London is just as I remembered it: bustling, bloody cold, bleak and blustry. I've been sporting some terrific hairstyles as a result of leaving the house with a Do which is quickly corrupted by the local gale. I've frightened myself enough in bus windows to check whether I've been sucking my iPod.
My first week was spent in the Souf with Neeni and Tony near Brixton. Neeni is almost baked now and is looking well distended. She enjoys the preg-a-ttention and rubs her tummy gleefully whilst occassionaly querying how the hell it's going to come out. Whilst in the Souf, Bron managed to give me two weeks temping for her at Eon Scriptwriter's Workshop (a part of the production company that do the Bond films). The work was boring, but the offices and people were nice and situated on the dark-blue part of the Monopoly Board. My computer looked out onto Green Park which, on it's further shores, sported Buckingham Palace. Bron and I went for a walk to wave to the Queen from the gates but Queen Vic's pompous statue was much more exciting than the puritan Palace. This adventure has started us squeeling 'Joo-bi-Leee' in HRH's pronounced accent everytime we're on the esteemed silver tube line celebrating said anniversary.
Went to Bron and Grant's couch after that just off very trendy Brick Lane in the East. It's a great spot and in the centre of everything, my only complaint is the Bricky Boys in the stairwells smoking pot and talking until ungodly hours. I spent Christmas with these two which was a well-fed affair. We made a huge Christmas feast fit for ungulates with faux-meat abbundance which kept us full for days and days. New Years was spent at the 'painfully cool' Boom Box party which was fun, trashy and slippery. We celebrated with 3am falaffel rolls which, to my horror, were in Pita pockets and un-rolled - heathens!
Bron managed to get me a cat-sitting gig in Crouch End (North) which has provided rent free accom for the last few weeks. The cats are with me always. When I'm not picking their detritus from my black-artsworker wardrobe they stare at me like I've eaten their first-born. I've been incredibly lucky to have a well-coordinated, caring and patient social set already established in this town. Very grateful.
Have finally got a room in Harringay (North) between Manor House and Turnpike Lane tubes with two very nice and down-to-Earth Indie boys. The house is clean, cosy, calm and conveniently un-expensive. Am very excited at the prospect of unpacking my bag in my own room. Move in this week. Liberte!
Have spent most of my time applying for jobs online and watching boxsets of the Sopranos. The Sopranos make me feel good about my situation and the job hunting keeps me involved. Had a few bites from two agencies and a good interview and few apps to do this week. The planets slowly align....
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Venice the Menace
Ok, so I'm backdating...
Final days in Venice were hardwork. Lots of packing of boxes, inventories and lethargy in 7 degree venues with poor lighting. It was hard, but it got done. Enjoyed spending time with Sophie where we 'worked' but also spent some quality time shopping and eating.
I knew I was ready to leave water-world when Sophie and I went to a cachetti bar (Venetian version of McDonalds) and I ordered an aranciatta with mozzarella and polenta *ik* and, while I ate it at the diner tables I was forced to watch the rear end of a husky being hand fed fried things by its owner whilst listening to the happyhouse mix of Popcorn... on repeat - no, i'm not exagerating either. I think living anywhere will eventually break you down but Venice has an incredible capacity to make you whince with both wonder and bewilderment. Its parochial beauty infiltrates the culture of the place, and its people, who struggle to live in a Disneyland of discomfort and unsuitability. It's hard not to get mad when you are charged Euro 4.50 for a glass of tap water in the only club in town above a supermarket.
That being said I've been incredibly fortunate to be here. And I've particularly enjoyed spending time with some of my local comrades over some lovely dinners on the mainland at Mestre with Nasko and Massimo, and Brooke and Niko but also in Venice with Simone and Biljana. Mestre felt normal: it had cars and buses and supermarkets and coriander! It was wonderful and normal and the company was splendid. Brenda and I got a little tippled at Naskos and gave an intense and straight-up version of Australia, warts and all. I hope our guests found it interesting - we obviously had complex opinions about Australia which we'd discovered since our absence from home - both good and bad.
I spent some catch-up time doing touristy things: Basilica San Marco, the clocktower, Campo Frari and its church, Torcello (one of the outlying islands on the laguna), the Academy, the Doge's palace. The amount of renaissance painting that dons the walls of so many buildings is shocking. You get neck cricks from having to tilt for the next Titian. Too much to talk about regarding the sights but it was more engaging than I had thought. S. Marco is just gorgeous with some terrific mosaics and the reliquaries and bits of holy bodies in jars and crystal boxes. On top of the church you can see the people and pigeons in the square below and we'd been told about a certain tidbit of carnage on the west side. Sure enough, two concrete pillars facing Giudecca housed an array of disembowled pigeon carcasses being picked over by the I-can't-believe-they're-not-seagulls that are more super-petrel than gull. Jess almost threw-up despite her morbid interest. I've got pictures but available only request - bit too graphic. I nice visual metaphor for Venezia: happy tourists below ancient pillars housing carnivorous fauna.
Ended up moving into a Venetian sixties 'set of a soft porn' apartment. Brenda and I enjoyed a small photo shoot in our final days to celebrate the beauty of it. My room was salmon pink and had a lovely leather setee in which you could admire the brass vase with ostrich feathers, the madonna above the bed and the fully carpeted floor to ceiling curved room. mmm-mmm.
Amid goodbyes and farewells it was time to leave Venice the menace.
Final days in Venice were hardwork. Lots of packing of boxes, inventories and lethargy in 7 degree venues with poor lighting. It was hard, but it got done. Enjoyed spending time with Sophie where we 'worked' but also spent some quality time shopping and eating.
I knew I was ready to leave water-world when Sophie and I went to a cachetti bar (Venetian version of McDonalds) and I ordered an aranciatta with mozzarella and polenta *ik* and, while I ate it at the diner tables I was forced to watch the rear end of a husky being hand fed fried things by its owner whilst listening to the happyhouse mix of Popcorn... on repeat - no, i'm not exagerating either. I think living anywhere will eventually break you down but Venice has an incredible capacity to make you whince with both wonder and bewilderment. Its parochial beauty infiltrates the culture of the place, and its people, who struggle to live in a Disneyland of discomfort and unsuitability. It's hard not to get mad when you are charged Euro 4.50 for a glass of tap water in the only club in town above a supermarket.
