It’s the small things in life that bridge cultures and continents. A quiet sunlit afternoon at the square adjacent to the Galata Tower turned into a rowdy futbol match as local kids challenged a visiting group of Asian tourists to a pick up game.
Balls whizzing, people ducking and old men yelling advice flushed spectators out from their shops and homes and a community came together for an hour…all due to a beat up ball getting whacked from boy to man and back again. Talk about grass roots diplomacy…we should bring home the suits and send these kids on the road.

The locals will tell you this is one of the weirdest winters in recent memories. Up until a few days ago it was almost beach weather…blue skies and balmy, now we are flirting with snow. It is still not cold enough to stick around, but maybe we will finally see a little of the famous Istanbul winters we have heard about. Figures…just yesterday I saw beachwear out on the shelves. Thanks to my buddy “Pete” for the photo of previous years snow from the same sitesi.
Jan 07
Pete’s Pic

We are a sad case. Three weeks away in the UK for the holidays and we ended up spending our time listing all the things we missed about Istanbul; The food, the people, the smells, the traffic, the taxis, the people, the smiles, the khave, the vapur, and again - the people. Its good to be home. Iyi Bayramlar!

This is a pathetic beginning, but I must borrow a line and theme from a previous posting: A few months ago I wrote that the “Joys of Blogging do not extend to the province of absentia”. “Absentia” in our case, has been the eastern border regions of Turkey. We have been spending a considerable amount of time in Dogubeyazit, a town in the foothills of Ararat. After the first of the year we will split our time equally between these two extremes of Turkey.
With my frequent absences I have felt that my literary liability was exceeding acceptable limits and I am wretchedly apologetic. If you must protest, I will be happy to submit to your admonishment and forfeiture until you feel I have been aptly punished. Ouch. For the rest of you…lets get down to business.

A few days ago we visited the Basilica Cistern and were treated to a local university choir performing next to the Çay Garden. They deserved a much larger forum and audience than our few friends who had gathered…but it was an outstanding setting and performance. The manager said that there is a regular schedule for Turkish music performances at the Cistern each week by local universities and cultural institutions.
There is some truth to the rumor that if you approach the exit of the Cistern and request admission (without fee) to just the Çay Garden, you will be welcome to visit tariff free…depending of course on personality variables. Even if you must pay the full admission fee…these concerts and the setting are worth it.

Awhile back I was sitting in my pirated office in Kazasker when an elderly man stuck his head in the door and asked me to follow him. Curious as to what was in store I left my pile of work (Çop Şiş and a pitcher of Ayran) and headed out in tow.
Another Day At The Office

He led me down the street, around the corner, across Minibus Yolu, and into “Taç”, one of a series of chain stores scattered throughout Istanbul…where I was introduced to his wife and children.
There was no pressure to purchase or peruse he simply wanted me to see where he worked, what he did for a living and to meet his family. After a ramble amongst the wares I realized that this unplanned textile tour of “Taç” had reached its captivating climax.
“Movin’ Out With Metin”

I made my exit amidst much hand shaking and cheek kissing and headed back to my office and my overflowing desk with an eccentric element of this little corner of Asia to ponder. “Quirkiness” seems to be an intercontinental trait.
A Brief Stop On The Textile Tour

Someone is messing with the way my mental machinations mesh. I had just made the shift to Winter wear, Winter wool, and Winter wit…when today dawned bright and clear. After spending the week convincing myself that Summer had simpered, and Fall had fled…waking up to April skies seems intentionally cruel. Time to step up to facts though…where’s my beach towel?
Waffling Weather

The cold weather here in Istanbul seems to have thickened my literary sap and while the content is rich…the flow has tapered to the occasional drip. We hope to bore deeper this week and find a vein to tap. In the interim, it really isn’t all that cold outside (40 degrees F), and yet the snow is falling heavy in Kosuyolu, disappearing as it hits the ground.

From The Igloo
I am stubbornly refusing to capitulate access to my balcony office and am paying a “weathering” tariff for my obstinacy. In need of a compositional “by-pass”, I have spent the last few weeks with Turks who have plied me with pastries, leveraged me with laughter, and whacked me with wit. Istanbul seems to have a cure for all that ails.

After 3 weeks in the Turkish outback it is nice to be home again. Arriving just in time for Seker Bayram it was…as my kids say, “Sa-Weeet!”
We rolled into Istanbul and cold weather, cold showers, and the boilers down in our site. After our time trekking around (not up or over) Ararat and south to Van following several families of shepherds moving their flocks to lower pastures…it was good to see the City again and was soothing to our battered bodies and senses.
To hear the horns, the screech of tires, the touts, the Azan coming for several directions, and the roar of the Iftar cannons was music to our ears.

Long Way From Home

I love the Turkish/Iranian border regions; Mt. Ararat, the beginning of the Central Asia Steppe, Dogubeyazit and Kars, the forgotten villages clinging to the sides of the mountains, and the people of Eastern Turkey… But this City of Istanbul, the “City of the World’s Desire” holds a special place on our hearts. It is home to our crew of four, and its nice to be back.

Posted from Dogubeyazit….be back soon

I am a simple guy and it takes my meandering musings time to mesh. Since I need to work harder than most to ponder life, I need a place that allows me to do just that. My hangout is a little café on the corner here in Istanbul, called Cemre Kebap (frequent readers will remember this little eatery from earlier postings).
It seems that I spend a lot of my spare time in that little café because they now reserve a table for me and somehow it has become my official office…it has even found its way onto my business cards: Office Located In: Cemre Kebap, Corner Table, Istanbul.

I hold office hours on most Thursdays and the occasional Tuesday, the owners of the café seem to have some influence in our little village and often arrange, without my foreknowledge, appointments with those in the community they think I should meet. I never know how my day is going to turn out. Over the past few months I have met with decorated Generals, orphaned teens, Imams, crazies, and even a sitting member of the Turkish Parliament and a former Ambassador.
This day I had been given a reprieve from the usual parade of characters and notables, and had spent several delightful hours dwelling on pithy perceptions when Ann and the kids arrived, thus calling an end to an arduous day of contemplations.
Now that my office was officially closed, the two brothers that owned the café gathered around our table to chat. In the course of our conversation we mentioned that we were in the market for a washer and dryer. Fikret, the younger brother, walked across the street to a local appliance shop and brought back a catalog for us to peruse.
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The arrival of Fall seems to be the climatologically contrived conundrum for contemplation of late. My sunny afternoon faded into a “fall like” afternoon with dark clouds and wind and it appears to be cooling down in Istanbul. Which, on the heels the A/C installation in our bedroom this week…figures.

Any change of weather is always a big deal with our crew. Since we hail from the land of “No Seasons”…living in a “4 season city” is big stuff. I am a T-shirt and jeans devotee….but today I found myself wearing a sweater and socks while working on my terrace. For this Southern Californian, “socks” are strange territory and a clear sign that something….is in the air. Stay tuned for changes in the local clime.