I am sitting on my side patio here in Cyprus overlooking the Troodos mountains on a warm autumn day. The temperature is about 23 C (74 F) and the breeze is perfectly still. The sun is fully up and it will probably be warm and sticky today because there is already a heat haze over the mountains even though there is not one cloud in the sky. There is some car noise as the village awakes but, except for the occasional passing vehicle, the only sounds are the periodic bells and chanting from the Orthodox Church in the village. Today should prove to be another ideal day in this peaceful paradise...
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| Troodos Mountains with Heat Haze |
Except that Cyprus is not completely peaceful and has been the site of conflict in recent times. It is very hard to believe that this prosperous, relaxed place was a war zone just 36 years ago in 1974. The outward signs of that 1974 war are still around if the observer looks hard enough. Nicosia, the capital of Cyprus, is still divided by the "Green Line" a United Nations sanctioned separation zone. Ledra Street, in old Nicosia, has been open for a few years and there is a free flow of passenger traffic between the two sides but the separation still exists. The Green Line extends both north and south from Nicosia partitioning the once united country. When I drive on the highway between Tseri and Larnaca, I still see the UN outposts on top of lonely hillocks all along the route. United Nations vehicles and troops can be seen at nearly every beach, bar, disco and party place in the southern part of the island (OK, Cyprus is probably not a hardship post for visiting UN troops). From the air at night, it is easy to see the separation as the prosperous southern "Greek" side is brightly lit with energy efficient halogen lighting while the less prosperous northern "Turkish" side is more dimly lit with incandescent lighting. It is easy to spot the modestly dressed Turkish passengers on flights in and out of Larnaca airport, if only because they have a lot more flesh coverage than the average Greek Cypriot resident.
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| Ledra Street on the Turkish Side |
Perhaps the biggest separation, however, is psychological and idealogical; not physical. As recently as two years ago, the predominantly Greek speaking Republic of Cyprus voted against reunification with the self-proclaimed Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. By my observation, Cypriots like Cypriots regardless of whether they have the initial adjective of "Greek" or "Turkish" in front of the world "Cypriot". The same does not seem to be the case when the world "Cypriot" is not the noun. My older friends remember a time before the war when Greek Cypriot boys dated Turkish Cypriot girls and the harmonious land had three official languages; Greek, Turkish and English. There were tensions at the time that would eventually erupt into open conflict and war, but the Greek and Turkish Cypriot communities existed side-by-side as friendly neighbours for hundreds of years. Now, however, a generation of voters that are mostly too young to have participated in the 1974 conflict prefer an unnatural separation of this small island in the fashionable eastern end of the Mediterranean Sea. In my opinion, this is because the identity of "Greek" and "Turkish" is just as strong today as it has been for centuries of mostly cold but occasionally hot war.
Why am I dwelling on this subject on such a pleasant Sunday morning? The answer is simple, in today's blog I'm going to speak about one of the coolest cities in the world: Istanbul, but I wanted my comments about the city to be framed by my mixed feelings for Turkish politics. I am basically apolitical. I try to understand the different sides of local politics in order to aide my business ventures. I don't take sides. For example, a fairly cursory examination of the events leading up to the 1974 conflict in Cyprus point to the Greek Cypriots as the aggressors who started the coup against their own president, Archbishop Makarios III. Now, when the Turkish invaded, they were not "liberators" in any fashion that I can see but the invasion was not without some provocation. Despite a plethora of UN resolutions ordering Turkish forces to leave, however, Turkey still occupies the northern part of the island that, as of 1974, was the most prosperous portion. So, which side is to blame? My opinion is that both sides are to blame.
None the less, I am faintly uneasy about Turkish nationalism. Americans are patriotic; much more patriotic than most nations. I count myself amongst its patriotic citizens even when I don't like nor adhere to the different political affiliations that define American politics today. At some point, however, patriotism gives way to jingoism and this makes the world a little less safe. In my opinion, a bumper sticker that says, "Support Our Troops" is patriotic while a bumper stickers that say, "Guns, God and Guts: the 3 G's that Made America Great" or "Nuke them all and let God sort them out" have crossed the line over into jingoism. While it seems proper to support the troops, I'm not sure that I feel like supporting every decision of the military-industrial complex that exports conflict to nations around the world. Turkish nationalism strikes a similar cord in me because it feels more jingoistic than patriotic. I'll accept that there is a fine line between patriotism and jingoism, and that that line is - like beauty - "in the eye of the beholder", but Turkish nationalism seems to me to cross the line more often than not.
