Reflexivity

Istanbul wasn’t done with me yet! (pictures soon) I was going to just drift through the morning at Cemberlitas, return to the hostel for packing and a leisurely farewell before my mid-afternoon departure to the airport. Instead…
Yasar approached me on the street in Sultanahmet; he had noticed my Crossroads conference shoulder bag from Bilge University. He works at Istanbul University and asks if I’d like to see campus. I love these Turks who have such an ability to make spontaneous plans!
“It is the last day, the last minute! You must do good!”
Did we ever! He toured me through the cemetary of family members of the last two Sultans, Abdul Hamid and Mehmet IV (?), the Grand Bazaar, and the grounds of the University (which are closed to the public; Yasar did some fast talking to convince the guards to allow me entry). He explained to me that Nuri Osmaniye is the first mosque built in the baroque style (who knew that even the mosques have different architectural styles?), that of the three towers still standing in Istanbul the one on Istanbul University’s campus, Turen Bayazi (sp?), was for public safety as a fire lookout. He showed me Ibrahim Pasha’s famous cemetary with the five names and the best view of the Bosphorus from the back side of Suleymaniye. Most special, however, was a deeply hidden tea garden.
I will be back for sure.

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A wave of grief swelled up in me when Leylim asked me not to leave last night, “First night and last night!” Only an hour before Arzu had asked me how I feel about going back to the States. “Mixed.”
“Keep your heart with you,” encouraged Umit. How can I not when life rewards me with such sweet meetings? Early yesterday morning, I’d told Fatih I wanted to spend my last night with old friends instead of new ones. I meant it when I said it, but life doesn’t always conform to expectation. Instead I had a perfect day and perfect night with five new people and seven old friends. Quality time with a dozen people in one day! Who would ever have imagined my capacity could expand so much?
Liminal Turkey (as I’ve subtitled my holiday here) has done its work in me. Warning: My sentimental streak is in high gear. Double warning: I won’t apologize for the excess I can’t contain!
I got started late even though I woke up early. Instead of throwing a blanket on Erdem’s face to wake him this morning I tried shaking his feet. Three times. Finally the woman in the bunk above was also disturbed by his alarm (she thought it was mine), so I roused myself, getting out of bed to go to the head of his bunk and shake the dude. I was pleased to be awake and alert after our (unphotographed!) late night and immediately dove into work.
There were conversations to have with Gunseli, Nina, and Fatih. The morning stretched luxuriously into early afternoon. Yikes! I was supposed to be “doing things!” I bumped into Jillian as I readied myself to leave and it turned out her afternoon was free. “Have you been to Moda?” she asked me? Nope. And we were off.

After much meandering &emdash; in conversation as well as path &emdash; we arrived at a cay bahcesi.

Since it was my last day, Jill offered me “the better view.” I accepted but then realized I didn’t want to see the city, I wanted more of the water as my visual horizon. “Perfect! I get the mosque,” she said. “Perfect!” I responded, “I get the open sea.”
Something in me chafed a few times….wasn’t I in a hurry to get somewhere? I noted this temporal residue: being in a constant rush, as if whatever I was engaged in was en route to somewhere else where there was (supposedly?) something “more.” I reminded myself that the only destination is now. Besides, I really did not have anything else that needed doing! A few phone calls to touch base and coordinate schedules offer some proof of the “Mediterranean attitude” I’ve absorbed. (Of course we’ll have to see how long it lasts once back in the gristmill of the academic calendar.)
The afternoon floated along like sailboats. Eventually, it was time to rendezvous with Arzu and Ahmet for dinner: delicious crab salad. The evening’s pre-planned schedule faded: more “things to do next time.” Instead, I viewed Ahmet’s first short film, The Trashcan, listened to some of his mixes, and burned Kabakoz photos for Arzu. We were starting to wind down when the phone rang. Ten minutes later Umit and Leylim arrived. I sucked down some coffee fast. We enjoyed some dessert and stretched our wings in stimulating conversation. Meanwhile we perused Arzu’s artwork. We laughed often and deep.

I flew until my body stopped (hi, Claire).
Returning to the hostel conjured the sense of coming home, a place of respite, affection and teasing after respective days full of who knows what. Old (!) friends &emdash; including Recep, Özcan, Erdem, and Olga &emdash; opened, closed, and touched the middle of the day. New friends filled it with light.
Kolay.

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Life caught up with me quickly when I moved away from my friend’s place at Sabanci University some weeks (?) [!!!!] ago. It was a terrific refuge while I tried to find my bearings after my plan to travel to Iran was dashed. The effort of generating an alternative on the spot overwhelmed me, leaving me content to plant my butt and let weeds grow. It is a fantastic campus with a gorgeous library (whose friendly staff

facilitated my communication with an IT staffer (Osman should get a raise) who arranged wireless access for me as a temporary guest), outdoor sculptures, a water fountain (good for reading by), fantastic gym facilities, and good food. See me eat!
In addition to the tasty cafeteria meals there is a fast food joint that serves a delicious tavuk (and whose staff wanted to be famous).

