istanbul meets girl

memories of a city

2008-07-22T20:07:00.004+03:00

Ok so I kind of stole that from Pahmuk, but it seemed fitting.
I am entering the last days of my time in Istanbul and reflecting on my experiences here and around... rather an overwhelming thing to try to 'process' (for want of a better phrase). From watching turks straddle their Gelibolu monumental canon to develop my own standards of offensiveness in the gaze of men around me (a staring turk is acceptable-- a staring german tourist is filth, somehow!) I have certainly come a long way in getting used to the ways and manners of the city.

This becomes even more apparent when I step outside the city as I have over the last few weeks. Barcelona seemed outrageously international with its hoardes of backpackers and English language signs and menus. London's bus drivers drove me crazy with their pointless and petty sarcasm and everywhere I walk seems empty by comparison with this city of 21 million people.

Being a tourist in another country is a strange experience also because I realise I don't know anything (dur)-- the language, the culture, just how to manage myself. It is pleasing but also sad to realise how much I have learnt in Turkey and how homely it feels by comparison to other places.

I have discovered a newfound respect for nationalism. For a possessive approach to one's 'women'! And when the Turkish bus drivers on my bus to Greece bought me breakfast because I had no euros I was in love all over again with the absurd generosity and warmth of the working class Turk.

The first time I went overseas (south east Asia like most good Aussies of my generation) I was struck by the possibility of another way of life. That there were people whose daily life and broader social structures and ethos were completely different to mine.... and they kind of worked.

Living in another country (and such a vibrant, beautiful and sometimes crazy one) has given me this awareness all over again and on a different level, and I am so thankful for that.

edukation

2008-05-09T14:04:00.005+03:00

I really like my students. I do. They are so well behaved compared to students I've taught elsewhere along the world-- of course they have the usual puberty-related 'issues' (random, unprovoked aggression from the boys, icy periods of bitchy hostility from the girls) but generally they are so delightfully innocent. I have to feign horror over their occassional interruptions and *gasp* today I heard a swear word. It is sometimes odd to maintain the veneer of seriousness and disappointment at their trivial missteps, but its a great deal more enjoyable than genuinely being horrified.

Their stupid questions really get me though. I was supervising an exam today, and despite the fact that there is a clock in front of them, in the corridor outside, and on half of their wrists, they still ask me how long we have left every now and then. I usually tell them when they are halfway, and one kid loves to ask how long we have left a minute before the halfway mark. Of course I understand that they are not asking the time, per se. They are asking for a little attention and reassurance. And they want to interact. Well they are alone there.

On a somewhat darker note, I have never had a student who was beaten up by the police before... apparently buying tickets for the latest futbol match is a contact sport. You hear about police violence in 'other' parts of the world, but I am still dumbfounded by realising that it can be so close to me.

A while ago I saw the police beating a guy up on the main streets of the harbour town near my house. There was a whole van of them and this one guy getting kicked and shoved. I was in a taxi and was totally mortified... and drove straight past. I don't know what on earth I could have done... but I still feel guilty and weird about that. Does it mean that the whole democratic protest state that we are so proud of actually depends upon the absence of any real environment that is protest-worthy? Not that there are not objectionable events and decisions in Australia. But a protest is supposed to be an act of defiance... that defiance is apparently fairly feeble in me, and falters when it hits real opposition.

On my way to 'language exchange' the other night there was a group of protesters in the main square. The police were there in riot gear-- gas masks and battalions.

I have seen lots of police like this... this was the first time I'd actually seen any protesters! I'm not sure what my point is. Just an observation of some of the quiet absurdity that seems to characterise my time here, I guess. Like the car driving along the wrong side of the highway last night, and the fact that I haven't worn a seatbelt in months, and the fact that I live in a house built for a family while thousands of people live in gecekondos.... it seems to go uncommented upon by the population at large.

flying makes me ill

2008-05-07T11:45:00.000+03:00

I am starting to loathe aeroplanes with a passion I never thought possible. I used to say that flying was a drag, but mostly I think cause it sounded so damn cosmopolitan. This is no longer the case, and so in order to affect some sort of catharsis I will make a list of things I hate about flying and the general experience of being at and around airports.

I hate the people who jump up as soon as the plane lands. Clearly it takes SOME time to get all that 747 planey crap done, so why do people even entertain the possibility that we will be jumping off the second we land?

