22 - 25.07.2011

A group of over 40 people arrives at the hostel. It is a yearly reatreat of the Brahma Kumaris Spiritual University in Turkey. Yogesh Sharda, the coordinator of the Brahma Kumaris Center in Istanbul is there and Francois Becher, the founder of Brahm Kumaris in France arrives as a special guest.

Picture the desire for being, exchanging and sharing deeply with others as a cup. The elixir of being together usually fills about 3/4 of the cup. Sometimes it may fill only 1/2, sometimes the cup may be filled.

Over this weekend the cup was lost somewhere in a flood. The people where shining, the energy of the group fantastic; exchanges where inspiring and energizing. Francois led the lectures and transmitted peace and insight through allegories that oftentimes drew on concepts from modern science.

Francois Becher has himself travelled by hitchhiking from Istanbul to India and further onwards.
'Who has taught you most?' I ask
'Always the simple people. The farmers and fishers. They have the most life experience' he says.


An image from one of Francois' talks:
'We jump around like monkeys in the tree of our personal life, putting in energy into its various branches. We seek fulfillment among these branches, which can never be found there. We have to go back to the roots ever so often, the roots of love, peace and understanding; say hello to ourselves; charge fullfillment from ourselves. So can we return to the branches, knowing that it is only a game, that it means nothing in truth. We return with energy and enthusiasm, doing our work creatively and with multiplied efficiency.'

'The quality of each individual may truly be measured by the depth and quality of his associations with others.'

All leave again, but a strong and positive exchange has taken place.
That our paths have crossed is not so special. What is so special is that people may bond with such incredibly positive energy when Truth is the theme.

17 - 21.07.2011

We part. I make may way towards Mengen from where I am told it is not far to the Hindiba Pansiyon. I have planned to do volunteering work there for food and a bed. I arrive there in the evening.

At the pension I meet Jusuf and Saheb. Jusuf describes the outlines of the screenplay Saheb is currently writing, while she sits next to us with her laptop working. She is an author, he works for a film production company. 'Berlin - Istanbul Connection: the People in the Shadow' is the working title for the next series. It will be produced jointly by a Turkish and German team.

Young women with their breasts cut off are found dead in Istanbul. A serial killer is suspected, as this happens repeatedly in the same fashion. Some time later the same starts to occur in Berlin however and a larger picture starts to become apparent. The immigration of poor Asian women, that want to escape their conditions of life, is organized under certain conditions: packets of drugs are implanted into their breasts as payment. They have no other means.

I meet Onur and his girlfriend. He was a scoobadiving instructor and is now captain of a towing ship in the Caspian Sea. Whole fleets of such 'assisstant ships' are required for leading large cargo ships into the harbour or transporting barges for instance. His first diving experiences completely transformed his outlook on nature. He used to throw trash around without afterthought. Now he is angry at the destruction of nature which is taking place worldwide. He himslef works for companies such as BP, Shell and Agip, assissting in large scale drilling operations as well as the digging up of the sea's benthos.

He assures me that despite cute looks, Caspian seals may infact be voracious creatures. A fellow captain of his, Amar, a Russian of Vin Diesel type looks, had two of his toes bitten off by one as he was out for a swim. Amar is always smiling. He regularly takes ecstatsy before boarding his ship. On coordinating joint maneuvers  with him over the radio, pumping techno beats are always heard from his bridge. In the harbour of Atyrau frantic metallic drumming is sometimes heard from the bridge of the towing ship of another fellow captain, Erik, a Dutchman. Like so many others he returns from his vacation in Amsterdam with a substantial stash of marijuana and enjoys the acoustics of his ship.

In the evening superficial layers fall and the discussion deepens. UFO sightings, underwater life and the value of nature become the main topics.

I meet Gamze, who mentions the original shamanic beliefs of the Turks. The custom of knocking on wood when talking of something you hope not to happen is still practiced in Turkey today. I recall seeing this throughout my childhood among the Polish side of the family. Disjointed sandgrains of ancient science.

