Thursday, March 15, 2012

Who are you

Travels in my hometown...

The other week I had a very nice meal and some very very nice wine with some very very very nice friends at my new favourite very nice place 10 William St Paddington. 10 William St is a Wine Bar. And it is strictly a Wine Bar. I know it is strictly a Wine Bar because at the end of my meal and two glasses of  the nice rose I was drinking ( I forget the name. My friend Katie was drinking it when I arrived. I really should pay more  attention to these things) I asked the waiter what tea they had ( it was a school night  and I was trying to be sensible). The waiter looked at me a little aghast –  ‘ We are a wine bar – we don’t have tea’. He wasn’t being rude, he was just genuinely confused at how I could possibly be around such a great selection of wines and possibly be considering a pot of tea.

He had a point. Indeed, I felt he made such a good point that I dismissed my ‘it’s a school night sensibleness’ and promptly ordered another glass of whatever it was Katie was drinking.After the consumption of which I was tipsy enough to tell my friends what had happened to me before I arrived;

I had  had some time to kill between finishing work and meeting friends so I killed it in a cafe. I  flicked through the paper, and when I was done with that, I aimlessly scrolled through Facebook and clinked on a link a friend of mine had posted. It was an article about this woman who despite great adversity had achieved some phenomenal stuff – opening an orphanage in Indonesia and just generally being a great person.

I was tired that afternoon, and possibly stewing in a bit of self-pity, so it was the kind of story that picked me up and put my ‘first world’ worries into perspective. And don’t we all need a bit of that some times.At the end of the article there was a quote from the woman ( whose name I forget – I wonder if I can pass of my inability to pay attention to names as a literary motif?) that was something like – 'You’ve only truly lived when you have involved yourself with something bigger than yourself’.  And I really liked that idea.

Infact, I liked it so much that I decided to write it down. Except I realised that I didn’t have a pen with me. Or paper. So I decided to text myself the quote. ( Don’t ask me why I didn’t use  the notes function on my iphone, as I said, I was tired and I usually forget that it exists even on mental sharp afternoons).

So I did. I text the quote to myself.

Except I kind of hit 8 when I should have hit a 7. So I actually sent the text to somebody else.

Ops.

Ediot. 

I felt a bit stupid and sheepishly put the phone back in my bag.

By this time, it was time to meet my friends for dinner. I didn’t mention my accidental text message. I still didn’t tell them half an hour later when I had a text message in response saying – ‘who are you’.

And I still didn't mention it a half an hour later when they text again – ‘who are you’.

But after that third glass of wine that the waiter pretty much insisted that I drank, I told them about  my afternoon silliness. And we all had a giggle.There was a suggestion that I should respond.There was a suggestion I could start just randomly texting this person at monthly intervals with other snippets of wisdom.

I didn’t. I didn’t do anything.

But I thought this…

It might be that for the person who received it, it was exactly what they needed to hear at the paritcualr point in their life. Maybe my random text message spurred them on to take on a new challenge, leave a terrible relationship, or go open their own orphanage. Maybe, for them, it was like the universe  had sent them a message. Maybe in my tired Tuesday afternoon state I channelled a message from a higher source. Maybe in some small way my text message has sent them on the path to greatness.

Maybe.

On the other hand, it may have totally freaked them out and they have contacted their phone company to block sender on me.

Maybe.



Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Istanbul




Is there anything better than a rooftop bar?

It was one of the first things I noticed about Istanbul; an abundance of roof top bars. Little oases perched high above everyday life. Intimate, yet outdoors. Thea and I found ourselves on quite a nice one, complete with candles, cushions and pashminas, within hours of arriving in Sultanahmet (Old Istanbul).As we watched the late afternoon sun dance across the Bosphorus, a meze plate was placed before us. And mint tea was served.

It was a good start to a great couple of days.

          *        *        *

I had a few weeks of pure escapism in between moving out of Dublin and moving back to Sydney: sometime on the West Coast of Ireland, a quick jaunt to London for a dear friend’s thirtieth, a week in Berlin (part of it with G and part of it solo) and then my last stop - Istanbul. G had insisted I had to go there before I went back home – ‘It’s amazing’. While I love travelling alone, Istanbul was a place I really wanted to go with a friend. In particular, I wanted to go with my Kiwi-born-London-based friend Thea. I hinted once, twice, fourteen times via email that she really needed to take some time off work  and come with me, and yes, she agreed she really should - but what about the website launch? What about the show? What about the…?. For a while, I didn’t think it was going to happen. And then it did.