This frustration is seriously compounded if I am lucky enough to be in the middle or aisle seats, because then I also have to stand up and stoop in that horrible squashed bit between seat and roof while everyone around me is frantically tipping bags from overloaded compartments and bumping strangers' elbows.

I hate people who board with group A when they are not group A. You act like you didn't hear or understand the announcement. I don't BELIEVE you.

Of course I also hate the overpriced food, the seemingly endless delays, the attempts to get there in traffic or on trains and the soul destroying requests to rid myself of electrical goods, coins, shoes, bags, whatever, every few minutes. (Note: why is my passport in a different place every time I look for it?)

The people annoy me more though. Essentially I suppose I want everyone to follow my own carefully thought-out rules of 'engagement' with the airport, and yet one of my own principles of social nicety is that you never show that you are annoyed or ask someone to sit down and wait their turn. Instead I quietly seethe and, unnoticed, roll my eyes occasionally-- pretty impotent, huh?!

Just to tie this in with the whole 'Turkey' thread, I guess this is why I disagree with people who get so annoyed with the honking of horns and pushing in line that seems to be part of Turkish culture. It seems a little pathetic to proffer disdain upon those who are doing actively what the rest of us are trying to do with our dirty looks and upturned noses. Ok, I still stand around with an air of hapless superiority when students push in at the canteen. But a little part of me is learning to respect them for it, too.

'language exchange'

2008-05-07T11:13:00.000+03:00

My time here is nearly over and the language is still agonisingly difficult to master in any real sense. I clearly have no personality when I speak with Turks in their language because I am reduced to banalities about what I like and am doing. So few verbs, so many thoughts. People told me I was 'çok tatlı' (very sweet). How demeaning.

I had recently decided to give up on the whole debacle. I quit lessons and spent the money on make-up, and answered every question about my language speaking ability with 'turkçe bilmiyorum'. This was the result of many a frustrating experience when the language was really needed, and I wasn't able to deliver-- frustrating, but not nearly as demoralising and embarrassing as other people's insistence on merely repeating the same words, only louder, when I couldn't understand. Of course they didn't repeat them any more slowly. In fact, I have noticed that often when people are asked to repeat themselves, but slowly, they tend to pronounce individual words or phrases with big gaps in between.... but still mutter the words themselves incredibly quickly! grrrr...

On the plus side, this has made me feel like an AWESOME teacher. It is satisfying to be able to converse with my students who have a less than perfect grasp on the language, safe in the knowledge that I am doing so in a way that makes them feel comfortable and capable. Now I realise that this is actually something that I have learnt-- and that is indeed improving over my time here.

Having come to these rather smug and insular conclusions, however, last night I did a backflip and met up with a group of strangers to speak Turkish and English. We would 'exchange' the language in order to better each others' abilities. What a great idea! And how terrifying.

My fears were realised when I discovered that my language partner was concerned with developing his English in order to present his ideas on Anime in an academic context.

I also felt like walloping him every time he corrected my use of the suffix for possession or for the direct object. I was sort of mostly aiming for remembering the verb. Again, I felt like my personality was taking the brunt of the blows everytime I made the same banal pronouncement of 'çok guzel' every time I was asked for my opinion.

A more relaxing and enjoyable experience was to be found on my doorstep (is there anything one can't find at Enka?) when I found myself on corridor 'duty' with a Turkish teacher. Meleke's English is better than my Turkish, but not by much. We struggled through a chat about our holidays, the weekend and other water-cooler type stuff. It was lovely, and reminded me that, although it can be frustrating and tedious to wait for the organic development of language, socialising, and general 'cultural integration' of Turkey, it is really satisfying when it comes through.

I'm not going to ditch 'language exchange'. It is great to talk with people outside of my world at Enka and probably has some value other than making me feel small.... but I am relieved to know that there are possibilities for this kind of thing that don't come off a website as well.

food

2008-03-14T19:08:00.001+02:00

I mentioned to family and friends a while ago that I was going to write a blog about my Australian eating experiences. The problem with this proposition was that the sensory rush that one feels when consuming a pork and rosemary pizza (oh what a rush-- the sweet pig and I reunited) tends to fade rather quickly once one returns to rice and white beans on a regular basis.

