgeous images of England's countryside (yes, I bought a lovely print of a field of bluebells) are just two examples. I bought myself a vinyl purse and a matching lunch sack from one of the stands, passing up all the leather artisans. The market in Greenwich was a highlight from London overall. I highly recommend a stop there.

My room at Carlos's live/work studio

On Monday, August 18th, I moved from Marylebone North of the Thames, to Southwark (pronounced "suthuk") South of the Thames. In Southwark, I had found lodging through airbnb with a Spanish fashion photographer Carlos and his partner Stephan in a live/work loft, a buzzing place full of people working and hanging out. With a large room to myself I was able to find quiet if I wanted it, but I found that after weeks of solo travel I was hungering for contact, and there was plenty of it there. Carlos had two young Italians working for him, a British friend sleeping on the couch, and two young Chinese women renting another of his rooms, so we were an international lot with plenty to talk about.

Southwark after an afternoon rain

Public art in Southwark

The Shard, the tallest building in Europe. 1000 ft.

More public at in Southwark

Southwark was less posh than Marylebone, but I found it full of public art and bustling pubs. Nearby was the Borough Market, a local farmer's market that was open everyday for specialties such as blood sausage, but also fresh vegetables and fruit, fruit and butter, fresh bread and even large pans of paiella.

Stay tuned for my final London chapter, when I ventured to the Tower of London. I'll post about that on another day.

August 15-16, 2014: In the Home of the Union Jack

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 17 Aug 2014 00:42:00 +0000

August 15-16, 2014: In the Home of the Union Jack - Keep Calm and Carry On

After a long day of travel on Friday, including a 3 hour layover in Athens, I landed in London's Heathrow Airport at about 3:30 in the afternoon. My mother's dear cousin Nader picked me up outside of customs with a small sign with my name on it. It's nice to be recognized when you face the anonymity of traveling alone.

The customs and passport check had been more difficult than I'd expected. They were scrupulous. At least they didn't rifle through my bag.

As someone who most often is the driver when I ride in a car, I found sitting in the driving spot but riding as a passenger, quite nerve wracking. I kept glancing at Nader driving to reassure myself that I wasn't riding in a driverless car. To make matters worse, I found that central London was full of one way streets, so trying to figure out which lane we should drive in, or turn on to, seemed mysterious. I will never, NEVER, drive in London. Never.

British fashion on Oxford Street

I immediately got a sim card for my cell phone, and bought a week-long transit pass, then I was on my way out the door to explore Oxford Street, which was a few short blocks away from the room that I'd rented. I found Oxford Street to be a bustle - a mix of so many people speaking so many languages. I barely heard any English actually; mostly Arabic, with some Turkish, French and German mixed in. Is this Istanbul or London? Young Arab couples rode on the back of bicycle buggies that were blasting Arab music, and singing along to the music. There were many, many women in Islamic veils, and I passed by cafes where men were smoking water pipes, just like I had done the night before.

I was really impressed by the area right around my building on Marylebone Lane. Narrow, cobblestoned streets and fashionable clothing stores. And the young men in the pubs, they were all dressed in great looking suits and button up shirts. I really liked the fashion I was seeing.

All the restaurants look popular: pubs and a super fish n' chips place just two doors down. When I woke up Saturday morning I used Yelp to find a great breakfast place and had the most attractive set of poached eggs that I've ever soon, along with a roasted tomato and portabello mushroom, bacon and a sausage. Terrific.

I freely jumped on whatever double decker bus that came by, and got off whenever I felt like it. The line 23 passed by most of the major sites so it was like a low cost London tour! It turned down Regent Street, with its posh shopping spots, and passed by Fleet Street (synonymous with Britain's national press), Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square, and St. Paul's Cathedral. Wow.

Saturday I visited Harrod's department store, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, the House of Commons, and the Winston Churchill museum. My feet are aching!

A gold car parked outside of Harrod's in Knightsbridge

My Aunt's sister, Leila, got in touch with me and took me out to dinner to a bustling Lebonese restaurant. She explained that after Ramadan, many Arabs travel. Those that are wealthy ship their fancy cars over so they can show them off, such as the gold car we saw outside of Harrod's. It was actually gold. I'm off for more adventures tomorrow....

Thursday, August 14, 2014: Parting

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 15 Aug 2014 09:13:00 +0000

Thursday, August, 14, 2014: Parting

Thursday was my last day in Turkey, and I spent it out and about, mostly in Beyoglu/Kabatas and Sultanahmet. Here are my parting snapshots and a video.

The view of ferryboats from the Galata Bridge. This is a very busy port. One can catch a ferry from here leaving every 20 minutes or so, to most port destinations.

A very old samovar providing tea to a waterside
cafe in Kabatas

Heading out of Üsküdar

.......and by night, loud music blaring.

The new Karaköy Cafe district, by day

Beautiful graffiti in Karaköy

Children's suits for sale in Eminonü

Yeni Cami (New Mosque), build in the early 16th century

Kabatas waterside, just north of the port. Poor boys who just got off their shift selling water bottles on the city bus, stripped their clothes and took running jumps in to the water. The day was hot and sticky and they were joyful as they played.

At the Kabatas port. When I returned to the port at midnight, the fruit seller was still there trying to sell his watermelon.

Nargili! Water pipes in Karaköy. Turks sat for hours and puffed their white smoke in to the air while sipping tea.

Of course I had to try it.

Me and Nükte

Our last goodbye "selfie" as it is also called by Turks.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014: Twenty-one Things I will Miss Most aboutIstanbul

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 12 Aug 2014 20:58:00 +0000

Tuesday, August 12m 2014: Twenty-one Things I will Miss Most about Istanbul (when I leave on Friday)

The Show of Color at each Vegetable Stand

Waterside restaurants

The sudden peek at the Bosphorus you might get as you pass between two buildings

Turkish breakfasts

Ice cream on Burgazada at 11:30 at night

The slow approach to Galata Tower from Karaköy

The calm grace and subtle colors of Suleymaniye Mosque

A summer rain in Kuzguncuk

The docking of ferry boats

The close calls between ferries, tanker ships, speedboats and windsurfers

Phaetons of the Prince's Islands

The cunning shows of strength and political will in unlikely places

Watching Nükte's daughters become strong and beautiful women

Dinner and political talk among friends

Turkish mezes (appetizers) in lots of olive oil

Swimming in the Marmara Sea as ferry boats float by

Discovering a litter of kittens as you walk down the street

Learning to cook from Vincent

The view from Müge's and Alp's living room

The lights of Istanbul after dark

And, last but not least, the proximity and intimacy of being near two of my oldest and dearest friends

Sunday, August 10, 2014 Part II: Election Day Commentary

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 10 Aug 2014 21:37:00 +0000

Sunday, August 10, 2014 Part II: Election Day Commentary

Watching election results
on our iPhone

I spent the evening at Müge's house - a lovely dinner as a cool breeze blew in from the Bosphorus: salmon, rice, beans, salad. Müge and Nükte's parents joined us, as well as Vincent and the girls. The election results were the main subject of the evening. How many polling stations were reporting? How can poll watchers help avoid AKParty cheating at the polls? How many people voted and which districts voted for which candidate? (To read my initial commentary about the candidates, read my previous blog post here).

Already by 6:00 pm there were 30% of the polls reporting and Erdogan was clearly ahead. Then, once darkness had settled and lights twinkled on the European side, I saw fireworks over the water, and heard honking on the streets. The results were in - Erdogan had won.

What does this mean for Turkey? Erdogan has made no secret of his plan to consolidate power under the presidency, and weaken the parliamentary system that has been in place since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk established the Turkish Republic in the 1920's. Nor has he avoided strong religious imagery and symbolism in his campaign videos, despite Turkey's historical, but wavering, secular identity.

Erdogan with Obama

The Turkish Parliamentary system was designed to work as a balance between various arms of the government: Parliament, or the Grand National Assembly as it is called, is charged with the legislative power, executive power falls to the Council of Ministers (at this time it is 25 different heads of various ministries, and the Prime Minister is but one of the 25) and the judiciary stands separately. The Prime Minister in Turkey has had greater power than the President, who has been simply a figurehead much as the Queen is in England. Was it current Turkish President Abdullah Gül that you saw alongside President Obama on the White House lawn for a press conference? No, it was Prime Minister Erdogan.