                                      *        *        *

We stayed, pretty much like every other visitor to Istanbul, in Sultanahmet, and despite being just a wee bit touristy, why on earth wouldn’t you? The Blue Mosque, Aya Sofya, The Hippodrome, the Basilica Cistern, and the Archaeology Museum are all within an easy walking distance (and I mean super easy – you stand in the middle of Sultanahmet Park and you are literally flanked by Aya Sofya and The Blue Mosque. Super-easy. Not to mention super-spectacular).

There are also lots of little places to sit down and eat pistachio-studded baklava and drink tea. Which, after a round of sightseeing, is exactly what we were doing when a man in his early forties and a young woman, probably in her mid to late twenties asked if they could join us. We said yes (What else can you say?) and they started, well, he started to tell us about their lives. He said he was Turkish but he lived in America with his wife and children and that the young woman was his cousin. They wanted to talk to us because, he explained, his cousin wanted to practise her English, which wasn’t very good. (Great, I thought to myself, I am on a break from work - as an English Language teacher - and I get to give an impromptu English lesson). 

He asked us some questions about ourselves - how long had we been in Istanbul? Not long at all, he had already guessed. What did we do? Where were we from? He had once had an English teacher years ago who had been Australian and he loved New Zealanders, he said. Were we married? He didn’t think so. The conversation proceeded and suddenly we were talking about carpets. Well, he was talking about carpets. He warned us to be careful if we were thinking about buying a carpet. Thea expressed a smidgen of interest in buying a carpet. And then – what a surprising coincidence – it turned out he was a wholesale carpet salesmen, who didn’t usually deal with tourists but would make an exception for us. The cousin piped us to tell us that he really did have fantastic carpets and that his warehouse was just around the corner and they could take us there right now.

It was at this point that I flashed a look to Thea which said ‘not-a-chance-am-I leaving-this-well-lit-café-to-walk–around-the-back-streets-to-this- alleged-carpet-factory-with this-guy-and-his-English-impaired cousin (who, by the way, was not showing any sign of struggling to understand the conversation, I, the semantic sleuth, had realised in the last 18 seconds) . Luckily, Thea was flashing me the exact same look back.

The man and his cousin soon realised a.) There was no chance we were budging from our tea and pistachio-studded baklava b.) We were not going to see his warehouse anytime soon or c.) We had no money and he left us his card and took off from the café.
         

                            
                                     

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The Grand Bazarr. It’s huge. You need a plan. We had a plan. The market stores are grouped depending on the products they sell and we would first focus on the pashminas and ceramics and glassware. Then spices. We would jot down the stores we liked, find ourselves some juicy lamb shish and then go back and make our purchases. We would miss the leather and gold sections entirely. And maybe have a quick look at the carpets (Thea actually did still have a smidgen of interest).

We stuck to it. Mostly.

About twenty minutes into the Bazaar, I got distracted by a very  pretty jewellery box (‘jewellery boxes’ - not a designated stop). Thea was also distracted by something pretty, except her pretty thing had dreamy brown eyes and wanted to take her to lunch.

‘His name is Tom’, Thea sighed, showing me his card

‘A traditional Turkish name’ I commented.

But on to more important pretty things: scarves, ceramics, and cushions covers. I may not have mentioned this before but Thea is a wee little thing. Short, petite, brunette, tiny feet and cute as a button. Judging from her appearance, you would probably not guess her bargaining prowess.

‘Can I see this one, and this one and this one? What? That’s the best you can do. What about if my friend gets one?  Really? No? How about that one other there? You can do a bit a better price, if we take three? Yes? Thanks, that’s great.’

Impressive.

Many hours later, weary and full of Lamb shish, we had finalised our decision. No carpets. No Jewellery Boxes. Two pillowcases each (they are delightful and are currently sitting on my bed). Two glass candle holders for me. A white scarf for both of us from the sweet Uzbekistan guy. And some spices for Thea ( none for me unfortunately, I would never get them through customs in Australia)

A grand day indeed.

                                                *          *          *

There are always a few standout ‘Wow’ moments when you go travelling. In Corsica, it was a view from the top of Sant Antonino and the cheese that was in my salad in a nearby restaurant. In Italy, the coastline along Cinque Terra. And in my own country, Uluru at sunset.

 As I was surveying a collection of old carpets in the Archeology Museum, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

‘Come and have a look at this’, Thea said.

