Night flight from DXB via Amsterdam to Stockholm.
I am in the grey zone between midnight and day. Miraculously, sleep was achieved on the plane (due in part to colossal physical exhaustion and partly to alcohol) so I am not quite the walking dead that I would usually be at this hour...
In fact I have been awake for at least two hours or more - having consumed a fairly average airplane breakfast and the extremely good new Imogen Heap album "Ellipse" in that order... (I recommend the Imogen Heap album much more than the KLM breakfast.)
Airports are strange places at the best of times - sanitised microcosms (or not sanitised in the case of several airports I visit in Africa...) filled with transient life. Ephemeral in the extreme - and by definition.
But at this bizarre hour that is neither night nor day, the airport becomes a ghost town of parody.
As I walk through "airport land" I notice the different places on the ursatz Main Street that wants us to think we're in a small town somewhere - instead of in a series of concrete and steel tunnels in the middle of nowhere that lead to getting on a giant cigar tube filled with swine flu and other people's farts that will somehow defy gravity and other commonly held principals of physics and whisk us to another spot on the planet.
The Bombay Sapphire Bar - resplendent in blue and empty - for no-one, not even the Dutch, drinks gin at 5am.
The store selling sunglasses in the middle of the night when all is dark outside.
The flower shop selling both blooms and bulbs - because I needed to cultivate my own field of tulips...
The lounge playing softly piped elevator music - I'm listening to Daniel by Elton John right now. It could be worse (maybe) - it could be Daniel played on the pan pipes by Peruvian accountants on their away-day from the office...
Oh hideous plastic pastiche of life!
Oh charmless smile of a bored lounge receptionist waiting for her shift to end!
Oh nonchalant negligence of an immigrant immigration official employed only because they are an immigrant and for no other reason!
Oh sad man with laptop checking stock prices in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere when he should be considering the middle of his life and taking stock of that instead!
Somewhere between midnight and day I am nursing the mid-life blues in an airport in the middle of nowhere and with no middle ground to run to.
Worst kind of blues are the blues before sunrise... And one of the worst places to have them is the airport.
But things are looking up already - the Bee Gees are on the music system in the lounge - "Night Fever" the disco classic.
Of course this song belongs in a dark and smokey bar somewhere after the fifth cocktail at around midnight and something, as the girl with the glint in her eye and the moral dilemma in her head looks across at you and you both wonder what the next hour will hold..."Night fever, night fev-err..."
It doesn't belong in an airport lounge just before dawn sitting next to an anally retentive Japanese executive with his own pencil case and a middle European house frau wearing a trouser suit that would have been a good fit 5 years previously...
No, no. That needs Daniel on the pan pipes...
Oh well - only another 30 mins before I get on another fart filled cigar tube and head north to Sweden - land of fresh air, expensive everything, Abba and nice fish.
Oh My GOD! In the name of Mary Jesus and Joseph and all other things that are Holy...
They are now playing Renee & Renata's 80's hit "Save Your Love"...
Kill me now.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Under The Greek Summer Sun
I am in Greece for a long weekend which will culminate with the wedding of two friends who I happened to introduce to each other some years ago. I figured I ought to witness the outcome of my random act!
But before the wedding I am spending the days by the sea near Nafpaktos on the Messolonghi strait which Lord Byron famously tried to swim across.
I'm here to relax and get some much needed rest and I cannot think of anywhere better in the world to do it. I'm staying with old friends George & Nadia in their summer houses - built from stone and set up on a little ridge overlooking the sea.
The weather is hot by Greek standards but pleasant by Gulf measures and I am thoroughly enjoying the pace of life that rural Greece offers. I confess to missing Greece - I lived here for nearly seven years and am a fluent Greek speaker - and most of all the pace and approach to life.
Over some cold beer in a small square and later on over home made wine in a family run taverna in a village I discussed this "Greek-ness" with my dear friend George.
He thinks it's a matter of maybe 15-20 years before rural Greece with its chicken pens, goat herds, crowded churches and summer festivals - part Bachanalian part Christian - disappear in favour of industrialisation, urbanisation and in the name of progress. If this is true it will be a huge shame.
The gentle pace of life, the quiet celebration of simple things like breaking bread with friends and family and the occasional impassioned argument or outburst on a political or philosophical matter of little general importance are hugely appealing for someone who lives on a hamsters wheel in the commercial & material rat race that is Dubai or indeed any major global metropolis, East or West.