But unable to run again for Prime Minister (his AKParty has been in power for three terms in parliament) Erdogan has selected the presidency as his next platform, and he intends to exercise his full presidential powers, unlike past presidents that have remained ceremonial.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prime_Minister_of_Turkey

But Erdogan has vowed to not stop there. He plans to change Turkey's constitution to establish a full executive presidency. In the U.S. an executive presidency is designed to be balanced by a powerful legislature, the judiciary and a strong tradition of freedom of speech. In Turkey journalists remain censored as they attempt to keep an eye on Erdogan, and his AKParty continues to dominate the Parliament. A stronger presidency with Erdogan in control, and a reduction of influence by the Council of Ministers, may spell further trouble for civil rights.

Even Erdogan's critics cannot deny that there have been some positive changes during his term as prime minister. While his display of religious fervor has been controversial, he also has brought inflation under control, and has delivered a strong message on the international stage which has further strengthened Turkey's role as a regional leader.

And why should U.S.ers care about who leads the Turkish government? Turkey has been a bulwark against religious extremism, a canary in the modern Islamic world coal mine that has been an important ally to the U.S. when things have heated up in the region. Turkey is a member of NATO and a key leader in engaging other Middle Eastern states in dialogue, as well as a member of the G-20, recognizing its role as a major economy in the world. As the physical link between Asia and Europe, Turkey has been an important example of how Islam can co-exist with, but not interfere with, matters of governance.

So, in the end, Erdogan won with 51.8 percent of the vote, merely 1.8% more than he needed to win outright in the first round. İhsanoğlu received 38.5 percent and Demirtaş obtained 9.7 percent with 96.5 percent of the ballot boxes counted as of 2 hours ago. Turnout was lower than expected at 74.4 percent, which means that 5 million eligible voters stayed away from the polls, likely a good number of them secularists disenchanted by the choices or the potency of their vote. It's 12:30 a.m. Monday now, and the cars are still honking along the Bosphorus.

According to CNNTürk, Erdogan, on his way to Ankara to deliver his victory speech, made a stop at the Eyüp Sultan Mosque in Istanbul, a pilgrimage site for Muslims, where he "symbolically performed a prayer of gratitude for his election victory." The Eyüp Sultan mosque was historically the first stop for Ottoman sultans, as well as caliphs, after they ascended to the throne. Multiple generations of Turks have now had the benefit of Turkey's secular outlook and only time will tell whether those that have benefited from secularism will value it enough to protect it.

An Erdogan political commercial on youtube

Sunday, August 10, 2014: Election Day

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 10 Aug 2014 14:12:00 +0000

German journalists were there to observe the voting

Heading to the polls

Sunday, August 10, 2014: Election Day in Küzgüncük

Polls opened at 8:00am, but despite some initial concern about lines, we didn't intend to be up and ready to walk up the hill that early. We started over at 10:00am, joining a march of Küzgüncük residents as they treaded up the steep hill to the primary school.

Residents filed in and found their polling rooms

Unfortunately for the turnout, but fortunately for us, there were no lines at all. Residents kissed and greeted each other in the hallways of the school, and neatly turned in to the room corresponding to their address. The only issue on the ballot was for whom to vote for president, and with the three choices well known to all, it took hardly a minute to stamp their choice and submit their ballot in a neat envelope to the poll worker.

ID Cards were checked and ballots distributed
After this photo I was asked to put away my camera

Checking the for their name posted outside the door

When done voting, signs welcomed voters to relax in the
garden or the tea room

We suspected that the members of the
AKParty we saw in the garden were not locals.

A voting official present in the garden suspected that turnout would be low: 60-70%. High for American standards, but low for Turkey. Results won't be official until the end of the week. Supporters for either of the two opposition candidates are hoping for a runoff, but the fear is not whether Erdogan will win, but just by how much.

August 8 and 9: Further Explorations of the Covered Bazaar

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 09 Aug 2014 17:51:00 +0000

Friday, August 8: Covered Bazaar Part II and a Heavy Downpour

I waited till after noon for the rain to come to Küzgüncük, but finally could not let the day pass without some kind of adventure, feeling my departure date looming over me a week away. So I returned on Thursday to the Sultanahmet district, despite the threatening rain clouds and heavy humidity. I stopped in to see Tansel in her little boutique across from Nükte's house, and she suggested I take the ferry boat to Eminönü instead of the metro to Sirkeci. That way, she explained, I could explore the Spice Bazaar first, and then head up the hill to the Covered Bazaar. The Spice Bazaar did not interest me much, but I took her advice anyway. I'd already learned to always heed a Turk's advice when it comes to navigating Istanbul.

I took my time in the Spice Bazaar, wandering in to a store to taste their locum (Turkish Delight) and dut (called toot in Persian, these are a kind of dried berry) purchasing some and taking my time to speak with the salesperson. I relaxed in to it this time and enjoyed myself. By the time I reached the Covered Bazaar, I was primed for a better experience than the one I'd had before.

This time, with my map in hand, I went in search of each Han: Bodrum Han, Rabici Han, Zincirli Han, Cebeci Han, Imam Ali Han and on and on. Each one was a treasure, a quiet oasis away from the more crowded alleys and thoroughfares. I'd find one and look for the narrow stairway, usually worn marble hundreds of years old, up to the second floor of the Han, where I might find a chair sitting off to the side that might have been occupied by a shopkeeper smoking a cigarette just a few minutes before. From there I'd sit, and just watch the comings and goings down below. A few middle-aged shopkeepers with a slender glass of tea in their hands, a man tending to his ablutions before prayer. A young boy running to fetch more merchandise from a storage closet.

In one Han I found a fellow making gold thread. The sound of his spool machines drew me to his doorstep, and he motioned me in. I took this video for you to see.

When I tired of the quiet spaces, I swam in to the surge of the center, feeling the magnetic pull of hustling carpet and ceramics sellers luring me in to their shops. Arab families moved in packs, women in head to toe burkas with their trailing husband and tiny sons in matching outfits licking ice cream cones. The women peered at me with heavily lined eyes framed by black, black, black. They fingered linens, and haggled over cashmere. French, Italians and Brits mostly walked in pairs. Occasionally I'd catch the familiar slang of an American and found my eyes glued to them as they disappeared around a corner. "Excuse me, welcome!" a shopkeeper shouted out to me. "Comment allez vous? French? Italian? Parla Italiano?" They seemed to be playing a game to guess the nationality of those walking by. Most often they thought I was Italian.

I stopped for lunch and was a bit disappointed by my doner sandwich, but the quiet spot in the Bursa Han was lovely nonetheless. Just as I was sipping my after-lunch tea, the clouds became ominous overhead. It became dark like night except for the sharp spear of lightening overhead. Then the thunder roared and rain fell in buckets overhead. We all: errand boys, shopkeepers, and tea sellers included, ran for cover. Everyone began trying to button down their storefronts. I took cover in the main hall of the bazaar and everywhere people were peering through the tiny windows along the ceiling to see the black clouds and rain battering against the glass. I returned to the Tiğcilar Sokak gate where I had started my excursion into the bazaar two days before, to behold the rain pouring down.

A few minutes later it was me stepping out in to this rain, very carefully since I found the cobblestones slippery and I had no raincoat. I held a plastic bag over my head and made my way back to the ferry port.

Saturday, August 9, 2014: The Covered Bazaar III

Today was my third, and I think last day in the Covered Bazaar. I methodically moved through the bazaar spaces, trying to avoid walking the same row twice, but invariably I did. One shopkeeper spoke Italian with me, and upon seeing me again said, "Ah, ancora in giro?" Still walking around?
I walked in to the Bursa Han three times in an effort to find my way away from it. Sigh.

Murat was a shy ceramics seller who begged to give me "information" about his plates. So I entered his small store, overheated by the bright lights designed to show off the brilliant colored designs of his wares. He ordered us tea, and we talked about traveling, and languages. He spoke Italian well and had only the nicest things to say about people he'd met from all over the world. He has never stepped foot outside of Turkey, but instead watches the world walk by his shop everyday. I got the sense that the visit was more a way to break the boredom of his day than it was to ensure a sale.