That being said I've been incredibly fortunate to be here. And I've particularly enjoyed spending time with some of my local comrades over some lovely dinners on the mainland at Mestre with Nasko and Massimo, and Brooke and Niko but also in Venice with Simone and Biljana. Mestre felt normal: it had cars and buses and supermarkets and coriander! It was wonderful and normal and the company was splendid. Brenda and I got a little tippled at Naskos and gave an intense and straight-up version of Australia, warts and all. I hope our guests found it interesting - we obviously had complex opinions about Australia which we'd discovered since our absence from home - both good and bad.
I spent some catch-up time doing touristy things: Basilica San Marco, the clocktower, Campo Frari and its church, Torcello (one of the outlying islands on the laguna), the Academy, the Doge's palace. The amount of renaissance painting that dons the walls of so many buildings is shocking. You get neck cricks from having to tilt for the next Titian. Too much to talk about regarding the sights but it was more engaging than I had thought. S. Marco is just gorgeous with some terrific mosaics and the reliquaries and bits of holy bodies in jars and crystal boxes. On top of the church you can see the people and pigeons in the square below and we'd been told about a certain tidbit of carnage on the west side. Sure enough, two concrete pillars facing Giudecca housed an array of disembowled pigeon carcasses being picked over by the I-can't-believe-they're-not-seagulls that are more super-petrel than gull. Jess almost threw-up despite her morbid interest. I've got pictures but available only request - bit too graphic. I nice visual metaphor for Venezia: happy tourists below ancient pillars housing carnivorous fauna.
Ended up moving into a Venetian sixties 'set of a soft porn' apartment. Brenda and I enjoyed a small photo shoot in our final days to celebrate the beauty of it. My room was salmon pink and had a lovely leather setee in which you could admire the brass vase with ostrich feathers, the madonna above the bed and the fully carpeted floor to ceiling curved room. mmm-mmm.
Amid goodbyes and farewells it was time to leave Venice the menace.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Kevin Costner, MacGyver la la la
Week something... 5? 8? God, who knows. It's all so long ago now.
Venice continues to (mainly) delight. I have started to join the throngs of mainland peoples who love to hate this water world. Paninis for lunch, pizza and pasta for dinner, tourist traffic, siesta, attitude, dog poo, walking and walking and walking. I read a tourist blurb the other day that said 'there's no better city to get lost in'... I'm still deciding whether I agree. The social events have calmed since the two lynch pins have departed for home amid tears and long goodbyes. Memories of Venetian summer camp a la Dirty Dancing style abound.
Have now had a big dose of art after my two days off and have enjoyed my own quiet company. The Giardini, where the national pavilions are, is mediocre. Some pavilions are to be seen to be believed. I imagined some were tongue-in-cheek and then read the blurb or spoke to someone else and reclassified those assumptions. Although I enjoyed some of these exhibitions, the whole nationalist approach is a farce - kind of like that patronising 2000 Olympics egalitarianism where some poor bugger from Equatorial Guinea had to swim 100 metres in 4 minutes flat in front of a roaring public. Call me wiffy, but pa-lease. Some pavs in the gardens are good though: Poland, Japan, Hungary to name a few. The bitter cold in our own pavilion is bone crunching and it's only going to get worse. We're fully suited up, even in midday sun. It looks like a shed in Canberra and by golly and feels like one.
Arsenale, the large dock area of Venice is where the curated aspect of the exhibitions are and it IS good (thank god). Took me about 4-5 hours to complete but it was well worth the wander. Lots of cutting commentary on diplomacy, war and education that was right up and in your face political. Craps over Sydneyesque apathy. Arsenale had some accessible pieces too, a large six screen installation of long takes of strangers in the street saying 'I will die' was oddly but obviously fascinating. African pavilion had some terrific stuff although I did note that some (most) were from the diaspora. Contributes to the nationalist, race stuff again 'spose.
In the non-art world I've made some large steps to comfortability paramount of which has been the discovery of my local supermarket and finding it open - *gasp*. I knew it was around there somewhere, must have had its Venetian cloaking device on. Once inside, its modest baby-blue appearance is dissolved by terror. My inner golden-citizen rallys against the que jumping and elbows-out mentality of its visitors. It's the kind of place where there are 12 types of breadstick but no type of vegetable peeler. Was miffed to find that Australia has been bereft of Ovaltine Muesli - how very dare they! A staple now of my Euro-diet. The check out chick had a moustache and if i dared asked for bags i think i may have lost my front teeth, and alas I wasn't packing fast enough and my broccoli was belted into a corner by the wooden divider. Pronto, pronto.
I found Calle della Morte yesterday, the Street of Death. It's around the corner from the only square well in Venice on which is chiseled 'for priests only' in Latin. It looks more like a whipping cube than an aquaduct. Thinking of sculling a bottle of prosseco, with water from the well and then running down death street. Stay posted to hear what happens.
In the same area, locals told me that they were having an argument about which building in the campo was the oldest: that one - mid 11th C and that one, maybe 13th C, possible earlier. Pft.
With the excuse that we needed to hoik catalogues between the exhibition sites, Diego took me in his boat from the top of the giardini, in front of Giudecca, down the grand canal and all the way to Palazzo Zenobio (about 30 mins). It was awesome. His lagoon boat (which is flat bottomed) didn't like waves because it doesn't have a keel thus also providing ample opportunity for him to show off his impressive seamanship - choosing to chase, turn into or head into the 'waves' of the passing vaparetto traffic. I held on white-knuckled. Seeing the grand canal from a mini boat is much more awe inspiring. Lots of glitz palazzos, secret frescoes, hidden bits: ornate lights, fire engine boats, scary faces.
Horrendous Italian television is living up to its name. With a programming budget which must consist entirely of long-winded game shows and reality karaoke there's not much to watch... god, that sounds really familiar?! And because everything is dubbed in Italian there's no opportunity to enjoy American media-washing. Re-runs of Scooby-Doo and MacGyver are schlocky and funny and helping me learn the lingo (albeit from a time well past). Some classic Italian TV moments:
1) Kevin Costner dancing with the wife of a crippled man who always wanted to entertain the idea but thought Kev would be up for the job. Everyone cried
2) Manga actually making more sense in Italian than in Japanese or English
3) Watching the family Karaoke show which featured about 15 boy and girl models in tiny swimming outfits clapping out of time and swaying in opposite directions. Rationale for their presence unclear
Have been finding faster and faster ways to go places and have become much ruder when i want something which is helping me fit in. Gotta go and be butch / techy now. Have had lots of opportunity to clean projector filters, change lights and blah blah. Actually kind of fun.
