sıcak

It's so darn hot I'm counting the times I go from the room to the kitchen to stick my head under the tap water that should be cold but feels like warm milk. any northern country would be close to paradise in this heat. Siberia is not around the corner but ikea is with a full cheap meal for 2.95, air conditioning, a plug at the table and free wifi. I so love Sweden.

It's been raining in İstanbul like crazy and I remember taking shelter from the water in İstiklal avenue, rich and poor sharing the same excitement while the waters flowed like rivers down the streets of Beyoğlu. I got back to the hotel room thoroughly wet, shoes, clothes, hair, every single piece of me so wet and yet I was so totally and completely happy of just being there.

walking

em Balat

Eyüp

toward Pierre Loti

back to Fatih, Beyazit

harem

arnavutkoy

emirgan

süleymaniye

ohmygosh, yandex

yandex!

faço minhas--

“…Istanbul é quello che cercavo. Sono arrivata da una settimana é già mi ruba il fiato e il sonno. Quanto tempo sprecato prima di raggiungerla! Ho la sensazione che mi stesse aspettando. Silenziosa. Mentre correvo dietro ad una vita tanto faticosa quanto inutile. Qui le cose scorrono più lente e morbide. Questo vento leggero scioglie tutti i pensieri e fa vibrare il corpo. Adesso finalmente sento di poter ricominciare”

 Hamam - Ferzan Özpetek -1995

beautiful Bursa

Bursa Büyükşehir Belediyesi tarafından çekilen Bursa Klibi, ‘Heritage In Motion Awards 2015’ yarışmasında 1. olmayı hedefliyor.- Yarışmada, Türkiye’yi temsil eden Bursa Büyükşehir Belediyesi ile birlikte Norveç, İngiltere, Hollanda, Hırvatistan Fransa, İskoçya, İzlanda ve Finlandiya finale kaldı.
Posted by Bursa on Saturday, April 18, 2015

inferno livreiro (era uma vez e não era uma vez)

o primeiro livro de Elif Shafak em português e, que eu veja, como o mesmo problema de todos os Pamuk: a tradução é a partir de que língua? não diz, não deve ter importância, esse pormenor, a língua, para o editor.

à porta da Lello está um jovem de fato a dar cartõezinhos a dizer visitante a quem entra. fica-se logo com a ideia que comprar livros na livraria é escusado. escusado é também tentar olhar para os livros com a verdadeira multidão-rebanho que se arrasta com o olho mecânico apontado às escadas. não sei porque não põem ordem na coisa: ou paga entrada ou compra livro. mas que inferno livreiro.

do tempo dos heróis (muito a ler)

“In that man there’s a brave heart, a good brain, and great humanity,” he tells his wife. “He’s so big-hearted that both the aghas and the government are afraid of him. Terrified of him. There were 500 bandits in the mountains, but that didn’t bother the government. Why not? Because they were not generous, big-hearted men.”

as palavras de Kemal sobre o seu herói revolucionário, de um longo artigo do NY Times por ocasião da sua morte.

funeral de Kemal em Tesvikiye. ali no portão de entrada da elegante mesquita vi sentada a cigana vendedora de flores, ela própria cheia de flores, no lenço da cabeça e nas saias compridas. talvez estivesse descalça, mas já imagino. um pouco acima o plátano de Pamuk, do outro lado da rua um pequeno centro comercial luxuoso.

- - -


sobre flower selling in Istanbul:
alienação cultural e feminina, a política do genocídio cultural e sexista, a normalização triste do mundo. a pena que tenho que as autoridades turcas (mas aqui podia pôr tantos outros nomes) não guardem este património como se de estátuas valiosíssimas se tratassem, cujo desaparecimento empobrece irremediavelmente não só a sua cidade como a humanidade em geral.

One distinguishing feature that the World Bank failed to mention is that workers in the informal economy are periodically hassled by the authorities to join in, pay, up, and get with the program. We read just today, for example, that the officials in Istanbul, Turkey, awarded a contract to Birikim Consultant Firm to build kiosks throughout the city that flowers sellers might rent. The city said the kiosks would be constructed at a considerable distance from existing flower stalls and that sellers would then be free either to keep on at their present locations or move to the new spots to sell. Sevim Songun’s intriguing article for the Hurriyet Daily News reports that “some 15 kiosks were recently set up near where Roma people sell flowers.” The vendors have complained they’re being pressured to move, and they choose not to. In part, they say, because in renting the kiosks they will have to commit to regular (and long) hours and fixed prices. Bargaining room, and sometimes barter, are characteristic of the informal economy, too, as are flexible schedules. “I am selling flowers to students,” said Emine Çetinbaşlar, one vendor. “Sometimes they do not have enough money, and I can prepare flowers for them for two Turkish Liras. Sometimes they do not have any money, and I still give them flowers, and they pay me whenever they get the money,” she told Songun.

There are an estimated 400 flower stalls in Istanbul, most of them operated by Roma.
Photo: Mehveş Konuk, for Hürriyet Daily News

 According to the head of one flower seller’s group, some company officials “invited Roma flower-sellers” to consider the spiffier sales outlets, telling them “the female vendors would have to wear miniskirts and put on make-up if they wanted to work at the new kiosks.” Whether or not that requirement is true, it’s a hilarious fable of how captains of the formal economy struggle to get everybody on board and how, in the absence of other kinds of power, those in the informal economy use their wiles to struggle back. “The Istanbul municipality told the Daily News in a written statement that the street vendors were informed about the practices in the new kiosks, which include a dress code of black pants, a white T-shirt and an apron for the female sellers. ‘Wearing make-up is not compulsory, but the vendors are told it would be more suitable if they look clean, elegant and well-groomed,’ said the statement, adding that the renters should pay attention to the cleanliness of their kiosks as well.” What’s that sound we hear? It’s the progressives’ battle cry: Get clean! Get ”elegant”! And, hey, get grateful! Can you see, we’re trying to help!

daqui.

Belgin Akaltan

que escreveu isto:

Turkey handbook for Americans

Cut this and save it. You may need it again. These are basics for our country, especially for Americans. These are the areas where they make the biggest mistakes.

Before that, these are not for ordinary Americans who travel here or come to live here. The “Americans” at the title refers to strategists, think tanks, diplomats, politicians, opinion setters and rapporteurs; in short all decision makers. For the ordinary American, Turkey is like any other country outside America; you think it is strange, nothing like your own country.

But with an average intelligence, observation ability, good sense of humor and a healthy mind you will be able to get by and figure out Turkey and Turkish people easily. You will be eating olives at breakfast and dipping your bread into the “juice of the salad” in no time.

I don’t know how and through what mechanisms the Turkey policy of the United States is structured, but there is one thing for sure; I can tell you it goes wrong most of the time, and it goes wrong big time from time to time. The purpose of this article is to avoid those disastrous deviations. I mean you guys lose time and money; you make us lose time. You also lose your aim. You deviate from your target. And here, our lives are wasted; generations of lives are spent correcting things, just because some half-wits think they know what is best for a country…

I want to start with U.S. President Barack Obama’s visit to Turkey. That was the first giant clue you were doing something wrong, very wrong.

Obama was taking questions on April 7, 2009 while he was in Istanbul during a student roundtable at Tophane.

Which idiot suggested that to him? I don’t know. I think it was a benchmark in the perception of the Islamization of Turkey. Not even Turkish politicians utter such sentences. Obama wanted to hurry so that nobody was late for the Friday prayers. He said, “I want to make sure that we end before the call to prayer.”

Oh gosh, are we in the 18th century at the time of Sultan Mustafa? When was the last time a visiting leader made reference to the Friday prayers thinking it was a good gesture?

I was appalled. What prayers? Who told you that Friday prayers were a part of the Turkish working routine? Which advisors told him that saying that would make him sound wise?

Even in the Quran, with my limited knowledge of Muslim practices, work comes first. You finish your duties and work and then go to the mosque. And Friday prayers are only for men. What about the girls at the student roundtable at Tophane Cultural Center? Are they supposed to wait until men do their prayers and is Obama really willing to be a part of this? We have been fighting this mentality for more than 80 years…

Now, here are the points to keep in mind while designing Turkey policies:

First point: There is no moderate Islam. There is no moderate, democratic, modernized version of political Islam. The ones that seem moderate to you are only deceiving you. If you support Islamist political movements, you end up with the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL). If you mentor their climb to power, when Islamist minds are given power, the first thing they will do is restrict the rights of women and non-Muslims.

There is no liberal Islam. Their democracy and liberalism are only for themselves and for men. How many times do we have to experience this over and over again until you learn this basic fact?
Did it ever dawn on you that Mustafa Kemal Atatürk is a leader we genuinely love with all our hearts? He was a reformist and evolved Turkey into a modern country from a potential tribal community. We love him not because he was a dictator or that we were forced to love him. We have his pictures everywhere because we want to. We love him because he was a true genius. My love for Atatürk multiplies as time goes by. Do not doubt Atatürk, the best thing that has ever happened to this country.

The headscarf is not freedom. For a woman to cover her head with a scarf so that her hair is not seen by other men is an ideology. It is one more imposition on women orchestrated by men. Not many discuss whether it is a must or not.

For the real dumbs: There is no female circumcision in Turkey. It is not heard of. Do not make that mistake. This fact also proves that female circumcision is not a Muslim practice. But if you want to discuss male circumcision, then let’s all wait until 2515, the year I am guessing we will be able to discuss this issue impartially, freely, without offending anyone.

Makings laws does not mean anything. Writing a new constitution does not mean anything in this land.
This is also for Europeans: At the beginning of this regime, their reformist side was highly appreciated in Europe and the U.S. We felt stupid when our warnings were not taken seriously. Why did we have to wait more than 10 years for you to understand? It was hurtful seeing you embrace and pamper them.

The “hood event” has not been forgotten. Our national pride was at stake. Better think of doing something about it because it will last 15 more generations. Admit this was a serious mistake, make an official apology. Exaggerate. This will remain akin to a bleeding wound unless you do something about it.

When you want to support a leader or a prospective leader, scrutinize his or her past. Find a wise Turkish person to ask, ask local sociologists… An imam high school, a mediocre city college and a career in selling tickets at İETT is not a good combination… Neither is being an economy professor at Boğaziçi a sufficient criterion…

This is about all.

- -

mais coisas escritas por ela.

sem ter a ver, hoje foi o dia em que morreu Yaşar Kemal.

the lovely

nas galerias de ezequiel.

da wiki:

Arnavutköy (meaning "Albanian village" in Turkish; Greek: Μέγα Ρεύμα, Méga Révma) is a historic neighbourhood in Istanbul, Turkey, famous for its wooden Ottoman mansions and seafood restaurants, as well as the campus of the prestigious Robert College with its centennial buildings. It is part of the Beşiktaş district of Istanbul, and is located between Ortaköy and Bebek on the European shoreline of the Bosphorus strait.


During the Byzantine period, the village has been known with the Greek names Hestai, Promotu, and Anaplus.

The population, in a publication of the Şirket-i Hayriye (Istanbul Ferryboat Company) written just before the First World War, was given as 493 Turks and Muslims in 168 households, and 5973 Greeks in 975 households. Arnavutköy also had a large Jewish community during most of the Ottoman period, but many Jews moved away after the great Arnavutköy fire of 1877.

Arnavutköy was historically famous for its Ottoman strawberry, a less juicy and smaller kind than the usual strawberries found throughout Turkey. To date, some strawberry fields survive in the inland of the district and every spring local groceries are pillaged by strawberry lovers.

In 1863, Robert College, which is the oldest American school outside the United States, was established in its current campus which originally stretched from Arnavutköy to the vicinity of Bebek and Rumelihisarı. In 1971, a section of this campus became part of Boğaziçi University, which was formerly the college section of the school. The high school section, formerly named Robert Academy (RA) is still an American school and is located in the Arnavutköy side of the historic Robert College campus.

Arnavutköy harmoniously represents the coexistence of citizens from different ethnic and religious backgrounds, being one of the historic neighbourhoods of Istanbul where one can find a mosque, a church and a synagogue within close proximity. The sidewalk by the sea is always full of individuals fishing, while small fishing boats frequently pass by Arnavutköy's coastline on the Bosphorus. The fresh fish that is caught is sometimes sold to the seafood restaurants in the area.

palimpsesto

dois a dois, o segundo jogo, o segundo volume. leio o tempo perdido em golos, ou depressa distraída da história e de tudo o resto, ou em atenção total com dobras em todas as páginas para me lembrar de onde estão passagens memoráveis e em substituição dos sublinhados e notas a lápis. trinta anos depois quando volto aos livros antigos, releio as notas e continuam a ser hoje exactamente o que pensaria sobre aquelas passagens, excluindo as hipotéticas relações com outras obras que na altura não existiam ou eu não tinha lido (uma parte da Françoise de Proust, apenas uma parte, são as mulheres de Cardoso Pires). desisti então das notas como desisti da ideia de passar os livros e os guardar para alguém que não seja eu. na idade do excesso de livros, em que ninguém os quer nem as bibliotecas, vai existir também a falta de livros em que já ninguém os tem. sei lá o que digo.
levei a passear uma mulher de alguma idade, como simpatia, por locais do coração. não sei se agradeceu porque só me lembro de ter dito que aquilo eram tudo coisas velhas a precisar de reparação. se me tivesse insultado directamente não teria sido pior.
outros dois: de Proust tenho apenas sete para ler, mas de Pamuk virão aí em tradução mais dois, um longo e outro que o autor termina agora, curto.

(For now, Pamuk is focusing on putting the finishing touches to a new novel which he says will be a surprise for some readers.In typical Pamuk style, it tells the story of a well digger in Istanbul and his apprentice and is “allegorical.”But this time there is a difference.“The whole problem here is that this time I want to write a short novel, and break the heart of my traditional readers who always tell me to write a long one,” he said.") imagino que o número de notícias recentes tenham origem nalguma entrevista que tenha dado na deslocação ao Cairo.

diz ele que Istanbul (prefiro vê-la com n, com m a palavra parece-me gorda) é um palimpsesto da civilização. visto que palimpsesto é: Palimpsesto (do grego antigo παλίμψηστος, transl. "palímpsêstos", "aquilo que se raspa para escrever de novo": πάλιν, "de novo" e ψάω, "arranhar, raspar") designa um pergaminho ou papiro cujo texto foi eliminado para permitir a reutilização. Tal prática foi adotada na Idade Média, sobretudo entre os séculos VII e XII, devido ao elevado custo do pergaminho. A eliminação do texto era feita através de lavagem ou, mais tarde, de raspagem com pedra-pomes. (nunca mais me esqueço da pedra-pomes neste sentido, quando tirar a própria pele vou relembrar que poderia estar a retirar uma estrofe ou um parágrafo), também a cidade é reescrita, partes dela são apagadas, outras afundam em camadas de tempo, aquilo precisamente que me fez desejar ser dali e estar ali para todo o meu sempre. o meu sempre, porém, está naquelas casas velhas a precisar de reparação, os reparadores no lugar da pedra-pomes.

o meu sótão, de onde me esticava para cima das telhas quentes para ver o castelo que dali parecia maior. o privilégio que era ir lá, acrescido pelo secretismo da entrada, dissimulada nos tectos da casa. nas casas velhas de Sintra, os sótãos pertenciam ao passado e às crianças.

cidade desejada

.."como os que partem de viagem para ver com os próprios olhos uma cidade desejada e imaginam que se pode saborear numa certa realidade o encanto da fantasia.", Proust em Em busca do tempo perdido.
as possibilidades são tantas - as fantasias depostas nas cidades, as cidades que ultrapassam as suas próprias fantasias, as cidades fantasiadas por outros, as cidades invisíveis, as cidades soterradas nas memórias. difícil é estar onde se está.

(um local para habitar este inverno, no tempo perdido)

ruas

estava a ver um clip turístico sobre o grande bazar e lembrei-me do medo da s. que depois de lá se perder,  voltou para o hotel para não sair mais. são experiências. a primeira vez que lá entrei tinha o mapa na cabeça e visitámos uma parte reduzida. era feriado e fechava cedo, fomos literalmente corridos, mas saímos por onde tínhamos entrado, o mapa na cabeça. o grande bazar assenta numa colina suave e isso sente-se nos pés, há sempre uma inclinação e é fácil notar que todas as ruas e vielas descem. mais tarde encontrei o local que tinha desejado, um dos cafés mais antigos do bazar, onde julgo que durante a maior parte do tempo da sua muito longa história não entraram mulheres. tudo ali é mais velho do que o velho a que se está habituado. aquele local fica no coração do bazar. entre muitas vielas e atalhos, há buracos nas paredes com chá e café e kebabs, mas aquele lugar amplo com os tectos ogivalados é especial. no labirinto do bazar coberto, décadas depois do bazar descoberto de tânger, pensei que é assim a vida. os mapas na cabeça restringem mais do que conduzem, as ruas foram feitas para que as pessoas se percam nelas, só se encontra o que se perde primeiro e assim por diante, numa série de ideias repetidas mas que se tornam visíveis nas vielas do grande bazar. sempre a descer seguimos seguros para a saída, percorremos as ruas intensas dos retroseiros e dos tecidos, tantas mulheres, para acabar na mesquita nova junto ao Haliç dourado.

do 'Planisfério Pessoal' de Gonçalo Cadilhe

heart ablaze

"But it is no mortal love, this love of Istanbul. They carry me always in their hearts, and to me they must return: homesick, pining, missing me to death, their hearts ablaze with an unquenchable love, solace for which can be found nowhere else. Once an Istanbullu, always an Istanbullu. I am the last song on the lips of dying exiles; I am pain and poetry; even to those who imagine they have left me of their own accord, I remain forever their lost home; for I am the smell of earth, the tang of sea, the stuff of dreams. I am Istanbul. City of magic, city of enchantment, object of the world's desire"
em I Am Istanbul de Buket Uzuner.

