parasitegirl | Istanbul, Day 7-8 (August 14-15) Memories Return. (Reply)

Much of my last three full days in Istanbul has already been documented:

-I took three days of lessons with Ahmet.

-I went to see shows at Kervanseray and Istanbul In.

August 14^th:

I left Sema’s in the morning after sleeping poorly. I took a bus, walked through a park, and went to my hotel room to fall back asleep.

I awoke at 10:30 in time for the end of free breakfast. My late hour to rise was commented on by hotel staff as I ate. They were hoping for a wild adventure on my part and may have felt let-down by my recap, although they were highly amused by it. I no longer pretended not to be studying bellydance at this point. This was also when I realized the hotel staff all knew I now responded to the name Okshan and they laaaaughed and laaaaaughed.

My photos for the 14^th-17^th tell me almost nothing about what I did on the 14^th. I woke up, I saw some churches, and I took a blurry picture of a dancer.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137290&id=644629953&l=d6ec884c4f

The 14^th was my first day of Ahmet workshops. At the studio I also had the treat of meeting Romani Percusionist Balik Ayhan, who exhibited the percussionists inability not to drum his fingers and hands or occasionally verbally drum out things he is thinking about. While I was there he seemed to be caught-up in some sort of interpretation of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” I have one CD featuring him (Balik Ayhan: Yasayan Ruhlar 2002 which features a jazz/Gypsy interpretations of New York, New York and is experimental in the good way) so this made sense.

After my first private lesson there was some talk about what plans I had for the night, because the weekend was on us. I bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t really go to live-music bars alone and they agreed with my assesment. Balik Ayhan offered to take me out the next night but warned be might be photographed by paparazzi. I was all for this but nothing came of it, perhaps because he was kidding or perhaps Gonul informed him I wasn’t a certain type of girl. Who knows?

Seeing how exhausted I was they did suggest that I sleep.

I ended up booking a table at cheesy nightclub show #2 (Kervanseray) which I exited from as the “singer who sings songs from many countries (badly)” started. I had put this show on a credit card but had not realized I could not put the tip on the credit card. Although service was pretty lousy for me, I have a hard time not tipping wait staff and can’t imagine that being wait staff in such a place is anything but thankless work. I felt stressed because now I had even less to eat off of.

I exited the venue and decided not to take the funicular or the tram, even though is wear nearing midnight. Instead I walked slowly down Istikal. This was the place to be on a weekend night. This is one of the places I would have been if I’d been able to bring a friend.

I enjoyed as much of the street performers and music coming out of taxisms as I could…but I didn’t sit and listen for very long, as I would have liked to, because I didn’t have any money with which to tip. I know that didn’t stop most people, but…yeah.

There was Turkish Romani music, a Balkany punk group (which I stayed hopping around in the crowd for, the usual looks…there was even a Guatemalan band. They get everywhere. They sometimes even get to Kashiwa, Chiba, near me.

I kept walking.

I mentioned in a previous post:

Kervansaray: Broke from leaving a tip, long walk on a few perhaps ill-advised streets…the sorts my parents are not doubt screaming “PAY FOR A CAB, KAYT!!!” as they imagine. Make it back ok but a bit shaken…my bowels full of the revolt of a bad fish sandwich. I did think “if anyone tries anything funny, I bet the explosive bowels that’ll inspire will make them think twice.”

This was then and I didn't know if I would write about it.

As the street ended and I found myself walking down the hill and past the tramway, sometimes followed by men who kept insisting that they just wanted to be my friend, just wanted to hold my hand, just wanted a kiss…

I reached one of the underpasses near the bridge and knew: Those underpasses are packed in the daytime, but at night they are empty and hidden away. The streets were mostly empty, and what sounds could be made would probably fall on no ears, or indifferent ones. Turkish men might be able to walk through them…but they were no place for a single female.

I readjusted my path. I walked quicker.

And suddenly it was all hitting me at once: the evening I’d exited the bathroom at a Turkish restaurant in Japan only to find myself alone with the Turkish owner because he’d chased his staff out. The struggle and the laugher (on his part) from which I emerged shaken and upset. The situation I’d managed to escape and fight off (but that so many women don’t) …it all came back to me.

How I reacted in the aftermath resulted in us pulling all the dancers out of there and the restaurant no longer exists as it once did: no more Turkish food, no more dancers. Locally and internationally, people reached out to me...and many shared their own stories...I kept it on my filtered blog, to protect my parents from any of the pain that must come from knowing your daughter was scared and in danger or is working through that pain....but no amount of raising awareness, of support, of love, of working proactively to protect others, and being brutal honest removes all aftershocks. And walking I was shaken.

I walked quickly, as much to get back to my hotel as to out-walk the tears. I walked quickly though areas where I was the only female, including a black market of goods for sale near the fish market in which I otherwise would have liked to linger. I kept realizing that I was the only female I was seeing. It reminded me of times in Cambodia when I realized why, just WHY, almost everyone I saw was my age or younger. In Cambodia it was a reminder of how terribly wrong things had gotten, but in Turkey it was a reminder of how terribly wrong things often are.

Back at my hotel, I cried a little. Then I took a nice, long, shower.

I crawled into bed and reached for my iPhone. I reread Karim Nagi’s words about how he feels about the fact that women can’t travel and feel safe to the degree men can, and how he actively works to try to create change, and took solace in them. (See, this was why I mentioned his email earlier, it did play a role on my trip and wasn’t just name dropping!)

I slept a deep sleep.

August 15^th:

Once more my photos don’t give me much of a clue about what I did on this day…except that I saw a feminist bookstore and nearby there was a few tables with random stuff for sale. When I took a picture of a cat sleeping on all the stuff for sale the man selling things smiled and pointed out the other “stuff for sale” cat I had missed. He tried to wake it up for what he though was a better photo opportunity but the cat was having none of it. I also got a picture of one of the many men selling rubbery toy men you can throw against a smother surface and watch as they crawl-flip down-down-down.

What I can recall:

I woke up.

After breakfast I went to the internet café before lessons. I felt a need to work through the emotions the night before had stirred up in me. For me, working through a rough patch means I must write…but you knew that, didn’t you? I sat down, ordered some tea, and I replied to Karim again.

I wrote to him about the walk, and the emotions, and the solace. I also wrote about how turning away from people, or from men, or from life, never was an option because of all the wonderful people I do have in my life. And how the memories that were stirred do not make me view all Turkish men with squinted glares and a quickstep:

”Stıll, I haven't been robbed of my joy ın lıfe. I don't take offense or dıscomfort of the obstacle course of pıckuplınes as I walk to my hotel. I smırk, knowıng that I mıght be beautıful but that ıt matters not here. Every woman ıs beautıful, but near my hotel every woman ıs told she ıs beautıful. And, heck, I lıke talkıng to people who lıke to talk.”

With much off my chest I went to my second lesson with Ahmet. There was the usual pre and post talking with Gonul and Ahmet, and there was still the girl practicing her model walk in the halls.

I’d posted on my live journal that the 4-lira fish diet wasn’t working out, and my mother sent me a comment about how I should start using the card and save my stomach.

That night I treated myself to a dinner near my hotel. The owner had been fussing over me for days as I walked back and forth past his place, so I figured I’d get good service…and I did. For all the hassle, there is something nice about every waitstaff serving you and acting like they are blessed by your presence and beauty. Don’t knock it.

I walked a little around Sultanhamet that night to hear street performers. I regret that I’d be missing ramedan, where the area supposedly fills with families and music in the evenings and you CAN be a lone female and safely not be alone.

I fell asleep, my belly stuffed but not gurgling.