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.
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.
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.
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