I am fed like a king. The wife of the manager seems satisfied when, after two nights, I finally return the plates to the kitchen with food still left on them. The instinct of hunger is utterly satiated.

16.07.2011

A worker at the hotel points out the Yedigöller Milli Parki as a 'must-see' attractiom in the area: the 7 Lakes National Park. I have pinpointed it on the map previously. He directs me to the largest hotel in Bolu for more information since the tourist office is closed Sundays.

There a receptionist confirms the beauty of it. 
'It is too far to walk there' she says. 
'You should rent a car or take a taxi.'
I return to my hotel, pack my things and start walking towards the park: 42km 
- I have time after all.

On the outskirsts of Bolu I see two backpackers ahead of me, trotting slowly, somewhat bored or tired. I quickly reach them. We have barely managed to introduce ourselves when a man at the side of the street, standing infront of his gate asks us where we are going; Before we continue we are to have a tea at his place. He is proud to show us his garden. We depart again some 1:30 hours later with bags of plumbs, cherries and raspberries.

Tolgahan and Duygu came from Ankara in the morning. They are hitchhiking to the park to escape the city for the weekend. We walk in the sun for a long while. Finally a car stops to give us a ride. There is one seat left in the car and the trunk is packed full with domestic animals; We are three with large backpacks. A hearty smile covers half of the drivers face as he beckons us into the car emphatically. Its a family; one of the kids sits on his mothers lap at the front. We manage well. Westerners have not yet learned of utilizing the whole carrying capacity of cars.

They drop us at the next junction. Only two minutes later each of us finds his own seat in a spacious VW Passat. Florian and Maren from Germany have moved to Istanbul 1.5 years ago. They are thoroughly enjoying life in Turkey. She is pregnant. They have come to see the park as well.

The park is of astonishing beauty. The noise and smoke from the masses of visitors at the camp site seems to be swallowed by this wilderness without the slightest effort. We are at 800m above sea level. Seven deep turquoise lakes lie between forested mountain slopes. This is ancient forest. The water is ice cold. It seems to preserve the half submerged timber for decades. Tadpoles are everywhere and frogs can be seen jumping around in the shallower parts of the lakes. They easily outcompete the campers in terms of noise. Watersnakes may be seen. We set up our tents in a peaeful place.

The dream of Tolgahan and Duygu is to travel freely around the world. He wants to become an engineer on a deepsea research ship, or alternatively an actor. She studies industrial graphic design and goes paraglidiıng almost every weekend. She asks if I would prefer to live in the past or in the future.
'I think the people were happier in the past.' she says. 'Technology isolates the people.'
'Fantasy and Science-Fiction, Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, all of their magic is actual reality in this moment' I answer. 'We have only altered our natural surroundings to such an extent and have become such creatures of habit that we may be blind to it.'

In the evening we sit in a sea of flashing fireflies. The air is like icecold water after excercise in the sun. Before I close my eyes for sleep, the howl of a large group of Jackals is heard closeby. A domestic dog answers and the forest is instantly quiet again.

15.07.2011

Still no answer from anybody at hospitalityclub.org. The PC at the hostel does not let me register at coachsurfing.com. I don't want to wait for hosts just to be able to stay in the city. I have come to see the country. I am driven East.


I am directed to the Fatih Sultan Mehmet bridge as a good point from where to hitchhike. In the tram on the way there I meet a maths teacher from the US who did his PhD in educational policy.
'School schedules in the states are all dictated by industrial lobbies' he tells me.
'This leads to uniformity across the country and a strong tendency to Computer and Internet based school work'
He attended a conference of mathematicians where he was the odd one out, causing quite some commotion among the members with his messages.

Some minutes after we part I meet a young couple from the US. They teach English in Erbil, north Iraq, and tell me that you can earn a fortune doing this. They are travelling through the middle east, all of which is payed by the organization. They take anybody that can speak English and pay for wherever you want to go for your vacation.

At the Bosprus University by the bridge, a security officer gives me a fat black felt tip marker with which I write the name of my next destination on a large peace of cardboard: Bolu. At the highway leading across the bridge a man driving a small truck reads my sign and picks me up. He says he is from Yugoslavia and is working in Istanbul. We agree on a mode of communication: he speaks basic Russian, I Polish. He calls his brother who speaks some more Polish; the brother translates while we pass the phone back and forth and the truck swivels across the highway.