So I am here to do a sort of fusion-blog (and I hope you appreciate the gastronomic tie-in there), covering Turkish and 'other' food experiences.

Recently I have been pleased to discover nice Turkish food. This is a rather sacreligious call in the expat community, as we are duty bound to declare love for all things oily and patlican on stepping foot into Attaturk, as far as I can tell. However, a diet of school cafeteria versions of 'classic' Turkish food did its bit to put me off for a good time. I thought I just didn't really like Turkish food, and it is still true that I don't think it is really my favourite 'cuisine' on the whole. However, I have definately developed a taste for lightly grilled onion and smoky eggplant (actually I already like the latter), and am a big fan of pizza with hazelnuts, otherwise known as fındık lahmacun. I also like the Turkish approach to restaurant eating. The food tends to come in little segments that have to be properly rolled, sprinkled, peeled and/or mushed together in order for the proper effect to be acquired. (This is another reason I think I didn't 'get it' right away-- white beans and rice is HEAPS better with the red pepper spice and minty herbs, olive oil and pomegranate oil... perhaps obviously, in retrospect.) I like this because it makes me feel that bit more native when I know which bread goes with what, but also because it seems to reflect something of the approach to daily business that I witness in other contexts here-- that is that food and eating does not have to be all that accessible to be appreciated and enjoyed. It's not really that simple to eat, and no-one gets to ask for the burger/pasta version that can just be shovelled down with a fork. It can be messy and somewhat complicated to share köfte, but no-one is complaining about that or expects it to be otherwise. This goes along with, in my mind, the common and ostentatious use of toothpicks to clean ones teeth afterwards. In both cases the diner ends up rather undignified (according to what I am used to) but of course at the same time, this being 'normal' it isn't so undignified. It seems like a more visceral experience to dining is enjoyed here, and a less pretentious one for it.

Not that the Turkish cuisine advocates or neccessitates an undignified approach to food. Far from it! It's more that the dignity is found in the care and patience with which the meal is prepared and eaten.

Finally, I like the emphasis on sharing. Who doesn't want to get at some of what their neighbour has? Of course Turkey is not alone in cultivating this gastronomic covetousness. But when it is combined with the extra attentive waiter (offering you paper towel every time you drip eggplant juice down your wrist) and the melodramatic Turkish pop star careening in the background, it all starts to feel quite homely.

Australia has its charms too though. First of all, Australia seems to have the heating thing down in a way that much of Europe seems to struggle with. Am I alone in desiring a healthy 20-22* temperature? Turkey is mostly too warm, but in Summer, too cold. Lots of places seem to suffer from Did-you-know-we-can-afford-air-conditioning syndrome, also observed in parts of Asia.

And Australia has pigs. Did I mention that I miss pork?

Other than this, what I like about Australia is my own ability to judge a book by its cover there. My instincts for quality restaurants in a range of 'presentations' is well honed in Australia. I can seek out the cheap but tasty with little trouble, and I am all over the expensive but worth it. Unimpressive but authentic? Got that down too.

By contrast, when I tried to do my usual 'stake out' of the kebab restaurants of Trabzon-- doing the walk by, staying off the main streets, looking for the one most of the Turks went to etc..... I just ended up in a really average restaurant. Twice. I tried Expensive But Worth it in Ortaköy too-- and ended up paying 27 YTL for deep fried cheese spring rolls and nescafe.

Having said this, my radar seems to be improving somewhat with time. Or maybe I am just going to the places I have had luck with more often. But I know I will be returning for some tavuk şiş and dusty, crispy pide from the genial fellows across the road very soon.