Venice continues to (mainly) delight. I have started to join the throngs of mainland peoples who love to hate this water world. Paninis for lunch, pizza and pasta for dinner, tourist traffic, siesta, attitude, dog poo, walking and walking and walking. I read a tourist blurb the other day that said 'there's no better city to get lost in'... I'm still deciding whether I agree. The social events have calmed since the two lynch pins have departed for home amid tears and long goodbyes. Memories of Venetian summer camp a la Dirty Dancing style abound.
Have now had a big dose of art after my two days off and have enjoyed my own quiet company. The Giardini, where the national pavilions are, is mediocre. Some pavilions are to be seen to be believed. I imagined some were tongue-in-cheek and then read the blurb or spoke to someone else and reclassified those assumptions. Although I enjoyed some of these exhibitions, the whole nationalist approach is a farce - kind of like that patronising 2000 Olympics egalitarianism where some poor bugger from Equatorial Guinea had to swim 100 metres in 4 minutes flat in front of a roaring public. Call me wiffy, but pa-lease. Some pavs in the gardens are good though: Poland, Japan, Hungary to name a few. The bitter cold in our own pavilion is bone crunching and it's only going to get worse. We're fully suited up, even in midday sun. It looks like a shed in Canberra and by golly and feels like one.
Arsenale, the large dock area of Venice is where the curated aspect of the exhibitions are and it IS good (thank god). Took me about 4-5 hours to complete but it was well worth the wander. Lots of cutting commentary on diplomacy, war and education that was right up and in your face political. Craps over Sydneyesque apathy. Arsenale had some accessible pieces too, a large six screen installation of long takes of strangers in the street saying 'I will die' was oddly but obviously fascinating. African pavilion had some terrific stuff although I did note that some (most) were from the diaspora. Contributes to the nationalist, race stuff again 'spose.
In the non-art world I've made some large steps to comfortability paramount of which has been the discovery of my local supermarket and finding it open - *gasp*. I knew it was around there somewhere, must have had its Venetian cloaking device on. Once inside, its modest baby-blue appearance is dissolved by terror. My inner golden-citizen rallys against the que jumping and elbows-out mentality of its visitors. It's the kind of place where there are 12 types of breadstick but no type of vegetable peeler. Was miffed to find that Australia has been bereft of Ovaltine Muesli - how very dare they! A staple now of my Euro-diet. The check out chick had a moustache and if i dared asked for bags i think i may have lost my front teeth, and alas I wasn't packing fast enough and my broccoli was belted into a corner by the wooden divider. Pronto, pronto.
I found Calle della Morte yesterday, the Street of Death. It's around the corner from the only square well in Venice on which is chiseled 'for priests only' in Latin. It looks more like a whipping cube than an aquaduct. Thinking of sculling a bottle of prosseco, with water from the well and then running down death street. Stay posted to hear what happens.
In the same area, locals told me that they were having an argument about which building in the campo was the oldest: that one - mid 11th C and that one, maybe 13th C, possible earlier. Pft.
With the excuse that we needed to hoik catalogues between the exhibition sites, Diego took me in his boat from the top of the giardini, in front of Giudecca, down the grand canal and all the way to Palazzo Zenobio (about 30 mins). It was awesome. His lagoon boat (which is flat bottomed) didn't like waves because it doesn't have a keel thus also providing ample opportunity for him to show off his impressive seamanship - choosing to chase, turn into or head into the 'waves' of the passing vaparetto traffic. I held on white-knuckled. Seeing the grand canal from a mini boat is much more awe inspiring. Lots of glitz palazzos, secret frescoes, hidden bits: ornate lights, fire engine boats, scary faces.
Horrendous Italian television is living up to its name. With a programming budget which must consist entirely of long-winded game shows and reality karaoke there's not much to watch... god, that sounds really familiar?! And because everything is dubbed in Italian there's no opportunity to enjoy American media-washing. Re-runs of Scooby-Doo and MacGyver are schlocky and funny and helping me learn the lingo (albeit from a time well past). Some classic Italian TV moments:
1) Kevin Costner dancing with the wife of a crippled man who always wanted to entertain the idea but thought Kev would be up for the job. Everyone cried
2) Manga actually making more sense in Italian than in Japanese or English
3) Watching the family Karaoke show which featured about 15 boy and girl models in tiny swimming outfits clapping out of time and swaying in opposite directions. Rationale for their presence unclear
Have been finding faster and faster ways to go places and have become much ruder when i want something which is helping me fit in. Gotta go and be butch / techy now. Have had lots of opportunity to clean projector filters, change lights and blah blah. Actually kind of fun.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Ch-ch-ch-ch-ciao
Arrived in Venice on Sunday and it feels like I've been here for months already. Was promptly whipped off by some mates for spritz at a little red bar in Castello, where i'm now staying. From thereonin it's been a plethora of little shindigs: coffee with cream pastries, then pizza or panini at lunch, prosseco (like champagne) or spritz amporol for afternoon tea, venetian bar nibblies and then pasta for dinner. Mmmmm.
Wondered around in awe for the first couple of days trying to figure out if i was in EuroDisney. Venice is uncannily beautiful and charming that expect everything's papier mache. At least in EuroDisney there's less French people. The city is so charming and romantic – all these little bridges (ponts), campos (squares), crsuty buildings, leaning towers, winged lions au-go-go, velvet wallpaper, crystal chandeliers in faded palazzos, tacky mask shops, apartments with long gothic windows draped in bustle curtains and scary elvin doorknobs. It's insane. Ridiculous even.
I didn't realise how bloody confusing it is to get around here though! After a few boozies i did get lost for two hours the other night – and that was with a map. How humiliating. I've developed some golden rules for finding your way:
Just because it's a big street, doesn't make it a main street.
Campo hoping is method in madness
Don't orientate using landmarks such as 'old white church' or 'coloured glove shop' instead use 'triple umbrella light globe at left of blue unicorn with whirligig rainbow tail' or 'stucco lion holds 3 rose baskets in teeth below Atlas supporting chick with spear with big calves'
So i'm getting there.
My apartment is very cute now i've purged all the vestiges of the last grandma who was living there. I've thrown her shauls on the windows and and now i've got hot water (yes, no showers for four days) so am feeling human again. Even in the city of water, having to turn all the taps on to build pressure for a hot shower gives me drought guilts.
The work here is great. So far, super easy. The Australian staff are living it up and enjoying the place and the locals are too terrific – they keep us on our toes, show us all the places to go and laugh at our accents and bad Italian. Having local knowledge is a godsend and draws your appreciation for the place no end. I only use San Marco as a thoroughfare if you get my drift.
