Sunday, April 16, 2017

A Surreal Celebration

The streets of Uskudar are quiet now, but up until a few hours ago they were hopping with religious, nationalistic fervor after President Erdoğan’s apparent win of the vote that will essentially make him a modern-day sultan. My friend Maureen and I had spent the afternoon at the Hilton, smoking melon nargile and drinking mocktails. (Alcohol consumption is forbidden on Election Day, for fear people will fight.)

Relaxing on a terrace overlooking the Bosphorus was actually the perfect way to spend the day and I’m glad I felt inclined to be more adventurous than usual today. The alternative--staying in my apartment, checking the news obsessively and tearing at my fingernails--seems a bit insane asylum-ish. Besides, the day was too beautiful and I needed to get out. We reclined on our couches and puffed out smoke like the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland, making lethargic observations about how relaxed Turkish culture is and how we much prefer relaxing by the Bosphorus to getting mixed up in America’s competitive culture.

I had spent last night eating a lovely Easter dinner with friends who talked of staying holed up in their apartments this weekend to avoid protests and crowds. I told myself I would play it by ear. I felt warm and satisfied after such a perfect home-cooked meal and I slept in till late. Then my thoughtful German neighbor visited me in the morning and gave me an Easter goody bag filled with chocolate bunnies and painted eggs. She came over with her son, who’s visiting from Germany, and he felt vindicated when I shared some of the safety precautions that were running through my mind. His mother is more carefree and wanted to go to church, until her son convinced her not to. Although I visited an Armenian church a couple weeks ago and would like to go back, I thought today would not be the best day to do it. He agreed with me, saying, “If I were a terrorist and I wanted to really annoy people, I would choose Easter.” I find imprecise word choices, such as “annoying” to describe terrorists’ intentions, to be one of the most charming and delightful amusements of engaging in conversation with non-native English speakers.

As it turned out, the more liberal European side was the calmest place to be on Election Day. We walked from the Hilton to the swanky neighborhood of Nişantaşı and immersed ourselves in the cultured, aesthetic appeal of this groove that’s so different from the heavily conservative one we inhabit in Uskudar, on the Asian side. The whole neighborhood seemed sedated. We took a ferry back to Uskudar, where suddenly the mood went from dreary to jubilant. Watching the celebration of Erdoğan supporters gain excitement and momentum with fireworks and revelers chanting “Allahu akbar!” was surreal. I took photos and videos, went to Maureen’s for margaritas, then came back home.

Last night the eve of the election felt like a fun, yet somewhat somber occasion. One of my friends brought up that this was the last night before something transformative happened. I slipped into an English accent, declaring, “Wendy, this is your last night in the nursery!” (You can always count on me to quote a children’s movie.) Replaying the Disney version of Peter Pan in my head, I realized that it was Wendy’s forced transition to adulthood that prompted Peter Pan to teach Wendy and her brothers to fly and take them to Neverland, where they would never have to grow up. I would like Peter Pan to save me and take me to Neverland, but if my luck is anything like Wendy’s, I’ll probably get saddled with being a mother to twenty lost boys, which if you ask me, is kind of a raw deal. Isn’t it strange how men get to stay little boys forever, but girls like Wendy have to grow up and care for them? Sounds a little bit like real life.

This has been a very unusual weekend, as Maureen put it, “a softened Iranian Islamic revolution.” I’m not sure what will happen now, but I hope people in this divided nation can find a way to get along. 

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