Kuafor and other essential Turkish experiences

2008-01-05T14:10:00.000+02:00

I am surprised, actually, to realise that I have not yet written about my hairdresser yet, as being able to get a regular duz fön- hair straightening- is one of my favourite things about living here. Most of you know this, so it will come as no surprise that one of the first things I did when I guests left was head down to Serkan Bey and his assistant/makeover girl, whose name shamefully escapes me.
There is, as far as I know, no such thing as a hair appointment in Turkey. Or maybe I just don’t speak enough Turkish to make one. Anyway, the way it works for me is that I turn up and wait for Serkan to finish with whatever other customers he has. This may be none, or I may have to wait for an hour as I did on Tuesday (oops.. know you all know I went twice in one week. First time ever, I promise). So like many things here, it’s not to be done if you are in a rush. But when it is finally my turn, I get a thorough shampooing—Turks don’t use conditioner—and then Serkan rips through my knots with a brush. I think my hair is drying into little shreds of its former self, but when I can get it blow waved once a week, who cares? It sure looks better than it did when it was healthy! Serkan, nor any of the other hairdressers I have been to, thinks much of your pain and blithey tips my head back into place when I am burnt by the brush or wince because he is ripping hair out in knotty chunks. He does do a great end result though, and he charges only 5 YTL (about 5 AUS dollars) for the end result. I also usually get a very sweet cup of nescafe and lots of smiles into the deal. Serkan shows zero interest in learning English or in understanding my Turkish. This is unusual, actually, and I still sometimes ask him how he is or something very simple that I know I say clearly. But as far as Serkan is concerned, I don’t speak Turkish and so he just smiles and keeps brushing. Today, in an unprecedented show of communicativeness, he showed me an article of an Australian getting arrested (I think) in Taksim. But I’m pretty sure he likes me at the end of the day.
On to the eyebrows, also a bargain at 5 YTL a cotton weave. My eyebrows lady, in stark contrast to Serkan, is profusely chatty and bizzarely confident of my grasp of Turkish. She greets me in the street with two kisses and asks me many Turkish questions, to which I usually respond with the Turkish for ‘yes’ or ‘good’. This seems to cover a lot of ground and she also seems to be fairly positive about our relationship. We talk colours, ‘cause we both want to learn them. She approves of a wide variety of possibilities for my hair and is working on getting me to have green or yellow nails (like hers) to go with the blue hair that I once casually admired, and is know firmly on the schedule as far as Serkan s concerned. All of this ‘conversation’ and lack of makes for a fairly surreal experience, frankly, but I suppose it is very memorable and I do get great hair and brows.

Snow in İstanbul

2008-01-05T14:09:00.000+02:00

Yes, it has finally arrived, much like the latest blog post. Unfortunately the snow was a couple of hours too late to get me the day off work yesterday but it sure is a pretty way to ruin a weekend. As a Melbourne-ite I am completed bewildered by snow that doesn’t leave when I drive home and have no idea what to do with myself. Do people actually go out in this? I was also perhaps rather late on the wow-check-out-snowflakes bandwagon. They are really intricate! (Where do think they got the picture from? Jackson notes wrily). They are impressive! For anyone else who didn’t notice yet. (Though for all that, kind of... kitsch, don’t you think?) It is a lovely experience.
I have had some visitors of one form or another here for the last two weeks. It has been great to put aside some time to see quite a few of the ‘sites’ of İstanbul after four months here. I even bought a scarf and a lamp at the Grand Bazaar, a ‘traditional’ market filled with English speaking salesmen (‘you will see this lamp in your dreams tonight’ he calls to a sales-wearied Tara) and overpriced goods. Mostly lamps and scarves, actually. Oo and it is the only place where Turkish people have been really really impressed with my Turkish. Also nice.
On to Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque—you all have Wikipedia so I will stick with my assessment—both better from the outside than in. Although Hagia Sophia has impressive frescoes, if it’s reverence you’re after you’d better go back to Italy. Tour guides give speeches whilst straddling the monuments and there is rather a lot to buy considering it has been a church for thousands of years. But no more; Hagia Sophia, like most Christian churches in İstanbul, is a museum. The Blue Mosque has an inordinate amount of scaffolding and reams of red carpet, a la Morwell Gospel Chapel 1989 for those of you for whom that rings a bell. Considering this one is functioning as a place of worship, I had to agree with Jackson that it was no doubt better for the knees that way. As a footnote, I also feel obligated to pass on that thick black woolen tights do not constitute coverage for my ever-seductive legs, and so I had to wrap a velcro-ing blue sheet around me as well as donning a head-scarf. Elegant.
Better were the Chora Church and the Cisterns... quiet, beautiful and a freaky idea (cisterns, obviously). But those I will leave to the pictures, because it is time to have breakfast.... and I have to make it myself! Yes, scandal/shock/horror, all my guests have left and I will have to go back to cooking and generally acting like I live here. Christmas is over and Amy Winehouse is back on, a bit of melancholy backdrop for good measure. It was a good one!