Next I wandered in to a carpet store, again so that the shopkeeper could give me "information." This must be a commonly used tactic, I deduced. But what a lovely conversation I had with Muhammad, another young bright Turk with shining eyes and a generous manner. He didn't spend much time talking about carpet designs, but instead wanted to practice his English and ask me questions about myself. He told me about the carpet he'd just sold to a family gifting a kilim as a wedding gift to a family member back in California. He offered me tea but I declined, still full from Murat's offering. I kept my stay brief, but was deeply impressed by these young men.

The Ceiling of the Cevahir Bedestani
(Antique Bazaar)

At the center of the Covered Bazaar, and its oldest section, is the Cavahir Bedestani (meaning gem-vault). A similar Byzantine market once occupied this site, but it was replaced by this building erected by Mehmet the Conqueror in the mid 15th century. One mostly finds gold and old metal objects in this area. It feels sleepy when compared to the bustling areas surrounding it. A couple of older men were sitting around drinking tea and stopped to ask me where I was from. They asked me about my guidebook and seemed amused when I handed it over to them to see it.

My feet were aching at this point, and I was desperately hungry. It was time for another mediocre köfte meal and a tram ride back to the ferry port. I have 6 days left before I leave. It's time to take account of the must-sees so that I make time to see them all.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014: The Covered Bazaar Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 09 Aug 2014 08:31:00 +0000

Tuesday, August 5, 2014: The Covered Bazaar Part I

I had made a promise to myself that I would take the time needed this trip to really explore Istanbul's covered bazaar. I'd popped in and out during previous trips, but it was always a maze that overwhelmed me. In order to know the market better, it was clear I would need to visit it multiple times, with a map in hand, and with the patience required to get lost and found again.

My first try was on Tuesday. It had not been my intention to visit the covered bazaar at all, but found myself at the Tığcılar Sokak gate by accident. I don't recall what I was looking for, but had taken to wandering these past days, turning this way and that, wishing to happen upon something I'd never seen before. When one of the bazaar's gates appeared before me of course I had to enter. Since I hadn't planned on visiting the bazaar, I hadn't brought my book which contained the bazaar maps and walking tours. Recalling stories of people unable to find their way out, I willed myself to get lost. But I was stiff that day walking through, unwilling to even turn my head to examine the merchandise. When merchants called out to me, I ignored them and carried on. I was unable to shed this coldness that had taken over me and my attempts to lose myself there didn't work. The bazaar's magic was lost on me because I didn't surrender myself to it.

Zincirli Han, 18th c.

Shopkeepers in Zincirli Han

I did manage to happen upon a couple of beautiful Hans, which are a kind of courtyard which were caravansaries built along trade routes that housed travelers and served as small commercial centers. There are hans throughout the covered bazaar, mostly around its periphery I later discovered when I looked at my maps. Without my book though, I knew little about what I was seeing, but I recognized that these were the hidden secrets I was supposed to be looking for. When, despite the few treasures I did find, I continued to find exit gates instead of ways deeper in to the bazaar, I took it as a message and departed, vowing to return with my map in hand.

The doner sandwich corner stand

But I wasn't done yet.

Hunger hit me quite suddenly when I discovered this corner doner stand about a block away from the Covered Bazaar. There were plastic stools lining the sidewalk overlooking an ancient wall where people sat munching on sandwiches. The salesman in his white hat was very kind as I hovered for a long time trying to figure out how the ordering worked and what I could choose. People seemed to know what they wanted and money changed hands so quickly I couldn't tell what things cost. He patiently showed me that the offerings were few, and nothing cost more than about $5. I ordered a half sandwich with a cup of ayran, a yoghurt drink that I am very familiar with since it is a popular drink in Iran as well. What a tasty lunch, and a sweet experience it was.

With my belly full, I wandered on, and took these snaps for you to enjoy.

I found the used book bazaar through the Gate
of Spoonmakers, a market that dates back to
the Byzantine era. David should have been here
to enjoy this

This Turk was trying to make his way through a
busy market without touching his feet to the ground,
in a full biker get-up. The little boy was trying so hard
to sell baby girl dresses to anyone who walked by

Always growing, always expanding

So many Turkish foods are made with tomatoes,
giving this window an orange glow

Wednesday, August 7, 2014: Grandeur

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 08 Aug 2014 11:52:00 +0000

Wednesday, August 7, 2014: Grandeur

Truly the word grandeur must have been invented to describe the landmarks of this city. They are mosques, but one of them has not always been. The Hagia Sophia (Aya Sofia) was built as a Byzantine church in the 4th century, and was twice rebuilt after earthquakes and fires. Not much is said about those earlier versions, because the one that stands now, completed by Emperor Justinian in 537, became a masterpiece that was never again equaled in the Byzantine period.

Hagia Sofia dome partially
obscured for renovation work

The Imperial Gate

It isn't the largest mosque, nor is it even considered the most beautiful, but it has such an interesting story to tell that it is its history that makes it unique in the world. It stood as a church for close to 1,000 years before it was converted to a mosque by the Ottomans in 1453, the year they conquered Constantinople for their empire. The dome, designed by master engineer Anthemius of Tralles, was the higher and bigger than anything built before it - 185 feet high and 105 feet in diameter. It towered over the Constantinople skyline, and bystanders traveled from afar to see it raised by the 5,000 architects, bricklayers, plasterers, sculptors, painters and mosaic artists who each had a role to play in it.

View from the upper gallery

The ramp to the upper gallery:
Emperors were carried or rode horseback,
necessitating a ramp instead of stairs.

It's proportions are something that is difficult to describe in words - it needs to be experienced. The Notre Dame dome could fit within it, and the Statue of Liberty "could do jumping jacks" according to Rick Steves. Despite the renovation work which obscured many of the features of the space, it still impressed. A primary feature of the interior are the 8 wooden medallions adorned with Islamic calligraphy suspended at the bases of the arches supporting the central and side domes. They are each 24 feet wide and were hung in the 18th century.

There were hundreds of people milling around taking snapshots, but somehow it felt like each of these views were for me alone. It was like I saw something different from every other person there. Like the emperors and the sultans who graced this space, I felt as though this space was mine to behold.

Read about these 16th century tiles here

The Hagia Sofia became a museum in 1934, so a veil is no longer required, and one does not see men at prayer as one can in the Blue Mosque and the Suleymaniye. Most of the features visible today are Islamic, but the many Byzantine mosaics, plastered over by the Ottoman conquerers, can be viewed from the upper gallery.

The Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque are connected by Sultanahmet Park. It is a place to find some shade and people watch. You can also hear many languages spoken - this is the heart of the tourist area of Istanbul and people come from all over the world. If you want to hear a discussion of the Hagia Sofia's murals in Russian or Japanese, just keep your ears open and you'll find it.

The Blue Mosque

The Blue Mosque is the most ornate of the three mosques. Completed in 1616 by Sultan Ahmet, it was raised in close proximity to the the Hagia Sophia which had already been standing for more than 1,000 years. The Suleymaniye Mosque had been built only 60 years earlier, and Sultan Ahmet could simply not be out done and needed a monument of his own. Like the Suleymaniye Mosque, the Blue Mosque is still a functioning place of worship, so I needed a veil to enter. Crowds are kept behind a low banister, and Muslims have a much larger space, and less crowded, to move around.

The central dome of the Blue Mosque

The Blue Mosque

The third mosque, which I've already shared with you, is the Suleymaniye Mosque completed in 1557. Visit my prior post to see pictures.

I've shared a few snapshots with you here, but I must insist you visit airpano.com which provides spectacular aerial and interior views of all three mosques.

Monday, August 4th - Tuesday, August 5th: Reflecting on Friendship

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 05 Aug 2014 21:24:00 +0000

Monday, August 4th - Tuesday, August 5th: Reflecting on Friendship

Yeşim, me, Nükte and Dilek on Burgaz Island 8/3/14

Just 13 days ago, Nükte and I rescued my mother from an Aksaray tourist hotel, one which was sure to give her an impression of this country vastly different from the one I have carried with me over the past 3 decades. Without friendships and personal connections, Turkey seemed to my mother to be a loud, impersonal place. That's not the Turkey I know.

