Back in Instanbul by risa
From David Keatley.
Hope this finds all well:
The popular myth is that Asia begins on the other side of the Bosphorus, but
in reality its not until you reach the Central Anatolian platau that the
countryside and people around you start to become noticeably different, a hint
of the Orient. Anatolia- the Turkish heartland, a brutal landscape dominated by
strings of mountain ranges, decaying caravanserai that once sheltered the trade
routes to Iran, and every now and then the emergence of massive volcanoes whose
apparitions seem to float in suspension on the horizon. The people are hardier,
more religious and bear a more noticeable resemblence and to their Central Asian
ancestors than their bretherin in the west. Winter comes early here, and since I
bailed on the last week of my language course about two weeks ago the
temperatures in the east have been frigid and snowfall continual.
Western Turkey has most of the modern conviences that make it considered
European; In Eastern Turkey, one leaves that all behind. Coal and paper waste
are the prime sources of heat fuel and consequently the chill night is awash in
thick smoke plumming from the chimneys of every home. No one speaks English (or
French or German) anymore, even at Tourist centers so I’ve been glad to have
been able to communicate with the limited knowledge I have. Many experiences
have shown the incredible spirit of the Turkish people but at the same time, no
one who visits the east can envision Turkey joining the European Union.
(Incidentally the donkey index is through the roof and my simple mind has yet to
grow tired of poor donkeys struggling under loads of hay and carpets). Touring
the ancient countryside that has been crossed countless times by armies and
refugees ranging from Rome to Persia, my latest friend Greggor and I were the
spectacles of each of the offbeat towns we passed through. Tourists probably
never visit a few of the small communities hidden in valleys that we’d chosen to
check out and those that do aren’t dumb enough to go in the winter.
I met up with Greggor in Istanbul, an Austrian hippie who (comfortingly) is
still unsure of life though ten years my senior. He has an interesting notion
of spirituality and is an incredible chess player, both providing lively
digressions from the sometimes mundane life. His car is an old Volkswagon polo
and he knows how to fix everything although admittedly the car never started
without a push and therefore always needed to be parked downhill. The
windshield wipers went out on a rainy day along the Black Sea Coast and I
watched in fascination as Greggor managed to rig them straight to the battery;
the more recent problems involving a broken clutch were more wearisome and more
difficult to fix in freezing temperatures. One night, we were caught stranded
after dark as the temperatures began to plummet to minus twenty but managed to
get a ride into a nearby town. Nearly every day the car required us to find
help from either the army, police, or various curious passerby. Far from being
the literal drive-by cultural experience I initially thought it would be, the
car showed us a good side of Turkey; the image of drinking tea around a stove
ignited by oil dripping slowly from a canister in an auto repair shop while
mechanics attempted to fix the clutch with wire and fire is one of those many
memories that will remain ingrained in my consciousness forever. Though saddened
when we parted at the consulate of a certain Islamic republic in Erzurum on the
far eastern Anatolian platau, I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have
to deal with the inevitable future problems that the car would bring. The dream
of the ancient trade routes are something that will have to wait.
I’m back in Istanbul now after an intense twenty hour bus ride back from
Erzurum; its the same game everywhere you go, try to blend in for as long as
possible but once someone discovers the foreigner on the bus it’s all over.
Pretending to sleep doesn’t work for very long as literally everyone on the bus
wants to know why you’re there and discuss all types of contradictory topics
from why Bush hates Muslims to whether or not its difficult to get a work visa
in the states. As I stepped off the bus, I had a roaring headache both from
lack of sleep and the wearniess of knowing my limits of the Turkish language.
An incredible experience and now its fall again in this lovely city. Its that
wonderful type of day that I think many of us associate with late October in
Montreal where the air has a vivid magentism and the sky is that rich blue with
full clouds that reach down and touch the skyscape; you sense that the
personified day is holding out for as long as possible against the inevitability
of winter and that she’s momentarily succeeding, you can’t help but feel that
engulfing world sadness and admiration for her. Lost in that feeling, it’s
been a beautiful day of strolling around and of ordering the consciousness to
prepare for the complete shock that arriving in Delhi will no doubt deliver. So
tomorrow night, flying off to India and back into summer, from one dream to the
next. Oh wonderous technology of flying metal.
Don’t just stand there, give’r
Dave
Leave a Comment