The Greek emphasis on hospitality, social integrity, community spirit and the family seem somehow "retro" in a world obsessed with credit, cashflow, consumerism and crisis. But not here.
Not that these things don't exist in Greece - they do. But they are not as important to people as they are elsewhere because there are still other things that matter. The same exact condition can be found in Turkey which is another reason I enjoy that country so much. I feel at home there just as I do in Greece...
This is still a nation where discussion - and sometimes argument - is commonplace among both friends and strangers. One of my greatest pleasures is talking and debating with friends at the dinner table and long into the night, fuelled by wine and intellectual curiosity. Philosophical positions are argued with rhetoric, dissected with hypothesis and analysis and synthesis - all Greek words and concepts - and may involve laughter, tears, joy and sadness the course of the evening. But you know you are alive. You know that your heart and your mind are both functioning. This vitality is enormously refreshing and healthy - and it gives soul to life.
After concluding our meal in the taverna and chatting with the former bank manager in the town and his wife (relatives of Nadia - but everyone knows everyone here anyway) we headed to the house. Nadia watered the plants and trees around the property while George and I sat outside under the clear sky with stars lit brightly above and faced the sea. We've been friends for more than 10 years and were business partners for 6 years so we don't need to talk much to enjoy each other's company.
George drank bourbon - Makers Mark - and smoked a Cuban cigar while I drank wine from Montenegro. We listened to country music starting with Willie Nelson and moving through Lucinda Williams to the Gospel sounds of The Blind Boys Of Alabama - finally concluding with some of my own recent songs. We exchanged perhaps 20 words in two hours as we quietly contemplated the day, what the next day held, life, music, love and death. (At least that's what I contemplated, George may have been thinking about hedge trimming and golf...).
The night ended listening to the incredibly beautiful and haunting voice of my friend and fellow musician NK. Her songs filled the silence of the night and her voice and soul covered our hillside ridge like a sheet across a bed.
The last drop of wine was drained and a fine and deep sleep was enjoyed.
But before the wedding I am spending the days by the sea near Nafpaktos on the Messolonghi strait which Lord Byron famously tried to swim across.
I'm here to relax and get some much needed rest and I cannot think of anywhere better in the world to do it. I'm staying with old friends George & Nadia in their summer houses - built from stone and set up on a little ridge overlooking the sea.
The weather is hot by Greek standards but pleasant by Gulf measures and I am thoroughly enjoying the pace of life that rural Greece offers. I confess to missing Greece - I lived here for nearly seven years and am a fluent Greek speaker - and most of all the pace and approach to life.
Over some cold beer in a small square and later on over home made wine in a family run taverna in a village I discussed this "Greek-ness" with my dear friend George.
He thinks it's a matter of maybe 15-20 years before rural Greece with its chicken pens, goat herds, crowded churches and summer festivals - part Bachanalian part Christian - disappear in favour of industrialisation, urbanisation and in the name of progress. If this is true it will be a huge shame.
The gentle pace of life, the quiet celebration of simple things like breaking bread with friends and family and the occasional impassioned argument or outburst on a political or philosophical matter of little general importance are hugely appealing for someone who lives on a hamsters wheel in the commercial & material rat race that is Dubai or indeed any major global metropolis, East or West.
The Greek emphasis on hospitality, social integrity, community spirit and the family seem somehow "retro" in a world obsessed with credit, cashflow, consumerism and crisis. But not here.
Not that these things don't exist in Greece - they do. But they are not as important to people as they are elsewhere because there are still other things that matter. The same exact condition can be found in Turkey which is another reason I enjoy that country so much. I feel at home there just as I do in Greece...
This is still a nation where discussion - and sometimes argument - is commonplace among both friends and strangers. One of my greatest pleasures is talking and debating with friends at the dinner table and long into the night, fuelled by wine and intellectual curiosity. Philosophical positions are argued with rhetoric, dissected with hypothesis and analysis and synthesis - all Greek words and concepts - and may involve laughter, tears, joy and sadness the course of the evening. But you know you are alive. You know that your heart and your mind are both functioning. This vitality is enormously refreshing and healthy - and it gives soul to life.