Now that I've fully relaxed in to this rich experience, I've had more time to reflect on my now 25 year+ love affair with this country. What drew me here in the first place was Turkey's proximity to Iran - what kept me coming back was the strong connection I felt with friends. Maybe I was just extremely lucky to meet the right people, to strike friendships with the kindest and most generous of the lot. More likely, Turkish culture simply inspires warmth and an intimacy between people that is unique and ubiquitous. Meeting Nükte Devrim in 1989 changed the course of my life in many ways: it inspired a love of writing and journalism, it awakened in me a more critical and analytical view of the world and the freedoms I took for granted, and it left me inextricably linked to her, her family, this language, and this country. There were other Turkish friends that I made over the years, many of whom I've lost touch with now. In most cases I have only the portraits I took of them. But each of them make up the Turkey that I know.

Turkey is diverse, it is dynamic, it is mysterious. In Küzgüncük I hear complaints that too many cafes are opening up now, and the signs are getting bigger, more commercialized. With each visit to Istanbul I see more women covered, some completely in black similar to Iran's chador. The politics of the veil, and the politics of the growing conservatism of the ruling AK Party are complicated and I have much to learn about the impact these have on the lives of my friends. But to me Turkey hasn't changed in the most essential ways. During each of my four visits I've had the benefit of living here (I've stayed in a hotel only once - in Cappadocia in 2007). I've traveled to the farthest reaches of greater Istanbul to explore its varied communities and I've seen Anatolia - Kayserı, Göreme, Ankara, Izmir, Trabzon, Van, Diyarbakır. In each place I met people who touched me in some way.

Amongst its secular classes, Turkish women dress and see the world much as I do. They are well-traveled and multi-lingual. They raise their children to be of the world-at-large. Nükte and Vincent's girls are no different. While American fathers might give advice to their daughters about more mundane subjects, Vincent instead admonishes his girls about mixing different languages in the same sentence. "One should finish a sentence in one language before changing to another," he insists. Such is the challenge for the children of a Frenchman and a Turk.

Nükte, Müge and their mother

So, during my time here this month, while the the sights of this city are stupendous and grand, and I shall make the pilgrimage to visit them, the memories I am making will be about the people. Nükte's sister Müge is one of the kindest women I know. Already I have enjoyed multiple meals at her table, I have played with her son, and reveled at the magnificent view of the Bosphorus from her living room window. Nükte's friends Dilek and Yeşim are warm and welcoming. I wandered out of my front door in Küzgüncük at about 3:00pm today to buy ingredients with which to cook dinner when I ran in to Yeşim having tea with Tansel, a woman I'd met on Burgaz Island. I never made it to the store, because I sat having tea for more than an hour, and then was invited to dinner at a rooftop restaurant just few blocks away. It is now 11:00pm and I just got back home. A slight cool breeze is blowing through the house and I feel so content sitting here, reflecting on the conversations we had, and the banter over glasses of Rakı. Dilek's backyard abuts Nükte's, and she frequently sits at her back table to drink tea with friends. Turks drink on average of 6 glasses of Turkish tea a day, and you must add to that the Turkish coffee they consume. These rituals provide daily opportunities to sit with friends. Dilek practices her English with me, and has been very patient about answering the many questions I have about the Turkish language. I haven't gone a day without sharing in the warmth of friendship from one of these women.

Each time I've visited, I bring the same tattered copy of "Elementary Turkish" by Lewis Thomas, the book that I first poured over with a young Turkish waiter in the seaside town of Çeşme back in 1989. I was so touched by his enthusiasm to teach me his language that it kept me motivated to keep learning. Every time I pick up that book I think of him. I still have cassette tapes of Turkish pop singer Sezan Aksu back at home that I haven't been able to part with, even though I no longer have a tape player in which to play them. I grew up in Turkey and, as is Nükte, it is my abla, my sister.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 05 Aug 2014 13:58:00 +0000

A Quick Post: (a couple of the) The Flowers of Burgaz Island

Akşam Sefası, or "Evening Feast"

Called "Four o'Clocks" in English

As it looks all day in the sunshine. 4:15pm

A short 90 minutes later at 5:45pm

Begonvil, or Bougainvillea in English

Begonvil are all over the Prince's Islands

Mom posing in front of an
impressive Burgazada Begonvil bush

Stepping down from the pool with a lush view of
Begonvil in the distance

Sunday, August 3, 2014: Learning as I Go

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 03 Aug 2014 18:54:00 +0000

The most accurate metro map

Sunday, August 3, 2014: Learning as I Go

Müge's husband Alp tweeted about the 18 metro maps that I found online, and he says the message was retweeted and seen by almost 5000 people!

I'm pleased to report that I am now sure that #16 is the most accurate of the metro maps I found.

With Tuana's advice, I was able to make my way from Küzgüncuk to Şişhane in just an hour today!
Here's how I did it:

Step One: The city bus between
Küzgüncük to Üskükdar

Step Two: The Üskükdar - Kabataş ferry

Step Three: The funicular from Kabataş to Taksim
(A funicular is essentially a cable car)

Step Four: The Metro between
Taksim and
Şişhane

I know it sounds complicated, but I'm thinking that I might actually be getting the hang of this. It's not like you're seeing me in a Dolumuş yet (that's a shared taxi), but I've finally figured out that the metro map is essentially an amalgamation of multiple systems, some old and some new, that have been joined through a series of tunnels and passageways. The Funicular has been around a very long time but now you can get to the funicular station from the metro. These two systems show up as different colors on the metro map, and the rider must look at the key at the bottom to figure out what type of transportation each color is on the map. The blue line, for instance, between Eminönü to Kabataş is an above ground tramway. If you want to connect to it, you've got to come out of the station to find it.

Kabataş ferry as it passes Dolmabahçe Palace

I found this poster at the Taksim station today. Mystery solved! Vezneciler is simply a new station, opened four months ago. This explains
why it was not on many maps.

At Şişhane, I bought some t-shirts and had a coffee at Starbucks (just 'cause I was a little homesick). I caught a gyspy singer and recorded just a

An old fellow selling granola bars
taking a rest from his job on
Istaklal St. in Şişhane

bit. He was very talented and this video hardly captures it.

It is very common to see, among the poor, the very old and the very young working here. A 6 year old boy gets on and off the busses in Üskükdar to sell bottles of water to passengers. Since the bus drivers frequently drive with the doors open, he just slips out a the bus is pulling away. Another child, maybe 3 years old, was selling packs of tissues at the Kabataş ferry landing, seated on a piece of cloth with his mother. There was a fellow who looked like he was in his 80's selling granola bars in Şişhane. The day was very hot and he couldn't have stood to make much. It is also striking to me that I have not seen a single wheelchair here. With the roads in the condition that they are, and with all the stairs one must take, it would be impossible to get around. The elevators in the metro stations were frequently out of order (just like our BART, actually) but I wonder if there is any pressure to fix them.

I head back to Burgaz Island Monday. I'm looking forward to seeing my good friends Nükte and Vincent again.

Saturday, August 2, 2014: Musings

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 03 Aug 2014 18:54:00 +0000

Saturday, August 2, 2014: Musings

Today was a blustery, humid day, replete with thunder, lightening and heavy rains. Waking up in Küzgüncük, it seemed a good day to stay close to home, but a call from Müge at midday sent me out with an umbrella to find a bus to Beylerbeyi. I brought what I needed to spend the night, just in case, and I'm glad I did: the rain ceased only long enough for a cup of tea in nearby Çengelköy (pronounced Chengelkoy) before the downpour began again. Later that evening, from Müge's 4th floor porch overlooking the Bosphorus, the lightening gave us a dramatic show, and complemented the fireworks released from a dinner cruise passing by. Müge and Alp had guests for dinner, a sophisticated couple who spoke good English and we had interesting conversations over Sangria. It was a lovely evening.

The teahouse we had visited earlier in Çengelköy was very crowded, and was near the water. With storm clouds menacing, we found a spot under a magnificent tree (the sign said it was 800 years old) which shielded us under a canopy of branches. Two glasses of tea later, we were ready to take a stroll.