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| Probably More Patriotic than Jingoistic |
Rosa's sister was married at one time to a Turkish national named Adnan. Adnan was nice enough - at first - perhaps because he was on very good behaviour. Not too long after their wedding, however, I remember Adnan declaiming out of the blue, "If Turkey were invaded, I would grab a gun and rush back to fight for my country and kill our enemies ..." I might have considered his stance as patriotic if we had not been at a family gathering in London discussing football (soccer) results at the time. Context is important in this case ... we were discussing English Premier League scores at the time of his outburst; not even national team scores. I remember being faintly surprised that such a stupidly aggressive statement would be spoken at a family gathering -- especially when Rosa's family gatherings (at least of the extended family) represent more nationalities than are present in a general session of the United Nations! Adnan is long gone from Rosa's family but my experience with Turkish jingoism has been repeated on several occasions.
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| Mustafa Kemal Ataturk |
In almost every Turkish office, schoolroom and public place there is a portrait of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the modern father of his country. When I was growing up, it was fairly common to see a picture of George Washington in a primary school classroom but it would have been rare to see a picture of George Washington in a private office building ... and especially odd if his picture were in every single office. Of course, Turkey is not the only country that worships an official cult to its modern founder. Throughout the Arabian Gulf States it is nearly mandatory to have a picture of the rulers and their predecessors in practically each room. Cuba still has a hero cult for Fidel Castro and Che Guevara, and Simon Bolivar's cult is alive and well in many South American's countries. Indeed, throughout modern China, and especially in Beijing, there is a ubiquitous portrait on a martyr red background scanning the local population. The picture portrays a figure that is both fatherly and faintly menacing at the same time. In China, it is accepted today that this brooding presence has been responsible for the death of millions but many Chinese admire his military background ... I'm speaking, of course, of Colonel Sander's portrait on the hundreds of Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurants in that country! Do the portraits represent nationalism or jingoism? In my opinion, there is little difference between militant nationalism and jingoism.
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| Omnipresent in Beijing |
It is with this context that I will write about my complex feelings for Istanbul, a city that I recently visited after a ten year hiatus. I spent two blustery days on the edge of the city and remembered some great times with friends there. I also remember a few incidents and observations that I ponder now at a distance and in the context of my mixed feelings.
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| Blue Mosque - Stunningly Beautiful and Peaceful |
Istanbul is a beautiful city full of history as well as promise for the future. The traditional downtown area is matched only by Rome as a place where history and modernity mix in such an appealing manner. The Sultanahmet district of old Istanbul is one of my favourite places in the world to stroll and gawk at centuries of history which can be touched and most deeply felt. The Blue Mosque is one of my very favourite locations in the world and I always feel an inner peace when I contemplate this beautiful work of art made for the glory of God. Hagia Sophia is perhaps even more dear to me because of its incredible architecture and solid presence which has graced this spot since ancient times. A century after it was constructed, the technology and building skills that produced Hagia Sophia were lost and centuries of engineers struggled to figure out how such a large area could be spanned by a dome. Although it was repaired many times after earthquakes, Hagia Sophia's vast space would not be duplicated for almost 1000 years. Hagia Sophia was, in fact, the largest cathedral from the completion of its third (and current) structure in 537 CE until at east 1520 CE and the dome remained the largest for another 200 years. The remains of the, once impregnable, walls of Constantinople show beautiful patterns of brickwork and stone while the later Topkapi Palace made tiles into a work of art.
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| The Dome of Hagia Sophia - Incredible Ancient Engineering |
Another great part of the city is on the Golden Horn. This portion of the city houses more modern structures today but it is still possible to see the reason that Constantinople, later Istanbul, grew into the largest city in the world. The Golden Horn is very fashionable for hotels and restaurants because the view is outstandingly memorable. The natural harbour of the city is stunning attractive and it is obvious how the enormous chain erected by the rulers of the city once spanned the Golden Horn and protected the safety and commerce of the city. Across the Golden Horn and below the old downtown is one of my special haunts; the Spice Bazaar in Eminonu. I love exotic spices and this is one of the oldest spice markets in the world. Spices are displayed traditionally in heaps that still represent vast expense and luxury. Rosa and I once purchased rose tea from the Spice Bazaar and the actual tea was miniature rosebuds. The Turkish baths throughout the old city are an experience that must be lived to sound plausible especially the way that packed wood shavings and lye soap are used by overzealous and burly bath attendants to scrub at least the top three layers of skin from my body. After a visit to a similar establishment in Damascus, Rosa remarked, "You are so white, you are transparent!" The city is ringed by a convenient network of highways, most probably because many of the best residential properties are on the Asian side of the Bosporus while most of the largest companies are on the European side of this commanding waterway.
