Contrasts of Istanbul
Just came back from a supershort trip of Istanbul, the cradle of Ottoman empire and some would say civilization more generally. Even more than Morocco or these other 'third world' places, Turkey is a place of bizzaire contrasts. I am sure the biggest is the the jutaxtaposition of the urban and the rural, but unfortunately I cannot attest to it since I parachuted into Istanbul on Sunday and left only 2 days later. Other contrasts stand out:the contrast of Turkey which is applying to the EU with the Turkey that throws its possibly most famous and only Nobel winning writer Orphan Palmuk in prison. The contrast between Turkey which is secular yet where the sound of muaddin's call for prayer prierces the air at the designated hours of the day, no different than it does in Cairo or in Rabat. The contrast of Turkey that is modern and educated with the population which does not generally speak foreign languages, except of the people in the services industry, which - on the contrary - seem to be able to bargain and sell in every language under the sun. The contrast of Turkey which embraces Muslim and Christians, and yet where the churches converted to mosques clearly show the direction of the current government and the fruitlessness of any papal visits. And finally, the contrast that summarizes everything about Turkey into one picture - the donkey cart with peasants amidst a sea of cars I saw in the next lane on the highway leading to the Kamal Attaturk airport. It is this agrarian image of Turkey's peasants, wrapped in layers of unrecognizable clothing and covered in a veil resembling more those famous red Russian scarves that does not seem reconcilable with its modern, fast, and seemingly developed centers like Ankara and Istanbul.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Saturday, December 02, 2006
I think I am due for another update. After almost 2 years away from home, I have to admit its getting harder to keep in touch with everyone, so I hope you can find in your heart to forgive me for the mass email. I hope some good ole commercially induced christmas spirit can help you do just that. Here in Paris, the Christmas decorations are not fooling anyone, since outside its still 15 degrees and prices are also if anything higher, rather than lower than normal…but the shopping craze is starting to kick in nevertheless and there are people everywhere, except of course Sundays. For one musn’t forget, we are living in a country with deep catholic tradition, which in parallel prides itself on being non-religious. Actually, I think a good half of french politically motivated books are about this process of reconciling the secular state with its catholic history and more recently its growing muslim popuation. The whole banlieue story (burning cars, etc.) only added spark to the already raging fire. Only six lines into the email and I am already off on a tangent!
Suffice it to say that the mood is up in anticipation of christmas holidays, and I would probably join the shopping craze too if not for the fact that by the time I leave the office, I can kiss good bye the idea of buying anything since another one of france’s traditions – and this one I think purely cultural – goes something like this “one shall close shop by 8”. Unfortunately, despite the friendliness of the local folk and my general familiarity with all the local shops, my impression is that they are not going to change their ways anytime soon, and certainly not on my account. Actually, some shop owners are having a hard enough time understanding me during normal working hours, let alone later. I recently stopped by a local shop to get some sort of a french saussage, pointing to the thing and saying that I just want this orangy looking thing. The man of course immediately broke into the monologue about the type of the sausage that it is (blah blah blah) only to register pure indifference on my face. I was then forced to explain to him that this is actually for my very much meat eating boyfriend and that I actually don’t consume any dead animals. Well, although the expression on his face is rather difficult to put in words – it was equivalent to what I would imagine the expression of a priest when told that you don’t believe in god. I have to admit, I never tried to do that, but it should give you the idea…
Other than strange social encounters, my courage to dive into social coversations is growing, but not nearly sufficiently fast. This is despite my courageous - and I would even go as far as to say - stoic efforts to take classes after work which means never coming home before 9. I am sure on some level its paying off, and according to my professor, my vocabulaty is rather decent, but arriving to the point of getting the social lingo that is often not in the oxford dictionary is a whole different story. Trust me. This of course does not much faciliate social interactions, but at least I got to a level of mutual understanding or misunderstanding, and even I am even trying (and this is really a key word here) to plunge into some work related activities in french. I know this must be hillarious to most french speakers, but I am actually the most french speaking member of our team at the oecd, and thus I have the priviledge to work with the Maghreb countries which are entirely french speaking. It’s a strange beast colonialism, some countries revolt against it, others like Morocco embrace it. Maybe on some level, the Moroccans appreciate being independent and being governed by a decendant of the Prophet, but on the other hand, most of the government and business (i.e. anyone who knows how to read and write) are french speaking as much as they are arabic speaking. And proud of it. So, often times, not only do I found myself in unfamiliar places, but also in unfamiliar french speaking places. Depending on the moment, I tend to see it as hell or as paradise. All in all, it’s a love-hate relationship. It was a little more on the hate side when I was in the region during Ramadan, which implied going until iftar (Arabic for breaking fast – about 6pm) without food. I tried to sneak in some granola once as we we trying to catch a taxi, the driver stopped, shared his thoughts on eating during Ramadan, and then drove off (without taking us I must note). I thought of sharing that revealing my cultural affiliations, but on a second consideration I decided to keep it to myself.
