The Carnation Cafe

Well, I'm home now, but I've not said all I have to say so I'm going to keep writing. Things got rather backed up when we started bouncing around - not to mention the social life in Dubai! So...

Sometimes it's the simplest things in life that deliver the biggest punch. We tend to forget that in our over-stimulated consumer-driven world. If you can step out of the craziness of your own life, I think its possible to rediscover the simple things. Traveling really helps me do this.

Also, it’s sometimes hard to explain or even pinpoint why something appeals to you. Perhaps it was our exhilaration after seeing the amazing sites on the Acropolis, maybe we were exhausted and starving, or maybe it truly was the delicious food and charming atmosphere, but Stan and I were completely taken with the Carnation Café.

We toured the Acropolis on a Sunday morning, and this particular Sunday was a national holiday of some sort, so we were having a bit of a time finding a place to eat lunch. I remembered seeing a little neighborhood cafe a day or two earlier, with tables spilling out onto the sidewalk, but I wouldn’t have been able to find it. Stan also recalled the same place, so we were thrilled when we popped around a corner and there it was! The Carnation Café!

Try to imagine an old-fashioned, mom and pop, neighborhood type of place (they don’t exist anymore in the US, I’m convinced) that serves simple home-cooked food using fresh ingredients. That’s the place. A Greek mom was cooking in a TEENY kitchen. The refrigerated case below her workspace chilled fresh octopus and calamari (oooh, soo sorry Buddha!) One cute little Greek boy of about 25 sporting a shirt with a big red carnation embroidered on the back (bet he loved that) hustled in and out of the kitchen, waiting tables. Neighbors stopped in for lunch, a group of young people appeared to be refueling after a hard night, expat-types were reading the English daily, and a handful of tourists, like ourselves were fortunate enough to have stumbled upon this place.

We enjoyed a delicious lunch of grilled octopus (octopus is a Greek specialty) Stan’s choice, and a Greek salad, my choice. Greek salad in Greece is nothing like what we have at home. Greek Greek salad is FRESH local (not pink) tomatoes, chopped cucumber, red onion, fresh peppers, a pepperoncini or two, and a hand full of olives, all sprinkled with fresh oregano, dressed lightly with olive oil and lemon. A thick slice of amazing feta always perches on top.

A colored aluminum pitcher (like those glasses your grandma used to have) of house white wine (Greek – better than the house Turkish wines in my opinion) and a basket of that yummy Greek bread accompanied our meal. I don’t remember the particular figure, but the bill was ridiculously inexpensive. Was it our hunger? The food? The ambiance? I can’t say and it doesn’t matter. What mattered was the beauty of the fresh flavors and local ingredients. Life should always be so simple.

Athens II – The Acropolis + Mini-History

On Sunday (free admission day!) we spent the morning exploring the Acropolis archeological site. The Acropolis is the rocky mount in the center of Athens upon which the famous Parthenon (as well as other monuments) sits. It is a winding climb of at least 200 feet to the base of the Acropolis. The Parthenon (the famous temple honoring Athena) is massive up close, and truly is the impressive classical Greek structure so often imitated. Built around 450 BC, it covers the ruins of an earlier temple. The formula dictating the design of classical Doric architecture called for dimensions with the number of columns on the narrow ends (i.e. 6) to be doubled then add one (i.e. 13) to get the number of columns on the wide sides.

Sideline on history (Stan blogging now): The Parthenon would be more intact than it is today if it weren’t for the Venetians. Who knew? In 1687 Greece was part of the Ottoman Empire and the Venetians, then still a formidable world power, attempted to retake Athens, which was formerly under their control. Unfortunately at that time the Ottomans were storing their gunpowder in the Parthenon. Thus, when the Venetians commenced shelling the Acropolis from a nearby hill, a direct hit on the Parthenon ignited the gunpowder and the Parthenon was severely damaged. Subsequently, the Venetians held the city for less than a year. Serves them right! One can’t help but wonder how much more of this magnificent structure would remain intact if the Ottomans had stored their gunpowder elsewhere!

OK, 450 BC, that’s almost 2500 years old. Whoa. Kinda tough to wrap your mind around the fact there was an advanced, sophisticated, democratic society functioning at such a high level that many years ago. It’s amazing really. Here’s a way to try and put the concept into perspective: every generation a handful of people live to be 100 years old, not often, but it happens. So think about someone who was born in 450 BC and lived to be 100 and passed the baton, so to speak, to the next centurion, and the next and the next, etc., etc. So if that happened only 25 times that gets us to today. Thinking in those terms we really haven’t been here all that long.

Here’s another perspective on time to keep it all in context. Back in the early-mid 90s I (obviously still Stan!) was reading a biography of the famous US Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes. One of his judicial clerks in the 1920s and 30s was Alger Hiss (later a notorious figure caught up in the McCarthy red-scare witch-hunts of the 1950s.) The author of the biography (I’ve forgotten his name) was pointing out the fact that a man who was still alive today (Hiss at least in the mid 90s) had worked with and been a confidante of a man (Holmes) who had fought in the US Civil War, and whose grandmother could recall as a youngster the days of the US Revolutionary War. Only three lifetimes take us from the founding of the country to the present! We live in a young country indeed.

Here’s an Athens bonus round: there were no touts or tourist hounds harassing us on the grounds of the Acropolis or any other Athenian tourist sites for that matter, at least not on this particular Sunday. Apparently the Greek authorities have taken a hard line on this (perhaps only since the 2004 Olympics?) Tout free is a good thing, a pleasant surprise, and truly made the experience more enjoyable and authentic.

Another historical point: so there existed this fantastic and impressive society in classical 4th and 5th century Greece. What happened after that? Aside from the Venetian pyrotechnic display, not a lot more went down. During the days of the Roman Empire Athens continued to be an important city. But after 300 AD or so Athens found itself a largely irrelevant provincial backwater in the Byzantine and Ottoman Empires. In modern Athens, other than the Acropolis and a few other ancient structures, the buildings and architecture are of relatively recent vintage. A few neo-classical buildings from the early-mid 1800s stand but most of the structures that comprise the sprawling modern city of Athens are less than 100 years old, and pretty non-descript, to be honest. (Lisa says they are ugly.)

Traipsing around the ruins for a couple of hours was pretty tiring. We made our way back down to the Plaka area for a coffee. Somewhat energized, we wandered the peaceful Agora, or ancient marketplace (more ruins.) A fabulous lunch followed. Lisa will fill you in on the Carnation Café, in another post.

Happy Halloween!

This year, Stan and I are masquerading as American tourists abroad!

Athens I

After 10 days in Istanbul including one week in the flat, Stan announced he was tired of Turkey. I seem to recall him stating the same thing several years ago when we decided to go vegetarian! For the record, I too, was tired of eating Turkey, but I was NOT tired of being in Turkey. I admit sharing that small apartment with a 6’ 4” guy was getting old, no matter how much I love him. But who was I to argue with exploring a new country? So, despite our original intention to visit some of Turkey’s more far-flung sights (like Cappadocia) we decamped for Greece.