Had an aqua alto yesterday – high water. The lagoon sweeps through with a high tide which breaks above the canals and gets the boats stuck under the bridges. Everyone has to wear boots to wade through some parts and you need to walk on special planks whipped out at the last minute. Air raid sirens start going off and it all seems very dramatic for a few puddles. Even half submerged, Venice is gorgeous.
Kym is staying with me for the weekend which is nice. Last night we went out with some of the gang to the old Salt Refactory which has been converted into a night club but the local communist party???? Anyway, there are these amazing, ancient vaulted ceilings with ferals serving Becks, 6 foot Ukrainians chain-smoking and old boats propped against the walls instead of seats are all too cool for school.
Off to a Palazza over the otherside of town now by Vaparetto (the ferries around the canals and between the island). Unlike Veneitians who seem to be able to sit waiting on floating stops that ride heavy freshwater swells like Tokyo in earthquakes, I've been having the serious wobbles. Coupled with only a few hours sleep it could make me a little vommy.
Very, very happy.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Villas de Brits Abroad
Hard things to find in Cyprus: internet access, travel agencies that are open, Cyprians and supermarkets (that sell groceries, not souvenirs).
Easy things to find in Cyprus: tomatoes and cucumbers, sunburn, clear water, dust, Euro trash and leather workshops.
Cyprus has been chilled. Have been Villa-ing with Jen, Rebecca and Helen which has consisted of some softcore swimming, eating and beaching. The weather's been mild, the water's warm and the company has been relaxed - no-dramas. An improvement on Turkey.
The wedding was great. Lots of cheesy dancing in the discotheque and too many photos of Jen (who caught the bouquet) and her potential husbands. We all went to Nissy beach just outside Agia Napa and rented a peddaloe (sp?), which we'd been threatening to do for days. Felt like we were on for only about 10 mins before we had to return but not without some serious slippery dip action and some ominous flotsom and jetsom moments and the super high 45cm swell. I even tried skiing off the back as the poor girls put their lead foots to good use. The water was extraordinarily clean and even at about 10 metres, you can still see to the bottom. Not that there's much to see mind, just sand. Jen liked this, she feels so much more relaxed without any life in the water - no sharks, no jellies no bluebottles. It makes me feel unnerved.
Had the luxury of being driven in a car around the island and was relieved to find we weren't really amongst the Brits abroad who are spoilt (?) by theme clubs and bars that ruin the Cyprian sea towns with fibreglass monuments to kitsch. Ironically the Us sitcom F-R-I-E-N-D-S bar was about 1 metre squared and looked like a public toilet, guess they got the right balance there. I did harbour a soft spot for 'Magic Dancing Waters' a live performance with lights and gels that accentuate some kind of weird Las Vegas hydraulic action. Might take myself there on a hot date tonight ;)
Off to Venice tomorrow morning *sqwee* and looking forward to some quality time in my own apartment.
Easy things to find in Cyprus: tomatoes and cucumbers, sunburn, clear water, dust, Euro trash and leather workshops.
Cyprus has been chilled. Have been Villa-ing with Jen, Rebecca and Helen which has consisted of some softcore swimming, eating and beaching. The weather's been mild, the water's warm and the company has been relaxed - no-dramas. An improvement on Turkey.
The wedding was great. Lots of cheesy dancing in the discotheque and too many photos of Jen (who caught the bouquet) and her potential husbands. We all went to Nissy beach just outside Agia Napa and rented a peddaloe (sp?), which we'd been threatening to do for days. Felt like we were on for only about 10 mins before we had to return but not without some serious slippery dip action and some ominous flotsom and jetsom moments and the super high 45cm swell. I even tried skiing off the back as the poor girls put their lead foots to good use. The water was extraordinarily clean and even at about 10 metres, you can still see to the bottom. Not that there's much to see mind, just sand. Jen liked this, she feels so much more relaxed without any life in the water - no sharks, no jellies no bluebottles. It makes me feel unnerved.
Had the luxury of being driven in a car around the island and was relieved to find we weren't really amongst the Brits abroad who are spoilt (?) by theme clubs and bars that ruin the Cyprian sea towns with fibreglass monuments to kitsch. Ironically the Us sitcom F-R-I-E-N-D-S bar was about 1 metre squared and looked like a public toilet, guess they got the right balance there. I did harbour a soft spot for 'Magic Dancing Waters' a live performance with lights and gels that accentuate some kind of weird Las Vegas hydraulic action. Might take myself there on a hot date tonight ;)
Off to Venice tomorrow morning *sqwee* and looking forward to some quality time in my own apartment.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Artemis and the 40 Boobs
11-12 October
Did you know that Ephesian Artemis has about 40 boobs? She stands sarcophagus-like with a breast plate that has oodles and oodles of boobage poping like pomegranate seeds or black heads from her sternum. Other theories say they're bulls testicles. Regardless, if she was lactating she'd pass out after about two minutes. She was incredible!
Ephesus is one of the best preserved ancient cities in the world. There was lots of marble, graffiti, statues, pipes, columns, houses and pathways which really added to my empathic approach to history. Met a nice Australian woman called Belinda, who, despite her hesitancy towards ruins, thoroughly enjoyed the site too. We spent time finding weird signs and taking photos of American nannas posing like playboy bunnies in front of Ionic columns. The library at Ephesus was incredible, although Iwas a little disturbed that Epistome, the goddess of knowledge had lost her head. Also sat in the half-colosseum Ampitheatre and on a Roman public latrine. I've got lots of photos of Efes which i'll put up when I get round to it - they'll warrant further comment. Spent the night at a bourgeios hotel watching BBC world which was nice for a change.
Next day went to Pemmukale at the sight of the Roman city of Hierapolis. Our tour guide was a retired geologist so we learnt buggery. Luckily, the whole minibus had collectively rebelled against Attila the 2 toothed tour-operator so that we weren't force fed lunch at 11am, so not all bad. The ampitheatre at Hierapolis was also brilliant and a boisterous canadian guy who spent the whole time breaking into showtunes got to test his lung capacity. Unfortunately, the concave carvings beneath every Ampitheatre seat assisted his vocal capacity and we were amusingly plagued for the remainder of the trip. After seeing the city, we went to the calcium carbonate terraces which function as bathing hot springs looking out over the valley. Really incredible blues against the white of the deposits and the water was lush. Have some great pics of those too, will put up soon.