We stop at a bus station by the highway. The driver gets out with me, tells me to take the small bus that is just pulling up and pays for my ticket. He wants no money back. The bus goes to Gebze in the east of Istanbul from where I can hitchhike more easily towards Bolu. We drive for one hour at least, through the ugly, smelling, industrial outskirts.

I sit at the front. Money is shoved into my hand over my shoulder. I am to pass it on to the driver. The bus is ram-packed. Money circulates freely from hand to hand to pay at the front. It is normal that the driver gives change in 5 minutes time. It works perfectly, not a word is said. Only the number of newcoming passengers is named with each batch of coins making its way to the front. I love the people.

I get out at Gebze and an older man and two younger boys almost instantly flock around me. They direct me to the next bus that arrives in 3 minutes time. It brings me to the Gebze coach terminal. I leave the idea of hitchhiking for now. Coach tickets are affordable.

I meet a man in his 40's, Fatih, who helps me buy a ticket; English is not spoken at the 15 or so bus company offices.
'Men and Women are equal according to the Qu'ran. There is not one word written about the headscarf' he says
'Why do women wear it and why are some even sentenced to death when suspected of adultery in some Arabian countries? Because most people simply don't read.'
There are countless additions made to the Qu'ran I learn. The holy book itself is untouchable, but what is often preached in the mosques are excerpts from these additional writings, which were authored some 300-400 after Mohammeds life. I am reminded of the first Nicean council, some 300 years after Christs death, in which among other things, the teaching of reincarnation was taken out of the Bible. Fatih pulls out a fat book from his bag. The young author, Burak Özdemir, writes about Mohammeds original message and how it relates to the eastern notion of Karma.

The coach arrives in Bolu late in the night. A friendly man drives me from the coach terminal to a cheap hotel.

14.07.2011

I decide to stay in Istanbul for a bit longer to see what more I can find out about Sufism. I move to a cheaper (and more cofortable) hostel, where I am again directed to Beyoglu district, to a school.

On my way there I ask the owner of an antiquarian shop for some hints. He is very helpful, starts some research online and calls the Dervish Music School. He is told that the place I must go to is the Mevlevıhanesi Müzesi, the dervish school museum.

The street that the worker at the hostel pointed out to me me turns out to be the location of a sports school; The museum is closed for restoration; Two bookshop owners do not know anything about any dervish schools and one of them assures me that he himself is deffinitely not a Sufi. I have arrived in the wrong century.

What I fınd is the most stylish district of Istanbul; clubs, bars and the typical shopping street you would find in London, Paris or Berlin. Besides that however, a huge stretch of a street with at least 15 musical instrument stores side by side. I am think of how essential music was to Dervish culture and am reminded of the law of attraction.

I visit the spice basaar. A man selling leeches to a family attracts my attention. On asking him what good they are in curing illness he assures me that putting four on the forehead for intance, will dissolve a sinus infection. Generally they are to have an uplifting and energızıng effect. All stalls look very attractive in their bedazzling display of colors, and intense aromas flood the nostrils. The prices of spices, teas and dried fruit are curiously high. A vendor flirts with two young tourist women, letting them sniff all sorts of spices and elaborating on what they are. They buy nothing of course. I wonder who does.

I meet Andreas and Severeen from Germany, who have just finnished school and have arrived yesterday to attend a Coachsurfers party. They are stayıng for ten days. My own attempts to find a host lead to nothing.

In the evening I converse with Jani from Finland at the Hostel. Apparently ear-plugs with lights pointing inwards can be bought in Finland. This is to counteract the downcasting effect of the shortage of sunlight in the winter. According to Jani's friend, himself a doctor, they have a very positive effect. I am reminded of Prof. Fritz Popp's work on intercellular light communication.