It’s extremely easy to get to Athens from Istanbul, a one- hour direct flight. We were in Athens, checking into the Marriott (ah….a BIG bed and REAL shower!) in time for lunch.

We spent the afternoon wandering the Plaka area, around the Acropolis. The Acropolis is the big hill, rock, plateau, whatever you want to call it that is crowned by the Parthenon the jewel of Athens. Plaka is the old city. When I say old, however, I don’t mean ancient Greek old, just maybe a few hundred years old. Imagine a quaint European neighborhood with cobblestone streets. Unfortunately, this quaint neighborhood has become touristy, but the cafes spilling out onto the sidewalks to accommodate the tourists are nevertheless picturesque. That was enough for the first day.

Our second day, we explored the neighborhood of Kolonaki, which is very similar to the chi chi Istanbul neighborhood of Nisantashi; a heavily residential neighborhood with designer-sunglass clad pretty people posing in cafes, boutiques, and ladies lunching. Thanks to a recommendation from our friend Peter we enjoyed a delicious lunch at a sidewalk café called Kafenio. The food in Athens, surprisingly, seemed quite different to us from the food in Istanbul, even though many of the ingredients used are the same.

Our simple lunch consisted of a salad made with chopped zucchini, fresh dill, small bits of artichoke, scallions, olive oil and lemon; a small plate of eggplant salad; a piece of spinach pie; cooked artichokes in lemon sauce; fresh bread, and white Greek wine. Really.

After lunch, we rode a funicular tram to the top of Lybakaettus Hill. This perch provides a beautiful view of Athens including the original Olympic stadium and the Acropolis. A charming church is at the top, and here we lit a prayer candle for the health of our friend Jane. After leisurely enjoying the view, we walked down.

That evening we were treated to a pleasant evening by Stan’s sister-in-law’s brother John (I guess that makes him my brother-in-law twice removed? Not sure.) and his wife Dawn. They live in Athens. We met them for drinks at the spectacular Grand Bretagne Hotel. Think ex-pats and Greek Americans in sport coats drinking gin and tonics. The nighttime view of the Acropolis from the rooftop bar was breathtaking. Following drinks, we walked back to Kolonaki to dine at Oikeio. “Oikeio” means “homey” in Greek and the restaurant certainly lived up to its name. We sat outside (LOVE that bit!) and Stan and I enjoyed an arugula salad with tomato and Parmesan, stuffed red peppers then baked sardines served atop thinly sliced potatoes. Baskets of yummy Greek bread accompanied our meal, as they do every meal. I must say I prefer the Greek bread to the bread the Turks serve with normal meals – theirs is basically just light airy white bread.

So that sums up our first two days in Athens. I’ll leave you with that and post some photos.

A Fall from Grace

I can’t really even begin to explain this. But on our last day at the flat, I fell down a hovel. Picture Alice falling down the rabbit hole.

Stan and I had packed up our junk to move to the Pera Rose Hotel for one night, before flying to Athens the next day. In our possession were two large suitcases, two small suitcases, a shopping bag, and a backpack. Over one shoulder I was wearing the computer bag and over the other, my cool new Matt and Nat vegan tote bag. It was raining.

To get to the hotel with all of this crap we needed a taxi, even though the distance could easily be walked in 15 minutes. The nice guy working the Kismet market called a cab for us and we were standing in the rain, waiting.

I was loaded down with my bags, my coat, scarf, hat and umbrella. If you look at the picture on the top, from last summer, you can see where I was standing. Now look at the bottom picture. See those steps? They go down to this below street level room I’m calling a hovel. And some guy lives there. Let’s call him Mustafa. Well apparently Mustafa decided between the day last summer when these pictures were taken (he was the one who housed and fed those new kitties and their mom, by the way) and this gloomy rainy moving day, to do a little home improvement by sticking a 2” x 8” wooden plank under that corrugated tin overhang. The board looked to me like it was supporting the roof.

See where I’m squatting in the picture on the bottom? The plank comes down from the tin roof to exactly the spot where I have my foot. It looked like a support post, so I leaned against it to get out of the rain. The board was apparently just a design accessory??? As I put my weight against it, it gave way and sent me down those steps, feet flying, bags flying, fall softened by my I-Mac. I was certain the tin roof was coming down on me.

The five or six men hanging around the alley gawked at me. Stan tried to grab me, but I went right on down that hole. I feel bad calling it a hovel and a hole, because Mustafa lives there, but that’s really what it is, a dank hole.

This particular little man, who reminds me of a hobbit or a troll, seems to be sitting in this dark dusty place all of the time. Before I noisily invited myself in, he was in the process of cooking his lunch, a skillet of fried potatoes, on an open flame fueled by a gas tank. This was probably the most excitement he’d had all week. I’m sure I was the first white woman to ever barge through his open front door (the door is always open, thank God or surely he’d suffocate.)

The gypsy dad came running out of the Hamburg tea shop where he plays cards and drinks tea all day to offer me his hand and help me up. The troll came running out of his hole flashing a toothless smile. I’m guessing it was pretty funny. Ha. Look at the stupid white lady, loaded down with all that excess baggage busting down poor old Mustafa’s front porch. The hovel dweller mimed hammering a nail and was having quite a laugh, suggesting I fix his porch.

Lucky for Mustafa, AND me the roof did not come falling down. Even luckier for me, I didn’t fall onto any of the rusty nails sticking out of that board. Nothing like a nice dose of tetanus to ruin a vacation. Lucky for me there wasn’t a piece of broken glass where I caught my fall with my hand; the ally is littered with shards of glass. Really, it could have been bad. I credit my yoga with helping me keep enough body awareness to fall in a semi–intelligent if not graceful manner so I didn’t break anything.

It was embarrassing. Thank God we were leaving and not just arriving. But what was more embarrassing is I was sporting more gear than Mustafa owns. We had more in our bags than he had in his hovel. I think this is probably why I haven’t stopped thinking about that gum-toothed man. My first thought was “wow, good thing I didn’t scuff up my cool new boots.” Then, “Wow, did I rip my leather jacket? Did I break the computer?” I covered all the important questions. The more I relived the incident, however, the more gratitude I felt. Not only because I wasn’t injured, but also because it isn’t me living down in that dark hole. I don’t think I could be as happy as Mustafa.

Current Events

I’ve had inquires from several of you about the recent events in Turkey. Rest assured we are safe, but this is an interesting time to be in Turkey.

Turkey has struggled with the PKK “issue,” since the early 80’s. PKK stands for Kurdistan Workers Party, but the PKK in real terms are agitators for an independent Kurdish state (“Kurdistan”) mainly in Southeastern Turkey, but also in parts of Iraq, Iran and Syria. They have a history of employing violent means to achieve their goals. Think of the IRA in Northern Ireland.

PKK fighters have been hiding out and getting supplies from bases in Northern Iraq for some time. Southeastern Turkey borders Northern Iraq. (OK, we have a history of living in countries with unsavory neighbors!) The PKK cross-border raids into Turkey have been occurring for many years, and fighting between the Turkish military and the PKK in SE Turkey has claimed around 30,000 lives (military and civilian) over the past 2 decades. This past Sunday PKK rebels ambushed a Turkish military convoy killing 12 soldiers and taking an additional 8 hostage. This really inflamed the general population. Turkey wants both Iraq (the northern portion of which is controlled by a semi-autonomous Kurdish government) and the US to deal with the PKK rebels, or else they are happy to send troops into Northern Iraq and root out the rebels themselves. The Istanbul English language paper today talked about missiles pointed from SE Turkey to Northern Iraq where the PKK is hiding. This is a very serious issue for the Turks. Check out
www.turkishdailynews.com.tr if you are interested in learning more.

So...in general, the Turkish population (with the exception of some Kurds in SE Turkey) is strongly against the PKK and extremely fed up with recent events, keep in mind that not all Turkish Kurds are supportive of the PKK. But the recent violence along the Iraqi border has stirred things up and people are in the streets protesting. Remember that Turkey has compulsory military service, so most people will have a family member or neighbor in the service. For example, our neighbors in the apartment building next door are flying several Turkish flags out of their windows this week. It’s likely they have a son or a brother in the army and they are showing their support.

The past three days we have witnessed peaceful protests along Istiklal Cadessi (the main drag in our neighborhood) and in Takism Square, which is the Turkish equivalent of Times Square. These protests consist mostly of men wearing red t-shirts (the Turkish color) waiving Turkish flags and shouting slogans. Probably “fuck the PKK,” or the equivalent. Turkish flags of all sizes are being sold and bandied about. A heavy police presence always accompanies these protests, to ward off any possible escalations.

This entire circus is interesting for us, because we are not used to such a scene – neither that of the Nationalist protestors or the presence of police equipped with riot gear. In contrast the throngs of Turks in the streets aren’t paying it any mind. They continue to shop, drink tea, eat ice cream and generally carry on with their lives. And that’s what we will continue to do. We have no plans to join either side. I am happy to continue to blog as I am doing now, with a very neutral Turkish kitty on my lap. Stan will continue to eat simits from the simit sellers. Live and let live, but let’s hope they can figure out a solution to this strife.

I’ll continue to hope the US can learn to live and let live as well. Ahisma. It is a beautiful Sanskrit word we study in yoga. It means “non-harming.” I think we could all stand to practice a little more of it.

So for us, we’re on an early flight to Athens in the AM! We’ll spend five days checking out the sights. More from Greece!

A New Career?

My friend Mina got such a kick out of how much fun I had doing on the restaurant review with her (see A Beautiful Day 10/9) that she invited me on another run with her. Actually the restaurant choice was my idea, and since she had to leave for the US the week before her article was due, she asked me to write the review! My GOSH! Not only am I hanging out with a restaurant reviewer, I AM THE RESTAURANT REVIEWER! It’s set to run in Friday’s edition of the Turkish Daily News so be sure and check the link. www.Turkishdailynews.com.tr.
In the meantime, here’s a preview of the piece and some photos, from one visit to Simdi.

The Time is Now - To Check out Simdi

Tucked back at 9 Asmali Mescit, just a short distance off Istiklal Cadessi, in Beyoglu sits a timely little bistro, Simdi. Simdi means “now” in Turkish, and this café is very with the times. If you happen to be running a little behind, the clock out front hanging over the sidewalk tables will remind you of your lunch date. If that clock doesn’t catch your eye, the giant sized modern clock hands announcing the time on the rough brick wall up front surely will.

The café has a very comfortable and eclectic design and the menu is what you would expect from an upscale café. But Simdi also manages to provide a nice mix of typical Turkish dishes with a continental flair. A daily choice of meze, both hot and cold, are offered. On one visit, the olives were sampled, along with the marinated beets. The olives were nicely flavored with plenty of herbs; thin slivers of crispy garlic perked up the bright pink beets. Other cold meze choices were the typical stuffed peppers, hummus, and barbunya. Hot meze choices on any given day might include fried Istavrit, karnizarik, green lentils, and Turkish Royal.

The soups at Simdi are a treat. Traditional Turkish soups such as lentil and yogurt are on offer but to keep things interesting Simidi’s versions include a surprising twist. For example, the spicy lentil soup is labeled “Pakistani Lentil Soup,” and comes nicely spiked with curry. The yogurt soup (a particular favorite) is labeled as “Iranian” and includes spinach as an unexpected but welcome addition. The soups are served with an oversized, crunchy crouton on the side.

Other options on the menu (which has English translations - servers speak some English as well) are a build-it-yourself traditional Turkish breakfast, omelets, salads (the wheat salad was particularly tasty but the rocket salad was too heavily dressed with a sharp balsamic viniagrette), sandwiches, main courses and pastas, and of course desserts.

The pasta is a nice option providing the diner an opportunity to design his or her own meal. You choose your particular shape of noodle then customize your dish by also choosing from a list of sauces. On one particular visit, the spaghetti with Sicilian sauce was delicious. If that doesn’t whet your appetite, there are eight different pastas to choose from and thirteen options for toppings, including a decadent salmon with crème, which would pair nicely with the tagliatelle. Again, another opportunity to be very “in the moment.”

The juxtapositions at Simdi are truly one of the highlights. The food seems normal, yet will likely surprise your palate. The interior of the space builds on that theme. The architecture of the restaurant is what you would expect for something in this neighborhood but modern touches jump out at you, much as the curry powder in the lentil soup. The open atrium in the center of the restaurant houses a large modern oil painting. A shiny chrome retro espresso machine perks up the bar. But the crowning design piece is the back wall. As your eye glides smoothly past the muted beiges of the walls and the interesting mix of diners, it latches onto a bright turquoise tile wall. It is the contrasting glow of that wall that draws you in. The interesting food will keep you coming back; it’s only a shame the service isn’t a bit friendlier.

Simdi serves coffee and some interesting pastries, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, fresh juices and spirited drinks. The wine by the glass list is interesting, and one of the better ones available in the Beyoglu area. Check it out. How soon is now?