Rainclouds over the Bophorus from the Çengelköy wharf

Fresh simit from the baker in Çengelköy

Downtown Çengelköy

My friends speak fondly of Çengelköy, and describe it as having a very "Turkish flavor," unlike Küzgüncük, which has attracted a more bourgeois crowd drawn to its many cafes and its tree lined main street. Where you find cosmopolitan artists in Küzgüncük, and middle class families in Beylerbeyi, perhaps they mean that one is more likely to find in Çengelköy an older generation and their less sophisticated and less worldly offspring. This is all just my interpretation of their comments, since Çengelköy's small town feel is difficult for me to sense.

****

If you don't like to read about cats, there is no need to read on.

The noisy Küzgüncük cat outside of my back door.

Have I mentioned much about the wild cats and dogs around Istanbul? Around the home in Küzgüncük, cats provide a constant soundtrack. They mew constantly, and fight over territory and food. Kittens are pitied because they are not expected to live long, considering the difficult life they lead. Dogs are captured by the city, given vaccinations, then marked and released back in to the neighborhoods. Cats don't have this luxury. Nükte and Vincent rescued their cat from the wild and give it a great deal of love. They coo over beautifully colored strays they pass in the street.

This Çengelköy pet store cat is very
content. A rare sight.

This Çengelköy was ready to fight over the
scrap she got from the butcher shop.

Müge seemed quite alarmed actually, when I described our SPCA to her, and felt it was cruel to put these animals to sleep.

No, stray dogs and cats are simply part of the Istanbul milieu. They're here to stay.

Friday, August 1: Negotiating the Istanbul Metro System

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 01 Aug 2014 19:32:00 +0000

Friday, August 1: Negotiating the Istanbul Metro System

First, an update:

Yesterday I moved from Burgaz Island to Küzgüncük, my friends' home on the Asian side of Istanbul. After a week of lazing under the sun and swimming in the sea, it seemed to be time that I do some sightseeing. I've stayed in Küzgüncük once before, when I brought David, Aisha and Toshio to Istanbul in 2007, so the community and Nükte's house are familiar to me, and the neighbors in the area know me as well. It is also a short 10 minute bus ride from Beylerbeyi, where Müge lives. All in all, I feel very at home here.

I rose this morning with the plan to head to Taksim, the famous square which was the location of the May 2013 demonstration that I wrote about in a previous blog post. There are multiple ways I could have gotten there (land, sea, underground metro) but since the Istanbul metro system is new to me (recently built since my last visit), I decided to try that.

I boarded the metro train in Üsküdar, just a short bus ride from Küzgüncük. I found the station clean and modern, with lots of beautiful artwork and even a large flat screen TV to watch commercials while I waited for the train. My plan was to take the train just one stop across the Bosphorus, equivalent to traveling between West Oakland and Embarcadero on BART. So my first stop would be Sirkeci. Here's the map they displayed at the station:

That's when the confusion began. I wanted to transfer at Sirkeci to the Kabataş line so I could disembark at Taksim. How hard could that be? I've managed many difficult metro systems before (NY? Paris?) but I must say the Istanbul system had me stumped.
I found myself on the street at Sirkeci, unable to find the transfer point, so I took the above-ground tramway that I was more familiar with and found my destination that way.

Fast forward to the afternoon when I was ready to head back, I boarded the underground metro at Taksim with the intention of heading south to get as close to Eminönü as I could, but found myself disembarking at a station the doesn't even show up on this map! Can you find the Vezneciler station on the green line heading to Yenikapi? Neither can I.

I did some research on my laptop when I got home and I found no fewer than 18 different Istanbul metro maps online. EIGHTEEN. To be fair, I can see now that the Istanbul metro system is work in progress, and lines are being added all the time. Of course some of these maps were previous versions that show the limited availability of lines as they were being constructed. BUT, you'll also notice that the shapes of the maps change from version to version, and the line colors change as well. Here is a selection of my favorites:

This one does show the stop I got off at in Vezneciler station

Of all the Istanbul metro maps I found online, only 3 had the station that I got off at in Vezniciler. The map posted at the Üsküdar metro station was not one of them.

Okay, on to what I actually DID today.

Today I toured Istiklal Street in Beyoglu, which is a very nice boulevard with lots of fun stores and restaurants. It is a popular tourist destination so I did see a lot of foreigners. And yes, I did buy some silly Istanbul Tchotchkes.

Sulemaniye Mosque

I also saw the breathtaking Suleymaniye Mosque. Wow. Completed in 1557 by Sinan the Architect for Süleyman the Great, it has been restored to its original state, with beautiful geometric shapes in the interior domes and the same dramatic lighting one finds in all of Istanbul's mosques.

That's me. I had to be covered in the mosque

After visiting the mosque, I made my way North to Eminönü to catch the ferry back to Üsküdar (the metro felt a bit risky at this point), and a small alleyway with some shops caught my eye. What followed was a 90 minute walk through a market area that seemed to cover a square mile, with tiny alleys that go off in different directions with any household item you can imagine for sale.

Interested in some counterfeit dollars?

This store was entirely decorative boxes and ribbons

Need a combination safe, or a colander? How about some party favors for a children's party? Or some Turkish delight? I was lost, I thought, but emerged later not far from where I started. Go figure.

Underground passageway at Eminönü

At last, it was time to catch the ferryboat and head back to Küzgüncük, but I had one last challenge to face. Those of you who have visited Istanbul before will know that Eminönü is an extremely busy area, packed with taxis and pedestrians. The city smartly built underground passageways to get from one side of the street to another, and industrious shopkeepers opened up stores along the tunnels to entice people as they walked by. There are even public restrooms in the tunnels. I expected this. What I did not expect were the crowds. We were shoulder to shoulder, packed in, as we moved as one through the hot and sweaty space. It reached 89 degrees today at it's hottest. In the tunnels it felt more like 100. Ugh. Nükte had warned me that the crowds had gotten worse since my last visit. I finally saw it for myself.

Back at home, I was so glad to wash off the sweat from this day. It was an authentic Istanbul experience from beginning to end. :-)

Tuesday, July 29th: A Cooking Experience

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 29 Jul 2014 19:45:00 +0000

Tuesday, July 29th: A Cooking Experience

Deniz börülcesi (called samphire in English but literally sea cowpea in Turkish) is a type of marsh weed readily available around Burgaz Island. One can find it growing on the sidewalks in this area actually. I witnessed a couple of Kurdish women scraping it up in to some plastic bags today, apparently to cook it later. Our batch, however, was purchased at Friday's open-air market and is fresh (and not scraped off a sidewalk). It is stiff and looks like seaweed when it is uncooked.

After cleaning it thoroughly, we immersed the stalks in a pot of cold water, and brought it to boil on the stove. We let it boil for about 15 minutes.

After draining the water, Vincent pinched each stalk between his fingers and pulled off the cooked shell off each stiff strand. What was left was like a stick and this part was thrown away.

The cooked shell slips off easily

Vincent shows the stiff stalk

This is the most time intensive step in cooking deniz börülcesi

The cooked shell is limp and ready for eating.

Although, of course, no Turkish dish is complete without garlic. Vincent grated 3 cloves in to the bowl with the cooked deniz börülcesi.

Lastly, we added 2 tablespoons of virgin olive oil and 2 spoons of tomato paste and mixed it all thoroughly. Turkish tomato paste is pre-salted and delicious right out of the jar. With the tomato paste mixed in, the dish is then ready to eat. Served cold, it is a great side salad for a hot day.

Here's the meal we ate:

Cooked deniz börülcesi
Cucumber salad with garlic and yoghurt.
Dolmas
Cold red lentil dolmas
White feta cheese
Roasted eggplant and garlic
Raw green peppers

Afiyet olsun!

If you haven't had enough, here's another recipe you can try:
http://www.petersommer.com/turkey-travel-country/turkish-food-cuisine/deniz-borulcesi-samphire-salad/

Presidential Elections: Commentary

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 28 Jul 2014 16:31:00 +0000

Presidential Elections: Commentary

In Beylerbeyi

On August 10, 2014, for the first time in modern Turkey’s history, the president will be elected by the public instead of by parliament. Citizens will visit their local polling station to unfold their ballots and choose their 12th president. The three-term Prime Minister Recep Teyyip Erdoğan, of the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP), is considered the candidate to beat. I observed political banners of Erdoğan all over Istanbul with more frequency than I did his competitors, and with the resources of the State behind him he is surely able to be familiar to Turks residing in other countries, numbering 2.8 million according to Today’s Zaman newspaper, now able to vote in Turkish elections for the first time. Erdoğan's image as a “street fighter” for challenging Western countries has made him popular among the lesser-educated Turkish citizens abroad.

