Mall / Food / Universities

Today I left the usual tourist spots and took the subway to Cevahir Shopping Center, the world’s second largest mall located in Şişli, an affluent neighborhood. (The largest mall in the world is in West Edmonton, Canada; the third largest is the Mall of America in the States.) American architect Munoru Yamasaki designed Cevahir in 1987; it opened on October 15, 2005. I read that on November 14, 2006 St. Martin’s, the Kuwait Investment Authority (KIA), and Pradera Asset Management bought the mall for about $750 million. I don’t frequent malls often, but today I spent several hours exploring it. I especially liked Koç Taş, which is a comparatively more aesthetically organized sort of upscale Home Depot. (Well… maybe two hundred years from now someone will think of this mall as today’s Blue Mosque… not!) It’s like walking through Pentagon Mall near DC, or the Valley Fair Mall in Silicon Valley: the architecture, the set up, the stores, the food… they’re all the same (globalization indeed!), except that there’s a bit more glitter at Cevahir. The ceilings are way higher, there’s a lot of marble, steel and glass everywhere, and the floors are shinier; even the columns are shiny.
Oh yes, and the glass ceiling is a huge clock, the largest of its kind in the world; you can see the 12 in the picture below. (I couldn’t take too many pictures because a policeman told me it’s forbidden; and yes, as you enter, like in every museum or public building, here in Istanbul and at home in California, you go through a metal detector and your bags are x-rayed.) Like the bazaar, merchandise is grouped together (all shoes in one area, all home goods in another, etc.), and it was packed (think consumerism at its peak), but the mall is clearly orderly, clean, well-lit and very chichi. I walked all seven floors, which are connected by escalators, stairs and a glass elevator.
Two of the floors are dedicated just to food (including the perennial McD’s, Burger King and KFC), the top one for more formal restaurants. In a china store called Portland I ogled an exquisite porcelain $500 vase; and in Koç Taş I marveled at how anybody would take (what I imagine is way too much) time to arrange light bulbs so artistically. There’s a huge IMAX theater showing films from everywhere, but I decided to go out into the city and explore.

The metro ride was easy: everything’s labeled in both Turkish and English; the trains are super modern, fast, clean and the stations are decorated with murals (usually depicting life around the Bosphorus) done in new generation tiles from Iznik.

Şişli is one of the 32 districts of Istanbul on the European side. In the 17th century there were only graveyards there; in the 18th, vineyards and gardens were planted, but in the 19th, with the expansion of Istanbul, many immigrants and non-Muslims began to settle there. In 1913, after the first electric tram was installed, even more people moved in and many apartment buildings were built in the 1920s. After that modernization, Şişli became one of the most elite neighborhoods where the upper class and wealthy foreigners lived.

Today it continues to be a bustling religiously mixed and prosperous commercial and residential part of Istanbul where you can find many Muslim mosques, Christian churches and Jewish synagogues. The Jewish presence in this area is interesting: there’s the Şişli Beth Israel Synagogue at Efe Sokak No. 4, which is a very modern building and is supposed to be the center of the Jewish community.

I think I walked by the Italian Jewish Cemetery, but since it was closed and since I didn’t see the monumental Baroque gate the guidebook describes, I’m not exactly sure. It was founded to serve about 400 Jewish families who arrived from Crimea during 1854 and 1855 and it’s still active, though like many cemeteries in Istanbul, it’s not easily accessible. It used to be that cemeteries in Istanbul were located right in the middle of neighborhoods, but with modernization they were relocated outside the city, and thus are now barely seen. I liken that to moving Woodlawn Cemetery (in place since 1863) and its 300,000 graves (some of illustrious people like Herman Melville, Irving Belin, Fiorello LaGuardia and Otto Preminger), out of the north Bronx. What a loss that would be for that Bronx neighborhood! There are supposed to be many famous Istanbullus of the 19th century buried at the Italian Jewish Cemetery, and the tombstones are supposedly inscribed in Italian, English, French, German, Russian and Latin.

So yeah, I also want to tell you a little bit about the delicious food I've been eating. I'll be upfront: I've eaten one too many Turkish Delights and Baklava--and a whole lot of simits (think of New York size soft pretzels with toasted sesame seeds--yum!). Simits are so easy to eat on the run. They're sold in bakeries (along with a lot of other kinds of breads), in Simit Salons (along with coffee and chai, sort of like at Noah's Bagels), from carts and even trays on top of men's heads. They're 50 kurus (that's about forty cents) and for me they're a meal (not balanced eating... I know).

I've enjoyed the typical Turkish breakfast (though I'm totally ready for my usual oatmeal), which consists of several kinds of olives, raw tasty tomatoes and cucumbers, a few kinds of white cheeses, breads, jams, yogurt (did you know that Turkey introduced yogurt to the world?) and chai (strong tea) or coffee.

