Behind my apartment there is a wisteria tree that forms a
canopy over a picnic table and chairs. This setting is idyllic for reading The Fellowship of the Ring. I am not yet
finished with book one in the trilogy and already I’m becoming a Lord of the
Rings fanatic, excited about visiting Oxford this summer to channel Tolkien at the
pubs he used to frequent as part of his writing group, The Inklings. But when
I’m not losing myself in the realm of hobbits and elves and daydreaming about
where I will be traveling in the coming months, I am trying to enjoy all that
Istanbul has to offer. The sweet fragrance of peonies and lilacs in bloom, as
well as the excitement I feel about reading, has given me a burst of energy to explore
this city. Like Tolkien’s Middle-earth, Istanbul is a land of polarities: East
and West, old and new, Europe and Asia, conservative and modern.
Despite the solace of my wisteria tree, I need to flee my conservative neighborhood every once in a while for the restoration of my sanity. Last night, I took a dolmush (a shared taxi) to Kadikoy. This was after I couldn’t find coffee filters anywhere in Uskudar. I thought that in addition to the inhospitable “Damn you, crusader!” glares I’m occasionally subjected to, now I was feeling the shock of a terrible assault on American coffee. Okay, that is a ridiculous thought to run through my mind, but that is what coffee depravation does to me.
Despite the solace of my wisteria tree, I need to flee my conservative neighborhood every once in a while for the restoration of my sanity. Last night, I took a dolmush (a shared taxi) to Kadikoy. This was after I couldn’t find coffee filters anywhere in Uskudar. I thought that in addition to the inhospitable “Damn you, crusader!” glares I’m occasionally subjected to, now I was feeling the shock of a terrible assault on American coffee. Okay, that is a ridiculous thought to run through my mind, but that is what coffee depravation does to me.
Living in Uskudar, I find myself running away more than I
did as a teenager. I’m a little more practical when I run away now. Instead of
packing ten books in a backpack, thinking I’m going to be gone for several
months, I pack one book in my purse, and I think you can guess what book that
is.
Today, two friends and I visited the Istanbul Modern to
watch a Polish film. I have never liked the Istanbul Modern, and in fact it
ranks dead last on my list of museums, but I do like Poland and I also like
foreign films. Now I like the Istanbul Modern even less after a woman ordered
us not to look at any art as we made our way through the museum to the theater.
We joked, “Don’t look at the art! Stare at the floor!” I know admission to the
museum wasn’t included in our ticket purchase, but I wish people would lighten
up and lose the authoritarian persona. The movie, a disco musical about two man-eating,
vampire mermaids who fall in love with a guy who has exceptionally bad hair,
was one of the worst films I have ever seen. We snickered at the stupid
dialogue as well as any effort to be tender, or shocking, or suspenseful--
basically anything other than utterly ridiculous, which was the only
achievement of The Lure, if you can
even count that as an achievement. At one point, I looked at the confused and
stern expression of my German friend sitting next to me and burst out laughing.
After the film, we made our way to the museum restaurant, still not looking at
any art, trying to process what we had just seen. My German friend said in her
thick accent, “Now we know what Polish people are capable of.” This was such a
terrible line, yet it elicited more laughter from me.
After lunch, we walked around Karakoy, a cool artsy
neighborhood in Istanbul. We went to a Russian Orthodox Church, an underground mosque,
and then took the ferry back to our own neighborhood, which provides a stark
contrast to the creative excitement of Karakoy. Despite the terrible film, I’m
still glad I went out today. If I hadn’t I wouldn’t have interacted with a
sweet boy. He was by himself, selling packets of tissues. I had sat down on a
stoop to photograph a golden retriever when this adorable boy appeared. I
photographed him with the dog and when he approached me, he smiled and said,
“Hello! How are you?” Most children who are wandering the streets alone,
begging, and selling packets of tissues, will tug on my clothes, cry, and yell
“Abla!” (Big sister.) I smiled back and told him how cute he was, which he
didn’t seem to understand. I felt the urge to hug him, but I buried this urge.
I gave him some money and he wandered off. I’m still thinking about him,
wishing I could adopt him and give him a brighter future than selling tissue
packets on the streets of Istanbul. I’m worried about a lot people these days,
but unfortunately, I cannot magically help them. When I am helpless to do
anything beyond giving a little bit of money, I suppose the only thing left to
do is hope for a brighter future.
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