Even the Sea of Marmara which balloons out south of the City is majestic in its grey coldness. The Sea of Marmara is fed by tides that travel up from the Aegean Sea and down from the Black Sea. The vastly different temperatures of these waters mean that Istanbul experiences extremes of weather and temperature. The local residents of Istanbul are fond of saying, "If you do not like the weather of Istanbul, wait a minute..." The weather changes produce vast colour changes to the Sea of Marmara. At times the Sea appears to be topaz blue with shades of aquamarine patches. At other times, the water is "wine-dark" as the ancient Greeks described this area. Most times, however, the Sea of Marmara is silver-grey reflecting the low hanging clouds over the waterway obscure the difference between sea and sky.
With all of this physical beauty, why do I have mixed feelings about Istanbul? Well, first there is the presence of so many beggars throughout nearly every public area of the city. Beggars are a constant in many areas frequented by tourists, but I also find beggars omnipresent in areas generally frequented only by residents. In addition, a very high percentage of these beggars are old women. Elderly women frequently beg for coins outside malls, restaurants and along walking thoroughfares which suggests to me that elderly women are not particularly valued by the society and social infrastructure is insufficient. I cannot think of another city on the European continent where a similar sight can be observed. I am an easy mark for beggars generally, but I empty my pockets for old ladies if only to assuage my own guilt at being sufficiently wealthy to do so. Second, outside of the tourist areas, Westerners are not particularly welcome. There is a feeling that the non-tourist areas are for Turks not westerners. There is certainly a strong undercurrent of nationalism in Istanbul. In addition, despite the fact that my own US Government spends billions of dollars annually on support for Turkey, Americans are not generally treated in a friendly manner. I always have the feeling that militant Islam is not far under the surface of Istanbul. I am used to most Asian countries where the local citizens will protest and riot in front of the US Embassy and then sneak toward the back of the Embassy complex to apply for a US visa. In Turkey, however, I develop the uneasy impression that Turkey would invade the USA if they thought they could win and might try even if they thought losing with a glorious death was probable.
One final point for me is that I feel this undercurrent of militant nationalism only from the young men that I encounter. The older and more educated elite are cultured, sophisticated and urbane. The women of all ages are attractive, friendly and have an appealing modesty of bearing - even when in western dress. I have several Turkish women acquaintances and I find them lovely companions with an overabundance of grace and beauty. I sometimes wonder how things are at their homes, however, because they seem faintly afraid of men.
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| Turkish Women - Modest but Beautiful |
For me, Istanbul is much like Paris: an incredibly attractive city that would be great if it wasn't for the citizens ...
Where to Stay:
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| Four Seasons Sultanahmet - Comfortable for a Prison |
I love the Four Seasons in Sultanahmet. It is in a massive building that used to be an Ottoman era prison. My friends seem to prefer the Four Seasons Bosporus because of the views over the water. The Hilton on the Golden Horn is known for its comfort and views over the old city. Unfortunately, I normally stay at the rather ordinary hotels around the airport when I am in Istanbul because I am there on business.
Where to Eat:
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| I didn't go hungry at Beyti! |
Beyti is a must for kebab and fresh meats. There are a few around the city, but I prefer the original one which is close to the airport with views over the Sea of Marmara. A special favourite of mine is the Seasons Restaurant in the courtyard of the Four Seasons Sultanahmet - it has fabulous food in a stunning yet serene location.
Where to Party:
Frequent readers of my blog won't be surprised to hear that one of my favourite party places in Istanbul is the Buddha Bar. It is not as lively as Beirut or as large as Dubai, but it still has all of the hipness of the Paris Buddha Bar with super attractive guests. I also enjoy taverns in the Sultanahmet area during football (soccer) games. The area is safe for tourists but the crazed enthusiasm of the fans is infectious and fun.