I won't try it, but everywhere you go you can also buy corn (imported from the States?) either boiled or roasted. There are carts in every nook and crany. And of course, there's pizza everywhere too. I’m not the best person to discuss all the delicacies available here (since I’m vegetarian and definitely not a "foodie"), but I can tell you about what I’ve smelled and seen while others eat. I’ll start with what you can find at restaurant row under the Galata Bridge. I walked through it today again, just to see what it’s like on a Sunday. It was packed with people eating fresh “fish between bread.” That’s what that place is famous for: (fried, sautéed, broiled, and in a few other ways) fish placed between two (sometimes more) pieces of either flat bread, baguettes, or fancy (like whole wheat with nuts) bread. If you want, they’ll put cilantro, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, pepper, and sauce. It looks and smells delicious, but I'm leary because I see all those people fishing off the Galata Bridge and I know about all those tankers that spill oil into the Bosphorus, and all the cars that have accidentally fallen in (not to mention the bodies in the cars), all the garbage thrown in by cruise ships, ferries, people...yikes!

People seem to eat a lot of roasted lamb--with rice, in stews, in sandwiches, in fancy restaurants and on the streets. Pierced huge chuncks can be seen at stalls and carts everywhere (imagine what our Health Department would say about that). The vendor (99 percent of the time a man) pulls out a looong blade and slices pieces according to how much you order. Then, depending on your preference, he puts the pieces over rice, in a sauce or in a huge baguette sandwich. You wash that down with Coke or Pepsi. Borek is everywhere too. They're the Turkish version of a spring meat roll. As a main meal it can be served with a shepherd's salad (chopped cilantro, parsley, tomatoes, onions, vinegar and olive oil), or on the run it too can go in between bread.

I've also had a lot of chai--both the Turkish version (which is just tea, mostly apple flavor with tons of added sugar and served in a pretty tulip-shaped glass--I skip the sugar) and the chai latte made with soy from Starbucks. Other than the Cappadocian white wine (did you know that wine has been produced for millenia in Turkey? Right now there are about 50 operating wineries in different regions; the most famous ones are Okuzgozu, Bogazkere, Narince and Kalecik Karasi), I also tried Raki. A tiny sip was enough for me. Raki is a traditional Turkish drink made from grapes and raisins and flavored with pungent anise. Usually you dilute it with water and it turns a milky color. But even diluted it is way too strong.

****
A couple of days ago, I met my colleague from the Interior Design Department at WVC, Çiğdem (she's Turkish and is here on vacation), and we visited Kadir Has University where we talked with the Department Chair of Architecture/Interior Design about a possible faculty and student exchange program between the schools. The university is in a beautifully re-designed old building located in Cibali overlooking Haliç (the Golden Horn); from 1884 until 1995 when it was abandoned, it used to a tobacco warehouse and factory until 1998 when it was renovated and then opened as a school in January 2002. Kadir Hasoglu, the business man who established the university, died just two days ago at age 89.
Like so many of these new private universities in Turkey, the “mission of Kadir Has Univeristy is to help the public and private sectors prepare for EU accession.” Çiğdem spoke with representatives at the other universities that have Interior Design programs that we're considering. They include Bahçeşehir University located in Beşiktaş overlooking the Bosphorus (which was founded in 1998 by Bahçeşehir Uğur Educational Institutions), and Bilkent University in Ankara, which was founded in 1984 by Ihsan Dogramaci.

I'm really fascinated by the surge of private for profit universities in the 1990s (for example, Koç University that was established by Vehbi Koç Foundation in 1993; I posted pictures in a previous entry). They are all modeled after American universities, all the teaching is done in English, and they all seem to have very explicit political and economic aims. I started reading a 2006 dissertation (titled Histories, Institutional Regimes and Educational Organizations: The Case of Turkish Higher Education by Zeynep Erden who says that in the 1980s Turkey experienced a great deal of Americanization and economic development, and when the government eased control of education and laws were changed to allow individuals and foundations to set up private universities, they "were seen as a force that would bring competition in the higher education field. Hence, in addition to the control of the state, now it was time for market forces to increase the variety of services as well as to increase the quality of education due to expected competition among higher education organizations" (60).

(No, I don't have too much time of my hands, it's just that the issue is really interesting. After all, these institutions are training the future political and economic leaders of Turkey, especially since 9/11 when it became so difficult, particularly for Muslims, to study in the States. That's a lot of power for those universities.)

