A Second City That Comes in First
Thessaloniki is Greece’s second city. I have a lot of experience with second cities. I went to university in Oregon’s second largest city, Eugene; I did my study abroad in Ankara, Turkey’s second largest city. I went to Plovdiv last summer for my first visa run, Bulgaria’s second largest city. Second cities always have a slight inferiority complex. But they are always eager to show off their goods. For Plovdiv, it’s a beautiful Roman theater and more genuine Bulgarian artisan shops than those of Sofia. Ankara chimes in with its stately, calm atmosphere that Ankarans say is a nice break from the helter skelter of Istanbul traffic and pretentiousness. What does Eugene have that Portland doesn’t have? Umm, better running trails? I’ll get back to you on that one.
Me and Ali Sami Yen, A Surly Friend
There I was squeezing through a dark tunnel up the stairs — along with 20,000 yellow and red clad friends.
I came to a security checkpoint, a dozen cops stood laughing and checking random people for contraband. One decided to stop me and pat me down. He smiled a greasy smile and asked me how I was. He felt around for my inside coat pocket and asked me if the lump was my wallet. Yes, I said. He asked me to take it out. H e opened the change purse and emptied about 3 lira in loose change and sent me on my way. A little bit of corruption, a little violation, nothing big, a sort of surcharge for just standing there “keeping the peace.” After all, he could have taken the 50tl note in the other wallet compartment, but didn’t.
So began my first experience attending a pro soccer match in Turkey.
I love live sporting events. I can get into anything. Seven years ago, my roommate in Ankara was a Galatasaray fan, so that’s the team that fate told me to root for. Back in the States, I lost track of the Turkish Super League, but since returning I have followed casually, hating Fenerbahce and sort of liking Besiktas, as prescribed for Galatasaray fans.
As best I could, I joined the fans jumping and fist pumping and chanting various chants professing love for GS . Perhaps the funnest part was watching the packed cheap seats perform their chants, hands waving, whistles whistling. It was a cold damp night, and both teams played gritty, slow and not particularly flashy. Galatasaray was very unlucky not to score in the first half, and Genclerbiligi (their opponent, from Ankara) was very lucky not to score in the second. The score was 0-0 after the first stanza, GS finally broke through midway through the second half with a nice three-man attack which resulted in a simple low ball to the back of the net.
The two men I went with I didn’t know, in fact I had only known the man who gave me my free ticket for about 3 hours. He gave me and two of his business colleagues from Bursa tickets. So off we went. The only thing the man — who I befriended at a nearby cafe I frequent — asked was that I give him English lessons after the new year.
More business for me, a free trip to a game. Sounds good to me.
Polonezköy: Turkey’s Polish Village
There is a place where you can dream of kielbasa and golumpki. Unfortunately, all you can do is dream about it. You can’t have it. At least if you just pop in during the wintertime on a day trip. Don’t get me wrong, its history is interesting, and you should go there, if nothing else than for the sheer quirkiness of a Polish village in Turkey.
That’s right: a Polish village in Turkey.
At least it was once a Polish village. Today the graveyards still bear Polish names on tombstones, and restaurant signs still feature artists’ rendering of Polish couples in folk dress about to commence what appears to be a folk dance. But the fact is the little corner stores offer Pinar sausages (the major brand of meat here, the Oscar Meyer of Turkey, if you will) and the restaurants offer köfte (Turkish meatball) and kanat (grilled chicken wing) platters. Nevertheless, the Polish Catholic church, the tombstones, and the funky wooden sculpture garden done by a Polish artist will impress on you the very clear influence of the Polish identity of Polonezköy, also known as Adampol, which means village of Adam in Polish.
In the first half of the 19th century, Pols fled their homeland during the November rebellion of 1830 and about 220 settlers found their way to a pastoral woodsy area about 30 km from central Istanbul. The Turks welcomed the Poles because the Polish enemy was Russia, a big rival of the Ottoman Empire.
The settlers homesteaded and the village became a source of tourist curiosity even before World War I. Among the famous visitors to this village – where apparently 40 people still speak Polish fluently, and surely many more can return your ‘Dzien Dobry’ – was Ataturk back in 1937. I went to Polonezkoy a few days ago with my friend from Ankara, who had a car (unfortunately, the village isn’t reachable by public transportation) and a new friend from Couchsurfing, a traveler from France. The three of us were curious about the Ataturk house, so we inquired with man mowing a lawn in front. Turns out he is the owner, and he told us that Ataturk stayed at the house – for a 30-minute nap. Well, that’s enough time to mark the place as an Ataturk house in a country where he is a demi-god.
