Istanbul II

To continue on from yesterday's post, some more notes from Istanbul:

• The Grand Bazaar, with over 4000 shops, is the epicenter of the city in many ways. You can buy anything here - from clothes to jewellery to spices to power tools - and rub elbows with locals and tourists. (Very little deodorant on sale - this would make the metro rides a little more bearable).

• Topkapi Palace is a sprawling collection of buildings that are now mostly a museum. Some incredible items here, including an 86-carat diamond, various sultans' clothing from 1000+ years ago, and other surprises, including a sudden and spectacular view of the sea that comes out of nowhere.

• Aya Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and Sultanahmet are also impressive. Depending on the conquering forces at the time, Aya Sofia, from its origins in 360(!) has been a cathedral, a mosque, and a museum (as it is today). The sense of history and of just imagining the people and events that have occurred over 1600 years is pretty awe-inspiring.

• The Princes Islands are a decent day trip, with ferry rides to any number of them leaving all parts of the city. Just be prepared for masses of people, particularly at day's end (not for you claustrophobics). They are hilly, and without cars, so getting around by foot, bike or horse-drawn cart (and get ready to jump out of the way!) are the only way to navigate.

Overall, there's not a lot of witty or insightful stuff to say about Istanbul. Glad (and fortunate) to have seen it? Absolutely. Will I hurry back? Not likely. While it's a place that easily fills up the memory card on the camera, it doesn't do the same for the heart.

Typical plates of mezes, appetizers

The ferry towards the Princes Islands

One of the bars lining the Galata Bridge

The view from Topkapi Palace

Heybeliada, one of the Princes Islands

A walk in the woods on Heybeliada

The main mode of transport on Heybeliada

One of the other Princes Islands

Well-fed young Turk

Brisk business, selling balik ekmek

Balik ekmek

Fishing off the Galata Bridge

Ahh

Istanbul

Istanbul. The name conjures up images of a warm, mysterious, alluring place with small hidden alleys and bustling harbors crowded with small boats holding spices, fish, and exotic fabrics.

It turned out to be something else, something like a padded bra - full of promise from afar, but closer inspection reveals a fairly different reality. Not necessarily disappointing, just different than expected and advertised.

It has its charms - the history and architecture, the quality of the fake brands, the seafood, the Galata Bridge (bars and restaurants on the lower deck of a bridge = a great concept), the sea views from almost everywhere, Istikal Caddesi, and the many rooftop terraces - but they are drowned out by the near-constant hustle, rip-off restaurant charges, unending masses of people crammed onto the metro, and pretty much only men, mostly idle, on the streets and in the stores.

It is a city of contrasts, which you might expect as East meets West here:

• From the many minarets around the city, you hear the Call to Prayer. It may as well be a Call to Prada, as every few steps you are asked to buy knock-off designer shoes or bags. It was annoying and repetitive - although one wiseguy did offer the best line of the week: "Excuse me, would you like to come in and buy something you don't need?"

• The friendliness of the people is apparent, but underneath it in many commercial aspects is a real sense of being ripped off, whether it's a waiter, a taxi driver, or a corner store owner. Not all, by any stretch, are scam artists - but enough that it makes you leery at all times.

• Women in tank tops and shorts walk alongside those almost completely covered.

• The scenery is jaw-dropping at times, as is the litter in the parks and water.

More tomorrow in a new post. For now, some photos...

Sunset on the Bosphorus, as enjoyed from the Galata Bridge

This stuff was on sale everywhere. Stiff competition, I suppose.

Eerste Dag

June 14th, Netherlands vs Denmark - the first day of the Amsterdam World Cup experience. And as far as initiations go, it was a pretty good one.

I headed - via trusty two-wheeler of course - to the bustling neighbourhood of De Pijp. Specifically, to Marie Heinkenplein, a not especially touristy residential and commercial square (more of a semi-circle actually) about 10 minutes from the center of the city. More specifically yet, to Barca, a mildly upscale tapas bar.

I figured if it was full, I had a choice of several other spots right there - an Irish pub called O'Donnell's, and a few classic Dutch spots in De Beiaard and Cafe Kale de Derde.

In the end, Barca was all I needed and then some. Inside it was packed to the rafters with at least 4 large projection screens and a mix of trendy-but-hipster-free guys and girls. Outside were benches and tables and another 4 screens at least. This is scrubbed and clean Amsterdam, not the grittier one (there are at least 2 games left for that).