Coffee/Loti

The Yale Institute is over; everyone is gone; Greta, our Yale Institute leader, has gone on to Syria. I’m very tired. Today I tried to rest, especially because it’s been unbearably hot and you can’t walk for long before feeling dizzy, despite drinking bottles and bottles of water. I had been considering going on to Bucharest, but I saw on BBC World that over 500 people have died there this week because of the extreme heat. Budapest and Sofia are no better. There are raging fires in Greece (while monsoons drench northern India), so I looked into the Mediterranean coast in Turkey and was told by a travel agent that it’s equally hot and uncomfortable. Thus, I’m going up in altitude to Cappadocia where it’s cooler than Istanbul and there’s less pollution and even more history. I’ve been assured by the travel agent that there’s wireless in my cave hotel, so I aim to continue this blog. As I write this, a 6.9 earthquake has rocked Indonesia. Over two million Iraqi refugees have overwhelmed Syria; the US has agreed to take 7,000 of them. The new sensation on youtube.com is a 4-minute video of 1,500+ inmates dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” in the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Philippines. In Harare, Zimbabwe, as the country prepares for a weeklong demonstration against the government, thousands of protesters have been brutally beaten and imprisoned. India has agreed to buy nuclear technology from the US. Twenty-two Koreans are still in captivity in Afghanistan; one has been killed by the Taliban, their 42-year-old Christian minister, whose body was dumped in the dessert. Bulgaria makes the news again: Europeans are horrified that impoverished families willingly sell their children to shady individuals who traffic them to affluent parents who bypass legal adoption processes. And, Istanbullus continue to seem surprised by the outcome of Sunday’s election. (I’ve updated my blog entry on politics; check it out.)

The heat seems inconsequential. If only Lady Mary Wortley Montague (a Brit who traveled through Turkey and lived in Istanbul in the early 1700s) could be here now. I was just reading a letter she wrote in 1763: “The climate is delightful in the extremest degree. I am now sitting, this present four of January, with the windows open, enjoying the warm shine of the sun, while you are freezing over a sad sea-coal fire; and my chamber set out with carnations, roses, and jonquils, fresh from my garden.”

The news is absurd, depleting; I’ve no words to describe what it does to the soul. Better to get lost, for just a little time, in Turkish history, beauty and culture—coffee, for instance. (Alright, twist my arm, I admit that I’ve been hanging around coffee houses.) I did not know that Turkey introduced cafés to the world. Yes, the very “cradle of civilizations” that has the remnants of 13 successive societies (Hittites, Assyrians, Phyrigians, Urartians, Lycians, Lydians, Ionians, Persians, Macedonians, Romans, Byzantines, Seliuks and Ottomans) spanning 10,000 years also gave birth to neighborhood cafés! (And you thought it was Starbucks? Sorry, their first store opened in Seattle’s Pike Place public market in 1971, and yes, it was innovative in that it sold fresh-roasted whole bean coffee.) Okay, the coffee plant grew naturally in Ethiopia, but the Turks were the first to adopt it as a common drink, often adding spices such as clove, cinnamon, cardamom and anise to the brew.

Prior to 1000 AD, members of the Galla tribe in Ethiopia were energizing themselves by using ground coffee beans mixed with animal fat (eeeeeeuuu!). Then at about 1000 AD, Arab traders brought coffee back to their homelands and began to boil the beans. By 1453 coffee was being used in Ottoman Constantinople. (At that time, Turkish law allowed a woman to divorce her husband if he failed to provide her with her daily quota of coffee.) The world's first coffee shop, Kiva Han, opened in Istanbul in 1475. (The first coffee house in Italy opened much later in 1645; in England in 1652; in Paris in 1672.) By 1600 coffee had been introduced to the West by Italian traders. By 1607 Captain John smith who founded Jamestown in Virginia had brought coffee to North America. By 1668 in New York coffee had become a breakfast staple. By 1920 prohibition had boosted the sales of coffee so that by 1940 the US imported 70 percent of the world’s coffee crop.

My favorite place to drink coffee is the Pierre Loti Café at the top of the hill in Eyüp Cemetery. From there, you can see the Golden Horn, which was settled in the 7th century BC and historically has been described as the world’s greatest natural harbor. You can see the whole city, and the Galata Bridge that was built in 1992 to replace the (now rebuilt) pontoon bridge (also called the Galata Bridge) located further away. You can distinguish the rebuilt pontoon because the lower level is packed with restaurants; on top, men line the sides where they spend hours fishing. Galata Tower, the most recognizable feature of the Golden Horn, looms nearby. I took the elevator up the 196 feet high open balcony for another magnificent view (despite the haze of pollution) of the city. I like the Loti Café because it’s decorated in 19th century furniture (even the waiters wear period clothes), because the views are exquisite, and mostly because of the romance and literary history.

It turns out that the café is named for one of its customers, Pierre Loti (his real name is Julien Marie Viaud Rochefort), who was a prolific and romantic travel writer, and who had great affinity with what we now call the Middle East. Loti once admitted that he felt he had a “half-Arab soul.” He also said, when he was a child, “I will wander all the world over and return, a grey-haired man, to the home of my father to muse on the strange and beautiful things I have seen.”
Loti was a midshipman in the French navy and thus traveled widely. He first visited Istanbul in 1876, immersed himself in Turkish life, lived in a house in Eyüp and fell in love with a married Turkish woman, Aziyadé, who dared to sneak out of her husband’s harem to spend time with Loti. Loti had to leave in 1877, and years later when he returned to Istanbul he found that Aziyadé had died. Overwhelmed with sadness, he sat at the café that now bears his name and he mourned. Eventually, after turning his memories into a semi-autobiographical love story titled Aziyadé, he took her tombstone back to his house in Rochefort, France, where it can still be seen.
I leave for Cappadocia on the 31st; I’m sorry I’ll miss seeing Konya. I'll leave you with more wise literary words written by Turkish painter, writer, journalist, sculptor and cineast, Abidine Dino (1913-1993) who wrote:

Every summer Turks placidly watch foreign migration flowing into their country, those same Turks who had at one time practiced an admittedly more belligerent form of migration. But the old motive is still there: a delight in seeing the world. Today the verb “see” is gaining ground: one learns to see, one is able to see, one occasionally loses all hope of seeing. We try to see in paintings, photography, films and television, with the eyes of others and with our own. Nothing is ever totally satisfying. I still remember one morning in 1953 at Vallauris, where Picasso said, with a note of sadness: “A man sees only once or twice in a lifetime.” It is true, but also shattering. How does one approach this Turkey? Should you forget about seeing and instead, taste grilled swordfish or Bosphorus strawberries? Or the contraband alcohol known as bogma “stangler” or lamb grilled over vine shoots? To glimpse Turkey would it be better to prance dead drunk to the beat of an enormous drum on the roofs of a village in round dances of another era? Or is the answer to sit at the bow of a Bosphorus boat under the finger of light piercing a snow storm at night? Perhaps one could guide a plough behind a bony ox or suffocate from dust on a road while jeeps race by.

Maritine crossroads / Bazaar

Pierre Loti's description of the traffic on the Bosphorous:
I watch the coming and going on the strait, which during the day tends to become the world's most heavily traveled corridor. At its center, farther out, huge ships steam past one another, forever communicating between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. Closer in, there are the caiques, vessels of every kind, the little paint-daubed sailboats that, on breezy afternoons, hurl themselves mindelessly against the quay of the house, sometimes demolishing its fragile marble balustrade.

Turkey is bounded by the Black Sea to the north, the Aegean Sea to the west and the Mediterranean Sea to the south; that's 5,176 miles of coastline. That explains, partly, why the geographical area has seen the birth of 13 very significant civilizations. The link between the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara—the Bosphorus—has been, and continues to be, a key factor in the development of this area. The Bosphorus is still Turkey’s major maritime route, the main medium for transportation and exchange, and the most direct route for connecting the Black Sea to the Mediterranean Sea.

It fascinates me to see the myriad kinds of activities this strait hosts. Two days ago, when it was sweltering hot, I walked along the European edge from Eminönû, past the Ortaköy Bridge (one of the two that connect the European and Asian sides of Istanbul) to slightly beyond trendy Ortaköy, which put me right about in the middle of the Bosphorus. The edge is lined with numerous ferry piers that are indeed indispensable transportation for thousands of Istanbullus transferring back and forth across the continents, and especially during summer weekends, to the nine Princes’ Islands. The ferries, first imported from England in 1854, are generally named after neighborhoods: Rumeli, Trakya, Göksu, Beylerbeyi, Tophane and Besiktas.

Shipping and cruise lines dot the edges. Fishing is a national pastime and a main industry. The shipbuilding market volume now nears $10 billion. And of course, transporting oil has taken on even more significance after the break-up of the former Soviet Union; over 7,400 tankers carry more than 125 million tons of oil through the Bosphorus. In addition to all that activity, at any time of the day you can see people rowing, sailing, swimming, sitting… (I should note, too, that the environmental harm has increased exponentially. For example, on 13 March 1994 the Cyprian tanker Nassia and the freighter Shipbroker collided into a huge fire that killed 29 crewmen; the spilled crude patched miles of water and washed onto the shore to affect everything.)

Trade results in… bazaars! Bazaars are festive, magical, intriguing, beguiling—and a source of frustration to someone like me who doesn’t like to bargain. In Turkey’s bazaars, as in most bazaars in the Middle East, the initial quoted price is simply a place to start haggling. You can expect to pay 30 to 50 percent less—if you can maneuver the exchange and unspoken rules of respect and protocol. For example, I sat in a jeweler’s store in the Grand Bazaar while he offered chai and made conversation about the elections, the States, world news—all sorts of topics discussed in multiple languages. He was very courteous and solicitous.

My only role was to be genuinely interested in buying the gorgeous gold earrings I’d stopped to look at; somehow, vendors can actually tell if you’re truly interested and they leave you alone if you’re not. It is understood that if I wasn’t really interested I would not go into his store, drink his tea and waste his time; once I entered his store we were bound by a common agreement to exchange goods.



I was very tempted to buy the earrings, but felt increasingly uncomfortable as in between the topics of conversation, we discussed (what seemed to me to be) and exorbitant price that he was apparently very reluctant to decrease. I couldn’t keep increasing my initial offer because, really, I didn’t know how much the earrings are actually worth. Some people enjoy that sort of exchange and even get a huge kick out of walking away with a cheap price. I don’t feel triumphant in that, especially if I have to haggle with a woman who may seem so very financially poor in comparison to me. Haggling evokes way too many mixed feelings in me; so, needless to say, I left sans the earrings.