Out of fairness then, I asked my daily coffee suppliers if they would like their picture taken as well. They did.

Meanwhile, all is not so open (shhhhhhh, tease forthcoming!) I was allowed access to secure (coded) housing but not to the mysterious, concealed biophysics lab. I was able to capture photos only from behind cover.

The arrival of new technological equipment escaped my camera. Careful, painstaking, and prolonged observation determined that the office of a certain accomplished biophysicist is behind these one-way windows.

I had spied the campus rocket upon arrival and saved it on purpose for the last day. I had determined that the steps to the top were open.

Imagine my emotions after climbing some 57 (or was it 84?) stairs! My emotions were also stirred by the spectacular student art exhibit, Nu Portreler 2.
I began my collection of hand images most deliberately here – I hope none of the artists are offended (and if they are, that they will let me know). I thought I included one recently but now can’t find it; at any rate watch for more in future posts! (Unfortunately, glare is a problem with some: either from my flash or the natural light.)
Only one thing at Sabanci was left undone.

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So I rented a bike to tour the island.

It was fun to race. See me draw neck-and-neck!

And leave those four-legged beasts in the dust!

OK, I need to practice my one-handed driving, reverse photo-shooting skills.
Meanwhile, I won’t embarass the friend who recommended friends to me here on the island who then recommended me a place to stay right on the corner where the carriages wait. Horse pee is not a pleasant odor. :-/ Simi (sp?), who I rented the bicycle from, suggested I check out the private Greek school, but it was after hours. They have quite the view, though.

I saw several (lucky?) feathers around, a butterfly of striking colors (red/orange on black), and a lizard (sorry for the limited zoom capacity).
They would not let me enter the Sanitorium. I was thinking I might be a suitable candidate. A third of the island is devoted to some naval purposes, and I couldn’t help but notice the guards. One guy I hadn’t seen in his tiny guardshack until he moved. Catching him out of the corner of my eye I actually backed up; he had leaned forward (apparently?) to watch my progress. I said, “That’s an awful job!” thinking of how interminably bored one must be. He panicked, shaking his head frantically. Poor fellow. The next guy, when I didn’t immediately look away, cracked and grinned. I grinned back but declined to engage him in conversation. Is this to be a new career? Taunting security personnel? Oy vey…
I had a fun conversation with Mustafa, Barik and their brother (the one with the best English, whose name I’ve forgotten, sigh) and their dad, Naim. Our communication was halting but they were so curious about me (american?!!) and eager to practice what they knew. This was at the nicest public beach, Cam Bay.

The forest on this island is amazing. In many places it evokes a sense of the Elves forest, hiding Rivendell. (There is a monastery back there, I discovered after the fantasy.) Anyway, the island gave me a terrific dose of blue before returning to the fading greens and burgeoning fall colors of the northeast US.

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Fatih caught up with me for a bira before dinner. We engaged in serious political debate.

I got a bloody nose &emdash; but it’s unclear why, perhaps it was the residue of all those cops glaring threat at me when I was snapping their photos.
There was great art by Kaya Tanyeri on display in this cafe tucked on a side street down from Kadikoy’s quaint version of Istiklal (which I don’t know how to spell). Her work evoked many complex emotions for me, about family and being a woman.
Olga and Claire finally tore themselves away from Topkapi Palace so we could finally eat at the well-known Ciya restaurant, which serves food made in the style of Gaziantep, a village in the southeast of Turkey. and Olga wasted no time knifing the dinner bread. We shared a vinegary salad completely redeemed by finely chopped pistachio nuts, and tasted each other’s meals. My guvec was the spiciest hot (yah!), Fatih’s lahmacun the mildest roll-up pizza, Olga’s tandoori-flavored perfectly cooked chicken, and Claire’s superbly spiced kebap all complemented one another on the palate. At least, on my palate – Claire didn’t find the cheese dessert pleasing, leaving more for me! (Oh alright, I did share some of the extra.)
For me, it was a day of perfect symmetry.

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It took well over an hour for the thousands of protesters, from a hundred different groups and organizations, to pass by me in Kadikoy yesterday afternoon. I was immediately impressed by the wide age range (I bet the average would be late thirties/early forties), and the gender distribution (more men than women, it seemed). Conspicuous by their absence, however, were Muslims. Are they not against Israel’s military incursions into Lebanon? Do they not support a Palestinian state? Or is Istanbul less integrated than it seems? Perhaps there were many Muslim men and non-veiled women among the marchers but they were undistinctive. Finally, toward the end, one group of thirty veiled women appeared.

