vacation

we are going on vacation. normally i would be ecstatic about the prospects of leaving the city for the aegean coast, but i am being distracted by my unending illness. it has been one week. i am never sick. i have come to the conclusion that i must be dying. so in direct juxtaposition to my present sentiments, i give you these beautiful photographs of my home.... how i wish to sit on the banks of these shady, dark waters with nothing but the breeze and a neti pot.  

velvet curtains

i have a sore throat. i hate being ill and, unfortunately, i make that perfectly clear so everyone else hates when i am ill as well.  i have my flaws; complaining is definitely one of them. probably should work on that....probably not today.

but i digress; my intention for this post is to tell of the strange occurrences manifesting themselves in the time of my discomfort.....

1. i used the electric teapot as a very effective humidifier for our room. i figured out (definitely not accidentally) that if i leave the top open to let out maximum steam, the kettle will never stop boiling;  a small work of genius, as the little kettle-that-could immediately transformed our sleeping space into a steamy sauna. i was very happy. ali was very unhappy (he is covered in a fine brown fur that keeps him well insulated on even the coldest of nights), but i didnt care...i am ill.

2. i dreamed of a lone toilet that stood nakedly in the middle of my home town. the solitary john was completely exposed to the elements and the watchful eyes of passersby.  as i walked along  the presently empty, moonlit street, the need came upon me, so i rested my pale fa-funs on its pearly edges.  my skin had but touched the cold contours when, to my immediate horror, i realized that a crowd of night runners was nearly upon my public place of constitution! i raced against them to simultaneously extricate myself from my blue, chiffon gown (chiffon?! how shameful. what torture is this?) and extricate said gown from the grips of the porcelain pooper. alas, humiliation seemed inevitable; i could now distinguish the first oncoming face (a mean-girl, what cruel fate!)....but as the realization dawned that i could not escape with the weight of a toilet-watered, frilled dress, i turned to face my former tormentors, and awoke (justice! i've paid loser dues) to the continued boil of my ancient, yet trusty teapot. 

moral: everyone has devils past, but i can proudly say, with near complete credence, that not one of those grade-school queens possesses the initiative to create a homemade humidifier from a soviet-era, electric kettle. what now.    

ramazan

today is the start of ramazan.  ramazan (turkish, or ramadan in english) is the ninth month of the islamic calendar, throughout which observers are expected to refrain from lustful acts, ingesting mind-altering substances, and various other heathenish behaviors. participants are also expected to fast during the daylight hours (even from water), making an already very animated peoples even more.....animated, is the word i am inclined to use again. 

this year, ramazan coincides with a period of oppressive heat in the city as well as roiling socio-political unrest; a storm is brewing and, like the most exciting summer thunder-storms, one cannot predict whether the winds will change, leaving only a sprinkle of rain chasing after a dark sky, or whether that sky will open and the forces will make what they want of this world.

so ali (my little turkish love) and i decided to escape. we drove up the bosporus to the black sea where the winds whip the water into a foamy, cold playground. we checked into a hotel room and shouted (spat)from our balcony. we ate pan-fried fish and drank cold beer and saw the sun set and waited for the night to bath our burnt skin in its cool, clean air.

it did, and we slept soundly in a way that is particular only to the comforts of a plush, white hotel bed you know you dont have to make in the morning.

and we didn't make it. we left it and walked amongst stone ruins and along grassy, green bluffs. we walked and whispered and watched the big boats push slowly on towards an elusive destination (perhaps russia or iran), an inconceivable reality, leaving only our wonder and envy in their wake. 

lazy days

yesterday i cooked (bells sound, doves fly)... an extraordinary feat.  on a normal blog, one might post pictures of said culinary endeavors but, as my meal consisted of chicken, onions, peppers, and eggplant stir-fried until the desired grayish-brown, i will post this 

picture of me romping through the wintery woods instead (it has the same pallet, with a much more inspiring image....presumptuously) (and thanks dad for snapping it).  what it may have lacked in aesthetic appeal however, it fully made up for in taste. go me.

otherwise this weekend has been almost completely uneventful because i am 26 going on 90.  

istanbul summer

on july 2nd i was kept in this country against my will.  apparently, i had not followed the proper visa violation routes and consequently was unable to leave turkey without paying a fine and serving a mandatory probation period of THREE MONTHS!!!!! during which time i would be unable to reenter turkey.  this seemed particularly unjust as, not the day before, i had spoken to the head of the visa issuing department in istanbul and been reassured that all that awaited me at the airport was a small fine.