In the Middle East, bazaars are always located next to a mosque, since that kind of trade is what supported the establishment and growth of the mosque and in turn what provided the vendors with a place to pray, sleep (since most mosques also have caravanserais, bed and breakfast sorts of lodging), and store their merchandise. (There’s a growing body of scholarship on this topic; perhaps later I will provide titles of recent books and articles.) The Grand Bazaar, built at the command of Fatih Mehmet after the conquest, is one of the most famous markets in the world and is right near my hotel. It is a city within a city that consists of 75 acres of alleyways and a vast network of covered streets and buildings. At the center are domed buildings, called the Old Bedestan (warehouse), where stores with the most valuable merchandise are located.

When you enter the Grand Bazaar, the place looks like a bewildering maze, but soon you realize that there’s an orderly grid like arrangement. Shopkeepers are clustered together according to the kinds of good or services they provide. There is a street of jewelers, leather workers, silk fabrics and other textiles, food, sweets, rugs… anything and everything you can imagine. The stores are owned and operated by individuals, but the municipality of Istanbul owns some of the buildings.

In the mid-19th century, Théophile Gautier wrote of the Grand Bazaar: “There are jewelers whose gemstones are put away in safes or in glass cases placed beyond the reach of thieves. In these dark boutiques, rather like cobbler’s workshops, riches of the most incredible sort abound.”

"This is us!"

Yesterday, Leah cried. A sweet 70 year old conservative Orthodox Jewish educator let the tears soak her face: "This is us. It's us!" We were on the women's side of the Eyüp Sultan Mosque, originally built in 1458, now the holiest Muslim shrine in Istanbul, just feet away from the tomb of Eyüp Ensari, a companion and standard-bearer of the Prophet Mohammed killed during the Arab siege of Constantinople in 670, and feet away from the street of tombs and Mausoleum of Eyüp, where many illustrious Muslims have been interred since the mid 1400s. Leah, finding it difficult to sit on the floor, looked for a place to lean and "compose" herself while a group of us surrounded her. We wanted to know if she was alright. She said: "This is us, just like us when we go to synagogue. The sounds, the rituals--they are us." Later, Leah assured us that she was okay, that she'd been overwhelmed by the realization that the practices in a mosque and synagogue, that Islam and Judaism, are so very similar. She was overcome. I will always remember Leah's aged face, tears flowing freely, wise words barely audible: "This is us!"

These Muslim boys in their festive dress played in the courtyard of the Eyüp Sultan Mosque while awaiting their circumsicion ceremony. The day is a holiday for the family (like it is for Christians when they Baptize their babies, or for Catholics when their children receive the sacraments of First Communion and Confirmation, and like it is for Jews during Bris rite and Bar Mitzvah; all of these events symbolize admission into the community of believers). Later, while walking around town, I saw this store that sells all of the clothes that boys need for that special day.
























Today, we visited the Museum of Turkish Jews located (in a building restored by Jews in the late 1800s) in Galata, where, starting with those who were deported from Spain in 1492, Jews have made a thriving neighborhood. There I learned that the presence of Jews in Turkey predates the arrival of Sephardim from Spain; in fact, the historian Josephus Flavius told Aristotle that he "met Jewish people with whom he had an exchange of views during his trip across Asia Minor." Ancient synagogue ruins have been found that date back to 220 BC.
Turkey has always welcome Jews: early in the 14th century Karaites came from Europe and settled in Edirne; Jews expelled from Hungary in 1376, from France in September 1394, and from Sicily and Salonika early in the 15th century found refuge in Turkey. A most interesting display shows an original letter written by Albert Einstein to the President of the Cabinet of Ministers of the Turkish Republic on September 10, 1933. He writes:

Your Excellency,

As Honorary President of the World Union "OZE" I beg to apply to Your Excellency to allow forty professors and doctors from Germany to continue their scientific and medical work in Turkey. The above mentioned cannot practice further in Germany on account of the laws governing there now. The majority of these men possess vast experience, knowledge and scientific merits and could prove very useful when settling in a new country.

Out of a great number of applicants our Union has chosen forty experienced specialists and prominent scholars, and is herewith applying to Your Excellency to permit these men to settle and practice in your country. These scientists are willing to work for a year without any remuneration in any of your institutions, according to the orders of your Government.

In supporting this application, I take the liberty to express my hope, that in granting this request your Government will not only perform an act of high humanity, but will also bring profit to your own country.

I have the honour to be,
Your Excellency's obedient servant

After the Jewish migration to Israel, the community diminished and today it is estimated at around 25,000. The vast majority live in Istanbul; about 2,500 live in Izmir and other smaller groups are dispersed throughout the country. Sephardim make up 96% of the community, and Ashkenazim account for most of the rest; there are about 100 Karaites. In Istanbul, there are 18 synagogues in active use.