Going to Rabat last week was a little better, for one I could eat, and also I reached the new height of delivering a presentation in french to a fairly big audience and not having tomatos thrown at me. Maybe its because they’ve had a drought for the last few weeks. I put up some pictures, but unfortunately not much since I was mostly stuck in the hilton (http://www.flickr.com/photos/tomamico/sets). Of course, we also wondered around in the local souk which reminds me a little of the walls of jerusalem on some level, since the souk is incapsulated in this round wall which multiple entries around its perimeter. Being in the souk is obviously very much a local experience in every sense of the word, and hence always interesting. Pity there is no way I can ever pass for a local and mingle in. In a way, the souk and the medina are not very local but also very telling historical places in these countries, unlike in europe where the monuments, the bridges, and the parliament buildings forumulate the history. Of course, the mosques (which I always confuse since they are typically called into hassan something or mohammed something) are beautiful, and maybe I would appreciate them even more if I was allowed to go in. In any case, I find that it in only in the souk where one can catch the local flavours, gauge the level of poverty, take a temperature on social cohesion, see the attitude toward foreigners. For me, the souk, and travelling by train are the two most interesting methods of really seeing these countries - which is basically the opposite of taking an official tour. The urban centers are always very polished (except for the souk), and you don’t really get the sense of a developing country reality until you take a train and see the makeshift bedonvile homes along the way amidst the newly build train stations build on EU or US aid. I could not help but wonder if it is the general religiousness of people that helps they deal with the reality of living under a plastic ‘roof’ and walls put together of scraps next to newly constructed blocks of flats and train stations. In a way, every one of us depressed western people could benefit from living the real life in one of these countries, I think it would make us a whole lot happier. But of course, the reality is that my stomach barely accepts the local 4 star hotel food, and even that with a pack of antibiotics.
As a result, I am always happy to find myself in a paris, even it can be rude to those unfamiliar with it. According to a friend, some japanese tourists even had to get evacuated ty the local embassy due to a shock of the local reality and seeing that not all parisians are stylish, skinny, rich and smell good. I suggested to her that the real shock may be due to the fact that they are not allowed to buy more than four items from the louis vuitton store. Joke alert: this is true, and they often try to avoid it by giving money to others with local passports who can get them an extra one thousand euro bag. I think I should quit my job at the oecd and bring those vuitton bags I see in millions in moroccan souks and sell them at a discount here to the japanese tourists. And since I cannot think of any ideas more creative, I am going to stop here.
