Istanbul, Day 3 (August 10th) Morning and afternoon.

[parasitegirl]

Sometime in day two or three I emailed Sema. I said I was a student of Mishaal’s and a friend of Nourah’s, that I’d attended her Tokyo workshops and would like to do a private lesson with her while I was in Istanbul.

I’d been on the fence about Sema Yildiz, because she’ll be coming to Tokyo again in October. I’d emailed Hale Sultan about privates but hadn’t heard back from her. Mishaal, in her email to me, had suggested maybe one lesson with Sema as it often involved being brought to her house, cooked for, and a bit of experiencing a show or music with Sema afterwards. In short, it might be more about the Sema experience than simply a lesson with Sema. By day two or three I wanted more lessons to be happening or to be cooked for.

But day three, Monday the 10^th, would feature my first lesson! Reyhan! I’d wanted to line up more lessons for as soon as I arrived, but with Ahmet out of the city and no reply from Hale, this would be my first lesson. I was dead right in thinking it might be best to start with lessons early on. Lessons gave me a daily set point where I needed to be and gave me structure when I was feeling my way around the city. In the future I would rather do lessons early (before my body is exhausted) have a weekend and one side trip mid-trip to unwind/refresh/process and then maybe do some follow-up privates at the end.

I can’t tell you what I did the morning of the 10^th. It may have involved the bazzar, as there is a picture of some graves that I know where on the way to the bazzar. I do know that I had made reservations at The Orient House after checking if their head dancer, Birgul, would be dancing. I tried to get my hotel to make the reservation, but Suleman was obviously not used to the hotel-roll in such a thing and just called them and handed the phone over to me when someone answered. I negotiated a reservation with no dinner. I now know the way to do this is to have Sema, or someone Turkish who knows the scene, to call and argue the best price for me…not the hotels/tourguides who will take a cut and not your lonesome (because no one calls for themselves…every place I went to knew EXACTLY who I was). Sema yelled at me for not having gotten her involved in my first two restaurant show trips…but I didn’t know then! I just knew I that part of my trip was Dancer Safari wherein I see dancers in the “natural habitats provided for them here.”

 

The big thing I was focused on was meeting Dilek (a Turkish born dancer, in the Turkish style, who lives and performs in the L.A. area) and going for our shared private lesson with Reyhan.

I’d never met Dilek, but I enjoy her youtube clips and we’d discovered, via Bhuz, that her first trip home in seven years would be around the same time as my trip.The unfortunate thing would be that she’d only be there for two days while I was, because she had a family engagement in… Taipei (I think) to get to afterwards and when she returned I would be gone.

I waited in front of the Hagia Sofia, which is closed on Monday. Some Sutlanahmet guy started chatting me up and showed me where the general “meeting people” point in front of the Hagia Sofia was. Knowing where the meeting point is at a given spot is something you learn, it is not always apparent at first. In Shibuya I know the default meeting point is at the Hachiko statue, and in Shinjuku it is usually infront of Studio Alta unless an exit is named…at the Hagia Sofia it’s on a streetcorner.

The guy was asking me 20 questions and I lied for some, acting as if Dilek was a longtime friend I was meeting and would be hanging with and thus not alone and in-need of help from a guy who had skin a color that suggested to me that hanging out in this square and meeting girls was his fulltime job.

Dilek found me, identified who I was (I was wearing an orange skirt, fatherly tisk-tisking had forced her to change out of the skirt she’d told me to look for) and thrust a cob of corn at me, telling me how much she’d missed this taste of home.

Corn on the cob venders are everywhere. Off the beaten path it’s often .50 for boiled and a little more for grilled….where I usually was it was 1 and 1.50.