I'm always interested in the individual stories, in people's versions of their own realities, because, essentially, that's what truly constructs both single and collective identity and thus so very much else. At the Jewish Museum I also found a most moving testament by Melvin Fingerut. (Here's a picture of his passport.) He writes:

My paternal grandfather Joseph, who owned a sort of carriage factory in Rusia--before the Bolshevik Revolution--arrived in Philadelphia (USA) in 1913 and opened a grocery store in the Tolga district. My grandfather and some close cousins named Fingles, sent money to support the family while they were still in Russia. His wife, my grandmother Anna (46) and my father's siblings; my uncle Godel* (9), my aunts Malte* (11) and Rosa* (15), arrived from Southampton (UK), on December 18, 1923. As my father Nathan had had a bone surgery on his leg, the family did not think he would pass the health check at Ellis Island. He had a long, big and dark purple scar on his leg. They thought he would have to stay in Russia, for a while. Meanwhile, the family devised a plan to get him in Istanbul through Odessa. A bank account may have been established there for him or money sent to someone trusted. He was 19 and thus he could not enter the US on his father's papers. But he succeeded to get a Turkish Passport as a Russian Political Refugee, showing him as 17 years old. To escape the health check at Ellis Island, the family got him enough money to buy a ticket to go to Cherbourg through Marseilles and Paris, then to travel to New York on a First Class--as the First Class passengers by-passed the health checks upon arriving in New York. That's how my father Nathan Fingerut assured entry to US, as a minor under his father's papers. The Turkish passport saved his life and allowed me being ever born.
*Names changed upon arrival to USA: Godel = Gordon, Malte = Mae, Rosa = Rose

Talk about going to extremes in order to make it into the "land of opportunity"! The cycle continues...

For me, today ended with a walk up and down Istikâl Caddesi (street) in Taksim Square, the hub of activity in the modern Beyoglu area of Istanbul. (Well, the day's not quite ended; I am sitting up on the roof terrace of the hotel, overlooking the gorgeously lit Blue Mosque, listening to Sezen Aksu, the "Queen of Turkish pop," out of my laptop, writing and sipping delicious white Cappadocian wine.) Istikâl street was known as the Grande Rue de Pera, because it is lined with grandiose apartment buildings, gates, European embassies, and tucked in the background many churches that still serve the Christian community. I spent a long time inside the Church of Saint Anthony of Padua, Istanbul's largest Catholic church. Apparently, I had just missed Sunday mass, so I inspected the glorious stain glass windows and then found a corner from where I watched people.

Hamam / Politics

Hamam
After a long day of touring mosques, churches and towns, I had a terrific Turkish bath! I went to Çemberlitas Hamam, which is quite historical since it was commissioned in 1584 by Nur Banu Sultan, the wife of Sultan Selim and the mother of Sultan Murat III, and it was built by Mimar Sinan, the same legendary Turkish architect who built the Blue Mosque. As usual in hamams, men and women are separated. Before entering the bath you're given a towel, a glove scrubber, rubber slippers and the keys to a locker. In the women's section there are 3 basic chambers: in the first you undress and relax; the second is a steam room in an expansive perforated dome (that looks like a lantern) held by intricately ornate collumns, and in the center floor a huge circular warm marble slab where you lie on your towel while you wait to be scrubbed. Radiating from the slab there are alternating receded fountains for rinsing and individual semi-private small fountain rooms that you can use to bathe yourself. After relaxing on the slab for about 20 minutes, a woman takes your glove scrubber and uses a bucket to pour warm water over your body. She lathers you with a sweetly fragrant body wash and scrubs the entire back of your body, then the front, then asks you to sit up so she can wash your hair. After 15 minutes or so, once she's peeled off the top layer of your skin (I'm not kidding), she walks you to the rinsing area. After rinsing, if you want, you can sit back on the slab, or you can go to the third chamber for a full body oil massage. Once you're done, you can relax with a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice. You feel soooooo clean and chilled and that night you can finally sleep profoundly.

Hamams have been around for centuries, since Byzantium when they first became institutions. In the 18th century, Jean Thévenot described one in his Voyae au Levant: "You enter by a large square room, about 20 feet long, with a very high ceiling. This room is lined with stone benches built against the surrounding wall. They are as wide as the wall, and half as high, and all are covered with matting."

William Makepeace Thackeray who wrote Vanity Fair (1847), described his experience in a hamam in his Notes of a Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo (1865): "The spacious hall has a large fountain in the midst, a painted gallery running round it; and many ropes stretched from one gallery to another, ornamented with profuse draperies of towels and blue cloths, for the use of the frequenters of the place. All around the room and the galleries were matted enclosures, fitted with numerous neat beds and cushions for reposing on, where lay a dozen of true believers smoking, or sleeping, or in the happy half-dozing state... The dark room was the tepidarium, a moist oozing arched den, with a light faintly streaming from an orifice in the domed ceiling... When you get into the Sudarium, or hot room, your first sensations only occur about half a minute after entrance, when you feel that you are choking. I found myself in that state, seated on a marble slab... I was in a narrow room of marble, with a vaulted roof, and a fountain or warm and cold water; the atmosphere was in a steam, the choking sensation went off, and I felt a sort of pleasure presently in a soft boiling simmer, which no doubt, potatoes feel when they are steaming."