In Bebek

But Erdoğan's image remains shaky in urban Istanbul. Low voter turnout would be to Erdoğan's advantage, my friends shared. The educated classes are disenchanted with him since the government’s handling of the Gezi Park protests which took place in May of 2013. From what started as a modest sit-in in opposition to an urban development plan in Istanbul’s Taksim Square, the violent eviction of protestors inspired as many as 3.5 million of Turkey’s 80 million people to take part in what became a widely publicized demonstration. Shortly thereafter, Turkey joined China, in blocking Twitter.

“Twitter, schmitter,” Erdoğan was reported on the CBC News site to have said in an angry speech to supporters in the northwest town of Bursa. He vowed to “root out” the social media platform. “I don’t care what the international community says. Everyone will witness the power of the Turkish Republic.” (www.cvc.ca, “Turkey tackles Twitter, comes out bruised” By Sasa Petricic, March 24, 2014).

This home belongs to a member of Erdogan's family in Beylerbeyi

Despite Erdogan’s efforts, the penetration rate of Twitter among Turkish internet users is about 30 percent. The Twitter block was originally motivated by politics, after taped conversations were leaked during a corruption investigation, in which Erdoğan was allegedly heard discussing with his son how to get rid of millions of euros. I saw this house (see right) which was raised recently near Beylerbeyi, allegedly built for Erdoğan’s brother-in-law. Older homes around it must abide by the many strict planning rules imposed on homes near the shores of the Bosphorus, where residents cannot even change the size of a window. This modern concrete building stands out like a sore thumb.

My friends Nükte and Vincent were drawn to the Gezi unrest, as many secular Turks were, as it inspired hope that Turks had found their pulpit for civil rights and democracy. Compared to the Occupy movement, the Gezi Park protests galvanized both left and right-leaning Istanbuli Turks. Nükte relayed to me an encounter she had with a local policeman on the ferry boat on their way back from Taksim Square, her face still burning from tear gas. He expressed his own bewilderment on being at the other side of the protest, and described the round the clock shifts he worked alongside a police force that was bussed in from Anatolia to face protestors.

I asked about the baby. No one knows who it is.

Turkey’s experience with a multi-party system is short and riddled with problems. The parliament is largely dominated by the conservative party, with two or three strong parties able to exert some influence, but as many as 30 others that are not electorally successful, resulting in a polarized domestic political environment. The leftist parties, most notable of which is the Republican People's Party or Kemalist Party (CHP) draw much of their support from big cities and coastal regions. Erdogan’s main competitor, Ekmeleddin İhsanoğlu, was hand-picked by the Kemalist and Nationalist Movement (MHP) parties without securing the support of their bases. As a newcomer, İhsanoğlu is relatively unfamiliar to the greater Anatolia, and has cast himself as an independent, vowing to unite the secularists and the Islamists. but many secularists remain skeptical and view the secularism of Kemalist Turkey as at its last breath. Whether a vision of secularist Turkey can be kept alive with Erdoğan at the helm, remains in question.

The third candidate, Selahattin Demirtaş, is a Socialist and represents the People’s Democratic Party (HDP). He is considered to have no chance at all of winning the election. Demirtaş was identified as his party’s candidate late and has very little visibility in the greater city of Istanbul, from what I observed.

Voting was at one time mandatory in Kemal Ataturk’s Turkey, with turnout rates still hovering close to 80%. (http://www.idea.int/vt/countryview.cfm?CountryCode=TR). Many view Erdoğan's election as a sure thing, and won’t bother to vote. And yet, with the memory of Gezi still fresh, perhaps they will speak.

Source: wsj.com, July 10, 2014

Erdoğan sent this spam propaganda text Sunday wishing customers of this particular phone service a

Happy Bayram. Others got similar messages from the opposition candidate İhsanoğlu.

Taksim Square, May 2013

Sunday, July 27th: Ramazan Bayramı (updated)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 28 Jul 2014 12:21:00 +0000

Ramazan Bayramı is the three-day religious holiday that follows the end of the holy month of Ramazan, the holy month of fasting. The three-day holiday this year begins this afternoon and extends through Wednesday.

In Turkey, Ramazan Bayramı is a time for observant Muslims to send greeting cards to friends and loved ones, pay visits, and enjoy a lot of sweets. It is also a time of celebration, and after sunset the feasting begins with a ceremonial "break-fast" light meal called Iftar. For my secular friends, Ramazan Bayramı is mostly a time to avoid the freeways in the evening since they become crowded with people heading to Iftar events. I was also told that people who are fasting can be more irritable.

The most evident sign of Ramazan is the abundant availability of freshly-baked flat pide bread.

My friend Müge discussing which bread to choose at the bakery.
I wish I could post the smell of this bakery as I could a sound or a video.
Luscious.

A Pide seller, going door to door with fresh Pide.
Many of the workers and Pide sellers are fasting for Ramazan,
but continue to work and sell food to other non-observant residents and tourists.
It is commonly understood that people fasting may be irritable or short-tempered.

Kınalıada is the most populated of the Prince's islands.

I returned to Burgaz Island from Beylarbayı on the last eve of Ramazan, and found the ferry boat loaded with tourists (Arabs mostly it seemed) heading to the Prince's Islands. As we passed, I observed that every inch of the shores of Kınalı Island were covered with beach chairs and umbrellas, and children swam in the deep shore waters of the Marmara as the massive ferry boat floated by.

Burgaz Island's shores, on the contrary, were serene and calm. Nükte has said that this was the primary reason she chose Burgaz over the other islands.

Climbing the hill in the heat, with my large overnight bag, was difficult, but how wonderful to return to my friends' lovely flat, with its sea breezes drifting in through the french doors! I immediately put on my swim suit and went to soak in the neighbor's swimming pool and made one final errand to buy the last Pide of Ramazan at the bakery.

Here's is a quick view of my walk. Do you hear the seagulls?

I encountered this scene on my way back.

Wild cats and dogs are a common site in Turkey.
These ones were hoping to pick up
some scraps from the fellow's barbecue.

Saturday, July 26: Trip to Beylerbeyi

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 26 Jul 2014 21:46:00 +0000

Saturday, July 26: Trip to Beylerbeyi

Nükte and her sister Müge have known me since 1989, when I made my first trip to Turkey.

I found this snapshot from 1989 framed at Müge's house when
I visited today. That's Nükte on the left, me in the middle,
and Müge on the right.

In 1989 I designed three independent study courses to be undertaken on Turkish art, culture and feminism during my 5th semester at UC Santa Cruz. In advance of arriving, I sent a letter to Bosphorus University English Department looking for pen pals and for help with finding somewhere to live. Nükte responded to that letter and when her and her sister we quickly became friends. I returned again to Turkey in 1991 and worked with Nükte at Dateline Newspaper in Istanbul. We reconnected in 2006 and have managed to see each other about every other year since then, in Turkey, in Paris, or in the States.

Since my mother was leaving today to go back to Iran, it seemed an opportune time to make the visit to see Müge and her family.

The trip entailed 2 ferry rides, and a taxi north from Üskudar to Beylarbeyi. Müge has a lovely home overlooking the Bosphorus which she shares with her husband Alp and their son Sinan (7 1/2 years old). Thanks to Vincent's and Nükte's helpful hand-drawn maps, the trip to Beylarbeyi was uneventful and easy. Müge is a physiologist now, and her husband is a Psychiatrist.

We arrived to find a lovely lunch waiting for us.
Fish, potatoes, cucumber salad and roasted eggplant salad.

Mom and me with their son Sinan

Muge looking over the sea ferry map for me.

The view from their balcony

Mom departed after lunch, and Sinan and Müge and me took a walk to the water for a cup of tea and some shopping.

This week it is Bayram, a religious holiday tied to the end of Ramadan. The holiday means that many people, including Müge and Alp, are not working. The seaside was full of people fishing and milling about, enjoying the beautiful clear weather and breeze coming off the water.