Where to Shop:
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| The Spice Bazaar - Try not to sneeze, please |
I highly recommend the Spice Bazaar, as listed above. The Grand Bazaar is much larger and is a great place to experience the fun of negotiating for a bargain. Of course, the local denizens of the bazaar will always come out on top during negotiations but they will have the good grace to try to convince the shopper that he/she is the winner. Shopping for Turkish rugs in Sultanahmet is a pleasant diversion as long as the shopper has lots of time. There will be countless small cups of mint tea, Turkish coffee and soft drinks. One favourite trick of the merchants is to pleasantly but firmly deny a potential buyer the use of the bathroom facilities until a purchase is made. Finally, I do like the local Turkish bazaar at Duty Free in Istanbul Airport. There are some pretty cool local goods there, the prices are good and no negotiations are required.
Travel Plans:
There has been no change to my travel plans since yesterday's blog entry on Beirut ... So, if the reader is curious as to my wanderings for the next two weeks, I recommend that he/she check out yesterday's posting on Beirut.
Rant:
I am accustomed to the interruption of airport announcements while I am on the phone at various airports around the world. None the less, I was particularly irritable about the decibel-meter bursting announcements at Istanbul Airport.
I often use the phone when I am awaiting departure. This lets me catch up on discussions with people around the world at a point when the time would be otherwise wasted. Using the phone in Istanbul Airport, however, proved to be nearly impossible.
First of all, the volume of the announcements was excruciatingly loud. Either the average Turkish passenger is completely deaf or the announcers want to ensure that any long-dead inhabitants of the region are shocked into resurrection. I moved around various parts of the terminal - including the premium lounge and the volume was identical. While this may be considered a victory for the designer of the public address system, my ears nearly began to bleed and I was wearing earplugs!
Second there is frequency of the announcements. I don't mean the radio frequency ... I mean the amount of ear-splitting announcements that were made in quick succession. One the day I departed, I am pretty certain that every gate for every flight was changed at least four times and every single announcement was made in English, Turkish, French, Chinese and that clicking language of the bushmen of the Kalahari. This near constant barrage of noise pollution began to vibrant my teeth at a frequency that could have removed the enamel.
Finally, I have to rant particularly about the announcements in the Turkish language. It seems to me that the illegal practice of payola (increasing volumes and frequency of play for favoured songs and advertising on American radio and television) is alive and well in Istanbul Airport for Turkish announcements. The Turkish language announcements play twice as loud and five times more frequently than announcements in any other language. Finally, let's face it, Turkish is not an attractive language to hear when the listener does not understand it. I am reminded of my Dad's assessment of the music of Wagner. My Dad used to say, "Do you want to hear the music of Wagner? Simply tie the tails together of a pair of cats and throw them over a washing line ... they will give a perfect rendition of Wagner's best music!" Now, Turkish at high volume doesn't sound exactly like screaming cats, but if the cats also have respiratory infections and are spitting up hairballs, then the sound is exactly similar to the Turkish announcements in Istanbul Airport.
My ears are still ringing and I left there ten days ago!
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| I now require this after one afternoon in Istanbul Airport |
Humour Section:
In remembrance of my time in Istanbul, I offer the following social joke about the difference between the British, American and Turkish cultures.
A British couple, an American couple and a Turkish couple were on a cruise visiting the Ionian islands when they happened to be seated at the same table for breakfast. The men grumbled their greetings and then proceeded to read their various newspapers while the women appraised the appearances of their counterparts. During breakfast, the British man turned to his wife casually and said, "Honey, please pass me the honey ..." The American and Turkish women smiled wistfully and pleasantly at their lucky counterpart who obviously had the affection of her spouse. In that unspoken action that produces an immediate competition, the American man turned somewhat self-consciously to his wife and said in a pleasant voice, "Please pass me the sugar, Sweetness..." The Turkish and the British wives smiled and even giggled softly at this blatant attempt at one-upmanship. The Turkish wife waited for her husband to respond but he studiously ignored her until she poked him in the ribs. Then, he concentrated carefully for a few minutes and then blurted out, "Pass me the milk, Cow!"
Along the same vein, I offer the following joke which was a favourite of my Dad:
Two friends were on the train when one turned to the other and said, "You know, this morning a funny thing happened to me. When you asked me to buy the tickets, I approached the ticket booth and there was a woman behind the till with enormous hooters ... I tried not to look, but I was uncomfortable and I blurted out, 'I need to pickets to Titsburgh!' Have you ever had an embarrassing moment when your words were mixed up like that?" His friend turned to him and replied, "Just this morning something similar happened at home. I was sitting at the breakfast table across from my wife when I meant to ask her, 'Dear, can you please pass me the milk?' I mixed up the words, however, and embarrassingly said instead, 'You rotten bitch, you ruined me life!'"