We sat and had tea with the owner, and he told us the story of how Ataturk got to have a few winks at his family’s place. Ataturk came to town with an entourage and was going to eat at another restaurant. But he saw a man shaving at that restaurant and was a little grossed out. Hearing that Ataturk had dropped his reservation, the elder lady of the Dragov family, which owned the place, put on her best clothes and went out and gave Ataturk a hug and invited him over. (Among other notable visitors were Pope John XXIII and Polish President Lech Walesa in 1994.)
The owner, Mehmet, proceeded to show us the “money room” at the Ludwik Dohoda, as the hotel is now called which has a brilliant view of fields and rolling hills. The three of us also managed to go on a nice hike along a stream, not a small feat in a corner of the world seriously lacking good hiking trails.
Many of the restaurants were closed for the season, but we did manage to get some light lunch at a courtyard restaurant run by a German expat (I love speaking Turkish with other foreigners, they are so much easier to understand!) before driving back to the metropolis. The bottom line is that Polonezköy is a great day trip or place to make a quick overnight getaway from the Istanbul. It’s easy to imagine watching the sun go down over the peaceful hills during the summer after a hectic day in the big bad Bul, while enjoying Polish food that is — hopefully — much easier to find in the summer.
With Little Fanfare, Nişantaşı Art Park Goes Up
It’s great to see that Istanbul, the 2010 cultural capital of Europe, making an effort to distinguish its few greenspaces. This little park is a connector to the park I normally run in. I was surprised one day last week — while zipping through in my wicking running pants — to see city workers putting up odd plaster benches and behemoth sculptures one afternoon. No fuss, no ceremony that I am aware of. The benches steal the show…have a stroll, Istanbullus!
(Read below the pics for more details on the park)
Pulitzer reporting from the English edition of Hurriyet, the largest Turkish daily:
“Sometimes people are too busy with work, commuting and meeting with friends to find time to visit museums. That’s why a newly opened art park brings the art to the people.
Formerly called Cumhuriyet Park (Republic Park), the Nişantaşı Art Park opened to visitors last weekend. Şişli Mayor Mustafa Sarıgül was one of the proud participants in the opening ceremony of the project, which aims to raise awareness about the environment through the creativity of artists.
The park, which holds nearly 50 art pieces designed by 30 artists, will host cultural and art activities for three years. The art park can be entered from Vali Konağı Avenue, next to the Military Museum and from Maçka.
The project is expected to end in 2012.”
And now…bonus pictures of cute cats! My roommate Ali adopted a small family, a mom and two kittens, so that brings us to 6 residents! Name suggestions welcome. Affiyet Olsun! (bon apetit!)
Love Being a Basket Case
One of the unfortunate truths about living in a 21st century metropolis is the disconnect we have from our natural environment, ergo, we buy our vegetables from a store, we exercise in planned parks or gyms, we travel by various modes of transportation that all involve high levels of engineering, or at least cement under our feet.
Istanbul is no exception. One nice thing about Istanbul, though, that makes me feel more like I’m living as a fairy tale serf on a European farm is the sepet – or basket, in English. We live on the 4th floor (or fifth floor by American measurement). When we need something from a street seller, or a corner-store owner, or a delivery guy on a motor scooter, we can simply lower a wicker basket connected to a rope, down the 75 feet or so, to the street level (careful, don’t get rope burn!).
The seller/vendor takes the money for the simit (Turkish bagel), poaca (flaky pastry) beer (beer), kebap, etc., that is in the basket, and replaces it with said product, sometimes with a shout of “afiyet olsun!” (bon appétit). Then, arm over arm, we lift the food or booze up back through our window.
It’s ironic that this measure of extreme convenience (or sometimes plain laziness) actually makes me feel old world. I think it has to do primarily for the hand-over-hand raising of the basket, which somehow reminds me of drawing water from a covered well, Jack and Jill style, to satiate my hunger or thirst. I feel as though I am working to draw some bounty from the earth, not unlike picking a carrot, or mining for some granite, even though I am lowering a basket bought at an Ikea-type store, down to a guy who puts whatever I am getting into a plastic bag. That thing I am buying may be made at some factory bakery or brewing conglomerate. But no matter.
Maybe this is why we have tatilsepeti.com (“vacation basket,” the owners of which I give English lessons to) and yemeksepeti.com (food basket) an online restaurant delivery site.
No wonder Turks have baskets on the brain.