soothing frustration

Last week I was in a bit of a foul mood. It generally takes a lot to put in me in a foul mood, but after dealing with the bizarrity of the gas company's regulations and the sloppy workmanship of their hole-makers, I was on the verge of losing my temper. Supposedly, if I allowed the gas company to put holes in a couple of windows and one door, I could then get gas and hot water. It's been about a week and I'm still bathing with a red plastic tub of water heated by my electric kettle. I actually don't really mind the whole plastic tub of kettle water; it's kind of weirdly nostalgic. My years in Cairo were often marked by blackouts and water shortages. I remember filling up buckets and basins with water to bathe with when it wasn't coming out of the shower. Bathing became more of a ritual, every drop of water appreciated.

I decided I needed a good old-fashioned burger to soothe my frustration, so I headed down Istiklal toward the only two "American-style" burger joints that I know of: Dükkan Burger and Mano Burger. After dropping my jaw on the street when I saw the prices at Dükkan, I decided on Mano, two doors down. I sat down, ordered a side of spicy fries and the Ottoman Burger— smoky aubergine sauce, hellim cheese and caramelised onions. I like Mano. They make a nice Turkish take on an American burger. My anger being chewed away into satisfaction and a calmness I hadn't felt in days, I was coming back to my regular self. I noticed a crowd of people gathering outside on the street, staring at something that was just past my line of sight. Suddenly, a mad tune from violin rose above the noise of the city, followed by guitar and drum. I scarfed down my burger, practically threw money at the cashier, and jumped outside to find three men in a spontaneous jam session outside one of Tünel's many music stores.

I was surrounded by people clapping, smiling and even dancing.
I remembered why I love living in Istanbul so much.

saturday night

dark afternoons

life carries on

those quiet, forgettable moments

messy sketches

the burger and the martini

I am not a huge burger eater. In fact I probably have one or two a year if at all, and I never, ever eat at fast food chains. Decent burgers in Istanbul are as unusual as snow in July— they just never taste right. After spotting a fairly new burger joint off Istiklal called Mano Burger, whilst in the midst of an odd craving for a patty, Tilly and I decided to try our luck. The place was packed with trendy young Turks, and the décor had an element of garage-chic. The menu was simple, about six choices of burgers, all with a Turkish twist to them— in place of American cheese melted a salty hellim from Cyprus, instead of ketchup or a mustard was smeared a smoky baba ghanoush. Intriguing.

We both ordered the "Ototoman": two patties, caramelised onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and the afore mentioned baba ghanoush and hellim cheese, nestled between the halves of a sesame seed bun. Wow. If only they had a root beer to wash it all down with! The fries were a bit lacking, but who cares when the burger is that good.

Feeling satisfied and desiring a cocktail after an uneven day— I had been running around like a madwoman trying to prepare for my Kathmandu trip in the midst of some strange dramas— we peeled ourselves off our chairs and wandered across the street to Tünel, in search of a nice place to unwind. To our delight, passing in front of us was a modified tram car pulled by the usual one, that had been converted into a stage for a rock band! This is what I love about Istanbul— this passion for invention.


In the sardine-crammed alleys of Tünel, we managed to find an outdoor table at a café which surprisingly offered a martini on the menu. Finding a martini (and a good one, at that) is as rare as finding a good burger, but since we were feeling lucky, we decided to order one. We were soon disappointed to discover that "martini" meant Martini & Rossi, the brand of vermouth— something neither of us wanted. We had found a burger, so perhaps we could tell the bartender how to craft us a lovely cocktail.

Though I patiently explained the contents of a gin martini, I was presented with something yellowish in a tumbler that reeked of Southern Comfort. How Southern Comfort ended up in there is beyond me, so I explained with a series of diagrams to a nodding waiter and bartender, what goes into a martini and how it should be prepared and served.


The diagrams seemed to have helped somewhat— while the cocktails were mixed decently, there were ice cubes in the martinis, which were served in margarita glasses with lime wedges. We eventually got our olives, which though were not pitted, were absolutely delicious. While certain things aren't readily available in Istanbul, there's always someone willing to help you get what you want or need.

Mano Burger
Şahkulu mah. Galip dede cd. No: 5 Tünel / Beyoğlu / İSTANBUL
0 212 292 75 42

spin, dervish

I was pulled into blue cloth spinning
My heart into threads, wound around the twisting body
Of a stranger I felt tied to.

ink

I love ink.

I love the smell of ink. I love the way it bleeds into beads of water. I love how an ink can so perfectly hold to the nib of a pen, drawing out the most exquisite line. This love of liquid, line and meeting of surface extends to skin— I'm mad about tattoos. I am the proud canvas of seven, and I have plans for more.

Finding a good, talented tattoo artist that you can trust is always a challenge. Not everyone with a tattoo gun is an artist, as I learned with one of mine (I won't tell you which). When you find the right tattooist, it just clicks, flows—it feels right. Leaving San Francisco not only meant leaving my friends, neighbours and favourite taco truck, it meant I left behind my tattoo artist Cedre. Cedre inked one of my favourite tattoos, a pen-stealing sparrow. I love her punchy, colourful style— and I highly recommend that if you ever find yourself in the Bay Area in need of a tattoo, you look her up at Diving Swallow in Oakland.