Average age: 28

Percentage expats and tourists: 10% - ideal for creating a more authentic Dutch atmosphere.

Average height: Preposterous

*Note - if you are going to come late to a pub anywhere in the world to watch football and hope to see the screen, choose a country where your typical male or female is not a giant.

Price of Heineken on tap: 2.50 Euros - quite reasonable

Food: Non-existent.

I was informed by the server that they don't serve food during games. This was a bit of an eyebrow-raiser, but it made sense when you saw the mass of people they had to navigate through.

Vibe: Happy, patriotic, chill, hot, and by about the 30th minute, pretty loaded.

Nestled into one of the few remaining spots outside, I soon got to experience the easygoing openness of the Dutch and chatted with everyone around me. I couldn't see the much of the screen because of the reflection. I'll assume the planners hadn't counted on the sun appearing in the city. But given my more immediate scenery (photos below), I wasn't complaining.

My immediate neighbours were three very friendly med students, one armed with a Hello Kitty cellphone, and another who felt instantly bad for the Danish defender who scored the own goal to put the Dutch up 1-0. Behind me, somehow the bottom of a wine glass broke off. (Did I mention this wasn't a hardcore football crowd?).

Fine fellow fans Claudia, Marielle, and Mirte

Onto the action on the pitch... The Dutch squad came out pretty strong, giving the crowd 4 or 5 "Oooohhh" moments within the first twenty minutes.

The football songs were booming throughout the bar as of the 10-minute mark. These were incomprehensible to me, unfortunately, aside from "Hup Holland Hup, laat de leeuw niet in zijn hempje staan". This means "Hup Holland Hup, don't let the lion stand in his undershirt", as far as I can tell.

After a more worthy strike was scored at the 85-minute mark (by Dirk Kuyt - be very careful how you pronounce his surname here), the Danes were dismissed as expected and the revellers turned the streets to orange, setting their sights on the Japanese on June 19th. I'll be heading to a more raucous area to file the next report - wish me veel succes.

(P.S. Biking home through a sunny Vondelpark to shake off a 3-beer, no-food late afternoon buzz? Highly recommended)

A moment for reflection

Nervy times with only a one-goal lead, until...

...goooaaaallll! Kuyt tallies after Elia's solid effort

Thievery Corporation

Walking into an Urban Outfitters store in Santa Monica, California in the year 2000, I knew I was in a cool place when a live DJ was spinning tunes in between the first and second floor.

Even cooler was the sound coming from the speakers - the chillout/reggae/ambient/Indian/

banghra/who knows what else sounds of Thievery Corporation.

Returning home a few days later, I quickly, er, "bought" a bunch of their songs online (this was before my conscience kicked in a few years later - I now only buy music on iTunes, honest).

Fast forward 10 years and they've become a top-3 favourite in my books. And in yet another nod to Amsterdam's ever-present entertainment options, I was able to see them live for the first time here at the venerable Melkweg. The room was perfect, with packed balconies and a full floor.

It was an unreal show, with a hugely positive vibe in a crowd of 20- and 30-somethings. Each song brought out a different lead vocalist, from Brazil, the US, Argentina and Jamaica by way of Washington D.C. The live band accompanying the DJs featured top-level musicians playing the trumpet, saxophone, bongos, sitar, bass, and drums. The show kicked off with the sexiest, happiest big mama ever, Sister Pat (photo from the 'Net).

It can be tricky to describe the music since I don't know any comparable groups, so I'll leave it to one of the group's founders at the end of this post to at least describe their philosophy. A Last.fm search for similar artists lists a number of others that are way more obscure.

Basically, it was a cultural and musical experience that dipped me in a vat of coolness from which I have yet to emerge (although friends might suggest otherwise). I HIGHLY recommend picking up some of their songs. Le Monde, Revolution Solution, Le Femme Parallel and Air Batucada should give you a good start, but virtually any song from any album is good. Ditto with a recommendation to see them live wherever you can.

Happy to hear your comments as well...

From Rob Garza:

"We definitely want to contribute to the opening of ears, eyes, and minds. With our live shows it’s a poignant example of music and culture mixing together in an explosive vibrant way. To see a Persian singer singing in Farsi, as America debates on a war with Iran, next to other band members from all corners of the earth singing in Spanish, Portuguese, French and so on, it makes people wonder... and if you can get people to question the things around them, just a little, then that’s not such a bad thing."