In favour of Turkey (on Republic Day, no less)

2007-10-29T18:19:00.000+02:00

Last weekend was really nice... I went to an island in the Marmara Sea and had a ride in a horse-drawn carriage. Certain colleagues dismissed this as bourgeois... but then, as I like to remind people, we are working for a school built by an Eastern-European centred construction corporation.
Going through the usual oscillation of loving İstanbul and all there is to do and see here, and feeling vaguely appalled at the possibility of staying here for another two years, minimum... Some things I do like about this country though
- people think its cute when you try to speak Turkish. (I think). This is great, because cute and mildy entertaining is really all my Turkish can offer right now. In order to practice I find myself saying lots of basically untrue things (tomorrow İ will go to the palace, I like bread, I am tired). These are 'white lies', or something, because I usually am tired-ish, and bread is ok, and I suppose there was some possibility of me visiting the palace. But mostly I said them because I was so proud of the sentence I have learnt.
- I have a very supportive and generous hairdresser. Getting my hair straightened regularly makes me quite happy.
- Kebaps. Cheap, not appalling unhealthy, and everywhere.
- every now and then I come across something that is really very Agatha Christie/Ottomon Empire/Orient Express-ish, and it is so cool to engage with a culture that I never really thought I would. Of course, finding a real-life example of anything that has been romanticised in popular culture, especially the popular culture of your childhood, is a pleasureable experience. But while I was pretty seriously committed to seeing Catherine Gaskin's Ireland, I never really thought about Turkey as a kid. And thus, the 'remembering' of the scene in front of me is kind of sweeter, and less open to disappointment, perhaps!
Ok enough for today.

Expatriates Unite.

2007-10-21T23:21:00.000+03:00

Was chatting with a similarly-minded friend (an American one! An endless wonder to me) about the challenges of being an expat as one of our generation. I guess I can begin to capture it by noting that even a sentence like that one makes me want to puke-- the 'challenges' of being an expat? Like, what are THOSE exactly? And of course it's true that we lead comparitively luxurious lives-- even within expatriate communities I know that my own life is so secluded, so insulated from the challenges that many expats face that to speak of difficulties within it might seem indulgent. But that is the very problem-- that for a certain element of the current population it has become very difficult to speak or act AT ALL because we are so painfully self-reflexive about everything we do, and so critical of everything those around us do simultaneously. The things I say and do, let alone write, seem to me to be so riddled with cliche or pretentiousness that it is difficult to make any sort of definitive statements of belief or like or interest. We are so quick and so expert at identifying the 'backpacker' mentality that places the burden of authenticity upon the developing nation's people, or the peace corps ideology that is so self-serving or short-sighted in its realisation that we can hardly appreciate nor contribute to another culture. And don't get me started on the impossibility of critising, or even expressing dislike, for aspects of a foreign culture.

A great deal of this is born out of very sound ideas of not wanting to patronise or simplify complex cultures and peoples. Those are valid and, dare I say it, proper goals. But when they can also lead to the very things that they are supposed to avoid (how patronising is it, for example, to be so fearful of simplifying a culture that you never really engage with it? Isn't criticism of a people in some way related to respect for them?) there needs to be some compromise between the ideals that we know to be sound and the results that we know to be desireable.

So does that mean I should get on board with the 'save the stray cats' movement? Should I admit that köfte totally grosses me out (and to whom?)? Do I refuse to stay in mainstream tourist resorts again because they aren't the real Turkey? Or do I just commit to taking half my phrases out of inverted commas, and declare that some things do not have contested meaning... even some controversial ones. Or maybe, even if they do, I don't care.

And then I go back to the pathetic sense of radicalism that I have just associated with the removal of punctuation... and it starts all over again.

turkish baths, round II

2007-10-13T15:50:00.001+03:00

It is the Bayram weekend here in İstanbul, and this means that everyone has a day off and most people are out of the city. What a great time, I thought, to explore the city and see the many sights that I have neglected to do thus far. Things kicked off well with a party at a friends house where I met an ethnic Iranian Jewish Turk (tick!) and a Canadian juggler who made the entire party hold hands to channel some juggling-conducive energy. All good and in the name of fun, until I decided to drink a full glass of water straight from the tap, and so day one of the 'holiday' was spent lolling around on the couch and bathroom floor as my body attempted to rid itself of whatever is kept in the water pipes around here. Not quite the weekend I had envisaged. Just to keep things interesting though, there does seem to be a persistent shot-gun sound that occurs every couple of hours in my compound. No idea what this is, and respond in responsible-adult fashion i.e turn up the repeats of '24' on the telly.