Guest Blogger Weighs In

A few random observations of the city by today’s distinguished Guest Blogger (Stan the Man):

• In our neighborhood we occasionally see people lowering small baskets from a rope out the windows of upper floor apartments down to street level for a delivery from the corner grocery, etc. This morning I saw a man on the 4th floor of the building next door lower a basket to his wife on the street who had forgotten her purse and didn’t want to make the trek back up the stairs.
• The tap water is not safe to drink in Turkey, but bottled water is widely available.
• Lots of stray cats all over and some dogs too.
• Looking out the front windows of our flat we can see past the buildings at the end of the alley, down the hill to a small slice of the Bosphorus (the narrow channel of water that divides the European and Asian sides of Istanbul, and connects the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara and eventually the Mediterranean) and past it to the Asian shore. From here we catch glimpses of the constant traffic on the water: ferry boats, cargo container ships, giant cruise ships, oil tankers, tug boats.
• Buildings here generally don’t have screens on the windows.
• Lots of laundry hanging on lines out of apartment windows as well as women shaking rugs from apartment windows.
• We hear the call to prayer during the day from a nearby mosque, and also church bells from a church down the street that ring out on the hour.
• A very large percentage of the population here are smokers. Ever heard the expression “smokes like a Turk?” Not a big deal in nicer weather with lots of sidewalk and outside seating, but it’s tough to avoid the smoke when it gets cold and everyone moves inside.
• Most of the streets in this part of town are cobblestoned or paved with small square bricks.
• In this part of part of town, like many others, it’s common to see a decrepit apartment building in complete disrepair right next to a well-maintained or recently rehabbed structure. This obviously has its drawbacks but it’s refreshing in the sense that everything is not uniform. One of the tonier restaurant/bars around here, Leb-i Derya, is located on the rooftop (6th floor) of a building that’s seen better days and is on a run-down looking, narrow street. But when you get off the elevator on the top floor you are shocked by how nice place is and the fantastic panorama of the city (and the prices).
• Due to the plumbing in many older buildings, like the flat we are renting, it is necessary to put the TP in a wastebasket next to the toilet and not the toilet itself.
• The seatbelts in the taxis (and most vehicles for that matter) are usually non-existent or non-working.

• For sale on the streets of Istanbul:

simit -- a toasted ring of bread with sesame seeds (tasty)
fresh roasted chestnuts
trays of stuffed mussels (Lisa enjoys these)
roasted corn on the cob (not my favorite, tastes like field corn to me)
popcorn -- freshly popped on a cart with an open flame
bottled water (“su”)
lottery tickets
prayer beads
small packets of Kleenex
incense
scales where you can check your weight for a small fee
shoeshines
socks
bootleg DVD's

Hakan’s Flying Carpet Shop

Today Stan and I braved the tourists and touts and walked across the Galata Bridge to visit our friend Hakan Evin’s carpet shop, Imperio Otomano, in the Grand Bazaar. We are on a mission: to acquire a 9x12 foot carpet for our living room without breaking Stan’s bank.

Hakan is a hoot. I mean the guy is a real carpet salesman. But he’s an honest one, best as we can tell. He must speak at least five or six languages, and he’s studying American Cultural Studies, however, his real claim to fame is he is the Turkish carpet seller to the stars.

Our friend Pam, from Dubai introduced us to Hakan. I believe she met him through her friends at the American Consulate here. Hakan’s father is also a carpet seller, but Hakan has it down. One of the smartest or luckiest moves he could have possibly made was to hook in with the American Consulate. It’s not so much that the American’s working in the consulate are buying tons of carpets, although they probably are, it’s that the American politicians, dignitaries, and stars who visit here all want to buy a carpet. They inquire at the consulate and voila. Hakan has a steady stream of the rich, famous, or just plain notorious customers. His walls are lined with photos of him with various presidents, congressmen and even Demi Moore.

The other intelligent move Hakan made was to institute a no-haggle policy. Typically, to buy anything in the Grand Bazaar, you are forced to endure a two hour long bargaining session, where you should expect to pay less than half of the first price you are quoted. Now some might find this fun, but I’d rather spend my time sitting in a café drinking wine. You know what you are buying with Hakan, and how much you are paying for it, from the first cup of chai.

Upon our arrival, we were of course offered a drink. I chose a glass of portukal nar juice (a tasty combo of fresh orange and pomegranate) and Stan had straight up orange. If you are there at lunchtime, Hakan orders in lunch. Cappuccino from the Fez Café? No problem. I think if you wanted your shoes shined, Hakan would have you take them off and send them out to be shined. A good 30 minutes will pass before you even think about talking about carpets. We cover our stay in Istanbul, yoga, Hakan’s recent marriage, and his last trip to the White House where he ate in the Executive Dining Room and met with President Bush, which excites him way more than it would me – meeting the president, that is.

Then it’s business time. The carpets are unfurled one after another. He shows you ones you might like along with several he knows you won’t. There is always has a reason for showing you the ones you won’t like. Hakan truly knows, cares about, and loves carpets. We learn so much every time we visit him. Did you know there are carpets made by prison inmates? Carpets are made as dowries. Imperio Otomano sells carpets from all regions of Turkey (we tend to like the ones from Kayseri), Iran (Turkey borders Iran), Afghanistan, even India or China. But he won’t sell you those last two unless you are a stupid tourist.

As usual, the carpets we viewed were beautiful. We narrowed it down to two or three; an extremely expensive Turkish one from the Harikye region Stan will never let me buy, a Persian Tabriz and another Harikye that’s not so pricey. We’ll see.

As fun as all this was, the best part of the two-hour visit was the short walk through the massive bazaar (over 4000 shops!) to Hakan’s newest location. He has four total. Once inside, it was just another rug shop. But then we climbed four flights of stairs and exited on the roof. The view took my breath away. A huge mosque stood directly to our right, and to the left were the rooftops of the sprawling bazaar complex. The famous Turkish architect Sinan designed the original bazaar complex in the 1500’s. I can’t even begin to describe it so I won’t, but I’ll hope my picture shows you. Sometimes, when you arise from the chaos that composes this city, you are struck with beauty beyond compare. I’m not sure what was more beautiful this afternoon, the craftsmanship and colorful design of the intricately woven carpets, or the magical sight from the roof of Hakan’s carpet shop.
www.imperiootomano.com

A Village in the City

Stan arrived yesterday. I cannot believe almost three weeks have passed since I arrived in Istanbul. It’s really amazing how fast time can fly, when you are spending your days doing yoga, sitting in cafes drinking coffee and wandering around.

I was scheduled to be teaching when Stan was to arrive, so we had to work out a way to allow him access to the apartment in my absence. There’s a corner market, Kismet Pazari, near the apartment, where they know Tatjana, the German woman from whom we are subletting the apartment. We get our big bottles of water from them and they carry them up the steps and place them on the counter for us. They sell vegetables and fruits, and a few basic groceries. I try and buy some tomatoes from them every once in a while, but I think they might get their produce from the clearance bin, if you get my drift.

So the guys at Kismet, which means fate in Turkish, are pretty nice and they know the drill. We stay at Tatjana’s and we are whiteys who don’t speak their language. I figured I could leave a key there, Stan could cab directly to the market, pick up the key, let himself in and I’d meet him after class. Sounds really simple, doesn’t it?