Hoca Ali Riza, de Üskudar

porque se pode ter uma vida aqui e outra ali. não cheguei a referir (ou referi?) a excelente exposição sobre os palácios reais de Espanha que está na Gulbenkian, gratuita ao domingo. para além de umas naturezas mortas impressionantes, como costuma ser a pintura europeia daquele período, tapeçarias- bordadas à mão com seda e ouro em base de lã, a uma colecção de poemas de Afonso X, outros livros - folios, outras iluminuras de cores tão vivas, dourados, um espanto. talvez volte.

Ayrılık Çeşmesi

"After Göztepe, Ünalan and Acıbadem stations, I switched trains at Ayrılık Çeşmesi, which is the historic “Separation Fountain.” It is the place where Ottoman armies would conduct their last training and camp at the İbrahimağa pasture before they set out on a campaign. It was also the sendoff point for the hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca. It is a farewell place for any occasion. If a civil servant is appointed to Anatolia, his family, neighbors, friends would come and see him off from this place.
My late mother said it was where sweethearts were sent off to their military services. I wonder if my mother sent off her fiancé (my father) to his military service here. Also I wonder if my grandmother said farewell here to my grandfather going on the hajj, actually seeing him for the last time because he died there, orphaning my toddler mother and baby uncle. I will never know."

daqui, the phantom of the bosphorus.
afinal estive tão perto. sempre pensei que este ponto fosse a imponente haydarpasa.

blue

pilav

"At any Konya feast, one sweet dish follows every two savoury dishes. So after our yogurt soup (topped with a bit of fat from the other soup – not strictly traditional, said Nevin) and a pilav mixed with chickpeas and topped with chunks of lamb, we had irmik helvası. Then came a tangy okra soup and some pilav topped with fried meat. As friends of the family, we were treated to an extra portion of meat concealed under the rice (this is quaintly called denizaltı, “under the sea”). At the end came the soupy rice pudding zerde, which in Konya is not necessarily coloured yellow with saffron."

daqui.

também gostei de 'the pang of exile it inflicts on even the departing weekend visitor'... igualmente na Cornucopia.

Ezogelin Çorbası

Turkish spicy red lentil soup. como faço A sopa.

para 3. preparar 15 mim. cozinhar 40 min.

1/2 chávena de lentilhas vermelhas lavadas e escorridas
1/2 cebola ou uma cebola pequena picada
1 colher de sopa e meia de bulgur lavado e escorrido
850ml caldo de galinha ou água
2 colheres de sopa de pasta de tomate

1/2 colher de sopa de picante, opcional
2 colheres de sopa de azeite
1/2 colher de sopa de menta seca
1 colher de chá de paprika (flakes se possível)
sumo de meio limão
sal e pimenta
fatias de limão para servir

Colocar as lentilhas, o bulgur, cebola e saldo de falinha ao lume. Ferver e deixar cozinhar em lume baixo durante 30 minutos ou até as lentilhas e o bulgur estarem tenros. Juntar o azeite, a menta, a paprika e a pasta de tomate e deixar cozinhar mais 15 minutos até a sopa ter uma consistência cremosa. Acrescentar o sumo de limão e mais água, se for necessário. Temperar e servir com as fatias de limão.

Afiyet Olsun.

obrigada, a.

ou porque aquele país nunca sairá dos meus sonhos. 

um pouco ao encontro do livro que ando a devorar, Patasana, onde a "acção policial" se desenrola numa escavação perto de Gaziantep. (que bom Ühmit, um homem antes de autor na mesma prateleira de homens como Sepúlveda e Mia Couto, embora não tanto na escrita, dentro da ideia ainda viva da literatura mudando para melhor o mundo).

Seleucia, fundada 300 anos antes de Cristo por um dos generais de Alexandre o Grande (não exactamente pelos "gregos"). a escavação hitita que leio agora tem 1600 anos antes de Cristo. cada vez que erdogan constrói uma ponte, autoestrada ou barragem ou até o metro de Istanbul, as camadas de vidas que desenterra são a própria ilustração da existência humana. absolutamente fascinante.

de certo modo, nascemos deste rio, como Náiades saídas da água. (para ter uma ideia temporal, os fenícios - sírios e libaneses - fundaram Lisboa 1200 anos antes de Cristo como um entreposto marítimo. porque a água desta península é salgada.)

quanto a Seleucia-Zeugma, outra cidade do Eufrates.

the gipsy girl, da wiki.

(e cá como lá mas lá para muito pior: a política de construção de barragens como forma de poder, de escravidão, de manipulação, de soberania.)