Here's another prettily written description by British lawyer and correspondent of The Daily News Sir Edwin Pears, who lived in Turkey from 1873 to 1919 and is known for his publications describing Turkey, especially his Forty Years in Constantinople (published in 1915), and for his letters describing the Moslem atrocities committed in Bulgaria in 1876, which aroused popular demonstrations in England):

The sonority of the word contains all the sensuality of a purification rite. Haloed in mist that softens the harshness of reality, ghostly shilhouttes wander from room to room with the demeanor of penitents, then kneel at the base of marble fountains to rest near those horns of plenty atrickle with scalding water. Under beams of light issuing from occuli set into the cupolas or the spectral glimmer of neon tubes, bodies are kneaded, joints crack, thighs slap against wet marble, and spirits give up to long hours of moist languor.
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Politics

Addendum:
AKP won!
Turkey’s constitution prohibits mixing politics and religion; the country’s founder, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, decreed separation of mosque and state after World War I. Since the 1950s, although there’s been a multi-party system, conservative parties have dominated parliamentary politics. Today, 70% of the people in Turkey are under age 35, and they’re increasingly interested in politics. The AKP (Justice and Development Party), first elected in 2002, is moderately Islamist but economically liberal. On Sunday 22 July 2007, during Turkey’s 16th multi-party general election, AKP, the incumbent, was overwhelming victorious. Most people I talked with in the subsequent days seem very surprise but not really too upset. They are surprised because at the beginning of summer there were throngs out in the streets in Istanbul, Ankara and Izmir rallying in support of the secular movement, which is supported by the Turkish military. They fear Erdoğan/the AKP government’s conservative leanings. Those many demonstrations seemed to be an indication that the AKP would be voted out of power. But on Sunday 22 July 46% of the votes went to the AKP, which now gives them a definite mandate.
The demonstrations and the opposing parties’ stances seem paradoxical to me: yes, AKP is more conservative, but it has opened the country and improved the economy and private sector. During the five years the “islamists” have been in power (and have had the largest parliamentary majority in a generation) Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan has not passed any laws that could be described as Islamist. For instance, he has not overturned the ban on wearing Islamic headscarves in any state institutions—including schools, universities and government offices. He’s liberalized restrictive laws on the property of Turkey’s religious minorities—Greeks, Armenians and Jews. And he has introduced sweeping reforms that scrapped legal restrictions on freedom of speech and granted Kurds more cultural rights. And just last year, because of all those reforms, Turkey opened formal negotiations to join the European Union. So, paradoxically, “Islamists” favor integrating Turkey into Europe and eliminating authoritarian laws that restrict freedom and religious observance, and "secularists" actually want a more nationalistic, isolationist Turkey with a politically powerful military.
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On Sunday the 22 Turkey is having national elections. Usually, at that time most people are traveling, off on vacations, gone to distant places, but that's not the case right now. Nearly everyone is in their respective hometowns, and if they're not, most are traveling there on Saturday so they can vote on Sunday. Politics in Turkey is a serious affair for people. Nearly everyone votes, maybe because it's one of the times when their voices truly makes a difference. The direct vote determines who takes control of parliament and thus what direction the country will follow. This coming election is rather contentious; it's the topic of conversation in the streets, cafes, among strangers, on TV, the radio, posters, in the bazaar, demonstrations, car caravans with loudspeakers, while waiting on lines at the bank, the post office, the supermarket. Everybody has an opinion and everybody seems compelled to express it. No one seems sure who exactly will win this election, but some say that the conservative AKP party will retain power, even though the military has warned against that (the Turkish constitution allows the military to take control of the government in dire situations).

This election, and politics in general, in Turkey is a nuanced affair; there's simply no way to make any of it black and white. For example, there are 5 major parties that seem to be having a visible impact in the current election, and each has various layers of complexity (especially for an American who's used to more fixed definitions of "democrat," "republican," "conservative" and "liberal"):

1) Justice and Development Party (AKP): founded in 2001, a liberal party that has been accused of upholding perhaps too extreme Islamist precepts, though it describes itself as pro-Western mainstream party with a conservative social agenda and a commitment to a market economy and European Union membership. The AKP rules today with 352 members.

2) The Republican People's Party (CHP) was created in 1923 by the founder of the Turkish Republic, Mustafa kemal Ataturk. It is the main opposition in the current AKP legislation. It bills itself as a social democrat party in the mould of European counterparts.

3) Young Party (GP) was founded by a young and controversial businessman, Cem Uzan, in 2002; it failed to pass the required 10 percent receipt of votes in 2002, but now it's back billing itself as nationalist, populist and anti-European Union membership.

4) National Movement Party (MHP) was founded in 1969 and is often described as ultra-nationalist because of its history of militancy and paramilitary activities with young people.

5) The Democrat Party (DP)is a new party that seems to be seeking to mend the rift between the True Path (DYP) and Motherland (ANAP) parties. The first DP party ruled from 1950 to 1960 when its leader was ousted in a coup.

So, look for news regarding the election this Sunday. The results should be in by Monday afternoon.

People just living their lives...