Suffice it to say that the mood is up in anticipation of christmas holidays, and I would probably join the shopping craze too if not for the fact that by the time I leave the office, I can kiss good bye the idea of buying anything since another one of france’s traditions – and this one I think purely cultural – goes something like this “one shall close shop by 8”. Unfortunately, despite the friendliness of the local folk and my general familiarity with all the local shops, my impression is that they are not going to change their ways anytime soon, and certainly not on my account. Actually, some shop owners are having a hard enough time understanding me during normal working hours, let alone later. I recently stopped by a local shop to get some sort of a french saussage, pointing to the thing and saying that I just want this orangy looking thing. The man of course immediately broke into the monologue about the type of the sausage that it is (blah blah blah) only to register pure indifference on my face. I was then forced to explain to him that this is actually for my very much meat eating boyfriend and that I actually don’t consume any dead animals. Well, although the expression on his face is rather difficult to put in words – it was equivalent to what I would imagine the expression of a priest when told that you don’t believe in god. I have to admit, I never tried to do that, but it should give you the idea…
Other than strange social encounters, my courage to dive into social coversations is growing, but not nearly sufficiently fast. This is despite my courageous - and I would even go as far as to say - stoic efforts to take classes after work which means never coming home before 9. I am sure on some level its paying off, and according to my professor, my vocabulaty is rather decent, but arriving to the point of getting the social lingo that is often not in the oxford dictionary is a whole different story. Trust me. This of course does not much faciliate social interactions, but at least I got to a level of mutual understanding or misunderstanding, and even I am even trying (and this is really a key word here) to plunge into some work related activities in french. I know this must be hillarious to most french speakers, but I am actually the most french speaking member of our team at the oecd, and thus I have the priviledge to work with the Maghreb countries which are entirely french speaking. It’s a strange beast colonialism, some countries revolt against it, others like Morocco embrace it. Maybe on some level, the Moroccans appreciate being independent and being governed by a decendant of the Prophet, but on the other hand, most of the government and business (i.e. anyone who knows how to read and write) are french speaking as much as they are arabic speaking. And proud of it. So, often times, not only do I found myself in unfamiliar places, but also in unfamiliar french speaking places. Depending on the moment, I tend to see it as hell or as paradise. All in all, it’s a love-hate relationship. It was a little more on the hate side when I was in the region during Ramadan, which implied going until iftar (Arabic for breaking fast – about 6pm) without food. I tried to sneak in some granola once as we we trying to catch a taxi, the driver stopped, shared his thoughts on eating during Ramadan, and then drove off (without taking us I must note). I thought of sharing that revealing my cultural affiliations, but on a second consideration I decided to keep it to myself.
Going to Rabat last week was a little better, for one I could eat, and also I reached the new height of delivering a presentation in french to a fairly big audience and not having tomatos thrown at me. Maybe its because they’ve had a drought for the last few weeks. I put up some pictures, but unfortunately not much since I was mostly stuck in the hilton (http://www.flickr.com/photos/tomamico/sets). Of course, we also wondered around in the local souk which reminds me a little of the walls of jerusalem on some level, since the souk is incapsulated in this round wall which multiple entries around its perimeter. Being in the souk is obviously very much a local experience in every sense of the word, and hence always interesting. Pity there is no way I can ever pass for a local and mingle in. In a way, the souk and the medina are not very local but also very telling historical places in these countries, unlike in europe where the monuments, the bridges, and the parliament buildings forumulate the history. Of course, the mosques (which I always confuse since they are typically called into hassan something or mohammed something) are beautiful, and maybe I would appreciate them even more if I was allowed to go in. In any case, I find that it in only in the souk where one can catch the local flavours, gauge the level of poverty, take a temperature on social cohesion, see the attitude toward foreigners. For me, the souk, and travelling by train are the two most interesting methods of really seeing these countries - which is basically the opposite of taking an official tour. The urban centers are always very polished (except for the souk), and you don’t really get the sense of a developing country reality until you take a train and see the makeshift bedonvile homes along the way amidst the newly build train stations build on EU or US aid. I could not help but wonder if it is the general religiousness of people that helps they deal with the reality of living under a plastic ‘roof’ and walls put together of scraps next to newly constructed blocks of flats and train stations. In a way, every one of us depressed western people could benefit from living the real life in one of these countries, I think it would make us a whole lot happier. But of course, the reality is that my stomach barely accepts the local 4 star hotel food, and even that with a pack of antibiotics.
As a result, I am always happy to find myself in a paris, even it can be rude to those unfamiliar with it. According to a friend, some japanese tourists even had to get evacuated ty the local embassy due to a shock of the local reality and seeing that not all parisians are stylish, skinny, rich and smell good. I suggested to her that the real shock may be due to the fact that they are not allowed to buy more than four items from the louis vuitton store. Joke alert: this is true, and they often try to avoid it by giving money to others with local passports who can get them an extra one thousand euro bag. I think I should quit my job at the oecd and bring those vuitton bags I see in millions in moroccan souks and sell them at a discount here to the japanese tourists. And since I cannot think of any ideas more creative, I am going to stop here.
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