My Dad liked that joke, but then again, he was married four times ...
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| "Could I have two pickets ..." |
Last Blast:
Since I was young, I have maintained a fascination with archaeology and I cannot think of Turkey without thinking about archaeology and specifically Heinrich Schliemann. I admire Schliemann's luck and skill but also think that he had a wanderlust that I can understand in comparison to my own.
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| Heinrich Schliemann - One of my heroes |
For those of my readers who may not remember, Heinrich Schliemann was an archeologist and obsessed reader of Homer who believed that the poet had portrayed real people, places and events in his poem, "The Iliad." Before Schliemann's time, most historians believed that the oral tradition that was the basis for Homer's greatest work reflected mythical places, events and people and therefore should have no basis in modern archaeology. Schliemann was convinced of the historical nature of the master's poem and successfully found ruins at Troy that convinced him, and many others, that the Trojan War was a real event. Then, he went on to excavate at Mycenae in the Peloponnesus of Greece where he uncovered a death mask that he was sure was of Agamemnon. Afterwards, Schliemann found similar finds from the Trojan War period at Ithaca (traditional home of Odysseus, my favourite) and Tiryns. The impact of Schliemann on archaeology in general and on the history of the region cannot be overestimated. Schliemann's work is fundamental to our understanding of the Bronze Age period of the Trojan War.
What further impresses me about Heinrich Schliemann, however, is that he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Schliemann was born in 1822 in Neubukow, a small district town in the region of Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania which was solidifying at the time into modern Germany. Schliemann could not afford to continuing with his schooling beyond the early secondary level but he was self-taught to a high degree. Throughout his life, Schliemann would visit many places and he had such a gift for languages that he could converse and write fluently in English, French, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, Swedish, Italian, Greek, Latin, Russian, Arabic and Turkish as well as his native German. Schliemann claimed he could become fluent in a language in just six weeks and he wrote his diaries in the language of the country he happened to be visiting at the time.
When he was 19 years old, he became a cabin boy on a ship sailing from Hamburg to Venezuela. After just twelve days at sea, however, the ship foundered during a storm and the survivors were washed up on the shores of the Netherlands. Schliemann talked his way into a job as a clerk in an import/export business in Amsterdam. Showing a real talent for the business, his company moved him to St. Petersburg at the age of 23 as a general agent where he made connections with the Tsar's representatives. At the age of 28, Schliemann received the news that his brother had died as a wealthy speculator in the California gold fields. The younger man promptly moved to California to take up his brother's interests and started a bank in Sacramento that specialised in monetizing gold and gold dust deposits. Because he was a resident in California when it was inducted into the United States, Schliemann became a citizen of the United States.
Schliemann left the United States as a wealthy man after just two years and returned to Russia at the age of 31. While in Russia, he married an even wealthier daughter of a member of the Tsar's court and then promptly figured out a way to corner the market on indigo; the dye that produced the blue jeans work pants favoured by his fellow citizens in the burgeoning western states of the USA. With typical Schliemann luck, he made a fortune as the demand for indigo exploded. Following up this success, Schliemann added to his, by then enormous, fortune by being a military contractor during the Crimean War when hew cornered the market on the constituent components of gunpowder and then sold the finished product in an exclusive contract to the Russian government.
All of this means that Schliemann was an extremely successful businessman and multi-millionaire by the time he was just thirty-six years old. This was the year that he decided to retire and dedicate himself to the archaeology of the Trojan War. In addition, he had travelled half way around the world during a period when travel was difficult and dangerous.
Throughout his career as an archaeologist, Schliemann had the uncanny luck to uncover gold artefacts from nearly every place he excavated. He also determined innovative and sneaky ways to spirit these finds out of the Ottoman controlled region.
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| Death Mask of Agamemnon? - Schliemann thought so |
The final interesting point about Schliemann for me is the mystery of his gold. Schliemann shipped most of his important finds to the museum in Berlin where it was prominently displayed up to the later portion of World War II. Some time during the chaos of the capturing of wartime Berlin, the Schliemann treasure went missing. Experts and treasure hunters are still chasing rumours about its whereabouts to this day.
Hopefully, like me, my readers will share a little interest in this colourful renaissance man.
Take care until we next meet and remember to laugh at life's little foibles ...
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