After juggling two cell phones to try to reach the woman who handles Reyhan’s business (Janet/Cennet?), she detached me from the guy and we walked toward the Gulhane tramstation, muching on our cobs. Dilek was marveling how much Istanbul has changed, where she used to go eat with her grandpa, how many PEOPLE there were (It’s MONDAY! How can all these people be here?)…and when we got on the tram to Eminonu we ended up talking about something I haven’t addressed…

The prevalent and powerful tang of body odor on public transportation in Istanbul. I know, I know, it’s a real body smell…but at times it was overwhelming and felt \like a confrontational odor of masculinity than anything naturally occurring. Dilek told me how she buys soaps, perfumes and more for family members…in hopes.

At Eminonu we changed for the buses. Dilek continued to be amazed at the number

of people and I explain that this seemed like nothing after Tokyo…and that it had been almost body-to-body Sunday in the same underpasses. Seeing that, a month before I experiences my own culture shock of going from Tokyo’s density to O.C. California…I understand the shock in reverse.

I explained the Akbil to Dilek, and she said she didn’t have one and they were new for her. We both talked about how hard it is to understand bus payment system when not all busses are uniform in payment nature (in Japan some you prepay for, some you get a ticket and pay at the end, some you enter at the side door….) an Akbil give you a pass to really ignore complexity by just touching your pass/token/thingy wherever you ride.

It was nice for me to see someone with real Turkish skills act daunted by the prospect of finding the right bus to where we were going…it made me feel like I wasn’t a pussy for avoiding the busses so far. We wrangled correct change somehow and got on a bus to…I don’t know, Dilek was leading.

We got off after a while at a large shopping center. Dilek said that the government had torn down a Romani homes to build it (not in the Sulukule neighborhood but Gaziosmanpaşa) and that (I think) Reyhan’s had been one of them. She then lamented how Turkish people lament the higher cost of living, or the low wages, but keep building crap like this that compounds the problem.

I first saw Reyhan Tuzsuz on a computer screen at Elizabeth Strong’s (www.strongdancer.com) family home in Oakland, CA. It was a prequel to my private lesson with Elizabeth. There was her teacher, Reyhan, on the screen. I watched as Reyhan, wearing what appeared to me to be white hammer-pants with large blue flowers, showed the bouncy pelvic lifts that are central to the Turkish Romani social dance style. Elizabeth also gave me handouts on her take on the 9/( and how she first met Reyhan in…2002?) which also included telling of when Reyhan offered her a home-cooked meal and Elizabeth, a vegetarian, decided this was the time to eat meat instead of risk offending.

Elizabeth is the dancer through which most of us Americans got to know of Reyhan…which is supported by this article I found.

Gonul offered a different take on the “discovery and rise of Reyhan” . Gonul thinks it predated Elizabeth and was Tayyar Akdeniz, a dancer and musician well known for his dancer-related folk tours and events who discovered Reyhan and was instrumental in introducing her to foreign dancers. Both stories involve a search for a Turkish Romani dance teacher (Elizabeth wanting one for herself, Tayyar wanting one for his tours), and Reyhan’s violinist husband, Hüsnü, saying that his wife is a great dancer, everyone in the community loves it when she dances at weddings and social events, and that while she doesn’t teach lessons…maybe she could be persuaded…!

Who is to say which version is right? Probably both are, in a way.

Although the old home was destroyed, Reyhan and her family had enough money saved to buy a new one.

Dilek and I wondered how Reyhan would find us, or if she’d even been told to find us because there was some level of confusion about confirming days and calls and such. This was one of the times that being supper blonde or tall would have been helpful in spotting me. But she found us (perhaps two confused looking girls aren’t that hard to spot) and brought us to her home.

We took our shoes off at the door. I cannot tell you how at home this gesture made me feel. When I am back in America I feel uneasy about wearing my shoes inside people’s houses and am a little squibbed-out when people stomp about their homes in shoes.