Well would you believe it was that simple? I was prepared for a bazillion things to go wrong, given the language barrier and the general chaotic way of life in this city. But I took the key in an envelope to the boys, as we affectionately refer to them, and set it down on the counter. “So,” I said, pretty much to myself, “here’s the deal. My husband…” (At this point I made reference to my wedding ring and also rubbed my head, as if to simulate baldness) “Ah,” says the young Turk, “your friend.” Well, ya, I guess. So I made all of these miming motions about my big tall bald husband who was going to come get the key. I made turning the key hand signals, mentioned Tatjana’s name several times, nodded and hand gestured some more. The kid continued to talk to me in Turkish, and the deal was done. I left the key to the apartment, where they know I am staying, where all of my local possessions are housed, the computer, my passport, everything. The kid put the envelope down with a reassuring nod, next to the Marlboros and I’m off.

Three hours later, after class, I phoned the number to Tatjana’s flat. Stan answered! It was a miracle! Apparently, he had absolutely no problems with his flights, his taxi, and certainly not with our friends at the Kismet market. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The Kismet guys live and work in that alley. Their headscarf-wearing wives hang their laundry on the lines out of their windows every few days, and wave to me in the process. Their children play in the alley. Basically, this small little microcosm where we are visitors, is nothing but a village, with everyone aware of everyone else. I’m sure I could have left my wallet with a million liras in it, on that shelf with the smokes. Every kurus would have been there when I returned.

In this city of anywhere from 15-20 million people, depending on who you believe, there are thousands of these little microcosms. And that’s how everyone survives

For the Record

This Armenian genocide bill is really pissing me off. It is none of our business, and it is DONE! We cannot go back and rewrite history by passing some pointless bill that only panders to the Armenian lobby. Without a doubt, the Turkish government needs to deal with the issue, but we do not. If we are so concerned about genocide or mass killings, where is the legislation affecting Darfur, where the killing continues and some lives might actually be saved? What about the senseless loss of lives (including our own) in Iraq? HMMMMPF!

I agree with a quote I read in the Turkish Daily News, from Egemen Gagis, a top official from Erdogan's ruling party, "Those who voted for this resolution don't care about the interests of the United States, Turkey, or Armenia, but are playing petty domestic politics." Yep, that pretty much sums it up.

I believe this is the second time in my entire life I've agree with Georgie. He actually has the sense (??) not to support the bill. The first time we shared a view was over the Dubai Ports debacle. That was another fine example of petty domestic politicking (thanks, Hillary.)

If you are interested in what the Turkish English language paper has to say, check it out, http://www.turkishdailynews.com.tr/

On more positive news note, check out my friend Mina's review of the Olive Tree, The cute little cafe she treated me to on my birthday, http://www.turkishdailynews.com.tr/article.php?enewsid=85753.

Now, what about me? It’s cold and I have a cold. It’s been raining nonstop for two days. Gloria Jean’s is out of soymilk for my cappuccino, and I have to go into the creepy basement of my apartment building to do laundry. Well, it could be worse and I know it. I could be in Darfur, or Baghdad, or Kabul. I’m not. I’m enjoying the comfort of a warm coffee shop, even without my soymilk. And I’m grateful to be an American. I’m just sorry we abuse our Most Powerful Nation status, by inserting our big fat foot where it doesn’t belong, time and time again

A Quiet Day

I have never seen (nor heard) this city so quiet. The Muslim holiday of Bayram, as they call it in Turkey, officially started yesterday. Bayram is the end of the fasting season, Ramazan. Think of it as Fat Tuesday, but in reverse order. Yesterday was wild. I wouldn't have imagined so many people were fasting in Istanbul. But at sundown, the cafes, bufes, and lokantas were packed! I mean, there's someone selling food every two doors, yet the Turks were lined up.

I'm guessing they celebrated into the night. You could have heard a pin drop this morning when I woke at 7:15. I hiked the hill for coffee, and found the streets dead. Thank God the "keeper of the hill alley" was sitting on his stoop, or I would have been very confused. That guy is there, without fail, and has been as far as I can tell, every day for at least the past year. We share a smile and a "Gunaydin" or "good morning" each morning, as I make this walk.

All hell broke loose when I got to the top of the hill. SILENCE! I mean, it was 9AM, which is usually rather quiet, but nothing. No delivery trucks driving on the pedestrian walkway, no trams tramming, no taxi drivers playing Indy 500 in the pedestrian walkway, no nothing. I felt a little like Rip Van Winkle.

I wasn't too hopeful Deli-Bakkal, my coffee shop would be open, but thank God for small favors. I was their first customer, at 9:15. They were busier than usual, considering the early (I am not kidding) hour. I overheard patrons talking on cell phones in French, English, and I suppose they were saying the same thing in Turkish, "House Cafe is ferme, closed.....Deli-Bakkal. Good marketing move.

Sofyali Sokak, the bustling little alley where I sit and drink my coffee most mornings wasn't bustling. It was great! I chatted with the waitress, watched her feed the kitties, eavesdropped on the French speakers, or at least tried. Two cappuccinos and 1/2 a banana muffin later, I made my way to the studio.

The front door to the pink apartment building was shut. Huh? Is it Sunday? The hall lights wouldn't come on. I climbed the stairs, let myself in and the lights in the studio were dark as well. Damn, they are taking this holiday thing rather seriously, I was thinking to myself. It wasn't until I plugged in my computer to play some tunes and the plug didn't spark (it always does) that it dawned on me, the electricity was out! DUH!

I enjoyed (??) my practice in silence instead of to Madonna's Ray of Light album. Imagine that, I could actually hear myself breathe. I'm guessing that's the way the practice is intended to be. Afterwards, I walked out to Music Street to find it coming to life, thank Allah. I got my orange/pomegranate juice for "take away," and sat at the base of the Galata Tower, to enjoy the relative peacefulness.

I had planned to have some grand adventure later in the afternoon, but after such a surreal start to the day, I couldn't spoil it. I figured it must be a sign. I made my way back to my flat, found my place on the couch, and read. For two hours. I mean, if a city of 17 million (?) people could be so still; surely I could do the same.

A Beautiful Day!

One of the challenges inherent with living in a place far away, even if for a little while, is not being with friends and family on special days, such as your birthday. My experience, however, has been that these special days can somehow be even MORE special, when one's away. Yesterday, my 41st birthday, was such a day.

To treat myself, and get my day off on the right foot, I woke up extra early (7:30AM - give me a break, that's practically still the night before, here!) and arrived at the yoga studio for my own practice, before coffee. I was feeling every bit of 41, practicing first thing without the help of my friend, Joe, but in spite of the creakiness, the practice rewarded, as it always does. Still buzzing from my session and enjoying the relatively early quiet, I walked my walk up Istiklal and grabbed the dolmus (shared taxi) to Nisantisi, the neighborhood where my 11AM class is held on Tuesdays. Plenty of time for a coffee, so....House cafe makes great cappuccinos! No soymilk, but I figured what the hell, it's my birthday!

