Post by Dèsîŗĕ Yèarning on Jul 1, 2011 20:42:05 GMT -5
[EXPAT VOICE] A stroll through İstanbul
30 June 2011, Thursday / DHURATA OSMANI, İSTANBUL
0
Share
Visiting the city of İstanbul at the age of 19, I decided to not have any expectations so that it would not contribute to any disappointment caused by my imagination. The only opinion of Turkey I had was based on soap operas such as “Acı Hayat” and “1001 Gece,” or as my Albanian parents liked to call them, “Mehmet Kosovali” and “Sheherzade.”
But soap operas were not the only thing Turkey had passed down to Albania: sweets such as baklava, starters such as çorba and stuffed peppers, the addictive consumption of çay and, of course, such words as “dost,” “taman,” (tamam) “baksuz,” (bahtsız) “sheherli” (şeherli) and “jasha” (after yaşa, meaning “long live” in Turkish, a common phrase shouted at weddings). But to me, these were all just inherited secondhand remains of the unchartered country which had become prevalent in Albanian culture and history but had until now remained so distant to me.
Stepping through the doors of the airport, I was pleasantly greeted by a refreshing breeze, much needed after leaving the musty humid New York air. As I stepped into the taxi and began the ride to my dormitory, a wave of nostalgia rushed over me. The streets, stores and buildings reflected those of Kosovo, but much more developed, of course. My host stopped at a local dining place and ordered a dessert and çay to get off to a “sweet” start. The dessert, katmer, was so delectable and unlike anything I had ever tasted. It was composed of zest from the pistachio seed wrapped in warm, flaky phyllo dough with warm melted cheese.
The first night I was invited to a dinner with fellow students interning in various places in İstanbul. Walking along the cobblestone roads of İstanbul, I was in awe when passing by Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. Their majestic presence was laid out before me with every meticulous design of an arc, every turn of a corner and every curve of a word from the Quran; their divine domes and crescent symbols a constant reminder that faith in God was always an available path for one to seek and discover.
Even more liberating was the fact that one was not weighed down by pressures of tomorrow's stress. The slow-paced environment was soothing and made it possible to enjoy simple pleasures such as strolling with family members through the streets or enjoying the call to prayer or just simply having çay with a friend. The walk was livened by a live Turkish band playing nostalgic music at a local restaurant, the chattering of happy couples and laughing children skipping by and a young boy shooting a glowing ball high into the night's sky. There were various women selling woven socks of all sizes and colors, young boys selling brand name perfumes and shirts by Tommy Hilfiger and Lacoste.
Feasting Turkish style
At dinner, we met Turkish women, friends of the people we were dining with. They immediately introduced themselves and told me about their occupations in broken English.
They told me to try some authentic Turkish pizza with bits of lamb meat, and pickled eggplant and of course köfte. At the end of the dinner, one of them invited me to her house for baklava and coffee or espresso with an honest and luring gaze in her eyes, an offer made undeniable.
The next day around the Taksim bazaar, pomegranates, oranges and pineapples lined up neatly in rows built up a desire within me to drink some freshly squeezed orange juice. The store vendor greeted me with a “buyurun,” and upon hearing of my origin, began to tell me about his travels through the Balkans in broken English and various gestures.
His tone and the way in which he earnestly wanted to hear about New York and my future plans was similar to the attitude my mother ushered me to take upon greeting a misafir (guest) in our home: a welcoming and conversational one. I was a guest in his small fruit stand of a home in Turkey.
But while I identify with customs like this one and even that of bargaining with street vendors along with desserts like baklava, İstanbul does not fail to remind me of my tourist status in its plethora of hidden gems, such as gözleme from the corner merchant or even the breeze from the Golden Horn, which never fail to take me by surprise.