|
|
|
|
Earlier in March
April More Ramblings
March 18, 2000:
Iran:Oooo-weeee! Nothing like
a little fresh sheep liver after flying all night. My plane left
Lahore at 3:05 AM, stopped briefly in Dubai to land at 9:30 AM
in Teheran, Iran. I peeled my eyes open enough to tie my scarf
around my head and slug into the customs office. Unlike my experience
in Islamabad a day earlier where I had to bribe the officials
for my visa, these Iranians gave me no problems. (My appearance
may have had something to do with it---I was wearing the beautiful
green shalwar kameeze my Pakistani friends had given me,
pink rubber sandals, a decorated head scarf and big brown backpack---seeing
as the Iranians have a particular style of dress fairly different
from my current one.) But let me get back to my original point:
the sheep.
After being dragged immediately to the Teheran National Museum
(no comment) by my obligatory government guide, I was then shuttled
off to meet his family. "How was your flight?" asked
one of the girls. I took one of my hands that was holding an
eye open to scratch my head. "I don't remember." I
said at last. The next thing I knew I was sitting at a table
surrounded by ten Iranians and a diced lamb. Today was Gorban
Eid, the day every head of the household gets to sacrifice
an animal, usually a goat or a sheep. And I was presented with
a plateful of this particular sacrifices' liver. Not even bothering
to give a fight I simply popped it into my mouth, chewed and
swallowed. Denying food as a guest is one of the biggest manner
no-nos in this part of the world and I'd had too much experience
in the past three months offending people that I figured surrender
would be the quickest pain. Only until I realized that one of
the chunks of Bah (a baad reference to the deceased sheep) had
not been cooked that I leaned my head back, closed my eyes and
thought my usual I'm-Such-an-Idiot thought, "Oh crap."
But it's now ten hours later and I'm doing okay. I'm staying
in the home of my guide and his wife and if anything decides
to take its revenge I'll be in another position to tell you about
the treatments of the sick in yet another country.
March 21, 2000:
Turkey: Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha ha ha
ha. Oh. Well, now that I've gotten that out of my system I'll
tell you how I came to be in Istanbul, Turkey. It's quite a story.
Most likely I'll turn it into some made-for-TV film when I return
from my trip.
After a few days battling with my "government" guide
about my contact with other Iranians I was told point blank that
I was going to be deported unless I followed the outlined plan---staying
in expensive tourist hotels and keeping my interaction with Iranians
to a minimum. Everything came to a head when I was forced to
stay in a hotel rather than with my Iranian contacts at the NGO
Green Front of Iran. At the hotel I said goodbye to the guide
and unpacked my things. I went to make a phone call to my friends
to let them know I was okay but the phone would not work. When
I inquired about it to the desk clerks they said that it was
closed for the night. After a few more words it turned out that
my guide had told them that he was a "police" and that
I could not use the phone. I immediately found a way to call
my friends to tell them the situation and they picked me up early
the following morning and took me to the Swiss Embassy.
 
A battle ensued between the guide and myself that eventually
lead me to a travel agent to buy my ticket to Turkey. The details
are still being worked out and I will be sure to give updates
as they come along. But for now I'll just have to say it's a
delight to be in Turkey after a crazy weekend.
March 24, 2000:
Nearly a week in Istanbul and I'm beginning to feel European
already. This is not a bad place to wind down after a nice Middle
Eastern custody battle. Things are still being worked out and
shifted around concerning Iran, and, if things move my way, I
may be returning in a month or so.
 
A few days after I arrived in Istanbul I went to one of the
famous Turkish baths to relieve myself of a little stress. I
left it, along with a few pounds of dirt, on the marble slab
where a large Turkish women scrubbed and beat me for an hour.
It was snowing outside but that didn't bother me while I lay
in the middle of the bath looking up through little circular
holes in the ceiling at the sky, drips of melted snow hitting
me every so often.
Istanbul is like most big big cities in that it has its touts
and crooks but now, in the off-season, it's easy to rub elbows
with them and joke about buying a carpet or a miniature painting.
"Can I harass you today?" One fellow asks and I just
laugh, walking on because no one here thinks life should be taken
so seriously.
March 27, 2000:
Istanbul is the cross-roads of Europe and Asia, straddling
the two continents and bringing west and east together within
a stone's throw (or ten-minute ferry ride) across the Bosphorus
straight. So when I sat down for dinner with a group of people
from the Washington based CNFA (Citizens Network for Foreign
Affairs) containing nationalities from Zimbabwe, Moldova, Ukraine
and the United States it didn't seem that strange. CNFA was in
Istanbul for their inaugural annual meeting. They work in agricultural
development and they exist to teach people how to help themselves.
They were in the middle of applying this to their own organization
when I stumbled upon them.
"It's a cosmopolitan town where you can get a Big Mac
and a Coke and discuss the problems of the poor rural villages
with the nearby carpet seller." explained the head of the
organization. "It's a good place for our meeting."
And I agreed. Looking around this city you can see an assortment
of people here for an assortment of reasons and there is definitely
no lack of carpet sellers willing to talk about anything you'd
like.
March 31, 2000:
Well, after giving the Laleli district of Istanbul nearly
a week test I gave up and moved to the tourist section of Sultanahmet
near the famed Blue Mosque and Aya Sofia. I didn't know when
I rolled into Turkey that Laleli is historically the Baltic district---Russian
tradesman on short buying holidays. I also had no clue why everyone
was calling me "Natasha" at my lovely Seven Alp hotel.
"It's Reed. Thank you." "Yeh. Yeh. Natasha."
So I shrugged my shoulders and they winked.
 
It was while I was making the 20 minute walk towards the center
of town that I learned what Natasha meant. I was ambling down
an unusually un-busy road laden with tourist shops. Clerks were
shouting hello from blocks away due to lack of tourists in this
slow period before the summer sends people traveling and prices
up. "Hello Lady. Why are you always walking here?"
asked one clerk. In passing, because of course I had somewhere
very important to go (nowhere), I told the man Laleli. "What?!"
He yelled, then yelled something in Turkish to the rest of the
street. "American Natasha!" Yelled back another clerk.
I seized on the word, spun around and got a ten minute lecture
on what exactly I, being a Natasha, was. Turns out I was staying
where the Russian businessmen and their prostitute counterparts,
the Natashas, stayed. Since I was not buying large amounts of
Turkish goods I fell into the latter category, that of whore.
Oh, that's just what I needed, I thought and spent the
rest of the day getting price quotes in a "better"
part of town.
 
So, after a long day of visa preparations---the Syrian consulate
is nearly 10km and a water crossing away---I strolled into my
new accommodation, the Ali Baba Hotel and Carpet Shop. (Doesn't
it sound like a step up?) And when I opened the door to my room
I was greeted with two bouquets of fresh flowers and a plateful
of fresh fruit. "Alright Ali Baba." I said and threw
down my bag, hit the bed and propped up my feet. I don't care
if they expect me to buy 100 carpets, this is nice. With
a little more relaxation and a Syrian visa it looks like I'll
be ready to be on my way soon.
(The one major
feature missing from these pictures is the carpet shops and their
proprietors. I was so overwhelmed by them the first few days
I was in Turkey that I purposely boycotted capturing them on
film. Now, calm and used to the "Can I hassle you?"
and "Will you hold your horse for a second?" remarks,
I am in the middle of a carpet shop spread for the next pictures
edition. As for the rest of the city, it's a nice resting place
between the Asia I've been trucking through and the Europe I'm
familiar with.)
|
|
