Month: August 2011

Day 12: Eskişehir

If I were a little boy, I would love living in Eskişehir.

And because I really am, I really loved it!

Why?

Because it is a nice town with a lot of flowers, plants and trees.

It would give me a strong sense of belonging,

With weird statues with fountains that hint at female sexuality!

Sometimes a little too explicitly!

Also because it is a town with many motorcycles of completely unknown brands that look like they belong to cartoon superheroes.

Ever heard of a motorcycle named “Discovery”?

What about “Tiger”?

But most importantly, I would love it because it is a town where pilots are revered!

And where the fighter jets fly really low

…Every fifteen minutes.

Day 11: Magic

Istanbul is enchanted. It is a magical city, and the magic is so intense that you can almost hear it in the air. This cannot be explained, as it is a completely different dimension, but it is not any less real. Every stone, every trash can (there isn’t many of those) and every bench, every dirty beggar, every tree, every wave of Marmara, every train, bridge and the bolts on them, every boy selling water, every Vespa and every roof are magical, filled with strange energy — not negative or positive, not like anything that can be described. It is a very strange kind of extraordinarily attractive energy — it fills you and wraps you and floats you away, in this amazingly sweet slumber, chanting soothing melodies to your ear, touching the most special strings in your soul, and going so deep that it cracks your very essence open to you and the city. It is a city that makes you surrender instantly — and completely. Surrender to being happy, for you are real.

I am forever in love, and I need not pretend. I desperately, hopelessly and endlessly love Istanbul.

Pathetically sentimental and poetic? I am one of the more cynical people out there, but one has to be a shallow douchebag to not feel the immense sorcery that this city is filled with!

When the night comes, the stars gently swim down from the sky into the Bosphorus and become mermaids, whispering tales of the great unknown and stealing your heart as you stand there, seduced, speechless, like a statue, your spirit floating above the dreaming city, caressed by the seas.

Tomorrow, I am going to hop on my motorcycle and head to Eskişehir. A piece of my heart, however, is forever going to stay here in Istanbul, between Europe and Asia, Marmara and Black Sea, somewhere along these curvy streets and wrapped around the heels of the gorgeous Turkish ladies. I have to come back, or I shall always be heartbroken. Thank you, Istanbul, for enriching me so much that I feel like I need a bigger body to host myself comfortably. Thank you for changing me forever, for making me so endlessly self–sufficient, and yet thank you for reminding me that I still know how to love.

I needed you so much.

Day 10: Hagia Sophia

Hagia Sophia is a sad monument. It is powerful and magnificent, of course, but it had me drowned in tears when I stepped in and walked around.

It is, without doubt, one the most impressive monuments erected by men. Inside, every square inch tells a story.

After being conquered by the Ottoman Turks sometime in the 15th century. the church was turned into a mosque. In fact it became the main mosque of the Ottomans’ new empire. They have, of course, immediately modified the interior.

Most of the artwork on the walls was covered. Some of it is irreversibly lost. I personally found Hagia Sophia to be simply defaced. I couldn’t help but ask myself a question — where are the people who built this? How did they fail to protect it? Why would you want to take something and change it into something else? In the oriental, Islamic setting it just does not look right!

But then I realize that the monument has been under the Turkish rule for over 600 years — only a little less than it actually existed as a Byzantium temple, and that the Muslim art in the interior is also centuries old, and it makes me even more confused, raising even more questions and making things more complicated.

I am truly grateful to Atatürk for turning Hagia Sophia from a mosque into a museum. I think it was the wisest decision for this place, for the century being.

And so it stands, a beautiful and sorrowful monument that was admired by kings and their slaves, by messengers from the lands far away, by knights and templars and sultans and their viziers, by archaeologists and by the retired American couples, and by me in my Converse chucks. It tells you — you, too, will pass.

Yet even more brazenly, it stands as a vivid reminder to all, about the painfully simple importance of the army before the culture, the soldier before the architect, and the sword before the pencil.

But then you can’t help feeling the presence of the Old Gods under the earth beneath the temple, and that’s when you get them goosebumps. The swords and the missiles and the numbers are useless before them. It makes you want to tread lightly. Who knows what great plans they weave for the millenniums ahead about the temple and the peoples who are involved? You walk out, carefully, not to disturb the cosmic forces under the floor and the dome and the arcs. The Old Gods — you don’t wanna fuck with them!