We entered a small, very clean apartment and walked to the living room. The furniture was new, puffy and bright lime-green with nice blankets and throw pillows on it. Reyhan offered us a beverage, introduced one of her daughters, and talked and talked with Dilek. I, the language interloper, was unable to follow much of it and Dilek didn’t bother to translate everything as the conversation was going too quickly. As someone who has been in Dilek’s position before I didn’t mind this. I am content to be in the stream of languages I don’t know, to watch and guess a bit on what is being discussed. I simply ask that occasionally I am tossed a few bits of information…but I don’t require everything to be translated because I know this can be unrealistic and even unnescesary. Dilek had my usual troubles with back and forth language switching and would sometimes turn, after explaining something to me, and start talking to Reyhan in English…as if that was of any use.

Then Reyhan brought out our practice clothing. Brightly patterned dropped-crotch Hammer-pants for the win! Dilek took the black ones with white polkadots and red roses (with a large fake flower on one hip) and I took the black with white polkadots. Both our pants had crocheted white trim at the ankles. We regret not taking pictures at this point. Reyhan put on a pair and threw a skirt over them (large, but simply due to modesty…not of the big-swishy-folksy-skirt-dance type). Then we tied on our hip scarves: patterned scarves with minimal but decorative crochet trim. These indeed would be the clothing I saw out-and-about on older Romani women.

You all know I am not a fan of dressing up like a Disney-Esmerelda-never-was-Stevie-Nicks-“Gypsy” for Turkish Romani styled dance or for doing big ‘n swishy skirt work in such gear under the label of “Gypsy style dance!”…that being said, I am not sure I could see myself performing in brightly-colored hammer pants. I fear this clothing, while far-more “traditionally-authentic” in many ways for women and the social situations in which they would be dancing with each other, would look too comical-farcical and “costumy” to most audiences. I think on me, instead of presenting accuracy, I’d be dismissed as someone pretending to be what she is not…and at worse making a charicature of a dance and people I wish for others to view with a mind open to complexity and not closed by stereotype.  Essentially, for me to try to present any part Turkish Romani styled dance is to always grapple with this. At best I hope to take this style and music, which inspires me, and have it inform my dance. I always have to come to grips with the knowledge that the filter of my life, who I am, my different background, and the fact I am performing as a soloist…which is why I always stress Turkish-Romani influenced instead of saying that I dance in that style. Part of my dance background involves my exposed belly and emphasized breasts, it's almost how I feel most comfortable dancing (this is nothing new to those of me who knew me before bellydance) but I also know these things are generally not done, and sometimes shuned by sections of the culture that brings me this music and dance I love.

But enough about me…back to the bouncing butt.

Yes, Reyhan does not speak English, be she’s also of the variety of teacher where you learn by trying to do what you see. She isn’t someone who breaks things down for you. She will try to correct you when she sees you’re doing something wrong, or to put you on the path of something closer to what she’s doing, but it isn’t through technical explanations of where your weight should be. It translates more to “The hands are with the hips and both follow the rhythm here” and “But your hips also go side-side while up-up-up..always up!”

I think it helps to have a familiarity with 9/8.

As soon as I got into my knees-slightly-bent dance posture I felt pain. I had walked too much in the last two days. The tightness in my calves and general pain would not go away until after I returned to Japan and slept a few days. I usually walk a lot. Heck, I didn’t feel sore after walking through Tokyo for 3 hours in wooden heels after a horrible date two months ago…but I’m not usually going up and down steep hills or navigating uneven surfaces. I’m just lucky my ankle didn’t swell up, as it likes to do. It’s currently threatening me and I might need a trip to my acupunturist in a few weeks…but I’m trying to play nice with it (three nights of dance aside).

In regards to things Dilek and I (maybe mostly I) struggled with, Reyhan said (and Dilek translated) “In Oriental it’s almost always about isolating, isolating, this is about the whole body moving to the music.” Or as Dilek and I viewed it from our background “it’s a form of very complex layering, where you are layering hip movements and foot work with the constant pelvic lifts and drops..and arms and upper body….” Which would be something I struggled with when studying with Ahmet as well. It was about layering, but the key to layering is that to work at layering two things you have to start with getting to a point where at least one of the movements becomes automatic so you can keep doing it (putting it on them mental backburner) while you concentrate on the second layer…and while I consider myself familiar with the 9/8, and have even taught bits of it before, all layers were feeling different enough from how I’ve been dancing the 9/8 that I floundered. I knew what I should be doing. I could grasp it intellectually. I knew the rhythm and was it was doing (and when I got flustered…knowing what it would do intellectually would make me anticipate/come it too early instead of being in the pocket of the music).