13.07.2011

Istanbul:
The first destination for one that does not have any point of reference in the city must be the Sultanahmet district. I exit the tram at the station. Its early in the day, but hot. On a bench in the shade I meet Gerrit from California.
'There is nothing interesting to see in the US' he says. 
'Three cities perhaps'. 
I finish his trail of thought for him: 'New York, San Francisco and Chicago'. 
He agrees. He worked in China as an engineer for five years. Now he quit his job and is travelling. He is waiting for a friend in Istanbul, reading the Lonely Planet guide for Turkey.

If you see the city as an organism, the roads as the bloodvessels, the wiring as the nervous system, Sultanahmet is surely the lung into which the masses of tourists come pouring in with every breath of the city and flooding out again on the next. Back at home some of them might be proud to have seen Turkey. They might show photographs of ancient architecture, erected by some honorouble Sultan.

I decide not to spend money to be allowed to look at artfully piled up bricks, however old they might be. But there is no doubt that entering the Blue Mosque (for free) takes your breath away. It is enormous, the light blue dim light, filling the dome high up is inspiring. Inside the people lie on the carpet floor. No benches, no furniture. One enters bearfoot. Women cover their hair. There is no energetic interaction between genders at these places. Some people sleep, some muse, some gaze, lying on their side in the middle of the mosque with their head propped up with one arm. Some groups sit aside talking quietly. Is this representative of all mosques? What a contrast to the wooden seating and ruffled eyebrows, worried, melancholic faces in many catholic churches.

I visit the grand bazaar. A huge labyrinth. I hear screaming from one corner; it sounds like a group fist fight, perhaps a robbery in progress. It's an auction. Rarely have I felt such an energy emerging from a small group of men. It seems that scenes like this could have been observed at this place hundreds of years ago. Now they are a rarity. The prices are high; The products rarely something of true utility; Carpets, leather clothing and sweets mostly.

I jump into the sea off the rocks beside the coastal street.
How refreshing! Some other kids have the same idea.

In the evening I decide to strawl to the seaside again. A car pulls up next to me. The driver asks in which direction the seaside is. I point out the way saying that I'm also going there. He offers a lift. Alex, an Italian man is an manager at Fiat. He is here for business for some days only and is stayıng at the 4 Seasons Hotel very close to the hostel I am staying at. He drives slowly along the coastal street and is looking for a nice place to have a drink to relax after work. There is nothing in sight and he continues across the bridge to Beyoglu. I'm tired after the day and tell him I don't want to go far from the hostel. At one point he suddenly asks if I'm gay. I'm taken aback and look at him suspiciously. He seems quite agitated after my answer. He takes a U-turn at the next possible spot and drives back the same way we came at full speed. 'Why are you so cold? Are you afraid? Do you think I will kill you or something?' he asks. I am not able to empathize. His mood and questions seem completely out of place. Sensible exchange does not occur anymore on some underlying disharmony. He drops me off almost exactly where he picked me up.
The situation leaves me wondering. 

The hostel I am staying at is almost exclusively occupied by Koreans. They are quiet and clean, read and work at their laptop. I meet a tour guide from Turkey, Torgut and a Canadian, Adrian, who had visited friends in Lebanon and is leaving to Norway soon. Torgut tells me of Konya, the city in which Rumi founded the first school of the Dervishes. Allegedly this principle group of Sufıs left a lasting influence on Muslim culture as it stands today. They taught transcendence of thought and personality through dance, trance and meditatıon. He also tells me that traditionally the central Beyoglu district of Istanbul was known for their schools.

12.07.2011

Flight from Warsaw to Kiev:
The young Ukrainian woman next to me on the plane is coming back from her vacation in Spain. Her boyfriend lives in Frankfurt, she runs a business selling cosmetics in Kiev. Her dream is to go to the USA one day.

Kiev Terminal A: late in the evening.
Only one couple and another man have found the quiet refugee on the second floor of the small Terminal A buildıng on the Kiev airport. There are no other people around and it is quiet. The airconditioning is bad and the skin feels somewhat sticky from sweat. Airport workers keep walking through laughing and shouting at each other until late in the night.

The flight to Istanbul leaves first thing next morning.