Anyway, the bath. So a colleague and I pick a bath out of this coffee-table-style guide to the 'historic baths and culture of İstanbul', jump on a dolmuş to Sarıyer and hope for the best. As usual, my Turkish is completely inadequate and attempts to ask if we are in Sarıyer is are responded to with 'straight ahead'... so I guess we are going the right way. It is a little frustrating to spend three hours a week in language lesson and realise that the only thing people understand of me is the name of the place we are headed for... which was written on the bus anyway. However, I take heart from a story I heard recently when a man who has lived here for seven years went to an office and starting chattering away in Turkish... only to have the woman behind the desk explain that she didn't speak English. Te he he.

So the fun continues when we get off the bus and ask which way the bath is. Of course the answers that are given do not contain the words I know for straight ahead, left, or right. And so we just keep walking in the direction pointed until we hit another crossroad and ask someone else... with the same result. (Note to you all-- when someone asks for directions in faltering English, use SIMPLE words in your answer!)

Finally we 'arrive' at what looks like a tea house and is surrounded by old men, but is apparently the bath.... we walk up tentatively and step inside. No one around.... we walk back and ask the tea men.... yes it is open. Repeat times two. Finally a man ushers us through a curtain (at which point I realise I must have been walking around the mens area of the bath earlier-- but press on, since I saw nothing) and into a little room with change rooms inside. Due to the fact that the men are not supposed to be anywhere near the women's side, he wants to speak to us in Turkish through a curtain. Do you speak English? I say in perfect Turkish. No I don't speak English, he says in perfect English. Thus ends the usefulness of those phrases.

After a little pointless nattering back and forth and quite a bit of exasperated giggling, he finally gives in and comes through the curtain, knocks on the door to the bath interior and shouts. The door swings open and there, barking instructions in the friendly but brusque Turkish that so many women seem to adopt as the manner of choice, stands a woman about my mother's age, naked except for a saggy skin coloured pair of what looks like thermal undies. Rolled up at the sides, mind you, so the effect is somewhat like that of a saggy boobed baby. We have arrived.

The man steps away and we are shown that the deal is to wear only underwear-- no bras though. Western friend and I are suitably horrified but I decide to obey and come into the bath wearing only the warm plastic flip flops provided, my bathers bottoms and a stiff towel. Next instruction-- towels off!

I make a shamefaced run back to the change rooms where I re-dress into my bathers top.

Charissa and I sit down to be scrubbed, washed and massaged. Or as Charissa later puts it, violated. First we have the pleasure of watching a more-experienced bath go-er strip down and give (all of) her body a thorough once-over. This is confronting enough without considering that we are expected to do the same in a few minutes. And the bathers top doesn't last either. You try maintaining your modesty while a mostly-naked Turkish grandmother yelps at you to take it off. But actually, once we got over the horror of seeing each others boobs get a scrub with a large exfoliating mitt, it was pretty fun. Our bath attendant is unconcerned with our concepts of social niceties, but actually rather jolly in her own way. Learning that I am a teacher and from Reşitpaşa inspires the first slap in my nearly naked butt. And Charissa's nervous giggles inspire her to throw large containers of warm water at her when she's not ready. You kind of can't help but lose your inhibitions after that. She grunts and sighs deeply as she massages us but is undeterred by the digusting sludge that is scrubbed of our bodies in the first wash. And successfully asking her whether she was tired made me so happy that I didn't even flinch when she grabbed my foot and held it between her tummy and naked breasts to finish soaping my leg. Each sections' finish is declaring with a loud and triumphant 'TAMAM!' (ok) and by the end of it all we are both kind of freaked out but definately keen to go again. All in all, it was a great morning.

Touring the Asian side, Japanese Restaurants, etc.

2007-10-07T13:45:00.000+03:00

This weekend the americans and I went to visit the Asian side. A much lauded activity by those in the know, and only about 25 steps away from the hip-ness of visiting something on the Eastern side or making a day trip to Syria.