After concluding our meal in the taverna and chatting with the former bank manager in the town and his wife (relatives of Nadia - but everyone knows everyone here anyway) we headed to the house. Nadia watered the plants and trees around the property while George and I sat outside under the clear sky with stars lit brightly above and faced the sea. We've been friends for more than 10 years and were business partners for 6 years so we don't need to talk much to enjoy each other's company.
George drank bourbon - Makers Mark - and smoked a Cuban cigar while I drank wine from Montenegro. We listened to country music starting with Willie Nelson and moving through Lucinda Williams to the Gospel sounds of The Blind Boys Of Alabama - finally concluding with some of my own recent songs. We exchanged perhaps 20 words in two hours as we quietly contemplated the day, what the next day held, life, music, love and death. (At least that's what I contemplated, George may have been thinking about hedge trimming and golf...).
The night ended listening to the incredibly beautiful and haunting voice of my friend and fellow musician NK. Her songs filled the silence of the night and her voice and soul covered our hillside ridge like a sheet across a bed.
The last drop of wine was drained and a fine and deep sleep was enjoyed.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Cosmopolitan & cosmopolitan...
Reflecting on the meaning of the word "cosmopolitan"... Literally from the Greek - meaning "citizens of the world".
I'm sitting by the pool in my hotel in Istanbul. Behind me sits a Russian Jew (his diamond encrusted Star of David and thick Moscow accent give the game away). Two loungers down a Saudi Arabian family sit quietly, man with jet black died hair and moustache, women wearing conservative "leisure" attire and hair covered. A Turkish woman, covered with an amazing tattoo of a snake which wraps her torso twice swims wearing - if I'm not mistaken - a Versace bikini...
A British couple chirp away quietly next to another Turkish couple playing tavla (Backgammon) and smoking vigorously.
A pair of Arab ladies of uncertain origin (they could be Lebanese, Egyptian or Jordanian) linger in the pool switching between Arabic, French and English in their discussion about nothing much in particular.
A family of Greeks warble vocally - as Greeks do - but look slightly insecure... As Greeks do in Turkey...
And a German is classically teutonic proportions patrols the poolside - his "proportions" spilling over his ill-advised speedos. Perhaps he is just exercising in a traditional marching kind of way, or maybe he is sun lounger spotting... Who knows.
Nothing unusual about an international capital like Istanbul welcoming so many different nationalities, races and religions to it's heart. After all, this city has been the centre of three empires and host to great stepping stones in history - not to mention straddling the East and West.
What is remarkable - say in comparison to Dubai or other so called "cosmopolitan" cities in the Gulf - is how at ease everyone is here (maybe with the exception of my Greek cousins whose nervosity is perhaps explained by history married to the modern Greek psyche)...
These people may be tourists or weekend visitors but their comfort and ease is totally representative of the people who live here full time.
Everyone fits and integrates in Istanbul. In fact I can't think of another city in the world which creates such a natural platform for people to come together and feel together.
"Cosmopolitan" therefore is not just about amassing large numbers of foreigners in one place. It is about stimulating them and integrating them - through culture, through business, through simply living life side by side.
Of course it is easy for me to say - I am a full time "cosmopolitis" or citizen of the world. Not only because of where I am, but also what and who I am.
"Cosmopolitan" is not a state or situation - it is a state of mind or an attitude that is inspired. Istanbul inspires it. Dubai does not...but it might in the future if it learns to adopt people rather than collect them. If it learns to give as well as to take. If it learns to build foundations that will last. The same applies to all those vying to become global cities.
Look to history and see what made global cities global and great - whether New York, Istanbul, Hong Kong, Paris, Rome or London. Over different centuries and over many centuries these cities gave people not only a reason to come but also a reason to stay.
I'm sitting by the pool in my hotel in Istanbul. Behind me sits a Russian Jew (his diamond encrusted Star of David and thick Moscow accent give the game away). Two loungers down a Saudi Arabian family sit quietly, man with jet black died hair and moustache, women wearing conservative "leisure" attire and hair covered. A Turkish woman, covered with an amazing tattoo of a snake which wraps her torso twice swims wearing - if I'm not mistaken - a Versace bikini...
A British couple chirp away quietly next to another Turkish couple playing tavla (Backgammon) and smoking vigorously.
A pair of Arab ladies of uncertain origin (they could be Lebanese, Egyptian or Jordanian) linger in the pool switching between Arabic, French and English in their discussion about nothing much in particular.