Did you know that Ephesian Artemis has about 40 boobs? She stands sarcophagus-like with a breast plate that has oodles and oodles of boobage poping like pomegranate seeds or black heads from her sternum. Other theories say they're bulls testicles. Regardless, if she was lactating she'd pass out after about two minutes. She was incredible!
Ephesus is one of the best preserved ancient cities in the world. There was lots of marble, graffiti, statues, pipes, columns, houses and pathways which really added to my empathic approach to history. Met a nice Australian woman called Belinda, who, despite her hesitancy towards ruins, thoroughly enjoyed the site too. We spent time finding weird signs and taking photos of American nannas posing like playboy bunnies in front of Ionic columns. The library at Ephesus was incredible, although Iwas a little disturbed that Epistome, the goddess of knowledge had lost her head. Also sat in the half-colosseum Ampitheatre and on a Roman public latrine. I've got lots of photos of Efes which i'll put up when I get round to it - they'll warrant further comment. Spent the night at a bourgeios hotel watching BBC world which was nice for a change.
Next day went to Pemmukale at the sight of the Roman city of Hierapolis. Our tour guide was a retired geologist so we learnt buggery. Luckily, the whole minibus had collectively rebelled against Attila the 2 toothed tour-operator so that we weren't force fed lunch at 11am, so not all bad. The ampitheatre at Hierapolis was also brilliant and a boisterous canadian guy who spent the whole time breaking into showtunes got to test his lung capacity. Unfortunately, the concave carvings beneath every Ampitheatre seat assisted his vocal capacity and we were amusingly plagued for the remainder of the trip. After seeing the city, we went to the calcium carbonate terraces which function as bathing hot springs looking out over the valley. Really incredible blues against the white of the deposits and the water was lush. Have some great pics of those too, will put up soon.
Ibrahim and the Bustess
Well let me tell you of Turkish buses! They take forever but they are da way 2 go. Once you've actually found your bus (the hardest bit) you can snuggle into bliss to be supervised by your Bustess - normally a smokey man/men with tight pants, poor English and lots of cake and tea just for you! You get politely woken up at every stop but the nice bustess rewards you with sweets and lemon alcohol for your hands, face and hair just for causing you the trouble. Yummabum
Met a nice man called Ibrahim, a civil engineer, who sat next to me and proceeded to practice his, often hilarious, English until the wee hours of the morning trip. He revealed some interesting insights into Turkish politics in particular perspectives on Israel and US involvement in the region. He also showed me about 50 pictures on his phone of the monument minuatures park he'd spent the day at. He also quoted the population of every town and city we passed with dubious but explicit accuracy. Ibrahim bought me pistachios, showed me the ferries and talked to me about all his favourite films like Braveheart which he's watched 15 times. He told me that Efes was where 'Stink' played. He's written in my book: "In Istanbul friends. Don't forget".
On the way back from Pemmukale, noone on the bus spoke a word of English (and my Turkish is non-existant) so I spent a lot of time pointing and pulling faces. One of the Bustesses got me up prematurely and I almost got off at the wrong stop, luckily the other bustess saved the day. We had the following dialogue: "Asagna" - I show my luggage ticket - "Asagna" - I say 'Istanbul' - "Asagna" - I shrug, so they pat me on the shoulder and take me back to my seat. The bustess then spent the rest of the time smuggling me drinks, smiling at me and showing me pictures of women's backs in magazine. Oh la la.
Doesn't get better than that.
Met a nice man called Ibrahim, a civil engineer, who sat next to me and proceeded to practice his, often hilarious, English until the wee hours of the morning trip. He revealed some interesting insights into Turkish politics in particular perspectives on Israel and US involvement in the region. He also showed me about 50 pictures on his phone of the monument minuatures park he'd spent the day at. He also quoted the population of every town and city we passed with dubious but explicit accuracy. Ibrahim bought me pistachios, showed me the ferries and talked to me about all his favourite films like Braveheart which he's watched 15 times. He told me that Efes was where 'Stink' played. He's written in my book: "In Istanbul friends. Don't forget".
On the way back from Pemmukale, noone on the bus spoke a word of English (and my Turkish is non-existant) so I spent a lot of time pointing and pulling faces. One of the Bustesses got me up prematurely and I almost got off at the wrong stop, luckily the other bustess saved the day. We had the following dialogue: "Asagna" - I show my luggage ticket - "Asagna" - I say 'Istanbul' - "Asagna" - I shrug, so they pat me on the shoulder and take me back to my seat. The bustess then spent the rest of the time smuggling me drinks, smiling at me and showing me pictures of women's backs in magazine. Oh la la.
Doesn't get better than that.
Griffins and Booties
Wed 10 Oct
Spent the morning writing postcards which I still haven't sent, four days later. *sigh*
Was skimming through Lonely Planet looking for inspiration and discovered I was near a little museum in Arrasta Bazaar. It was little, quiet and occupied by only 4 German tourists and, I can safely say it's been a highlight of the trip. Beautiful Byzantine Mosaics from the palace were excavated here by Austrians a couple of decades ago and they're fantastic. There are bucolic scenes, animals, mythical creatures and the usual carnage one wouldn't expect from such a dainty craft. The work has been beautifully restored with lots of descriptive panels about the process (five points to the Austrians). There are some terrific mosaics of elephants fighting lions and about 5 different types of griffin: topkapi headed, lion headed, leopard headed etc. There's even a monkey poking dates out of a tree. Is that a double entendre?
Then strolled to Turkish and Islamic Arts Musem. Got a rug dose without being dragged into a shop kicking and screaming. Museum grounds were in an Ottoman palace for the Grand Vizier and were oosh-bagoosh. The collection was pretty amazing. They had a whole section dedicated to matriarchal Anatolian artisanship, which is exactly how it should be. I recoil making a passing judgement, but from my eyes, Turkish society is unfortuantely still pretty sexist, so a craft exhibition is one step on a long path (not unlike the UNSW Women's collective holding a cake stall c. 2000 for Women's week. pht.) The museum showed all the tools, dyes and yarns used for weaving kilims, rugs etc. Triffic.
After that scooted over to Dolmabace Palace to get a dose of tack. It was with the horded detritus of the last Sultans' reigns and it's truly disgusting. Aside from some bigger than Oprah chandeliers the palace is full of crap and everything is engraved and gilded to within an inch of its life with no sense of style or aesthetic. I felt like i was being slowly bludgeoned to death with a red velvet and brocade cushion with crystal embossing from Copperart. The guides were at 'capacity' which meant we learnt nothing more than the name of the room and which of the moth-eaten bear rugs was given by the Tzar of Russia to hoo hoo the Sultan blah blah blah. The guards demanded that we stick to the red carpet with our little pink plastic booties which had to cover your whole shoe. I dared to step off to peer into a bathroom (which was about 2 metres away) and was strictly reprimanded. At the end of the tour our disposable booties were thrown into bins already full of pink-bootie-sweat. Environmentally friendly? No. Gross? Extremely.