At my Ashtanga basics class, present were seven willing students. That's all any teacher can ask for. After class, I had a lunch date with my friend, Mina. I met Mina on my first teaching trip to Istanbul in January of 2006. It's always nice to see a friendly face, but especially Mina's. She's a restaurant critic for the Turkish Daily News, the English language paper in Istanbul. She had a vegetarian restaurant she wanted us to try, for her next column.

Not surprisingly, we couldn't find the place. This city is so densely packed, that the shops, restaurants, and living quarters are all packed onto and into one another. There are so many layers and levels of shops on the street, you just never know what's behind or below or above. Finally, after much direction asking and pointing and shrugging and a phone call to Mina's father for the address, we found the Olive Tree, or Zetin Agaci, in Turkish.

It was a lovely little cafe, perched above the busy street. Next to the window, we lunched on delicious home cooked traditional Turkish fare, in a very simple setting. Bottles of olive oil lined the shelves, and a bowl of beautiful green oil was offered for dunking our bread. The beet soup was a little weak, and definitely not vegetarian (chicken stock! I can always feel it on the roof of my mouth) but vegetarianism remains a relatively strange concept to much of Turkey. Chicken doesn't count, apparently. My spinach cooked with rice, a typical Turkish lunch which I must learn to cook, is served with yogurt and more than made up for the soup. Mina's cooked mixed vegetables in a mustard sauce, where nice as well.

We must have unintentionally eaten lightly so we could sample the house made desserts. We more than compensated up for our delicate lunch by sampling THREE! Remember, I'm the birthday girl! We shared a poached pear drenched in chocolate sauce. Then, reminding ourselves Mina had to review this place, we continued tasting. Torn between an orange semolina cake with more of that yummy chocolate sauce, or another cake, which turned out to be rich with chocolate and nuts, the friendly server offered to give us a little taste of each. I'm telling you, these desserts were waaay more than worth the calories, especially when cut nicely with a little cup of espresso. Really, does it get any better than this?

After lunch (yawn) I had several hours to kill, so what else does a birthday girl do? Go birthday shopping! Armed with my new knowledge of how to get to Kanyon, the cool shopping mall, I descended to the Metro (subway) for the short ride. Once there, I mostly sat in a comfy chair in D&R, Istanbul's version of B&N and read books. I did pop into Mango for a few little things, but no real damage done. Stan, you can relax.

Back to the House Cafe for tea time, back to Yogasala for my 7:30pm class, on to the OTHER House Cafe (yes, three House Cafe visits in one day) to dine, because I was craving the lentil salad with the purslane and truffle oil - and after all, I AM THE BIRTHDAY GIRL! Then, finally, back down the hill and up the little alleyway to my apartment, for a good night's sleep.

A great day? Yes! No, I wasn't home celebrating with my friends and family, but what made this day so special, was the kindness of people I don't really know all that well, like my Turkish friend, Mina. And the thoughtfulness of another yoga friend, Alexis, who took my evening class even though she had already practiced, so she could bring me a birthday present. And all the text messages I received from the other people here, that I barely know. And the wishes from friends in Dubai (how did they remember my birthday?) And the phone calls my family and friends went to a lot of extra effort and expense to make, calling me overseas. Not to mention all the emails from home. You see, you appreciate things more, when they aren't expected, when there's no obligation. Your family MUST acknowledge you on your birthday, when you are home. It's easy to drop a card in the mail, or make a local phone call. But when people go so out of their way, just to show you that you are somehow special to them, that is the making of a beautiful day!

Starbucks and Change

Yes, It's true, I frequent Starbucks in Istanbul. But I do have some good excuses. First of all, it seems like there are more 'bucks on Istiklal Cad., then there are mosques. There are at least two NEW ones on the mile long strip, since last year. But of course, that's not reason enough. Sometimes, it's hard to get something "to go" here. Starbucks has that down. You know, those commuting-to-yoga-class lattes? They always have soy milk. The employees always speak a bit of English, at least coffee shop english - soy, tall, extra shot - you know, the important stuff. Also, the food in the Starbuck's here is very a la Turka, and it's good! Sure, they have the muffins big as your head, and the pie in a cup drinks, but you can also get your soy latte with a tasty pogaca, or mini peynirili. A pogaca is a light, savory roll and a mini peynirli is a wonderful LITTLE sandwich made on some sort of whole grain bread with olive paste and white cheese. They also have some yummy looking roasted veggie sandwiches and smoked salmon wraps that I've yet to try. Oh, and you can always use your Visa. Ah, Westernization is not ALL bad.

It's not all good, either. Last year, I was so pleased, that the sizes in the Istanbul Starbucks were reasonable: short 8 ounces, tall 12 ounces, and grande 16 ounces. The oversized 20 ounce venti didn't even exist. That's the way it should be. Eight ounces is MORE than big enough for a latte, especially since they only put in one shot of espresso. And who needs a 20 ounce coffee drink? For God's sake, this isn't Quick Trip! But it is America, and unfortunately now it's Turkey, too. This year, the sizes have been supersized. The smallest order is now the 12 oz. tall, the medium size the 16 oz grande and voila, the big daddy VENTI measuring in at 20 oz. The poor little short, my size of choice(with TWO shots), is a thing of the past.

But you know what they say about change. I'll roll with the flow. In the meantime, I'll continue to purchase my little 6 ounce hand pressed juices from the Bufe, and be reassured by some of the familiar people, places and things that remain.

The Painter, affectionately known as Teddy Bear Man, continues to wander Sofyali Sokak. He must have lost his teddy bear, but thankfully he's also lost the syringes with which he used to play. The incense selling clown man is still here, with his cartoonish clothes and oversized prayer beads. The boys still sell midye dolma, or stuffed mussels, from trays carried on their heads. The call to prayer sounds five times a day, and a cool breeze blows naturally up from the Bosphorous. And even though a sizzling plate of fajitas just arrived at the table across the alleyway from where I'm writing, I'm still able to sit here at the House Cafe, all day if I like, sipping my chai.

Purslane Anyone?

Ok, I've got mine. This is from the organic farmers market here. You know I'm serious about something when I'll walk 20 minutes, ride a subway and walk another 20 minutes one way, just to buy local organic purslane! I made the yogurt salad with it tonight (see my comments on Oct. 1's post.) You don't know what your missing! Weeds and fermented dairy. Yum!

Music Street

A few blocks from my apartment is a street informally known as Music Street. It runs from Istiklal Cad., the busy pedistrian mall street (where cars and trams are allowed!) down toward the Bosphorous. It's earned it's name from all the music related shops lining it. You might think of it as the music souk. Here you can find shops selling musical instruments, musical equipment, recording equipment and recording studios, anything to do with music. At any given hour, there are musicians walking up and down Music Street, with their instrument cases. Repairs, lessons, I'm not sure. But if you are a musician in Istanbul, you're here.