Actually, it was kind of everything people said it would be (more 'asian'/'real') I suppose. It certainly had an atmosphere that the European side doesn't have, and was more like the Asian cities that I went to. I also felt cooler, which is a big plus. Everything was incredibly busy and a lot of things smelt like fish, which is nice in its own way, and there were shops selling loofahs and cinnamon sticks and semi-dried tomatoes (tick!) and loads and loads of people. One of the things that has struck me again and again (perhaps suggesting that I am a little simple) is how MANY PEOPLE THERE ARE. Just like, in the world. Because as most of you know, most of them don't live in Australia. I think my comprehensive school had about as many people as my home town, so wade through the masses of people speaking another language is always quite fun. The downside to visiting this last hurrah of authenticity is that the masses of people also take many many buses to get there, and so it took about 80 minutes to do so. I had nostalgic flashbacks of the glory days of Dad running late and doing 120 on Firman's Lane in Hazelwood North and covering what must have been about 25kms in 15m.

Anyway, after recovering from the somewhat traumatic experience of trying to get home from the suburbs, a few of us went out for Japanese food in town. We are led to our table: 'Could we sit outside?' I ask? 'No', my otherwise impeccably well-mannered waiter tells me. This is a little unnerving... I'm not sure if I should ask again but decide to just behave and sit inside. Under the floodlights in one probably one of the most expensive restaurants I've ever been to. Mood lighting is, in my experience, one of the later acquistions of 'developing' countries.

So the sesame seeds were stale, the gyoza basically just chicken mince and it all costs about a month's wages... but it was sushi, my beloved, and so I was happy. Another weekend in Turkey.

Meyhanes and going public

2007-10-01T20:25:00.000+03:00

The new blog, to document my experiences of living here in İstanbul, or Reşitpaşa, İ suppose:
went out in Taxim for the first time on the weekend. Taxim is sort of the Swanston Street, or maybe Soho or Leicester Square, of İstanbul. İt was very busy and pretty lively, although like most places with anything resembling a nightlife around the world, more packed with foreigners than one might like to imagine.

We went to a Meyhane-- a sort of Sizzler for Turks, with live music thrown in. İt was a very atmospheric kind of place-- the roof opened up to expose the apartments above and there were plenty of modern Turkish girls behaving pretty much the same way packs of women around the world behave when they go somewhere with music and food... although they were much better dancers! Actually, the differences did seem to run a little deeper than that. Although İ never spoke with any of the women, and of course am in no real position to judge... being 'alone' in a foreign country at a loud bar does rather lend itself to quiet reflection, and so. İt was the Turkish women that intrigued me: there was, to my eyes, a greater sense of cameraderie between the Turkish women and a warmer sort of 'performance' than seems to accompany the 'Western' equivalent. İf one were to speculate, one might imagine that this is borne out of the sharper divisions between male and female life. Perhaps when women are so forcibly 'locked out' of certain aspects of everyday life there can be a less competitive existence within the lives that they can lead.

Although this sense of the shared experience (the 'community' is the rather reductive and bland definition that is commonly given, I suppose) can be observed amongst my students as well. They look after each other-- translating in hidden whispers and taking turns to make notes in a way that does not seem to negate competition entirely, but seems to delineate the competitive world as one that does not relate to their peers. That is, they know they are competing with each other, and take great satisfaction in getting the 'best' result on a test (for example), but this seems to bear no relationship to the custom of helping each other within the classroom.

But İ have lost track!

Back to the women: (aren't they, after all, the object of fascination for nearly all Western visitors, in one way or another?) İ don't want to imply that here at the Meyhane were a collectivity of naive and 'traditional' Turkish women who were simply accompanying the menfolk on their boozy night out. No doubt these women exist but these were undeniably the modern and sophisticated İstanbul girls-- dressed far more fashionably than İ was and clearly leading far more glamerous lives... you get the point. But İ suppose that is the point (another one)-- that what İ think İ observed was a subtle and complex cultural 'phenomenon' that wasn't entailed or contained by the wearing of the burqa, or whatever other cliche plenty of people seem to require to believe that they are seeing 'real' Turkish people.

Anyway, tomorrow İ must deal with the rather more concrete business of proper nouns and the like. More later, then.