July 25, 2014: Market Day

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 25 Jul 2014 22:51:00 +0000

July 25, 2014
Market Day

Friday is market day on Burgaz Island. Everyone appears from their homes to haggle over trinkets and clothes. Vendors were from all over, even other countries such as China and Bulgaria.

Ne kadar means "how much" in Turkish. It's not hard to say. Trickier though, is understanding the responses I would get to the question. I heard a shirt was on beş when it was really otuz beş. That's the difference between being $5 and being $12. I didn't figure out the mistake until I got less change than I was expecting.

Describing how to cook Chile Relleno

Mom was searching for the ingredients to cook a Persian meal for our hosts. Eggplant, mint, cilantro, garlic and onions were all on her list. We found all of these and so much more that were new and difficult to translate between Turkish, French and English.

Artichoke hearts. Turks don't eat the leaves of artichokes. Only the hearts.
They steam them in an inch of water with a bit of olive oil.

Dried eggplant is used for dolma. See here for a recipe:

Mom wanted greens (sabzi) for her meal.
She found mint and cilantro

Vincent followed us along to help find ingredients. He'd filled a rolling shopping bag full of items already and it was quite heavy. "Bouvard," he said, "my family name, it means strong as a bull," he told my mother.

My mother went in search of a bathroom,
poking her head in to the first open door
she could find. No luck there.

But a few minutes later, with only the word
toilet, she had success. She came strutting
back down the hill to find me.

July 23, 2014: A Day of Rest

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 25 Jul 2014 04:48:00 +0000

Mom seated on the veranda to the sounds of seagulls and ship horns.

July 23, 2014: A Day of Rest

Yes, as you might expect, I wanted to move as little as possible today. I spent most of the day shifting from one cozy spot to another, looking for escape from the sun to write, battling my head's desire to be on a pillow. Meals were lengthy affairs, relaxed encounters over familiar flavors and full of laughter as my mother told each story of the day before multiple times, in great detail and with a lot of dramatic flair. Slowly, the story of where she had ended up in Aksaray began to sink in and it was clear how desperate a moment it had been for her. Perhaps it was also the sheer beauty - and tranquility - of the space she had ended up in (could she have even imagined it from her perch on the dirty sidewalk, that a place like this could even exist?), in sheer contrast to her crash landing in Istanbul's cheapest tourist quarter, that was the biggest shock to the system. In any event, we were both recuperating.

Finally, at about 5:00pm, at which point I felt myself sinking in to a deep sleep as soon as my lids would close, I rose and announced it was time to leave the house. Braving the path back down the hill to town, and then finding the house on the way back, seemed like enough of an adventure to keep me awake. I convinced my mother to join me. I needed coffee. So, armed with a simple map, we headed out.

The map includes their wifi password,
so in case you end up on Burguzada
and need to log on, you ought
not have any problem. ;-)

To our surprise, it took us only 5 minutes to walk down to the seaside! The horses, evidently, can't handle the steepness of the hills, so they head up in wide switchbacks which explains why the trip up had been so long, and disorienting. Coupled with the exhaustion I had been battling, it was as if I had been blindfolded and spun for a game of Marco Polo. If it hadn't been for the hill we were climbing, I don't think I would have even known which way was up. But in the light of day, and with the sounds of the gulls to follow, it was an easy stroll down the path between houses to reach the shore.

We sat for a coffee at one of the many cafes by the dock. The garçon (that's what you're supposed to address them as, which leads me to wonder if I'll encounter any women in the job of waiter) got a kick out of figuring out our order. My Turkish is still a mess in my head, so the words that emerge when I try to communicate have, thus far, been coming out all wrong. I'm mixing my verbs (gid, gel, gör - not to be confused with gün which is morning), so I haven't been brave enough to try yet. So for now I'm an awkward tourist looking for someone who understands English.

Our biggest challenge was buying the ingredients we needed for dinner (my mother had offered to cook), and it took five shop visits to get all that we needed for a simple chicken and rice dish. By now I think all the shopkeepers downtown are aware that there are a couple of Americans on the island.

So as not to throw a lot of words at not much to say, I'll be brief with the rest:
She cooked, we ate, and our upstairs neighbors invited us up for tea to enjoy their unobstructed view of the sea and Anatolia. Delightful. And I managed to stay up until 1:00am before sleep overtook me. Altogether a restful day.

A long dinner at around 10:00pm

The view from the upstairs neighbor's house.
An approaching ferry boat.

Iyi geçeler, which means goodnight,
Roia

11:00am 7/22 - 12:00am 7/24: In Constant Motion

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 24 Jul 2014 13:58:00 +0000

SFO 11:00am 7/22

Full of excitement and anticipation, I boarded the United Airlines flight en route to Istanbul, Turkey, via Frankfurt at 2:00pm on July 22nd. After 14 hours at 35,000 feet (mix in 3 hours of sleep (in snatches), and 4 hours walking through the maze that is Frankfurt Airport), I arrived at Ataturk Airport at 5:00pm Wednesday, July 23. In Turkey. Another world. Turkish words immediately began swimming through my head, but I was unsure what half of them meant. Nukte appeared among the waiting crowd, familiar and smiling - what a strange thing after so many hours in limbo, landing halfway around the world, to be plucked and recognized. Home.

I've known Nukte for 28 years.

Driving through Aksaray, there traffic was arriving from

all directions, with no sense of lanes at all.

Our first adventure was to find my mother, who had arrived in Istanbul that morning. A tour company in Tehran had set her up in a hotel in Aksaray, the armpit of an otherwise beautiful city. It was a trash hotel surrounded by other trash hotels, and a McDonalds. She was miserable. As soon as we called to say we were coming to get her, she repacked her bag and sat on the curb with her chin in her hands. It took us two hours to find her (subway connections, taxi, stopping passersby to ask the location of hotel), and when we pulled up to see her sitting there, it was a memorable sight. We swooped her up and off we went. It was now 8:00pm.

Success!

The ferry boat to Burgaz Island ("Burgazada") was leaving from the Kadikoy ferry landing at 9:30pm. We arrived with enough time to have a cup of tea before boarding. How glorious, an Istanbul ferry boat ride on a warm summer evening, the lights from the princess island glowing like jewels floating above the water. The air was heavy, wet and warm, but the air moved swiftly over us as we stood on the deck of the ferry. I found it ironic that I know to watch out for pickpockets and beggars, and yet passengers leave their suitcases near the exit of the ferry, and move about the upper levels without a worry about someone taking their bag. The ferry pulled in at 10:30pm. I had been traveling for 23 hours and was still in my traveling clothes. The ferry's engine was a loud hum as we moved through the Bosphorus to the Marmara Sea.

Burgaz Island allows no cars, and Nukte's summer house is at a high spot, several long and tall blocks up from the dock.

My mom, and my suitcases, were not going to have an easy time of it, so we hired a horse and buggy. 25 Turkish Lira. My suitcase was heavy and took up an entire seat, so Nukte said she would walk. Walk? I immediately got nervous: it would be my mom and I on a horse and buggy being delivered to a house I had never been to before by a driver who spoke no English, in the dark. Against the clip clop of the horses hooves, as our buggy navigated the narrow alleyways by people enjoying a late stroll, or a seaside cafe, I began composing what I would say in my head. "Bey Effendim, hangi ev? Burdami?" Sir, which house? Is it here? He stopped at a vegetable stand to pick up his grocery bag, and continued on up the hill. Up, left, right, we were pulled by two white horses that were hoping, as I was, that their day (and mine) would end soon. The cart stopped suddenly and, nervous, I jumped out. "Hangi ev, Bey Effendim? Burdami?"