A family of Greeks warble vocally - as Greeks do - but look slightly insecure... As Greeks do in Turkey...
And a German is classically teutonic proportions patrols the poolside - his "proportions" spilling over his ill-advised speedos. Perhaps he is just exercising in a traditional marching kind of way, or maybe he is sun lounger spotting... Who knows.
Nothing unusual about an international capital like Istanbul welcoming so many different nationalities, races and religions to it's heart. After all, this city has been the centre of three empires and host to great stepping stones in history - not to mention straddling the East and West.
What is remarkable - say in comparison to Dubai or other so called "cosmopolitan" cities in the Gulf - is how at ease everyone is here (maybe with the exception of my Greek cousins whose nervosity is perhaps explained by history married to the modern Greek psyche)...
These people may be tourists or weekend visitors but their comfort and ease is totally representative of the people who live here full time.
Everyone fits and integrates in Istanbul. In fact I can't think of another city in the world which creates such a natural platform for people to come together and feel together.
"Cosmopolitan" therefore is not just about amassing large numbers of foreigners in one place. It is about stimulating them and integrating them - through culture, through business, through simply living life side by side.
Of course it is easy for me to say - I am a full time "cosmopolitis" or citizen of the world. Not only because of where I am, but also what and who I am.
"Cosmopolitan" is not a state or situation - it is a state of mind or an attitude that is inspired. Istanbul inspires it. Dubai does not...but it might in the future if it learns to adopt people rather than collect them. If it learns to give as well as to take. If it learns to build foundations that will last. The same applies to all those vying to become global cities.
Look to history and see what made global cities global and great - whether New York, Istanbul, Hong Kong, Paris, Rome or London. Over different centuries and over many centuries these cities gave people not only a reason to come but also a reason to stay.
Merakli a la Mardin...
Mardin is a city in South Eastern Turkey close to the Kurdish part and it is famous for its food and the "tree of life"...
Cercis Murat Konagi is a taste of Mardin in Istanbul on the Anatolian (Asian) side of the city in the Suadiye district by the Bosphorous looking out to the Marmara sea. (www.cercismurat.com)
I dined there with friends / business partners tonight and I am still in rapture....
The food is divine. The service is warm and the environment lovely - especially on a warm, humid summer evening with a gentle breeze blowing from the Bosphorous and across from the islands in the Marmara sea.
First decisions are taken - we will drink rake - the Turkish cousin of Arak / Raki and we will begin with mezze... And thus mazmiz to excite our eyes, stimulate our taste buds and start preparing the stomachs for a feast...
A salad of pickled peppers and herbs, mouhamara Kurdish / Surian style, aubergine salad (babaghanoush style), lentils, caper berries, medium hot red chilli peppers tamed by parsley and oil, spiced butter beans doused with fresh yoghurt, thick luscious strained yoghurt to accompany and warm breads - some with caraway and aniseed, some plain and charred for flavour... All exquisitely served on Mardin traditional metal mezze dishes with each salad in a long cast spoon to be passed around the table...and shalgam...
Shalgam is very popular in Southern Turkey and is a drink made with black carrots and turnips that have been salted heavily and then fermented with bulghur wheat. There is a variation of Shalgam in India also apparently, but here it becomes a slightly viscous cloudy drink of a dark purple hue - and looks very imperial...
It is certainly an acquired taste which I can only describe as being similar to very bitter carrot juice with lots of salt...but it is curiously refreshing and is said to cancel out the effects of rake... It also tastes immensely healthy. I acquired the taste...if you get the chance to try really fresh homemade shalgam like this then do it.
From the mezze we departed to sample other delights from the Mardin cuisine - including the Mardin variation on Iclik Kofte... Normally iclik kofte are like Levantine Kibbeh or Cypriot Koupes - but in Mardin the stuffed meat enclosure is slightly closer to Arayes in the Levant - but there is a soft dough folded around the spiced meat filling like a duvet and then it is layered on top with yoghurt with spices...
MY GOD this is a food sensation. Texture and taste combine to leave one diner - namely me - almost speechless... This is special food. I begin to contemplate the idea of acquiring a wife from Mardin. Food this good should be eaten more often!
Then Mardin's take on lahmacun - often called the Turkish pizza...except the Mardin version is more like a calzone or an Argentinean empanada with the dough wrapped around the filling and then baked... Also delicious.