I followed Thea out into the courtyard and there it was – just the most spectacular view of the Blue Mosque. Just stunning. Although there were many pretty mosques around Istanbul, the  beauty and grandeur of the  Blue Mosque is unparalleled. Its eight white domes curve round and capture the imagination. The sheer size of the place unapologetically demands your attention and admiration. And, even though it may have been born out of vanity rather than virtue, its controversial sixth minaret is the perfect proverbial cherry on top of this Turkish architectural dish.

Thea had quickly befriended a young man (doey skin, dreamy dark eyes…you see a pattern too?)  to take our picture. The moment captured. Thea struck up a conversation with her new friend and I went back to the carpets

Thea definitely had her mojo on this city and it was great to see, it was wonderful to see. My mojo, on the other hand, had most definitely not been packed. The last few weeks had been a pretty tumultuous time for my heart and it had closely reigned my mojo in (‘You’, said my heart ‘have got us into enough trouble lately’). This particular trip I felt like more of a chaperone than a wing man. The only Turkish delights I was interested in where the ones covered in sugar.


                                      *        *        *

And Istanbul is certainly the city for culinary pleasures. One night was a particular highlight.

If Sultanahmet is the old Istanbul than Taksim Square is most definitely the new Istanbul. This is where the malls, the international labels, and the cinemas are; this is the part of this modern city which looks a bit like every other modern city (albeit, with a Turkish twist). I was simultaneously overwhelmed by its size and underwhelmed by its charm.

Until, after much turning of maps and asking of directions, we got to Nevizade Tavernas, a stretch of restaurants, bars and clubs in the side streets and laneways just off Taksim Square.

So this is where they keep the fun. Atmosphere plus. Busy, friendly restaurants whose tables spill out onto crowded streets. Where down one street you’ll find a guitarist singing Turkish songs to an audience who are far from shy when it comes to  joining in, and down another street , the duff duff music of Istanbul’s club scene hinting at yet another unexpected aspect of this diverse and dynamic city.

Thea and I sat down at one of the many tempting outdoor tables at one of the many tempting  restaurants and  ordered a few beers and on the waiters recommendation, ordered pretty much a little of everything on the menu – the clear winners being a saucy little fava bean dip and some unforgettable mackerel.

It was a fantastic night. Whenever we talk about our eyes get a bit shiny. Nevizade Tavernas is a real must if you ever go to Istanbul.

                                     
*        *        *

Speaking of Istanbul must dos, I have to say another recommendation would be to jump on one of the many boat cruises that leave from Eminonu Ferry Boat Docks and spend a day on the water.

Sailing round the  Bosphorus, the harbour which divides Istanbul and which many refer to as the border between Asia and Europe,  is an ideal way to leisurely view the many the palaces and mosques which make up this sprawling beautiful city. And the perfect place to gape at how many fishermen are hoping to make a catch on the Gibralta Bridge.

About half an hour into our cruise, we noticed that all the flags around the city were at half mast. We later found out that it was done every year on that day ( the 10th of November) in commemoration of the death of Ataturk, the much revered and respected leader of Turkey from 1923-1938, whose legacy is still felt in this city, even some 70 years after his death


                                      *        *        *

What better way to finish off a day on the water, than a night in the water. Perhaps it is an Australian thing but I never really feel like I have been on holiday unless I have been in the water. Preferably naked ( Did I just cross some writer/ reader line? If so, you might want to skip the next two paragraphs).

On our last night in Istanbul we found a beautiful, reputable and not really all that expensive Haman in Sultanahmet. And let the bathhouse ritual begin; we disrobed, we plunged into a hot bath the size of a swimming pool, we laid ourselves on heated white marble and let some gorgeous old Turkish mammas scrub our skins until they were red. And then we had a long massage followed by a refreshing cool shower.

The bliss.

The utter utter bliss.

It is just as well we left the Hamam for the last night. If we had gone there on the first night, I am not sure we would have gone anywhere else.

                             *                 *                 *

Istanbul is an impressive city.  Istanbul is a city who carries her past with her, yet holds the knowledge that to survive is to welcome change. Istanbul walks the fine line between east and west, between negotiation and defiance, between strength and surrender. And knows how to soften life with sweet delights.

And as I steadied myself for the reality of moving back to my home town, to the challenge of making my former life mine again, I took great inspiration from that.


*        *        *


 Show Off 

( Image thanks to Google)

Sunday, January 29, 2012

yearofgratis


http://yearofgratis.blogspot.com/

This is a  joint 'blogject' that my dear friend (and fellow hunter-of-words) Danne and I decided to embark on together.  A year of gratis. A year of taking note, or taking a picture, of all the things we are grateful for.

Check it out.