beer, popcorn, beyoğlu

Cold beer, hot summer night.
The song of swallows diving into the fading light.
Conversations rise into the air and hang between buildings, losing colour as night arrives.

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

expression

Blogger is still shut down in Turkey, but I've found a way to get past it. Hopefully sense will soon prevail, but until then, I unfortunately will not be able to respond to any comments— it doesn't work for some reason.

Warm wishes from Istanbul!

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

light through a straw hat

Tilly hadn't been to the Botero exhibit (and if you haven't, hurry up— the show ends on the 18th of July!), so we sauntered down Istiklal towards the Pera Museum to swoon over the luscious curves and colours of lovers and circus clowns. We stopped along the way for a quick lunch at Helvetia in Tünel. For a mere ten lira, you get to sample five mouth-watering dishes on display from about a dozen. I went with lentil patties, or mercimek köfte, meatballs, a carrot salad, some simmered greens and mücver, a vegetable fritter. Two lavish dollops of yoghurt, and I was in heaven.


As we wandered through the gallery, we fawned over brush strokes of cadmium yellow and red, impossible pinks and greens. With our minds spinning, conversations ran from travelling to crushes, to those fleeting moments in life that can be called nothing but perfection: the first sip of tea, lying in cool grass, the light filtered through a straw hat over your face while dozing in the sunlight. Life is full of these small, seemingly insignificant moments, and if we take the time to notice and appreciate them, our life is coloured a little more vividly.

In a little over a week, I'm off to Nepal— a place I've dreamt of since I was a little girl. I'll be volunteering at a school for a month, living with a local family. There will be little to no internet access, which will provide me with plenty of time to catch those light-through-a-straw-hat moments, in a place that seemed only possible in my wildest of dreams.

Wide, fearless strokes, precious details, and a vivid palette.

meeting chagall at the pera

Down Istiklal Caddesi, past the Galatasaray Lisesi, you'll find a passage called Odakule on your left. If you walk through it to the other side and take another left, you'll run right into the beautiful Pera Museum, which this month, is home to a most marvellous collection of Marc Chagall etchings, drawings and paintings.

I find so much joy in staring at and absorbing the work of a favourite artist— wondering why this line, this colour, what he or she thought, felt, how their eyes saw. Chagall is one of my top three; the colour, movement and life in his work bring tears to my eyes. There's only one artist who managed to get them rolling down my cheek, and that was Vincent Van Gogh— specifically it was his Wheatfield with Crows. Ever since I stood in front of those waves of cadmium and ochre, that bluest blue, I have struggled to find words to describe the experience. I was fifteen years old, and I felt the world and my world, sway and soar in wheat and wings.

The Chagall exhibit at the Pera consisted mainly of his etchings and drawings, which naturally thrilled me, as I love a good line. There were so many India ink drawings I wanted to get photos of, but with super-reflective glass protecting them and the guard eyeing my camera, I only managed to get these close-ups. Which are pretty fantastic.


I must say I enjoy the Pera's permanent collection quite a bit— there are some lovely oil and watercolour paintings of Ottoman daily life, and a wonderful exhibit of Anatolian weights and compasses. I highly recommend finding and wandering through this little museum, then having lunch at one of the many nearby restaurants in the Tünel area.

Here are some favourite parts of my favourite paintings: