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.