Then as we have moved to meat we move on properly to two gorgeous lamb specialities from the Mardin area. Spiced lamb cubes stewed with quinces - a very subtle dish with balanced flavours and deliciously tender meat with the firm quince pieces finished with a gentle but important spice note from pepper and chili.
This was served with an incredible piece of lamb stuffed with two kinds of rice served on bulghur with oil, tomatoes and nuts including almonds and chestnuts - reminding me a little of Mansaf - the Jordanian Bedouin goat dish - except this dish lacked the yoghurt.
The waiter peeled away the skin and fat from the piece of lamb and discarded bones in front of our table. He then stripped the lamb and mixed the rices with the bulghur and served us. Wonderful aromas filled our nostrils as wonderful sights entertained our eyes... And the food was truly delicious.
I began to wonder if my Mardin wife would be beautiful as well as a great cook - finally deciding that she could actually have a beard as long as she could cook this well and I would still be happy!
I drank another glass of shalgam and more rake...
Cool fresh fruit including some sensational dark cherries were served as a desert and then some coffee - similar to Arabic coffee but incredibly strong was brought for us in Arabic style thimble cups.
Then Turkish coffee served in amazing silver cups and saucers on a velvet ringed platform...and a dome to cover them and keep them hot...together with cinnamon biscuits from Mardin and some impressively chewy lokum or Turkish delight.
A waiter came with a large metal bowl and a jug of heavily scented rose water to wash our hands before a tea glass of fresh lemon juice and ginger was served as a final palate cleanser and digestif.
Maybe you have to be there to get the full feeling - but this was a repeated "Oh My God!" meal as each taste and flavour unfolded from the mezze to the lemon juice & ginger... This accompanied good natured conversation with my Turkish vocabulary increasing twofold and my gastro/sociological history of the South East of Turkey growing exponentially.
This is what great dining is about and this was a great meal.
One final note is the "Tree of Life" myth of Mardin where apparently they believe in a sacred tree where the shamen comes from - a tree that if you find it you must sit under it and it will bring you a longer life... As a result there is arborial imagery in every aspect of the restaurant from delightful lamps to sculptures and the restaurant's motif.
To be honest - if it is as hot in Mardin as it was in Istanbul today, then sitting under any tree and catching the shade has to prolong one's life anyway. Whether it's the right tree or not...
And now to sleep and dream of my journey to Mardin and the search for a beautiful Mardin wife who knows how to cook and whose dad owns a vineyard...
Cercis Murat Konagi is a taste of Mardin in Istanbul on the Anatolian (Asian) side of the city in the Suadiye district by the Bosphorous looking out to the Marmara sea. (www.cercismurat.com)
I dined there with friends / business partners tonight and I am still in rapture....
The food is divine. The service is warm and the environment lovely - especially on a warm, humid summer evening with a gentle breeze blowing from the Bosphorous and across from the islands in the Marmara sea.
First decisions are taken - we will drink rake - the Turkish cousin of Arak / Raki and we will begin with mezze... And thus mazmiz to excite our eyes, stimulate our taste buds and start preparing the stomachs for a feast...
A salad of pickled peppers and herbs, mouhamara Kurdish / Surian style, aubergine salad (babaghanoush style), lentils, caper berries, medium hot red chilli peppers tamed by parsley and oil, spiced butter beans doused with fresh yoghurt, thick luscious strained yoghurt to accompany and warm breads - some with caraway and aniseed, some plain and charred for flavour... All exquisitely served on Mardin traditional metal mezze dishes with each salad in a long cast spoon to be passed around the table...and shalgam...
Shalgam is very popular in Southern Turkey and is a drink made with black carrots and turnips that have been salted heavily and then fermented with bulghur wheat. There is a variation of Shalgam in India also apparently, but here it becomes a slightly viscous cloudy drink of a dark purple hue - and looks very imperial...
It is certainly an acquired taste which I can only describe as being similar to very bitter carrot juice with lots of salt...but it is curiously refreshing and is said to cancel out the effects of rake... It also tastes immensely healthy. I acquired the taste...if you get the chance to try really fresh homemade shalgam like this then do it.