Spent the morning writing postcards which I still haven't sent, four days later. *sigh*
Was skimming through Lonely Planet looking for inspiration and discovered I was near a little museum in Arrasta Bazaar. It was little, quiet and occupied by only 4 German tourists and, I can safely say it's been a highlight of the trip. Beautiful Byzantine Mosaics from the palace were excavated here by Austrians a couple of decades ago and they're fantastic. There are bucolic scenes, animals, mythical creatures and the usual carnage one wouldn't expect from such a dainty craft. The work has been beautifully restored with lots of descriptive panels about the process (five points to the Austrians). There are some terrific mosaics of elephants fighting lions and about 5 different types of griffin: topkapi headed, lion headed, leopard headed etc. There's even a monkey poking dates out of a tree. Is that a double entendre?
Then strolled to Turkish and Islamic Arts Musem. Got a rug dose without being dragged into a shop kicking and screaming. Museum grounds were in an Ottoman palace for the Grand Vizier and were oosh-bagoosh. The collection was pretty amazing. They had a whole section dedicated to matriarchal Anatolian artisanship, which is exactly how it should be. I recoil making a passing judgement, but from my eyes, Turkish society is unfortuantely still pretty sexist, so a craft exhibition is one step on a long path (not unlike the UNSW Women's collective holding a cake stall c. 2000 for Women's week. pht.) The museum showed all the tools, dyes and yarns used for weaving kilims, rugs etc. Triffic.
After that scooted over to Dolmabace Palace to get a dose of tack. It was with the horded detritus of the last Sultans' reigns and it's truly disgusting. Aside from some bigger than Oprah chandeliers the palace is full of crap and everything is engraved and gilded to within an inch of its life with no sense of style or aesthetic. I felt like i was being slowly bludgeoned to death with a red velvet and brocade cushion with crystal embossing from Copperart. The guides were at 'capacity' which meant we learnt nothing more than the name of the room and which of the moth-eaten bear rugs was given by the Tzar of Russia to hoo hoo the Sultan blah blah blah. The guards demanded that we stick to the red carpet with our little pink plastic booties which had to cover your whole shoe. I dared to step off to peer into a bathroom (which was about 2 metres away) and was strictly reprimanded. At the end of the tour our disposable booties were thrown into bins already full of pink-bootie-sweat. Environmentally friendly? No. Gross? Extremely.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
God bless Osman Bey
First day into Turkey, after writing my last email, on way back to the hotel I met a lovely shoe salesman from Cyprus. He wanted to go for a drink in the centre of town and needed company and I was up for a beer so off we went. He took me to a dodgy bar and after ordering a beer, from out of the woodwork appeared some lovely Russian ladies. [switch to third person] Josh panics and starts to leave but buys a champagne for his blonde lady friend before he does - not wishing to offend. The bill arrives at about $1200 and Josh flips out suddenly remembering about said scam in lonely planet guidebook page 165. A cranky Turkish bouncer makes Josh pay half and promptly marches him to an ATM to handover the money (about $450 YTL). Destitute, feeling stupid and wondering how he got gipped with his (allegedly) hip-to-the-groove street cred, Josh returns home and makes sob call to Damien.
BUT THERE IS GOOD NEWS: I reported my adventure to the Tourist Police who couldn't help because I couldn't recall where the club was.... but today, Josh sees a Metro map and recalls that he had pointed out to his Cyprian friend that the Metro station they were passing was named after Osman Bey a Turkish painter he studied at Uni. I knew i got my Masters for something. After a quick visit to Istanbul Modern to check, Josh gets a taxi to the metro station and low and behold finds the bar and returns with the Police. (A side story here involves the Police laughing at my accent and then the stupid cop reversing into another car and breaking the side mirror. Without telling me, we end up in a dark garbage lot with some angry dobbermans living in broken fridges - to repair the mirror.... not beat me up I finally figured out *phew*.) The nice owner of the super classy Sanzelize Club seems to know the local police quite well - who've done little more than drive me to the club a half block away. The owner says 'what's the problem?' - Josh demands money in his butchest voice. After negotiations I get 300 YTL back. oooosh.
An expensive mistake, but in hindsight super impressed by my revenge complex and not too much money lost for a helluva story. The morning after, I also lost that cursed credit card (maybe it was for the best after the Sanzelize incident) so I cancelled and am using another one. All ok now.
Onto more plutonic news I went on a boat ride up the Bosphorus today which was windy. Sydney Harbour is way better. Did get to gawk at some Ottoman apartments, a few glitz castles, some ruins and a number of swearing fisherman who kept losing lines when our boat went under the bridge. Saw the Istanbul Biennial which was brilliant. Favourite work was by an artist who made a film using a colours on a white map to represent political and colonial territory from 500 BC to the present day. Made a mental note that Terra Nullias apparently applied to all non-imperial lands prior to invasion. Australia was absent until 1788 and then only a blue dot for Sydney. Then went onto the gallery to meet Osman Hamdi Bey and other serendipitous Turkish painters. Have also squeezed in Aya Sofia the Blue Mosque and the Roman cistern. I can't really speak too highly of walking in a giant subterranean toilet but the atmosphere was greasy. There are some terrific Medussa heads underneath two columns which were puzzling and around them, oodles of goldfish. (Damien, you know when we flushed tumour fish last week - he's probably doing fine!) Blue Mosque was pretty amazing (the French ladies with their jugs out standing in the Mosque even more so). Aya Sofia really took the cake. Had some great golden mosaics which were all very holy. To get to the second level you have to go up a 6 story ramp! Jesus, that Empress must have had wheels.
Off to Ephesus (Temple of Artemis) and Pemmukale tomorrow where they have hot springs. Am going with a guided group so may get to speak to someone other than the Police or Russian hookers. Very excited. Mind, the ruins will probably keep me blabbing for hours and who wants to hear me talk about that?
Have realised that Medussa, Osman Hamdi Bey and Artemis are my guardian motifs in Turkey - they're always around when I need them. This strange trinity ensuring i'm "rock solid, artful and a vengeful virgin". Good motto eh?