There are lots of other wonderful things happening on Music Street, too. It's one of my favorite streets. It runs down past the Galata Tower, and if you keep going down the hill (it's pretty steep!), it will dump you out near the port, where all the big cruise ships dock. It's also very residential. So you have this interesting mix of locals going about their business, musicians, and tourists. There seems to be a bit of a hippie crowd, too. There's a hostel or two on Music Street, and also a funky Spanish place, Venta del Toro where they do pretty decent tapas, a la Turka. The couple who owns the place is there day and night. They appear to have a good time with their crowd-tourists, turks and a fair amount of Spanish speakers. Stan and I like to hang at Venta Del Toro, but not today.

My Friday starts on Music Street. After coffee, that is. I can't help but patronize the new Gloria Jeans near my apartment. It is just too convenient. Plus, they have a NS section and soy milk. The former is more unheard of than the latter, but the two together? A rare find! Gloria Jeans is sort of at the mouth of Music Street, so I think it's close enough to count. Coffee, then down the hill, to Yogaist, get it? Yoga -IST, like Istanbul? Hee hee. This is the third yoga studio opend by the Yogasala owner, Can Malta. And I think it might be my favorite. It's a no frills place, where all classes are on a drop-in, cash only basis. And at half the drop in rate of the other studios, it's a bargain. Yoga in Istanbul is pretty pricy, mostly for the well-off. For example, at the other Yogasala locations, a drop in class is the equivalent of $25 and at Yogaist, its $13.

The yoga studio is on the third floor of a pink apartment building on Music Street. So as I enjoy my practice, the babooshka'ed ladies working at the cafe on the FOURTH floor of the building next door are enjoying my practice as well! That sums up Istanbul. Here I am, in a beautiful high-ceilinged space with hardwood floors, stainless steel ceiling fans and fixtures, and there is a working class tea shop in the building next door. This city is a study of contrasts everywhere you look. When the tea drinkers, however, start enjoying my practice as well, I am forced to close the blinds!

After practice, I walk to the street for a juice. Pomegranates are in season now, and since Turkey is all about seasonal and local, fresh pomegranate (nar) juice is the drink of the day. I prefer mind mixed with orange (portakal) juice. I pull up a pint sized stool at Yildiz Bufe, order one up, and watch the guy make it with his manual citrus press. Unlike in America, my juice comes in a REAL glass, and measures 6 ounces at the most. No supersizing here. Yet at $2.50 still a bargain, especially considering the view. I sit and watch the world go by. Not a bad way to start a Friday!

Home Sweet Home - Away from Home

Well, yesterday was a big day. I checked out of the hotel (no more room service), taught my first yoga classes, transferred all of my stuff to the apartment I'm renting, rode the dolmuche (shared taxi) reaquainted myself with the old 'hood, and got cursed at and spit on by a taxi driver. Don't be alarmed, it just means I've arrived.

And here I am! Stan and I sublet this same apartment last summer, from Tatjana, a nice German woman who does massage therapy at the yoga studio. She also does massage in Kabak, on the Mediterranean coast. We've been lucky enough to hit town when she's away, so we can stay at her place. It is very near the Galata Tower, which is a pretty cool tourist attraction, built in 1384 by the Genoese (pix above.)
http://www.galatatower.net/eng/index.php

The apartment building sits at the end of a little street, wide enough for one car, at the bottom of a big hill coming down from Istiklal Cad, the busy street I've talked about previously. It is a true residential Turkish neighborhood. There are families and children, and gypsies, and kitties, and corner markets where they don't mind if you are a few coins short, with guys who they will carry your big 5 gallon water bottle up the steps for you. The place has a good feel.

Today, I picked up a few groceries and tonight made a big mess in the kitchen. Shame there's no dishwasher! Where's Stan when you need him? I made a simple turkish inspired veggie stew, rich with spices and some onion and potato stowaways from my mom's organic garden in Pleasantville, Iowa. I'm guessing it's the first time Iowa dirt has been washed off a potato in this apartment.

Simple. I sauteed a diced onion and cubanelle pepper, added a chopped potato and the spices. I learned to add the spices here, from Indian cooking, it really kicks it up a notch. (I would have used some garlic, but I didn't have any.) Add approximately one teaspoon each cumin and paprika - the good smoky kind, 1/2 teaspoon ground corriander, 1/4 tsp turmeric and salt, pepper, and crushed red chilis to taste. Saute until the spices are fragrant. Next add three chopped tomatoes and some water, a tablespoon of tomato paste one teaspoon red pepper paste with the seeds, if you can get it. If not, maybe a roasted red pepper and some extra crushed red chilis. Cover and cook the tomatoes down a bit. Then toss in one small eggplant, chopped, one small marrow (like zucchini) chopped, and a handfull of oil-cured black olives. Cook some more, adding water if needed. When tbe veggies are tender, the stew has thickened a little and you are ready to eat, finish with some chopped parsley and green onions. I ate this with a crusty loaf of fresh whole wheat bread, purchased not an hour before at the foot of the Galata Tower, some fresh arugula and a scoop of yogurt. I know, it's weird, but the Turks eat yogurt as a side dish. Try it. It adds protein to a veggie meal and cools the intensity of the spices and the richness of the tomato and red pepper paste. Yum. Some cooked chickpeas would have been a nice addition, but I was too lazy.
Afiyet olsun!

Lunch at Last!

Finally, a yoga person interested in more than drinking coffee! Eric and I went to The House Cafe (http://thehousecafe.com.tr/) for lunch, after his Ashtanga basics class, where I was a student. Amongst locals and foreigners feelings are mixed about the House Cafe. It's basically a local chain, here in Istanbul. There are five locations. I've been to two, the one today in my neighborhood, Tunel and the original, in Tesvikiye, near one of the other yoga studios.

The original is actually in a house. As with most of the locations there is a communal table, in what would have been the front room. There is seating in all the other little rooms, and small hallways. Out back there is a beautiful terrace, that makes you think you are on someone's country estate. According to a very nice gentleman I met there drinking coffee on my first yoga teaching trip, in January of 2006, Istanbul's literati, perhaps even Orhan Pamuk, who lives up the street, gathered there when the first one opened in 2002 to talk, drink coffee and tea, smoke cigarettes, and likely carry on as is their nature. In fact I enjoyed a glimpse on that particular visit, as this kind Turkish gentleman introduced me to some of his friends. You see, I was the early crowd, as were they. 9AM. Yep, that's the early crowd. This guy, whose name escapes me, admitted that he goes to Starbucks for coffee upon waking, and then comes to House Cafe when they open at 9 for tea and breakfast. I generally enjoy their cappucinos. Anyway, at that early hour, I was the youngest and only female at the communal table. So they put up with me.