While there are plenty of inked people in Turkey, tattoo culture here is in its infancy. Many tattooists are inexperienced; they don't have the craftsmanship of someone who has been honing their skill for years, they don't consider the curves and angles of human anatomy when placing a tattoo, and some of them just can't draw. I personally can't trust a tattoo "artist" who doesn't like art. Last year I went on a little expedition, visiting several shops in Istanbul, checking out portfolios, asking to see autoclaves and watching their inking process to see if he (they were all male) washed his hands after blowing his nose, sterilised his gun, etc. Needless to say, I saw some scary things.

I finally found a tattooist with beautiful clean lines, impeccable shading, and a vibrant sense of colour. After feeling safe with his concept of sanitary practices, I decided to try him out by getting a little piece. After we started, he began complaining about inking small pieces. Awkward. Then he proceeded to rave on and on about how he was the best tattoo artist in Turkey, that all of the other guys suck and steal his pieces. Hm. He also added that he didn't like to draw on paper and— here's the best part— he told me my skin was too dark to get any good work done. What?! Whose skin is too dark for a tattoo?

I was shocked, appalled and angry. To make a long story short, the guy isn't Turkish and isn't fond of anything Turkish, including Turkish skin— and yet, he lives here. I never went back. I have a very low tolerance for asses, and none for bigots. At least the tattoo came out well.

I had pretty much given up on getting any work done in Istanbul, and figured I could wait until the next time I was in the Bay Area to see Cedre, but on one freezing January afternoon, I stumbled upon something that intrigued me.
I noticed a sharp-looking tattoo sign outside the Mısır Apartmanı building on Istiklal street and decided to investigate. As I stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, I was met by a black door, a doorbell and another sign. I rang the bell, and was greeted by a smiling inked guy, then two others. The studio was a beautiful space under renovation— and from the looks of it, it was going to be spectacular. Most tattoo studios I've seen here are cluttery dark spaces that reek of "guy"— this place was spacious with great light, and even though it was still being painted, I was in love with the pigeon grey colour being applied to the high-ceilinged walls. I ended up talking to an artist who introduced himself as Emrah. He showed me his portfolio, which was bursting with colour and life, and to make things even better, he and the other resident artist were the nicest tattoo artists I had met in Istanbul.

Months passed, emails were exchanged, text messages sent, and designs were drawn. The studio was renamed Lucky Hands Tattoo Parlour and got some swanky décor. I had an appointment with Emrah for 14:30 today, and it seemed as though the city was doing everything in its power to keep me from being on time— the minibus took twenty-five minutes to show up, we ran into traffic, the metro decided to sit in the station for an inexplicable twenty minutes, and every person I ended up behind on Istiklal was either elderly or in love. Finally I arrived, a sweaty red-faced mess, and Emrah was kind enough to offer me some water and an iced coffee. Then we drew.


The stencil was made, stuck to my skin, and once I was happy with the placement, I sat myself down and relaxed.


It didn't really hurt. In fact, I had to try not to laugh at times— I found the buzzing of the tattoo gun humorously appropriate with what was being inked on my inner arm. Emrah took his time and asked if I needed a break, which I always appreciate being asked. Some tattoo artists seem to forget that you're sitting there with needles punching in and out of your skin, and it's always nice to be considered.


Ladies and gents, behold lucky number seven: The Bee— all fresh and swollen with ink. Isn't it marvellous? A satisfying blend of stylised and realism. I have a feeling this little bee will soon have some friends. If you're in need of some ink in Istanbul, you've got to take a walk down to Lucky Hands Tattoo Parlour and ask for Emrah Özhan. Seriously, this guy is mad talented— not only can he tattoo beautifully, his drawings are beyond cool— fine lines, a great sense of composition and humour. Never trust a tattoo artist who doesn't draw.

Bzzz.

Lucky Hands Tattoo Parlour
Mısır Apartmanı, fourth floor, İstiklal Caddesi / Beyoğlu / İSTANBUL
0212 251 52 91

i ♥ istanbul

city of culture

Our fair city of Istanbul just so happens to be the 2010 European Capital of Culture. Each year, the European Union designates one city as its cultural capital, promoting the arts and aiding in the preservation of the city's cultural heritage. So what does this mean for you and me? I'm still not quite sure, but I have noticed some exhibitions going on— some of them are really cool.
Here are some closeups of pieces that I particularly admired:

Czech artist Lubos Plny, at the Institut Français d'Istanbul on Istiklal Caddesi.
Swiss artists Alex and Felix, at CDA Projects, Mısr Apartmanı on Istiklal Caddesi.

Turkish artist Gülin Hayat Topdemir, at Casa Dell'Arte, Mısr Apartmanı on Istiklal Caddesi.

I love seeing the work of other artists— it's inspiring to know what's out there.
I wish I had discovered these galleries earlier, so I could have shared them with you. I'm especially taken by Lubos Plny's work— the detail, lines and colours make me weak in the knees! Plus, I'm really into anatomical drawings, and I love his blending and layering of anatomy and schematic-style drawing. Hurry up and catch these shows before they end next week!