And when you are finally out, you take an eclair and some coffee. It is always good.

Day 9: Ortaköy

“Make him look like Tarkan!”
—Owner of Ayasofya hotel

Istanbul has quite a few beautiful mosques. I mean, mosques are everywhere, and most of them are gorgeous — much better than they look in places like Erzurum or Ardahan!

I always thought that a mosque should have an Arabic feel about itself. But the mosques in Istanbul look surprisingly… Byzantine!! What? Byzantium was a christian civilization! Hell yeah, and I still have no idea how that works! Most mosques here look like they were built by Byzantium architects, although the interior decoration does look very traditionally Arabic.

My favorite part of the mosques is always the minaret. In my opinion, the slim and tall minarets pointed at the sky are perhaps the most stylish religious structures that have been designed by the human civilization. You look at the cityscape during day, dusk or dawn, and they stand there — proud, elegant, profound. They are not humble. They never appear weak. In their essence, they resemble weapons. Laces. Bullets. Rockets. If spirituality was something functional, the minarets would probably be the most practical structures for worshiping God — elegantly minimalistic, pointed right where the Creator metaphorically resides, perhaps even right at God Himself, as if saying — “You, there!” And saying it in a way that He cannot neglect. I love that.

After some sightseeing, towards the evening I wanted to go to Ortaköy to meet some Armenians from Armenia and Istanbul, and then go club at Reina. However, I didn’t think my hair looked “cool enough” for a club like Reina (I wasn’t sure I’d pass the face control), so I went out to look for some hair products to style myself. After a while of looking, I couldn’t see any store that would sell any gels or mousse, and so I asked some hotel’s receptionist where to find those. A woman sitting at a corner in the hotel overheard my question and stood up.

“What are you looking for?”

“Some hair products to style myself for clubbing!”

“All the stores that could sell something like that are already closed, including the supermarkets”

“OK ma’am, but I absolutely need to style my hair!”

“I think your hair look great!” she shrugged

“I wanna go to Reina!”

“Aaaaa… Reina! OK follow me!”

She led me out of the hotel through narrow streets. As we walked, I asked her some questions.

“Are you staying in that hotel?”

“No, I am the owner of that place”

“Cool, where are you from?”

“Australia, yourself?”

“I’m from Armenia”

“Aaaaa… Quite a few Armenians here in Istanbul! I know many Armenian people here!”

She brought me to some young barber whose shop was still open, greeted him very warmly and exclaimed:

“Make him look like Tarkan!”

After 10 minutes and 10 liras, I did look like Tarkan, and a pretty handsome one, too! In fact I couldn’t remember if I had ever been more satisfied with a barber. So I walked to Ortaköy.

Ortaköy is a beautiful place under the Bosphorus where people go to eat, club, see oriental bijoux, play backgammon and socialize. Everyone is out, late in the night, having fun together, and there is great atmosphere. Meeting new people is extremely easy.

In Ortaköy I met a cool (really cool!) Armenian woman who currently lives in Istanbul. I asked her how safe it is to be an Armenian in Istanbul.

“Is Istanbul safe for an Armenian?”

“Extremely!”

“What about the bozkurt?”

“They are fucking sons of bitches! But they have left Istanbul. They have surrendered Istanbul!”

“What shall I do if I have a problem with a bozkurt?”

“You will not!”

“But if I do, anyway?”

“Run to any police and say you are Armenian!”

“…eh?”

“You are Armenian, and it means everyone will do everything to make sure that nothing happens to you here! The Police will protect you with their own bodies if they have to!”

That was kinda reassuring to hear. The woman then took us to club around the corner. “It is too late for Reina!”

I was really disappointed about not being able to use my awesome haircut. But guess what!

It is way cooler to go to a local club with a Reina haircut than to go to Reina itself!

The music at the club was very good and so was the crowd — very easy going guys and a lively conversation always started whenever I just smiled and said “Hi!” So I clubbed until 4am, then took a cab back to the Asian side, exhausted.

The cab cost 55 liras. Of course, I shall go back to Reina someday.