Yesterday, inspired by the warm weather and a new pair of sunglasses, I decided it was time for a haircut. Feeling comfortable enough with my Turkish to navigate a barbershop, I resolved to offer my head up to the next erkek küaför
that I came across. Just in case one of you is temped to do the same, please re-think your plan.
I took a step down into the barbershop and greeted the guys there. After putting down my bag and taking off my coat, an older man asked me to sit down in the plush vinyl chair. I explained to him that I just wanted a trim of one or two centimeters all around as he fastened the plastic smock around my neck. Then, without warning, he haphazardly grabbed a lock of my hair near the front and cut off a 4cm handful. I stopped him and asked him why he didn’t do as I had asked and he just laughed at me and assured me that I would be handsome when he was done. Only at this point did I notice that he had a moussed-up puff of a comb-over that was cheaply dyed black so that he probably had inky lines of sweat running off his scalp on hot days. A feeling of panic began to set in. What had I done? He proceeded to snip around my head at random with his scissors. I stopped him again and asked how he knew that it would be even if he weren’t wetting it or using a system. He just kept laughing. As a cloud of regret grew dark and heavy in my mind, I stood up and said, “You are not doing this as I asked. I don’t want you to cut my hair. I am leaving.” I pulled off the smock took my bag and coat, and walked out with a lop-sided, partial ‘do.
Somehow, it doesn’t look too bad. I owe this to the fact that I didn’t let the geezer finish. I’m trying to tell myself that it makes me look devil-may-care. When I start earning money I will go to a nicer place. In the meantime, just humor me, ok?
I found myself using this phrase to many describe Istanbul to many potential visitors from the US and Western Europe. People seem fear that people in Istanbul will resemble Saudi Arabia, when in fact it reminds me of Budapest.
However, in spite of my self-made propaganda purporting the city’s open-mindedness, I have found that one group here is strangely conservative and closed to new ideas. Religious people? The elderly? No – the gays. I can’t recall having been somewhere with such rigid minded fags. The average gay guy here is very anti-bi, and (to my mind) abnormally focused on the appropriateness of top/bottom pairings. I have talked to lots guys here for whom being with a bi guy is an unequivocal deal breaker. Also, the seemingly undue emphasis on anal sex within the community is a little off-putting. A good conversation can come to an abrupt end with – “oh, you are also a top? Never mind.”
Given the widespread reality of vast numbers married bisexual men living secret lives with gay lovers, I can somewhat understand this attitude. But the fervency of feeling appears to come from some kind of gay socialization that stigmatizes having a non-exclusively gay sexual identity. To compound the prejudice, there are also overtones of misogynistic and anti-tranny sentiments. One can find corollaries in gay subcultures the world over. But it is interesting that this is the dominant view among Turkish (or, perhaps, just Istanbullu) gay men. Although I have not spent much time in technically gay venues, I have not come across many people that would subscribe to a more broadly-defined queer identity. Anyone else have observations? Comment!
Today, there is a story on the CNN Turk website about some monkeys that are on loan from Holland to the Boğaziçi Zoo. Apparently, the monkeys are able to sing with human-like voices. I was sadly unsurprised to see this in two newspapers today as well. It’s only a matter of days before the singing monkey story gets picked up by the AP and the whole world gets to learn about their songs. Ugh. Hard-hitting reporting.
These ne'er do wells were all over the town on my walk tonight.
Against my better judgment, I have bought a ridiculous number of tickets for the !F festival. But so far I haven’t regretted it. On Saturday, I saw three films, including the touchingly rendered and exquisitely shot Zoo, which premiered at the last Sundance. Zoo is a documentary retelling of the people involved in the farm in Washington State where a man was killed after being penetrated by a horse in 2005 (see this article from Seattle’s The Stranger). Admittedly, I was drawn to this film for the gross-out factor. But it was a feast for the eyes, with night shots of orchards in bloom and majestic mountains of the Pacific Northwest.
Perhaps the film I am most excited about plays tomorrow: My Winnipeg by Guy Madden. I was won over to Madden with his silent film Cowards Bend the Knee, which I watched three times in one day last year. All in all, I am scheduled to see eight films over the course of the week. It’s so much fun, especially because I almost never visit the cinema in Philadelphia. I will also be fun to go to the queer party sponsored by the festival on Friday. It is being DJ-ed by the venerable Lady Miss Kier, who sang for Dee-Lite in the 90s. Groove will indeed be in the heart this weekend.
There are times when the small, winding old-world streets of this ancient city seem less than quaint. Although the white decorates the trees and bushes of the city, making it look as beautiful as a holiday display, the streets are slippery invitations to fall on your ass or get your car stuck.
Istanbul consists of a series of hills, and the sloping streets circumscribe the curves of the landscape. Usually, this is one of the features I adore about the metropolis. It allows you to meander just off the beaten path and find new neighborhoods with their own character and architectural physiognomic identities. From moment to moment, you can find yourself in a maze of small houses or face to face with the proud bosphorus. However, after a few days of snow you begin to think about how these same streets prevent any semblance of snow plowing or clearing. The city shuts down. People can’t get out of their mahalles.
I spent all of yesterday huddled in my room, catching up with my friend’s blog Travel Scrabble about her fieldwork in Malawi, and reviewing the news of the world. Today, I actually ventured out, although I didn’t bother going to class. I was told that the school would be closed. But I made it out to a favorite coffee joint where I am better able to focus on studying than in my room. The forecast tells us that the snow will melt tomorrow, leaving us with even more slushy puddles. Now is when I think, “Maybe I should have brought something other than sneakers with me.”
My adopted Turkish sister and almost look-alike (if you really need glasses) is the director of !F, the coolest film festival in Turkey. !F is the abbreviation for the Istanbul International Independent Film Festival, and it starts today. Tonight I am going to see the new David Lynch film with a friend before heading to the festival opening party. My friend pointed out that Lynch’s films have been getting crazier and crazier over the years, so we can’t expect this one to make a lick of sense.
I accept the fact that Inland Empire will most likely be a bunch of shots of Laura Dern looking deranged, intercut with flowing velvet curtains and accompanied by molasses-slow atonal acid jazz. But isn’t this the whole reason for going? I don’t care so much if there is a discernable story as long as I leave with a creepy feeling.
I will admit that Lynch’s unquestioning support of the Maharishi
Mahesh Yogi and his cult transcendental meditation organization makes me love
him a little less. I mean, if I had the time to just meditate and film creepy
shit, I think I would be supporting people like Anna Politkovskaya and Arundhati
Roy rather than the Beatles’ old guru who runs his organization like a
bad-manimal-Rescaper (see the book listed at the right by Keller Easterling for
a chapter on the spatial projects of the TM organization.)
After days and days of gloom and light snow, the sun decided to revisit Istanbul. Having a Central European disposition, I am normally right at home in a slate-grey world with only the wind and drizzling rain to keep me company. But I have been ill for three weeks now, and the damp cold has been making me feel like good health is an illusive dream. Yesterday, I woke up feeling horrible, looked at the snowflakes blowing by the window, and decided to skip class and stay in bed.
However, feeling vaguely more fortified after a day of sleep, today I rejoined the world of people who don’t regularly carry around three inhalers. I even got to school early, ready to manipulate the agglutinative infixes and suffixes of Turkish verbs. I was even happy when the sun broke through the clouds mid-morning and reminded me that I am, indeed, living next to the Mediterranean.
After class, I strolled through Cihangir with M., as fellow student who grew up in Saudi Arabia. Over pizza we talked about her recent travels through Eastern Europe, Turkish cuisine, and the blessing/curse of perpetual wanderlust. Before parting, I got a glimpse of sun on the Bosphorus between the houses and remembered that this city still enchants me.
Now it’s no secret that I like to lounge about and be a wastrel while sitting at a computer and looking busy. Altı is the kind of place that let’s me do just that, and it kicks the ass of most other cafés in the area in terms of dessert.
Ratings (out of 5):
Food ****
Design ***
Service ***
Price **
Smokiness **
Wireless ****
Overall ***
The first time I came to Altı, wasn’t on the prowl for a place throw away my afternoon reading. But the warm light and good paintings on the walls lured me inside. From that day forward, I realize that this was going to have to become a regular stop on my weekly rounds of places where I can ruminate and recaffinate.
Though I have yet to sample extensively from the menu, after two visits I can whole heartedly recommend their sweets. (Actually, that’s all I have tried. I hope their savory selections are as good as the sweet ones. But what do you want from me? I’m not being paid for this review, and food costs money, people!) The first dessert I had was a mini chocolate souffle, filled with steamy, melted dark chocolate and served with vanilla ice cream and mint. The second was a graham crust cheesecake topped with cooked apple slices, crushed walnuts, and cinnamon. Does it taste just like a New York cheesecake? No. Does it taste wonderful, rich, cheesy, and light? Yes. The only downside to both desserts was the decorative syrup surrounding them on the plate. The first was chocolate, the second strawberry. I’m not a fan of syrups, and would rather have the presentation be simple than have a cheaply sweet taste interfere with quality sugar and honey flavors.
The coffee here isn’t the best. I suggest you for the mint limonade if you don’t mind something cold. The seating is a good use of the space, and the narrow dining room seems larger because of the open design and good use of mirrors. There’s a nice garden in the back for warmer days as well. On the downside, the colors give a little bit of an IKEA-y feeling.
When it packs with people it gets too smoky, but the wireless signal is strong and fast. So, yeah, I’m going back.
PS – Will add some crapy pictures from my phone when I get home.
My lungs have finally agreed to start working again. Although the asthma has not completely retreated, I only had a leave class once today because of a coughing fit. This is a big improvement. The guys at the pharmacy by now feel like old friends. I feel like we should play backgammon.
This means that I walked to school today instead of taking the trolley, and I can get back to exploring the city indead of just lying under my blanket and daydreaming of shoving pipecleaners into my bronchial tubes.
Half of my new class is from Germany, as well as my new roommate. (The Austrian girl decided to leave and we replaced her with another Teuton right away.) I’m thinking that this is my best opportunity in years to brush up with Deutsch. The new roommie is happy to help, and she seems to fit in with the rest of us rather well.
Likewise, my Turkish roommates have been great about speaking with me. Whether over chess or tea, we talk a lot and I can feel my Turkish getting better because of it. At home we have divided the refridgerator into three colums in which we write vocab words in English, Turkish, and German using a dry-erase marker. I now find myself staring at the refrigerator with the door closed instead of open
