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.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
edukation
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
flying makes me ill
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.
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'
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.
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.
Friday, March 14, 2008
food
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.
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.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Kuafor and other essential Turkish experiences
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.
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
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 a fairly cursory personal 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!
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 a fairly cursory personal 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!
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