The stream of Turkish that he responded with poured over me like a bucket of cold water. I had no idea what he was saying, except I was fairly certain he was not pointing out a house. "Are we here?" my mother asked. "I don't think so," I replied, and climbed back in the buggy. Up, left, right, and higher we climbed. Again the buggy stopped. And again I repeated the collection of words that I hoped would lead me to a bed. Again he rattled off a response at a rate that my brain couldn't follow. "What's going on? Are we not there yet?" my mother said, incredulously, and she laughed as I climbed back up confused. On and on we went, and for yet a third time we stopped. I waited for as long as I could stand, and then hopped out, asking "Burdami?" It's got to be here, I thought to myself. How much farther can it be? When I climbed back in to the buggy for the third time, my mother laughed uproaringly as I sat there a bit shame-faced. I had to admit I didn't know what I was doing and I was completely at the mercy of this middle-aged buggy driver. I sat back and resolved to not say another word. This entire ride took maybe 15 minutes, but we finally pulled up to a curb to find Nukte's husband Vincent waiting for us. Finally.we.had.arrived. And I think I could be sure this time. The driver was evidently as frustrated as I was as he related the story to Vincent in Turkish. He didn't know what to make of me: a nervous American jumping out of the cart every time he needed to give his horses a rest, or set the break for a downhill stretch.

Whew. 11:00pm. A soft bed. A meal, close friends. And a veranda that displayed the Marmara Sea spreading out before us. It was at 4:00am, when I struggled to sleep, that I heard the Muezzin, mixing with the sound of seagulls at the dock. Listen with me here

This is the view I woke up to the next morning.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 22 Jul 2014 04:55:00 +0000

I'm leaving for Istanbul tomorrow at 2:15pm!!
Stay tuned for my posts.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 03:36:00 +0000

        My memories of Iran had already faded by the time I was seven years old so when the trunk arrived one fall day in October I was awestruck. It arrived on our doorstep like a long forgotten relative, encased in metal and lacquered wood, shredded rope wrapped around its belly and our address plastered to its top in my father’s careful script. The heavy iron handles lay flat along its sides like tiny round arms, worn and smooth in my hand. This was the lost trunk that my parents had sent ahead before our return. They had considered it lost, gone forever, and yet here it stood after having had travels of its own.

        It must have taken both my parents to lift that trunk. I imagined them holding those heavy handles, surprised by the weight of them, and then a noisy heave as they brought the trunk over the threshold. They would have carried it slowly through the dark hallway and down the carpeted stairs to our rumpus room, calling out to each other when they turned the corners. But I wasn’t there to see any of that. It was already enthroned in the deep shag of our rumpus room floor by the time I got home from school, and I found it there, waiting for me.

     The things that usually littered our rumpus room: my father’s massive canvases leaning against one wall with only the blond wood frames and frayed canvas edges exposed, the black upright piano with its bench settled underneath, and the old zenith TV on its rolling cart, they stood at attention around the trunk as if eyeing it, challenging it. Who goes there and what right have you here, you unexpected and uninvited stranger?

      Iran had become an “other”, foreign, strange, the half of me that was oddly-colored and smelled of celery stew and rose water; the half of me that I tried to ignore. My year there when I was three and four was like a closed chapter of one of my father’s library books full of black and white pictures of artifacts and statues. All that was left were flashes of memory: paper schoolbooks that I couldn’t read, pots of steaming rice and the bright orange of a glass of fresh carrot juice. Iran had become the sound of my mother’s shouts in to our kitchen princess phone on New Years Day each year; her voice desperately reaching through the phone, her loud voice shouting in the language that was familiar yet incomprehensible to me now. Iran was the phone inevitably handed to me to hear a tinny distant voice calling my name in answer to my small hello. The awkward silence when I didn’t know what else to say.

     And when this trunk was finally opened it brought forth all these things in a flood that made me breathless. Its heavy rope was cut with our kitchen knife and fell away to expose the heavy padlock that had been hidden underneath. Within minutes my father produced the small key and the top was lifted. Stale air mixed with the smell of sweet moth balls lingered in my nose as I stretched my neck to peer inside. Its dark gut was still and full. My mother, chatty, exuberant, welcomed each item from its depth as she gingerly removed them– small folded rugs with bright patterns, tiny sheep skin hats that I could hardly believe I had ever worn, a tin samovar with small matching tea cups, clothes, wraps, shawls and stiff beaded shoes of gaudy colors. I stood away and poked at these things with outstretched fingers. Everything was scratchy against my skin and the old, weighted smell was so strong it assaulted me and filled the room. I gladly disappeared into the kitchen to make my mother a cup of strong black tea and leave her with these smelly and unexpected relatives.

     Satisfied that she had unfolded each item, caressed each with nostalgia and longing and then refolded them with the same creases, Mother began returning them back to their waiting vault. The trunk which witnessed this whole scene was eventually closed with a slam and my mother sprang up from her squat with a light step. Both of my parents seemed to welcome this trunk home. As for me, I was wash with relief when it was all over: the foreigness of these things only served to remind me of my own unexplainable foreigness. The trunk finally took its rightful place amongst the old boxes in our garage and I felt more at ease with its place there, hidden and unseen. Its contents would remain the assemblage of an unknown people. Artifacts of a culture, of a part of myself, that I would never truly know.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 01:00:00 +0000

On June 3rd 1971, my father left Iran for Europe and on July 18th my mother joined him in Rome. For 20 days Lygeia and I were left in the care of our grandparents in Tadjrish.

Over the 10 months we had lived in Iran, I committed to memory the changing landscape of our inner courtyard garden. I watched my Grandfather grow sick and almost die, and then, miraculously, claim a second chance. Ten months was a lifetime and I knew no other life.

August 7, 1971

En route to Zurich Switzerland

At 30,000 feet we had lost all sense of time and place. My sister’s wadded cardigan was pressing marks into my flushed cheek so I shifted my elbow out of the crack between the airplane seats and readjusted my head. The rumble of the jet’s engine interrupted my sleep – I was tired and bored and wanted this in-between world to give way to whatever was coming next. Through the ochre of closed lids I listened for my sister’s voice, but both she and our escort, Uncle Hossein, who wasn’t really our uncle at all, were quiet. Uncle Hossein spoke no English or German, so Lygeia had translated for him when the stewardess came by to offer blankets and pillows. He wasn’t as bold and confident as he had been at Grandpapa’s parties. Instead, he seemed strangely timid in stockinged feet and a black suit, having to ask my sister to get him a glass of water.

Hours later I was back in my parents' arms and dozing off and on through a cab ride. I was placed on my feet and led with half closed lids through a carpeted foyer, and on to an elevator (ding!) to my parents’ hotel room. For once, I did not argue who should push the button - I was far too tired to care. We would stay one night before a train ride to Frankfurt and another long flight across the Atlantic and back to the mythic Home. Home? The word rang flat. I waited for my mother to place the large iron key in the keyhole, and turn the lock in the hotel room door.

“We have a surprise for you,” my mother said, and pushed open the door.

“A surprise?” Lygeia asked and rushed over the threshold as the light was clicked on. I followed her past the large bed where my parents were to sleep, and through another doorway in to a smaller room where two twin beds sat side by side. The curtain was pulled open and the afternoon light poured down on an array of toys, purses and trinkets on each bed, of glorious reds, blues, yellows and greens – dolls with flowing dresses, a plastic purse of bright yellow and red, a Spanish flamenco dancer with a gown so full that her tiny plastic high heels were all but invisible to my eye. I dropped my father’s hand and rushed in with Sissy, wanting to grab it all at once into my arms. “For me? All for me?” I asked.

“This bed is for you Roia. That bed is for your sister.”
“Oh!” Lygeia squeeled, and we both rushed in to finger the cloth of the swiss apron we were both given, and the ruffles and the hair of each doll. From headboard to foot, it was a fantastic array, like Christmas, and the presence of these inanimate trinkets soothed me and reminded me of the awesome power of my parents to provide for me – to find me when I am lost. The weight of each doll in my hands was like another anchor to remind me of Home.

I turned over the flamenco dancer and studied her tiny shoes, her underclothes. I felt the plastic of my colorful and shiny purse. My mother and father eventually disappeared in to the next room to put down the suitcases but I hardly noticed.

“Sissy, look at this one!” I said with a grin, holding out the purse for her to see. She looked up briefly and went back to studying the long blond hair of the doll in her hands. She’d made room for herself on her bed, and had sat herself down amongst her prizes, her long legs extending off the end of the mattress.

Later that evening we sat at dinner in a dimly lit hotel restaurant. I had my new purse tucked tightly under my arm as I fell asleep in my chair. I let myself be carried back to our room for a long sleep in between cool sheets.

-end