I think it taught me that I have a general understanding of the 9/8, but approach it as an oriental-trained dancer…even when I feel quite earthy and with it my approach illustrates my background. I can and do hit the accents, sometimes dramatically, and that 9/8 informs my movement but I’m not constantly illustrating it with pelvic ups. There is never one constant part of me in the 9/8 with everything layered over that.

Even though she’s not going to break things down the way many dancers might want, I do highly recommend Reyhan. Even if some dancers won’t come out with a very clear notes and combinations, there will be a deeper understanding of what Turkish Romani social dance is (and isn’t). We, as outsiders, are not apt to ever be in an environment where such dance occurs organically. There is a long history and many powerful reasons why many Romani cultures have tended to shield their lives, homes, language, and more from gadje (non-Romani). I am glad that Reyhan shares her dance with people like me, and is compensated and applauded for her skills in her community and the gadje community.. Turkish Romani dance is one of the influence in Turkish Oriental style and styles of Romani music are in vogue nowadays, so dancers interested in exploring either should make and effort to find Reyhan and other teachers, to devour clips on youtube, to do what they can to have an understanding.

I know she’s traveling to Europe soon (Germany?) to teach and would suggest that anyone in the who might be able to host her for additional lessons think about it. I think Dilek has more information (and will be back in Turkey and doing some more work with Reyhan and Nourah after the 22^nd) and you can find her easily: Dilek Hoss on Facebook or on Bhuz as Turkish Dancer.

That’s not to say you should book her for some sort of urban-ethno-study. What she does is very relevant to non-social solo performing. Some of her students go on to do very well as professional dancers. She’ll tell you, when she dances to live music she’s getting

attention as a dancer…and money showers, thank you. It’s not all socio-ethno spontaneous dancing at celebrations, it’s also about being a solo performer with a variety of audiences.

It also gave me a deeper understanding of how to explore and be moved by Turkish Romani 9/8 (which is different from other Romani 9/8’s, primarily in the heavy percussion emphasis on the 1 and 3 but not the 5)…in addition to layers and footwork to work on.

We also worked a little on gesture/accent combinations with body hits and slaps and she talked a little about the meanings she feels are behind them, but only a little. It’s not a dance of all gestures, they should be used sparingly…and while they can have meanings it isn’t a heavily narrative dance. The themes are general, mostly implied, and there is room for improvisation. It is not carefully scripted and described with hand gestures and movements (like many forms of Indian dances).

Now, once more what a gesture means will vary a bit from who you ask…which is about who you ask and how they view you…or how they were viewed by the person they asked. A grandmother who enjoys your company and feeds you might give you a different story from a young woman who views you as a cultural interloper (I’m being vague here, but it’s all I can be).

I did get the sense that gestures used can also be a clear indication of how specific dancers want their culture to be viewed. Reyhan and Ahmet Ogren are very different dancers and teachers, although they both have Romani roots. I got the impression from what was translated by Dilek that Reyhan teaches a gesture many of us know as the washing and wringing of clothing. It’s a gesture that many romani kids learn early on and is often a staple of any teacher teaching Turkish-Romani related dance. It seems that Ahmet won’t perform it and doesn’t want to teach it (or for it to be taught) because he feels it is old-fashioned and doesn’t represent the modern world they now live in. Reyhan, who 7 years ago was still washing her family’s clothing by hand in a wash tub, uses it and teaches it. She sees it as a traditional gesture that’s always been part of the dance as she learned it by watching and participating and that it still represents the life of many Romani. Indeed when I saw two Romani performing on Istkland street, one of them smiled, dropped to his knees, and rhythmically “scrubbed and rubbed” his shirt…the other boy executed some fine excessive shimmies and layers in a mock-up of Oriental dinner-show dancers (very much a performance of the here and now…and I’ve seen Ahmet performing dances to mock the folk dances and oriental dancers of dinner shows).

