good company and a good read

Yesterday I met the very hip, very cool Aurél de Saint André— winner of the first Fluevog Creative competition, who just happens to live in Istanbul. Aurél is himself a nomad, having lived in places like Afghanistan and Thailand, and is a talented designer— his site is full of yummy logos and posters I recommend checking out. We spent the early afternoon wandering around the backstreets of Beyoğlu, hopping in and out of the many, many hidden antique shops.



We parted ways after a kebap and some çay, and I headed off to a café to start reading my first book of 2010— Fatelessness by Imre Kertész. Throughout my adventure in Budapest, I had been searching for a book by a great Hungarian writer to take home with me, and Mirco had suggested I find something by Nobel Prize winner Imre Kertész. At some point in the trip, I had run out of money, and decided to put his books on my holiday wishlist. Lucky lucky me, my mother gave me not one, but three of his books: Fatelessness, Kaddish for an Unborn Child, and Liquidation.

I could not put it down. By the time I reached the hundredth page, my coffee was ice-cold and the sun was nowhere to be found. Fatelessness is about a fourteen year old Hungarian boy who is unexpectedly picked up and sent off to Auschwitz. I felt as though I was seeing, feeling and thinking through this boy— as this boy. I've been walking around all day with the sensation of being trapped in the book, and I can't wait to get back to it.

cocoa butter protest

I was planning on spending a lazy afternoon on Istiklal, lingering in the street's two English book stores, Pandora and Robinson Crusoe, maybe buying a book, then sitting down with a coffee and reading that book. As luck would have it, Robinson Crusoe had a copy of The Master and Margarita— a book I have been searching every book store with an English section in Istanbul for. Looking around to make sure no one saw its blue spine on the shelf, I grabbed the book and rushed over to the cashier, still in disbelief that I actually had it in my hands. I was so happy, I practically skipped my way down the street to Starbucks. I sat down with my soy latte ("Sabanta" scrawled on the cup), opened the book and breathed in that wonderful new book smell.

After reaching page 72, I decided to wander around in search of a cocoa butter moisturiser, and remembered there was a Body Shop on the street somewhere. As I came around the bend I noticed a crowd of policemen, some with machine guns, waiting for something to happen.


Well it is Istiklal after all, there are protests on this street practically every other day! I thought.

I snapped a couple of pictures of the bored cops and carried on, still dreamily lost in the world Bulgakov built out of words. Suddenly, it seemed, a noise like thunder was boiling up ahead. The thunder became voices, shouting "Allahu Akbar" in unison. Men with Palestinian flags, signs and fists in the air, were flooding down the street. I squeezed myself against shop windows, slowly making my way in the opposite direction, like a fish swimming upstream. I ducked into a clothing store to watch the peaceful protest march on. An older tourist couple with expressions somewhere between fear and concern were standing nearby, unsure of what to do. I guessed they were either American or British.


"Come inside this store!" I beckoned with a wave of my arm. The expressions turned to relief, and they joined me in the doorway. They were British. "Don't worry, this is a perfectly natural occurrence on this particular street." I explained. I told them about Istiklal's notorious reputation for protests and riots, and how most of them are totally peaceful. We watched the crowd eventually taper off, followed slowly by scores of police in full riot gear, and parted ways. I continued on my cocoa butter mission. Not only was I lucky enough to find a great book that I had long been searching for, I found my cocoa butter— two large tubs for the price of one.