From the mezze we departed to sample other delights from the Mardin cuisine - including the Mardin variation on Iclik Kofte... Normally iclik kofte are like Levantine Kibbeh or Cypriot Koupes - but in Mardin the stuffed meat enclosure is slightly closer to Arayes in the Levant - but there is a soft dough folded around the spiced meat filling like a duvet and then it is layered on top with yoghurt with spices...
MY GOD this is a food sensation. Texture and taste combine to leave one diner - namely me - almost speechless... This is special food. I begin to contemplate the idea of acquiring a wife from Mardin. Food this good should be eaten more often!
Then Mardin's take on lahmacun - often called the Turkish pizza...except the Mardin version is more like a calzone or an Argentinean empanada with the dough wrapped around the filling and then baked... Also delicious.
Then as we have moved to meat we move on properly to two gorgeous lamb specialities from the Mardin area. Spiced lamb cubes stewed with quinces - a very subtle dish with balanced flavours and deliciously tender meat with the firm quince pieces finished with a gentle but important spice note from pepper and chili.
This was served with an incredible piece of lamb stuffed with two kinds of rice served on bulghur with oil, tomatoes and nuts including almonds and chestnuts - reminding me a little of Mansaf - the Jordanian Bedouin goat dish - except this dish lacked the yoghurt.
The waiter peeled away the skin and fat from the piece of lamb and discarded bones in front of our table. He then stripped the lamb and mixed the rices with the bulghur and served us. Wonderful aromas filled our nostrils as wonderful sights entertained our eyes... And the food was truly delicious.
I began to wonder if my Mardin wife would be beautiful as well as a great cook - finally deciding that she could actually have a beard as long as she could cook this well and I would still be happy!
I drank another glass of shalgam and more rake...
Cool fresh fruit including some sensational dark cherries were served as a desert and then some coffee - similar to Arabic coffee but incredibly strong was brought for us in Arabic style thimble cups.
Then Turkish coffee served in amazing silver cups and saucers on a velvet ringed platform...and a dome to cover them and keep them hot...together with cinnamon biscuits from Mardin and some impressively chewy lokum or Turkish delight.
A waiter came with a large metal bowl and a jug of heavily scented rose water to wash our hands before a tea glass of fresh lemon juice and ginger was served as a final palate cleanser and digestif.
Maybe you have to be there to get the full feeling - but this was a repeated "Oh My God!" meal as each taste and flavour unfolded from the mezze to the lemon juice & ginger... This accompanied good natured conversation with my Turkish vocabulary increasing twofold and my gastro/sociological history of the South East of Turkey growing exponentially.
This is what great dining is about and this was a great meal.
One final note is the "Tree of Life" myth of Mardin where apparently they believe in a sacred tree where the shamen comes from - a tree that if you find it you must sit under it and it will bring you a longer life... As a result there is arborial imagery in every aspect of the restaurant from delightful lamps to sculptures and the restaurant's motif.
To be honest - if it is as hot in Mardin as it was in Istanbul today, then sitting under any tree and catching the shade has to prolong one's life anyway. Whether it's the right tree or not...
And now to sleep and dream of my journey to Mardin and the search for a beautiful Mardin wife who knows how to cook and whose dad owns a vineyard...
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Istanbul... Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon...
With apologies to the great Ray Davies...!
Up to Taksim, down Istiklal, turn off into the back streets of Beyoglu and through to Faik Pasa St where I am looking at some apartments for rent. It's a lovely street, windy, ramshackle and in need of a lick of paint in parts... Crammed full of antique shops and bric a brac, and an art gallery lifting the sophistication a little. Crammed full of character too.
I could live in this street. It's not the place I have my heart set on - that apartment isn't free for a while - but I might well take somewhere here until my dream apartment in Galata is free.
Wandering through Tomtom past the elegant Italian Ambassador's residence (OF COURSE the Italian Ambassador's residence is elegant!) and up a narrow laneway past the Dutch Embassy and on to Istiklal again - Las Ramblas of Istanbul...
An instinctive turn off Istiklal towards the Pera side and I wander through the laneways weaving a pattern through the charming buildings of Beyoglu resplendent in their neoclassical grandeur - some polished and proud, some faded and forlorn - but all reminding one of the glorious past.
Galip Dede is the Tin Pan Alley, the West 48th Street of Istanbul...packed with music stores selling guitars, baglama (traditional Turkish - and Greek - folk instrument), and all manner of drums, timpany and assorted other sound making devices. Heaven.
The sun is out and so are the smiling, happy people of Istanbul. Colourful clothes contrast with the colourful backdrops of the street and birdsong mixes with distant Byzantine scales, fruit vendors shouting their offers and the general hubbub of the street...
I have worked up a thirst so I stop at an eaterie in the shadow of Galata Kulesi (Galata Tower) and quickly drown several cold beers. Refreshed in terms of thirst I turn to the hunger part of the equation...
Fresh lahmacun - a kind of Turkish meat pizza served with some freshly shredded lettuce and lemon juice - is accompanied by haydari - a thick strained yoghurt laced with garlic and fennel and a plate of ezme salad - tomatoes pulped with spicy peppers, onion and olive oil with plenty of kick. Mopping up with delicious fresh bread that is doughy and chewy and almost a meal in itself.
In a nearby music store the proprietor plays baglamas through an amplifier and the sound of the Anatolian spirit that haunts the music from Greece to Central Asia and works to a Byzantine scale wafts across the square and provides the perfect accompaniment to my meal.
Oh how blessed I am to be able to have these moments of pure and utter contentment and joy. My heaven is perhaps someone else's hell - but I am able to taste this joy with comparative regularity and that is a true blessing.
And now I'm ready to head for the airport, my lungs filled with Istanbul, my eyes excited by her sights, by ears intoxicated by her sounds and my soul tantalised by her possibilities. My heart torn between the sadness of departure and the longing for return.
Who could not be inspired by Istanbul - for it is both inspired and inspirational.
Until the next time dear city. . . Until the next time.
Up to Taksim, down Istiklal, turn off into the back streets of Beyoglu and through to Faik Pasa St where I am looking at some apartments for rent. It's a lovely street, windy, ramshackle and in need of a lick of paint in parts... Crammed full of antique shops and bric a brac, and an art gallery lifting the sophistication a little. Crammed full of character too.
I could live in this street. It's not the place I have my heart set on - that apartment isn't free for a while - but I might well take somewhere here until my dream apartment in Galata is free.
Wandering through Tomtom past the elegant Italian Ambassador's residence (OF COURSE the Italian Ambassador's residence is elegant!) and up a narrow laneway past the Dutch Embassy and on to Istiklal again - Las Ramblas of Istanbul...
An instinctive turn off Istiklal towards the Pera side and I wander through the laneways weaving a pattern through the charming buildings of Beyoglu resplendent in their neoclassical grandeur - some polished and proud, some faded and forlorn - but all reminding one of the glorious past.
Galip Dede is the Tin Pan Alley, the West 48th Street of Istanbul...packed with music stores selling guitars, baglama (traditional Turkish - and Greek - folk instrument), and all manner of drums, timpany and assorted other sound making devices. Heaven.
The sun is out and so are the smiling, happy people of Istanbul. Colourful clothes contrast with the colourful backdrops of the street and birdsong mixes with distant Byzantine scales, fruit vendors shouting their offers and the general hubbub of the street...
I have worked up a thirst so I stop at an eaterie in the shadow of Galata Kulesi (Galata Tower) and quickly drown several cold beers. Refreshed in terms of thirst I turn to the hunger part of the equation...
Fresh lahmacun - a kind of Turkish meat pizza served with some freshly shredded lettuce and lemon juice - is accompanied by haydari - a thick strained yoghurt laced with garlic and fennel and a plate of ezme salad - tomatoes pulped with spicy peppers, onion and olive oil with plenty of kick. Mopping up with delicious fresh bread that is doughy and chewy and almost a meal in itself.
In a nearby music store the proprietor plays baglamas through an amplifier and the sound of the Anatolian spirit that haunts the music from Greece to Central Asia and works to a Byzantine scale wafts across the square and provides the perfect accompaniment to my meal.
Oh how blessed I am to be able to have these moments of pure and utter contentment and joy. My heaven is perhaps someone else's hell - but I am able to taste this joy with comparative regularity and that is a true blessing.
And now I'm ready to head for the airport, my lungs filled with Istanbul, my eyes excited by her sights, by ears intoxicated by her sounds and my soul tantalised by her possibilities. My heart torn between the sadness of departure and the longing for return.
Who could not be inspired by Istanbul - for it is both inspired and inspirational.
Until the next time dear city. . . Until the next time.
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