Thanks all for your stories and messages from home. Keep them coming. Will report in a couple of days after my trip. Then on to Cyprus with Jen - VERY excited about that but will NOT be speaking to any shoe salesman.
BUT THERE IS GOOD NEWS: I reported my adventure to the Tourist Police who couldn't help because I couldn't recall where the club was.... but today, Josh sees a Metro map and recalls that he had pointed out to his Cyprian friend that the Metro station they were passing was named after Osman Bey a Turkish painter he studied at Uni. I knew i got my Masters for something. After a quick visit to Istanbul Modern to check, Josh gets a taxi to the metro station and low and behold finds the bar and returns with the Police. (A side story here involves the Police laughing at my accent and then the stupid cop reversing into another car and breaking the side mirror. Without telling me, we end up in a dark garbage lot with some angry dobbermans living in broken fridges - to repair the mirror.... not beat me up I finally figured out *phew*.) The nice owner of the super classy Sanzelize Club seems to know the local police quite well - who've done little more than drive me to the club a half block away. The owner says 'what's the problem?' - Josh demands money in his butchest voice. After negotiations I get 300 YTL back. oooosh.
An expensive mistake, but in hindsight super impressed by my revenge complex and not too much money lost for a helluva story. The morning after, I also lost that cursed credit card (maybe it was for the best after the Sanzelize incident) so I cancelled and am using another one. All ok now.
Onto more plutonic news I went on a boat ride up the Bosphorus today which was windy. Sydney Harbour is way better. Did get to gawk at some Ottoman apartments, a few glitz castles, some ruins and a number of swearing fisherman who kept losing lines when our boat went under the bridge. Saw the Istanbul Biennial which was brilliant. Favourite work was by an artist who made a film using a colours on a white map to represent political and colonial territory from 500 BC to the present day. Made a mental note that Terra Nullias apparently applied to all non-imperial lands prior to invasion. Australia was absent until 1788 and then only a blue dot for Sydney. Then went onto the gallery to meet Osman Hamdi Bey and other serendipitous Turkish painters. Have also squeezed in Aya Sofia the Blue Mosque and the Roman cistern. I can't really speak too highly of walking in a giant subterranean toilet but the atmosphere was greasy. There are some terrific Medussa heads underneath two columns which were puzzling and around them, oodles of goldfish. (Damien, you know when we flushed tumour fish last week - he's probably doing fine!) Blue Mosque was pretty amazing (the French ladies with their jugs out standing in the Mosque even more so). Aya Sofia really took the cake. Had some great golden mosaics which were all very holy. To get to the second level you have to go up a 6 story ramp! Jesus, that Empress must have had wheels.
Off to Ephesus (Temple of Artemis) and Pemmukale tomorrow where they have hot springs. Am going with a guided group so may get to speak to someone other than the Police or Russian hookers. Very excited. Mind, the ruins will probably keep me blabbing for hours and who wants to hear me talk about that?
Have realised that Medussa, Osman Hamdi Bey and Artemis are my guardian motifs in Turkey - they're always around when I need them. This strange trinity ensuring i'm "rock solid, artful and a vengeful virgin". Good motto eh?
Thanks all for your stories and messages from home. Keep them coming. Will report in a couple of days after my trip. Then on to Cyprus with Jen - VERY excited about that but will NOT be speaking to any shoe salesman.
Topkapi, Hamams'n'stuff
Went to Topkapi palace. Highlight was definately the Harem with its incredible tile work. I went snap happy for a while before regaining my composure. I was particularly impressed by the concentration on education by the Ottomans. Boys throughout the kingdom could be educated for free if selected by the Sultan, regardless of rank. They'd later become aristocracy and were encouraged to marry one of the 500 or so concubines from the harem - most of whom had no contact with the Sultan. Concubines in the harem were encouraged to improve their minds and stay healthy as investments of the state. The Harem was run by black eunuchs - mostly Ethiopians who also had a pretty good education deal aside from having their woo-woos removed.... Speaking of fellas, the most unusual and expensive tiles are in the Circumcision Kiosk (uh huh). Maybe the tiles would have kept your mind off things while they hacked off a bit? I doubt it, but the view was delectable. All the best decor was reserved for the Sultan, his favourite and the mother of the Harem. Only the big mumma was allowed to ride on horseback through the inner palace - aside from the Sultan himself. The gates to each quarter and the Quaranic calligraphy were simple but beautiful. Topkapi also has a load of export ceramics from China, India and Iran which caught my eye. It wasn't the best works I've seen but they were different from what I was used to - tribute celadon plates with biscuit cut Arabic inscriptions. I know, I know will shut-up now. My audio guide provided some classic moments including: "It is known that Sultans would entertain guests by watching the dwarves do shows in the pool". What dwarves?!? What pool?!? All I could see was a balcony and a pit which had rings attached to flaggon stones. I felt for our small comrades, it must be hard to do sychronised floating formations whilst chained at the ankle. I had to write it down...
Went to the Istanbul Archaeological Museum which was a plain exercise in hording and doing the best of what you've got. It was obvious that there's a lot missing from Turkey (er hum US and Euro museums) so they over compensate by showing EVERYTHING. My inner-museum student went ballistic at the haphazard layout and useless information. Aside from everything being at dwarf height (see above), the didactic panels were ironically Spartan themselves: Mans Head (sic) / Hellenistic / c. 2-4BC. Very exact. Regardless, there were some terrific artefacts on display including a corner gorgon stellae with slashing talons, an Athena fighting the giants stellae and some great Ishtar temple dragon and lion reliefs. I've taken photos :) Oustide at the museum cafe (set amongst the detritus of hundreds of ionic pillars) whilst having a bag of crisps, a tiny black kitten with green eyes stared at me with a tilted head. I was like, 'Sweetie they're chips' and she calmly tapped her tiny paw on my knee. So I dropped a chip that was bigger than her head on the ground and 3 minutes later, when she came up for air, she'd brought all her brothers and sisters. Chip demanding black cats - Allah!
Saw a flyer for "Turkish bath: the best way to decompress" and I felt like I had the bends so I went along. The 300 year old Hamam (Turkish bath house) was white marble with Ottoman basin and taps with a dome punctured with stars revealing blue inlay. As I was lying looking up at the decor, the fat British guy next to me had an equally overweight masseuse standing on his back pulling his shoulders into his toes - sweet jesus was he screaming. I passed a concerning glance at pops beside me who looked like he was about to give birth to one of the kittens at the gallery - that's where they come from! My massage was fine, good actually. The guy just hit me a couple of times, squeezed all the bulgy bits then put a soapy mop on my head and threw water in my face. For a black market 2 Turkish Lira i got an extra soap massage which has made my skin feel like latex. Brilliant.