LIES

so, sobbing in the airport in broken turkish, i pushed my flight back, retrieved my already checked baggage, threw myself into a taxi and begrudgingly grumbled my address. i refused to smile or laugh for a whole day after on principle.

DAY TWO

while watching tv on my computer (totally legal) and resentfully pondering what adventures i might be having in the US today, i happened upon an unwanted realization....i realized i should learn from this (i hate learning things from uncomfortable situations); that i should turn my frown upside down, stop watching modern family on repeat, take a shower and do all of things i've been too tired and lazy (mostly lazy) to do before like writing on my blog, painting, studying for the GREs etc...

so here is an update on istanbul in the summer.  it is hot. not hot like new england (where i grew up) in the summer hot; hot like an oven hot.  the city is old; it holds its age in the stone buildings and the glowing green glazes of mosques; in the water ways and the traffic and the street vendors.  but the sun bakes this old city, firing the stones and boiling the water and the heat sits on millions and holds the winds back. the heat births mosquitos and deep, dark scents, behaviors and glances and dirt and dirty words and restlessness. and there is no reprieve, the salty currents that surround the city are all spoiled.

despite this, istanbul is still beautiful and it is big and there is an ease that comes through the open windows and with the night as it crawls in over the city of seven hills.  and this summer, it birthed, once more, something beautiful: resistance.  I will not pretend that i participated in the protests in any way, nor will i claim that i had any right to, but i am proud to witness the strength of humans and their vigor and solidarity and love in the face of evil words and evil actions.  power is a hateful drug, one that has been widely misused, and here, in turkey, amongst burgeoning islamization and drowning democracy, actions were taken against it. those actions were brave and they were beautiful.

#direngezi

(yes, i went there)

(yes, its a hashtag, let it go)

(#sappyhash)

mon père

this is for my father. my father who always gave me as much as he had to give. 

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze 

-wordsworth

thanks for never telling me i couldnt do anything
or not to believe
thanks for swimming and sitting in the shade
for telling me stories
and spitting watermelon seeds
and for annies with peas
thanks for never leaving me alone, even when i wanted it
thanks for the world and the sunshine and the rain and the magic you showed me in everything; every mundane, ordinary thing.

i love him so much.

ma mere

we took the train from london, under the passage and the islands slid below us.  we took a taxi with two strangers who got out earlier.  we hauled our bags through the small town, breathless from the weight and the history.  we were given a skeleton key in the shadowy corners of a shadowy lane by our hunched and softly determined madame rousseau.  in the mornings she made us café au lait and hot croissants and i stumbled through my humbling french.  we rented bikes and we rode through the rolling vineyards, twisting vines, old stones, the sun was hot on our backs.  the miles stretched before us as the world opened its arms and the sweet air whispered to us of adventures and loneliness and things that bring a secret happiness only you can know.  we bought cheese and bread and sat by a fountain that tinkled and sang so that we smiled at each other with languid ease.  back in the shadows we showered, we dressed, entered the darkening air, swallowed the cool and some wine, a red joy, a burst of white laughter, we sat outside and ate buttery, creamy meat.  above, the stars mustered their strength as ours diminished.

we woke with the warmth, bodies as creaky as our mattresses, and boarded another train.  we sat, read, talked, mused, wound around mountains and sleeping giants, big bowls of trembling turquoise and tables of frothy, steaming green.  here, between the french alps, we were small beasts (small hearts, small hands) in a big, big wild.  we walked for hours, the sky arching its long back to warm itself in the heat of the day. we walked by the lake, our shoulders against a cliff of reaching stone from which hundreds of people jumped, minute after minute.  soaring souls, yawning eyes, their parachutes made rainbows in the blue above.  we walked by drooping poppies and dusty schools, benches and boats and bronzed breasts gleaming in the sultry summer.  a blink and a flutter, our clothes come off and we dash into the waves.  what freedom! what dreams! what we cannot have forever.  our blanket of light water, our memories; full we walk on...to paris, and who can speak of paris without a beleaguered and trite chattering of recycled words? so i will not try.