Istanbullish

Last month, we saw the classic Wordsworth in this post.

To quote a similar genius, I believe it was Pitbull who said:

Then we gonna go fo, and fo, we gon freak some mo.

Four days in Istanbul start tomorrow... the Istanbul Lonely Planet app is loaded on the iPhone, the Turkish Lira is not so dear-a, and the dolmus and the Bosphorus await us.

So no posts here for the next few days unfortunately - the next one will come Monday or Tuesday of next week. See you then.

Viva Italia

Two perspectives on this weekend's De Smaak van Italie event near Utrecht, at the Kasteel de Haar. Each one valid in its own way.

Version 1

Wow, this place is great! Beautiful castle, serene setting, hundreds of booths serving up all manner of Italian delicacies, great wine everywhere.

Look at this celebration of cultures coming together - coffee booths, delicious sausages and cheeses and elaborate oils and sauces everywhere, right alongside friendly and talented Dutch artists and authentic knick-knack kiosks.

Thank you, cool Dutch cop, for calling a cab for us and making sure we got a fair deal.

Vespas and Ferraris on display, with Italian furniture it's like I'm strolling through Palermo. Look how warm and gracious every vendor is. Bellissima!

Version 2

This place blows. It took me two and a half hours, with a bike, a train, and a rip-off taxi ride to get here? 9 more Euros than the fare charged by the taxi in front of us? Hey Italians or Dutch or whoever is running this thing - a road sign, maybe a shuttle bus would be an idea for next year.

Mmm, bread and olive oil. At every second stall.

Nice castle - too bad it closes at four and no one told us. Lovely weather too - if the light were any flatter, it would be Kate Moss.

No, condescending coffee machine vendor - I don't know exactly which cup to use for the cappuccino machine. But thank you for scolding me nonetheless. You may just want to cut back on your own product though, lest your teeth get any more yellow.

A piece from Italian digital artist Tiziana - will update with full name if I can find it

Expat Experience

Central Park, NYC September 2009

After a particularly angst-ridden weekend and with some big decisions coming up here in Amsterdam, I reflected on what it means to be an expat.

Forgive me as we go a bit deeper than normal - maybe it's the rainy Sunday, the remnants of dark Belgian beer that is as heavy as lead, or the desire to know that others can relate and that I'm not the only one. (Lemme know).

There were a number of moments in the last 48 hours where I felt more like a foreigner than at almost any time in the past 8 months. Skin-crawling, head-spinning, chest-searing what-have-I-gotten-into-and-get-me-outta-here moments. Then it hit me: being an expat is a lot like those initial stages of falling in love.

The parallels are endless. The two experiences are alternately thrilling, terrifying, joy-inducing and nausea-inducing as you set foot upon new terrain.

• Age and experience are part of a double-edged sword: you can become rigid and set in your ways as you grow older, diminishing your ability to be flexible and accommodating and truly open; at the same time, setbacks on the path have less of an impact - you learn to roll with the punches more and are able to hit the reset button more readily.

• They can both be financially (half-kidding) and emotionally (no joke) expensive, if you make the wrong choices initially. Although neither is irreparable.

• As both conditions extend from days to weeks to months and years, of course you see the cracks and the flaws (hopefully no warts). They've always been there, well before you arrived, but the early glow of newness and adventure has obscured them. You have fallen prey to your own expectations of that person or that place.

• Time changes your perspective. Familiarity breeds both comfort and contempt. And, depending on the level of your affection for the person or place, you either roll with it and choose to focus on the positives or you jump ship in search of home or a new destination.

• You sometimes stay in the same place too long thinking you can get used to it - but this may not happen. Are they warning signs you're ignoring, or simply a matter of getting to know this new being? It's almost impossible to tell the difference.

• Your heart breaks at the same time that it swells, often within the same few minutes, the same few hours.

• A thousand little indignities, real or perceived, bump up against your previously defined sense of self.

• Speaking of sense of self, you lose part of it for a while - the familiar surroundings that have shaped you and been your mirror. You now have a new mirror and the way it reflects is definitely not the same.

• You experience in a very raw way the fear and discomfort that come with putting yourself out there, but also the rewards that sometimes come from doing so.

• Essentially, it's what you choose to focus on, day in and day out, that determines whether you can make it from the early stages to a more lasting situation.

I suppose this is all true of many situations in life, but I've never felt it so acutely as when I'm a foreigner - in a new land or a new relationship.