Met some American tourists who were trying to get me to see whirling dervishes tonight. I've seen Martin del Amo so I feel i'm covered.
Went to the Istanbul Archaeological Museum which was a plain exercise in hording and doing the best of what you've got. It was obvious that there's a lot missing from Turkey (er hum US and Euro museums) so they over compensate by showing EVERYTHING. My inner-museum student went ballistic at the haphazard layout and useless information. Aside from everything being at dwarf height (see above), the didactic panels were ironically Spartan themselves: Mans Head (sic) / Hellenistic / c. 2-4BC. Very exact. Regardless, there were some terrific artefacts on display including a corner gorgon stellae with slashing talons, an Athena fighting the giants stellae and some great Ishtar temple dragon and lion reliefs. I've taken photos :) Oustide at the museum cafe (set amongst the detritus of hundreds of ionic pillars) whilst having a bag of crisps, a tiny black kitten with green eyes stared at me with a tilted head. I was like, 'Sweetie they're chips' and she calmly tapped her tiny paw on my knee. So I dropped a chip that was bigger than her head on the ground and 3 minutes later, when she came up for air, she'd brought all her brothers and sisters. Chip demanding black cats - Allah!
Saw a flyer for "Turkish bath: the best way to decompress" and I felt like I had the bends so I went along. The 300 year old Hamam (Turkish bath house) was white marble with Ottoman basin and taps with a dome punctured with stars revealing blue inlay. As I was lying looking up at the decor, the fat British guy next to me had an equally overweight masseuse standing on his back pulling his shoulders into his toes - sweet jesus was he screaming. I passed a concerning glance at pops beside me who looked like he was about to give birth to one of the kittens at the gallery - that's where they come from! My massage was fine, good actually. The guy just hit me a couple of times, squeezed all the bulgy bits then put a soapy mop on my head and threw water in my face. For a black market 2 Turkish Lira i got an extra soap massage which has made my skin feel like latex. Brilliant.
Met some American tourists who were trying to get me to see whirling dervishes tonight. I've seen Martin del Amo so I feel i'm covered.
Istanbul, day one
Have arrived in Istanbul. Think I've managed to stave off jetlag with some well-timed naps on the plane and a very expensive shower in KL.
Am staying at a pension in Sultanahmet below Aya Sofia and near the Blue Mosque during Rammazan (the Turkish version) so I'll be woken by sun-up calls to prayers - woo hoo. Stupidly did not realise that the Lonely Planet expression 'the pension is popular with Japanese travellers' was a clue to the size of my abode which makes the panic room look like the Bosphorus. Oh well, it's quaint and homely and Ali the owner is either really nice or trying to rip me off blind. He walked me to his mates' travel agency and is keen on us having regular catch-ups... I obliged and he and travel buddy both laughed at why I would possibly want to go to Cyprus?- ah a WEDDING! That's ok then. You know that the other side of Cyprus doesn't exist don't you? Jesus, yes, yes I know, sorry to trouble you.
Traffic is carnage here although i've not been oohing and arghing from the back seat like I normally do - partly because I'd hyperventilate and also because I can't identify any road rules let alone benchmarks of traffic rules. At least in Sydney we have more than one lane and a tenth of the population.
Istanbul is Santiago, Chile except instead of dogs, they have kittens and are Mouslim, not Cathlolic. And like the Chileans, the Turkish people are just drop-dead gorgeous. If I was so inclined, I think I could evidence that blondes have more fun.
Half the buildings here are in disrepair and the others are glorious. All of them are sprinkled with oversized sea birds that circle minarets like vultures. The grand bazaar is, surprisingly, grand. Like Theseus in the labrynth, I walked in at sundown when the shops were closing and the store owners were pulling out their stools and tables for suppers of black tea after they'd washed their hands over the cobblestones beneath cerulean decorated domes as prayers and songs echoed over the load speakers in Arabic. I got Orientalist goose bumps against all my better judgement. This five second scene has of course eclipsed the hours of European haute couture rockin on by. I especially like the silk hijabs with matching Ferrari pumps.
Have been personally navigating a bump of emotions which, in true Josh fashion is an inner storm. Long walks and writing is keeping me chipper. Starved of conversation already but not enough to go and bug Ali with opportunities for him to input or offer insider 'assistance'.
Am staying at a pension in Sultanahmet below Aya Sofia and near the Blue Mosque during Rammazan (the Turkish version) so I'll be woken by sun-up calls to prayers - woo hoo. Stupidly did not realise that the Lonely Planet expression 'the pension is popular with Japanese travellers' was a clue to the size of my abode which makes the panic room look like the Bosphorus. Oh well, it's quaint and homely and Ali the owner is either really nice or trying to rip me off blind. He walked me to his mates' travel agency and is keen on us having regular catch-ups... I obliged and he and travel buddy both laughed at why I would possibly want to go to Cyprus?- ah a WEDDING! That's ok then. You know that the other side of Cyprus doesn't exist don't you? Jesus, yes, yes I know, sorry to trouble you.
Traffic is carnage here although i've not been oohing and arghing from the back seat like I normally do - partly because I'd hyperventilate and also because I can't identify any road rules let alone benchmarks of traffic rules. At least in Sydney we have more than one lane and a tenth of the population.
Istanbul is Santiago, Chile except instead of dogs, they have kittens and are Mouslim, not Cathlolic. And like the Chileans, the Turkish people are just drop-dead gorgeous. If I was so inclined, I think I could evidence that blondes have more fun.
Half the buildings here are in disrepair and the others are glorious. All of them are sprinkled with oversized sea birds that circle minarets like vultures. The grand bazaar is, surprisingly, grand. Like Theseus in the labrynth, I walked in at sundown when the shops were closing and the store owners were pulling out their stools and tables for suppers of black tea after they'd washed their hands over the cobblestones beneath cerulean decorated domes as prayers and songs echoed over the load speakers in Arabic. I got Orientalist goose bumps against all my better judgement. This five second scene has of course eclipsed the hours of European haute couture rockin on by. I especially like the silk hijabs with matching Ferrari pumps.
Have been personally navigating a bump of emotions which, in true Josh fashion is an inner storm. Long walks and writing is keeping me chipper. Starved of conversation already but not enough to go and bug Ali with opportunities for him to input or offer insider 'assistance'.
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