I think that like with all things, some people remember the good ole days(even if that only goes back to 2002) and now House Cafe has gotten too big, etc. But they carry a nice variety of fresh, beautifully prepared food, international with Turkish roots. It is, however, a tad bit expensive. For example, I had the lentil salad, and Eric chowed down on the hamburger with fries(yes the yoga guy.) He also had an iced tea then a latte(coffee again!) and the bill was 48 lira, and that's before tip. That's $40.

But, I must tell you about this salad! I'd pay for it all over again and likely will. It consisted of a scoop of cooked green lentils with a few slivers of roasted red and yellow peppers, in a mustard seed sauce. Mixed in were some generous hunks of goats cheese. Then on top perched a pile of fresh purslane. Purslane is a widely used green here and also in the Middle East. You would recognize it, it grows as a weed in the Midwest. It sort of looks like rose moss. Thick stems with succulent looking oval shaped leaves. I love it. The entire dish was drizzled with pomegranate sauce and then, gasp, TRUFFLE OIL! I could smell it the minute the waiter placed it in front of me. Completely delicious.

After that, I took care of some business, then back to the hotel for another hamam (more on that later) and then to the lobby lounge where I'm enjoying watching all the tourists go out for dinner. My last night at the Pera Rose. Sigh.

Full on!

Day two in this teeming city of anywhere from 10-15 million people! And everything about it surely is full on. My day started with an introduction by Eric (the American yoga teacher on staff at Yogasala) on how to get to one of the newer yoga studios. There are three, and so far I've only taught at the original one. This 2nd one, is in Etiler, which is a bit out from the central city. Since I hate to rack up the cab fares (not to mention I'm SCARED to ride with these crazy cab drivers) I wanted to learn how to get out there using public transportation. See Stan, I'm always trying to save you money! So Eric and I walked up Istiklal, stopping at one of the three Starbucks on the maybe 3/4 of a mile long strip. In general yoga people are caffeine fiends and the Turks drink coffee almost as much as they smoke cigarettes, so you can only imagine.

At Taksim Square, we descended to the Metro station, the Istanbul subway. We rode almost to the last stop, then walked several blocks to get a cab. The walk isn't necessary, there ARE cabs, but if you get a cab at the Metro stop, it is going in the wrong direction and has to circle around to get going in the correct direction. So, by walking several blocks you save a few Lira. There I go again, saving Stan money. So, I have these notes that read like this, "Out of Metro station, turn left. Walk to the big car bill board past the construction then turn left. Walk to the end of that street throught the little square, then turn right." And so on. Get the point? It's real specific.

After several of these twists and turns we pop in to Eric's 2nd stop en route, a Turkish bakery for three pogacas. They are delightful little bakery delicacies. Savory, not sweet. This guy, who can't weigh 150 lbs has already nailed a Starbuck's big-as-your-head muffin. THEN we hail a cab. When I get in the cab I am supposed to make sure the cab driver knows how to get to Kortel (How am I supposed to do this? Cab drivers do not speak English, and you know what I don't speak.) Or if that fails, we go straight, one right turn, then straight again. Yeah, right.

Once out at the studio, it is lovely. It is high above the Bosphorus, on what used to be an organic farm. It's a nice break from the pace of the city. Then I get my butt kicked.

I hadn't practiced since Andy and I practiced on Thursday, not to mention the plane ride, so I was pretty stiff. And Eric is basically an Ashtanga purest. He is a student of Manju Jois. We did the primary series in a teeny room with probably 20 students, no air, no fans, no open windows, even though all were available. I'm sure he is trying to recreate Mysore. And it was awesome! Luckily for me he cut me some slack, knowing I was coming off jet lag.

After class, I shared a cab with Mina, one of the students I knew from 2006. We rode to Kanyon, a cool new shopping center. Not a boring suburban shopping center, but an open air, neat architechture shopping center swarming with people. We had multiple lattes (more coffee!) and good conversation. Starting to get weary I pushed on home.

Back to the subway, back to Istiklal street(shown above in a NON-busy time), which is a pedistrian walkway, except cars and trams are allowed. I told you it was full on. They beep or honk or whatever, right before they run you over. But it's the people that amaze you. There are THRONGS of people walking up and down this street. You can barely manuver. It's pretty cool.

Once home at the Pera Rose, I watched the sun set over the Golden Horn, relaxed in the hotel's hamam (Turkish bath) then ordered room service with all the money of Stan's I saved. I'm beat.

Return to Istanbul

It's hard to believe it's been over a year(and a busy one at that!) since I've been to Istanbul. I arrived after a ridiculously long day of flights to Houston, Paris then finally here. The flat I am renting is not available until October 2, so I am staying at the pleasant Pera Rose Hotel, nearby, in Beyoglu, a very Turkish neighborhood. It was admittedly nice to have someone help me with my luggage, turn on the a/c and order room service after the trip. I had a nice walk around the 'hood, thru my favorite alleyway or "sokak" sofyali sokak, made sure my favorite coffee shop, Deli-Bakkal was still there, even saw the Teddy Bear Man (Lynn and Stan?) so all was well in the world. Crashed hard and slept pretty much through with only the once familiar call to prayer waking me temporarily before rousing at 10:15AM local time. Much needed.

I slept through breakfast, so I made my way to Deli-Bakkal (that's Lynn and me at DB in 2006) for my soy cappucino and some country bread with organic butter and sour cherry jam. This cute little cafe is so ME! I hung out for awhile worked on the crossword, drank another coffee and wandered a bit up and down Istiklal, the main drag. There is a new Starbucks (now three on the street) and a new Gloria Jeans right at the top of the hill coming up from the flat. Nice for those pre-class coffees on the way to the studio!

In the afternoon I met some yoga friends at the Istanbul Modern, the modern art museum. The museum is in an old warehouse on the Bosphorous waterfront. It's a great setting. They have a neat cafe, where I enjoyed a fresh OJ waiting for my friends. Once they arrived we walked to the warehouse next door, where part of the Istanbul Art Biennal is showing (there are other locations around the city). It was a cool scene. After that we made our way back up the hill to Music Street, in Galata, where I got a first look at the new yoga studio. This is the third Yogasala location and I'll be teaching at all three.

The group was heading to 360, a very trendy spot for dinner, so I passed. Another early night in for me. I've got the window open and am getting street noises, but from 7 flights up it is pleasant. The air today seemed very hazy and polluted to me, but that might just be me coming from the Midwest. I have a great view of the Golden Horn, and many mosque spires, including the Sulemanyie Mosque. Istanbul is truly one of my favorite cities in the world and it feels good to be back!
Iyi aksamlar!
PS: In case you're wondering, I'm 8 hours ahead of CST.

Why not me?

If everyone else can do this, why not me?
Lisa