4 posts tagged “exploring”
There is a bar in one of the neighborhoods near my apartment that always intrigued me. It is on a dark side street, and there was always a group of men gathered outside. A gaudy gold-painted loin’s head is mounted above the door. To my eyes, it seemed to be something secret, something that was purposely underground.
I had two guesses of what this place might be: a run-down gay bar for old people, or a seedy mafia hang out. On several occasions walking home from a concert or gallery, I have been tempted to go in and see for myself what lies behind the lion’s head. Luckily for me, I didn’t follow my curiosity until I was with a good Turkish friend. He and I walked in front of it a few times, and his instincts were the same as mine: elderly gays and/or criminal masterminds. We were already under the influence of wine/beer/raki/vodka, so we didn’t have the best judgment.
We walked past the group of guys gather in front. They were a rough crowd, markedly different from the moneyed or middle-class guys that the trendy bars in the better-lighted streets nearby. My friend and I were out of place, but we pressed on. One look at me, and the bouncer/coat-check man asked if I were a foreigner. My friend, not so drunk as to lose his cleverness, jumped in with “I’m Turkish,” and we went into the bar.
The décor was a mix between ancient Egyptian kitsch and cheap, fake rococo. Is it any wonder that it appeared gay? However, after our eye adjusted to the dark, we saw that the back part of the bar was taken up almost entirely by women with dyed blond hair waiting for customers. Oh no, we misjudged – it’s a mafia/prostitute bar.
My friend, standing his ground insisted that we stay for a drink. He explained that as a proud Kurd, even a gay one, he wouldn’t be intimidated. So at the bar, we asked for a beer and a vodka. There were maybe twenty bottles of Absolut on the shelf. Only after the bartender told us that they were all out of vodka did we notice that all the bottles on display were, in fact, empty. We settled for a beer and headed to a booth. At that point, one of the blond women came to try and speak with us. My friend thanked the woman but, using his most upper class register, dismissed her. He explained to me that, as Turkey is still a very class stratified society, he was able to show with his accent that he was powerful and connected so that the bouncers wouldn’t try to exhort money from us (a sadly common racket in mafia run bars in Istanbul). Hmm linguistic anthropology is everywhere we look.
One of the common words for “prostitute” in Turkish is “Natasha,” obviously derived from the Russian name. At once funny (from a word-origin standpoint) and depressing (given the realities of human trafficking following the financial crisis in the former Soviet States following perestroika), “Natasha” is often applied to the many big-haired, short-skirted Slavic women, regardless of the way they make their living.
In the bar, I noticed a clue that this place might also be a strip club later in the night. Above the area where the women were seated, a platform and “stripper pole” were suspended in the air. Oddly, there was a mannequin saddled up against the pole and wrapped in what appeared to be christmas tree garlands.
In the end, we escaped unscathed, though we gorged for the price of the beer (roughly $15 for the local equivalent of a Pabst). I also emerged wiser from the situation, and will avoid exploring seedy places on my own.
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.”
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.
Istanbul has long been a place where I dreamed of living. Between the romanitc views of minarets shining across the bosphorus in the sunset and art nouveau buildings lining winding brick streets, Istanbul does indeed provide a setting that lends itself to reverie. Though it is a cliché, Istanbul’s physical and cultural position astride multiple spheres of knowledge is also a draw. People usually point to is being both part of Europe and Asia, but this seems to me to be both simplistic and uninformative. In truth, Istanbul engenders an overlap of four worlds: Turkic (extending through Central Asia into China), Orthodox (reaching north), Mediterranean (flowing all the way to Gibraltar), and Persianate (with connections through Iran to India). Istanbul is the sweet spot at the center of a four-set Venn diagram. And how sweet it is! Baklava, sütlaç, lokum, helva.
On Saturday, I moved into my apartment. I am sharing it with three housemates. Mina and Ali are a cool young Turkish couple and Marli is an Austrian student. The walls of the flat seem to have been painted a few hundred years ago in at style that makes them look like frescos… and they may be. The apartment is generally quiet save for the sound of music. Ali is a musician and there is frequently a haunting melody calling out from the violin, oud, or clarinet in large room that he shares with Mina.
Our apartment is in a building halfway between the Galata
Tower and the tünel. This is the heart of Istanbul’s music scene and the winding
street leading up to the tünel is lined with music shops and fresh juice
stands. Usually I have a glass of fresh squeezed pomegranate juice in the
afternoon steps from my door. There is also a rooftop terrace with views of the
Golden Horn.
Tomorrow morning I start my intensive Turkish classes. I
will be at the language school 20 hours per week and I am looking into teaching
English there a few hours a week as well to help with money. Today, I will try
to find a gym nearby so that I don’t stagnate in books.
I have a project planned: spend one afternoon a week just sitting on a bus or ferry and letting it take me wherever it will. Marli wants in on the plan so I may have a co-conspirator in my exploration of the city…
Overall, I feel as though things are moving forward but I am ever impatient with myself. Oh, and don’t worry. More snarky posts will follow.