What a view! It reminds me of San Francisco. I took this photo of the Bosphorus Bridge from a bathroom window at Bogazaci University, which, in fact, was called Robert College and is the oldest American college outside of the United States. Robert College was founded by Cyrus Hamlin (an educator, inventor, technician, architect and builder) and Christopher Rheinlander Robert (a well-known philanthropist and a wealthy merchant from New York) in 1863. In 1971 the Board of Trustees recommended that the Turkish government take over the college, and then it was renamed Bogazici University. All instruction is still completely in English. Look at this picture of one of the many buildings constructed out of blue limestone that was quarried right on the same plot of land where the 118 acres campus still stands.

So, it's been another fabulous day in gorgeous and stimulating Istanbul. I'm too tired to think right now, but I want to share a few pictures with you, and I want to give you a couple of vital stats--mainly because I know too many people (maybe not you!) in the US have such erroneous ideas about this (and any) Muslim city and country. Check out the basics:
--Official name: Republic of Turkey
--Turkey's political system is based on separation of powers.
--The government is a multi-party SECULAR parliamentary representative democratic republic, whereby the
--Prime Minister is the head of government.
--Executive power is exercised by the government.
--Legislative power is vested in both the government and the Grand National Assembly of Turkey.
--The Judiciary is independent of the executive and the legislature.
--The current constitution, called the Anayasa, was adopted on November 7, 1982 after a period of military rule; it privileges the principle of secularism.
--There are plans to revise the constitution.
--Population: 73,197,000
--Capital city: Ankara (3.4 million pop)
--Largest city: Istanbul (9.4 million pop)
--Language: Turkish
--Turkey is a member of the G20 (which brings together the 20 largest economies),
--and an associate member of the European Union.
--Turkey is NATO’s sole Muslim member, and therefore it is positioned as strategic partner in achieving peace in the Middle East.
--Turkey is located in the Eastern Mediterranean, on TWO continents--Europe and Asia.
--The European part of Turkey is called Thrace.
--The Asian part is called Anatolia or Asia Minor.
--Istanbul straddles both continents.
--The two continents are separated by a strait called Bosphorus.
--The Bosphorus joins the Black Sea with the Sea of Marmara; it has been an important trade route since ancient times.

Today we took the ferry up the Bosphorus to the mouth of the Black Sea. Both the European and Asian sides of the Bosphorus are packed with exquisite houses that have been standing there for over 100 years. Some have been lovingly renovated; others are still waiting. In his memoir, Istanbul: Memories and the City, Orhan Pamuk describes the Bosphorus he knew growing up in the 1950s to 1970s (until today):

For centuries, it was just a string of Greek fishing villages, but from the eighteenth century, when Ottoman worthies began building their summer homes... there arose an Ottoman culture that looked toward Istanbul to the exclusion of the rest of the world. The yalis--splendid waterside mansions built by the great Ottoman families during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries--came to be seen, in the twentieth, with the advent of the Republic and Turkish nationalism, as models of an absolete identity and architecture. But these yalis that we see photographed in Memories of the Bosphorus, reproduced in Melling's engravings, and echoed in the yalis of Sedad Hakki Eldem--these grand houses, with their narrow high windows, spacious eaves, bay windows, and narrow chimneys, are mere shadows of this destroyed culture.... To be traveling through the middle of a city as great, historic, and forlorn as Istanbul, and yet to feel the freedom of the open sea--that is the thrill of a trip along the Bosphorus. Pushed along by its strong currents, invigorated by the sea air that bears no trace of the dirt, smoke, and noise of the crowded city that surrounds it, the traveler begins to feel that, in spite of everything, this is still a place in which he can enjoy solitude and find freedom. This waterway that passes through the center of the city is not to be confused with the canals of Amsterdam or Venice or the rivers that divide Paris and Rome in two: Strong currents run through the Bosphorus, its surface is always ruffled by wind and waves, and its waters are deep and dark. If you have the current behind you, if you are following the itinerary of a city ferry, you will see apartment buildings and yalis, old ladies watching you from balconies as they sip their tea, the pergolas of coffeehouses perched by landings, children in their underwear entering the sea just where the sewers empty into it and sunning themselves on the concrete, men fishing from the banks, people lazing on their yachts, schoolchildren emptying out of school and walking along the shore, travelers gazing through bus windows out to the sea while stuck in traffic, cats sitting on wharfs waiting for fishermen, trees you hadn't realized were so tall, hidden villas and walled gardens you didn't even know existed, narrow alleyways rising up into the hills, tall apartment buildings looming in the background, and slowly, in the distance, Istanbul in all its confusion--its mosques, poor quarters, bridges, minarets, towers, gardens, and ever-multiplying high-rises. To travel along the Bosphorus, be it in a ferry, motor launch, or a rowboat, is to see the city house by house, neighborhood by neighborhood, and also from afar as a silhouette, an ever-mutating mirage. (48-52)

Right before dinner we went to Ortakoy, a part of Istanbul that is north of Sultanahmet where I'm staying. As usual, people where out and about in the cafes and along the water--talking, laughing, walking...