Later, someone explained that the groups in this march were all of the political left, and the religious right won’t mix with them in this kind of way: religious Muslims exercise their politics by different means. It reminded a bit of the debate at the hostel before I left, which included criticisms that there were too many different groups, with unclear agendas or simply gut-level reactions against what they don’t like with no thought to consequences or alternatives. This is always the problem of politics, of course, the challenge of building broad-based coalitions with clear and coherent strategies. What struck me most, however, was the fact of my friends’ concern for my physical safety.
I was encouraged not to let anyone know I’m American (the crowd might turn on me?), but then it became clear it was not the protestors that was the cause for concern. It is the police. Or maybe both. Some friends had witnessed a protest on Istiklak where shop windows had been broken and police had used tear gas. They also recounted stories of police suddenly lashing out and beating people for no reason. I argued that we must make the police accountable through visibility of abuses (media coverage etc), that we can’t let the threat of violence prevent peaceful protest.
At any rate, I probably would not have been so aware of the police if we had not had this conversation. As it was, I noticed them everywhere: on the dock when the ferry landed,

massed (in riot gear) behind the central stage area,

observing from rooftops (military I think, not police),

with back-ups lurking in nearby side streets.

The main road around the staged area was kept closed long after the march was over. Leaving the protest area was no problem, but I was struck by the fact that it was completely enclosed.

To enter, one had to be searched. The men were patted down. I was directed to a female officer who only peeked in my shoulder bag. I wasn’t searched as intensively, but the atmosphere was definitely designed to be intimidating: you had to really want to be “in” the protest, not so easy for people passing by to be drawn in spontaneously.
As far as I know, there were no incidents.

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This one thinks, let me be the slender bow
of the violin. Another, the body of the instrument,
burnished, the color of amber.
One imagines life as a narrow boat
crossing water,
a light mist of salt on the prow.
And still another &emdash; planed down to planks,
then hammered into shelter
toices vibrating through the rafters.
We do not notice their pleasure,
the slight hum of the banister
beneath our palms,
The satisfaction of the desk
as we tap our pens, impatiently,
upon its weathered surface.
They have ferried us
across rough seas
to lands that smelled of cinnamon
housed our senators,
who pace the creaky floors, debating,
carried arrowheads to pierce our enemies.
We have boiled their pulp, pressed it
into thin, white sheets of paper
on which we describe all of the above in great detail.
And when we die
they hold our empty forms
in bare cedar
until the moment &emdash; and how they long for this,
when we meet again in the blackened soil
and they take us back
in their embrace, carry us
up the length of their bodies
into the glittery, trembling movement of the leaves.
Danusha Laméris
Atlanta Review: Istanbul and beyond…
Turkish Poetry (2006, p. 18-19)

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We made friends almost immediately.

We located a hotel, met relatives of the owner, and landed ourselves on a boat. We pull out of the protected river area,

and next thing you know, we’re cruising the coastline.

It changes constantly. After some twenty minutes of loud music, a short spurt of off-balance dancing, and hollered conversation, we arrive at an inlet.

Selin and I talk, while Irem tested the water with her toe. Ozcan lost no time diving in; can you tell which one is him racing back to the boat?

These craggy nooks reminded folks of Cappadocia – no, I didn’t go there (yet). Maybe on the next trip. Returning, pictures were taken all around, of the women:


and the (self-segrated?) men:

We parted ways at sunset.

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It was just over a week ago that we began this trip. I don’t have the proper upwardly-curving “hat” in my symbol file to spell Agwa in the Turkish way, which indicates the soft (to my ears, silent) “g”. En route, Ozcan and I

stopped at the MobiDik restaurant with its view of the site of the original fortress of Herake

(now known for Turkish carpets) on one side and the Marmara on the other. Yes, we took the long way round, through Izmit, to the Black Sea coast. You know you’re in the Meditteranean when the windows lack any covering whatsover. We also saw an olive tree estimated at 400 years old.

Check out the trunk. The countryside is stunning.

We saw many findik groves (“the petrol of Turkey”) which yield one of my favorite nuts.

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Here is a log with links back to the entries I wrote during and about the presentations I attended at the Association of Cultural Studies conference held in Istanbul, graciously hosted by Bilge University. The following list is in chronological order, from earliest to latest.
Crossroads Day 1 (posted July 21, 2006) regarding “European Identity in a Transnational World” (1.55), “The City as a Thinking Machine” (S1), and “Is a Cosmopolitan Multiculturalism Possible? The Australian Context” (1.13).
Crossroads Day 2 (posted July 22, 2006) regarding “Emotion Trouble, or the Affective Turn in Media and Cultural Studies II” (2.3).
Stop Masturbating in Public (posted July 22, 2006) regarding “Abstract Social Identities and Chaotic Everyday Practices” (3.01) and continued with Inside/Outside (posted July 23, 2006).
Multilingual Cosmopoliticians (Crossroads Day 3) (posted July 29, 2006) regarding the panel by this name.
Interpretation and Linguistic Inequality (Crossroads Day 2) (posted July 30, 2006) regarding the panel “EU: Europe Beyond Geography?” (2.51) which included my own presentation.
Crossroads (Day 4) (posted August 7, 2006) regarding “Time, Space and the Unfolding of Culture” (4.19)
Cutting into the Social Fabric (Crossroads Day 4) (posted August 18, 2006) regarding the Closing Plenary, “Where Should Cultural Studies Go?”

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