That isn’t the only way Ahmet and Reyhan differ in their approach, teaching style, and performance style…but to delve further is to get involved with gossip, personalities, ideas of authenticity, ethnicity, and art and really involves sharing views and responses which might be off the record. Over drinks, yeah…on my public blog? Nope!

But, they both scoff at the idea of skirt dancing. Ahmet does it as if he’s reluctantly giving his opinion and would rather not deal with such foolishness. Reyhan looks a little like you suggested wearing the slippers designated for the toilet room into bed. ..you dirty idiot.

After the lesson, Reyhan brought out a low table for us to eat at. Once again, like being in Japan! Yaaaay! Dilek and I talked a little about similarities in Japanese and Romani ideas of cleanliness and presentation to guests in the home. Before she headed out to start bringing us food, I asked a little about meat…having remembered Elizabeth. I was also starting to have a headache.

Reyhan is now in the habit of serving vegetarian-friendly foods to foreign guests.

We all ate the hell out of stuffed peppers, olives, cucumbers and tomatoes, tasty cheeses, breads and more and talked. Well, they talked and I enjoyed what bits were explained.

This is when I learned that Selim Sesler plays in a bar. I sort of knew this from the story about when Mishaal, Eva and Artie all found themselves in the same taxsim enjoying his music…but still. Dilek regretted that we couldn’t go together because of her short time in Turkey and how I’d be gone when she got back. Big regrets.

We walked to the bus. On the way we passed an area filled with men sitting around. “That’s where the men are, women don’t go through there” Dilek translated…and she meant it. Our path took us deliberately around these men, even though it was daytime and there were three of us and the bus stop was on the other side.

We’d meant to go to a fabric store on the way out, Reyhan was going to take us to one to buy fabric for our own pants or skirts. I saw it as we walked past it…and assumed there was a better fabric store…but she’d blanked it. At the bus stop she remembered but we admitted we were too tired to go back. At this point my headache was becoming epic.

We paid for the bus in a manner different from the bus we’d taken to get there. My headache got much worse on the ride and the smell of B.O. started to really get to me. Dilek busted out some perfume, which we applied (and she may have splashed a bit on the woman in front of her) but it turned out to be smell overload. I tried to be social, but admitted that I was getting to a headache point where that wasn’t possible. My sense of smell was elevated to a dangerous degree. I didn’t admit that willpower was the only thing keeping me from vomiting everywhere from the pain and sensatory overload. I know enough chronic migrane sufferers to not claim to be one…. but occasionally I get a doozy of a headache.

Getting off the bus at Eminonu didn’t help. Eminonu, as you may remember, is fish sandwich land. Land of fish and other smells…and underground walkways with pay-for-entrance stinky W.C’s. As she pointed out the “pickled things” vendor with nostalgic glee I was thinking “Can’t vomit. Can’t. WOWSMELL. Jesus…” and her being away from Istanbul for so long and my days figuring out everything meant I lead the way to the underground passages and onto our tram. Dilek said I should probably lay down a bit when I got back to my hotel.

We hugged and cheek-kissed goodbye. I really did regret our overlap wasn’t longer as I’d gotten along well with her. I bought some water, stumbled to my hotel and powerfully vomited in my toilet. I drank water, vomited some more, and drank more water. I set my iPhone alarm for an hour and a half later and collapsed in cool darkness room.

Part two…Orient House.

 

Comments

[eshenavah.livejournal.com]

devouring these posts <3

[parasitegirl.livejournal.com]

I don't doubt it. I wish I could have sent me to Turkey before I went so I could get in-detail reports from a familiar source.