The Bosphorus Bridge

Photo from Wikipedia

While poking around on the del.icio.us front page I came across this list of 18 Stunning Bridges from Around the World. Of course Istanbul's Bosphorus Bridge was on the list, one of two bridges in the city that connect the European and Asian continents.

The entry also offers the following interesting trivia for tennis fans:

In 2005, American tennis star Venus Williams played a five-minute tennis match on the bridge with Turkish player Ipek Senoglu, the first tennis match ever to be played across two continents.


Yes, the constant reference Istanbul as a metaphorical "bridge between the two continents" and the Bosphorus Bridge as physical manifestation of this connection is a bit overdone, but it is a beautiful bridge. My only complaint would be the incredibly obnoxious fashion in which the bridge flashes with multi-colored disco lights in the evening. In terms of nighttime lighting for such monumental measurements of human progress, I say let's go with less instead of more.

Theofania and the Golden Horn

Theofania (Epiphany) is a Greek Orthodox holiday, and public holiday in Greece, falling on January 6th.

A commemoration of the baptism of Jesus and the end of the twelve days of Christmas, it is celebrated annually in many Greek cities when a priest throws a large cross into the water of the port, and men dive in after it to be the first to retrieve the blessed cross.

It is no surprise, then, that this religious ceremony is also celebrated in Istanbul, an old Greek city and the home of Patriarch Bartholomew I, spiritual leader of Orthodox Christians. He is the current head of the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople, based in the Church of St. George, located in the Fener district. Yesterday on the shores of the Golden Horn near the Ecumenical Patriarchate, Patriarch Bartholomew threw the ceremonial cross into the waters of the Bosphorus as six men dove in to retrieve it.

Over the last few decades many events have interrupted this annual tradition in Istanbul, such as the Turkish-Greek dispute of Cyprus in the 70's, and terrorism and pollution in the 80's. It was recently reinstated in 2003, yet not without opposition from nationalist politicians, groups and individuals. According to yesterday's article in the Turkish Daily News, luckily this year marked the first year the celebration was not protested by nationalists. As a leader of MHP - the ultra-nationalist party of Turkey - was quoted as saying in a 2007 article in Radikal regarding last year's ceremony,

The Bishop in Istanbul throws a cross into the Golden Horn, and the others try to contribute to this tradition by retrieving the cross. But the idealists are travelling around the Golden Horn in their boats giving a message. By taking the cross out of the Golden Horn, Istanbul becomes Constantinople. (my translation, take lightly)

In a group of protesters to the 2007 event, many yelled "Patrik defol!" (F*** off, Patriarch, loosely translated), and one dressed up as Fatih Mehmet II, the man who conquered the Greek city of Constantinople.

I am growing increasingly interested in the Greek history of the city, and will be writing more posts in the coming months about various neighbourhoods and influences. Please let me know if you have any questions, suggestions, or corrections.

NOTE: The picture shown here is not mine, and it was taken in Greece, not Istanbul. To see this picture please visit the photostream of Poulheria




References:

'Ta Fota' celebrated along Istanbul's shores
Bir haç, bin polis (One Cross, a Thousand Police)
To see some beautiful photos from a ceremony in Greece, visit the photostream of Flickr user "spirofoto".

"Gayhane" and German/Turkish youth

About a year ago, I flew into Berlin on my way back to the States for a short stop over to visit a friend. He picked me up from the airport and pointed out landmarks as we took the train to his flat on the East Side of Berlin. Not speaking a word of German, and not having traveled west of Istanbul for almost a year, I felt a strange combination of foreign-ness and familiarity. I could not understand the language or city around me, but felt a familiar comfort in the order and cleanliness of the German city; young people reading on public transportation, going to familiar stores and purchasing familiar products.

Once we arrived in Daniel's neighbourhood, however, I began to feel familiarity in a different way. The kebap shop next to his house declared with a handwritten sign "Help wanted" in Turkish, and I heard Turkish on the lips of adolescent boys walking by. Daniel lives in one of Berlin's neighbourhoods highly populated and influenced by Turkish immigrants, most of which first came to Germany under its policy of importing "guest workers" the country hoped would leave after their contracts were up. As many countries across Europe have discovered, however, such policies rarely work as planned. "Guests" often do not want to leave their few years are up, yet because the "host" countries have done little in the way of integration, tension often arises between new and older residents.

Many individuals more qualified than I have written much on the subject of the Turkish diaspora in Germany, so I'll withhold any grand statements. But one common observation is that the immigration patterns from Turkey to Germany tend to consist mostly of Turks from smaller towns and villages, rather than larger cities. Additionally, there is also an idea that Turkish communities in Germany respond to the life in a country that treats them more as guests than residents or citizens with a more inward, insular approach, magnifying the influence and importance on traditional values and customs.

Almost all second-generation youth experience unique ways of fusing identity and culture, but one aspect of the second generation Turks in Germany, and especially Berlin, that has been deemed particularly press-worthy is the idea of queer youth navigating the spaces of a socially liberal urban landscape, and a family and community that may be not even recognize the idea of homosexuality or queer identities.

A piece this week in the International Herald Tribune explores these issues in Berlin, an international city with "an openly gay and highly popular mayor" and a large Muslim population.

The writer visits a monthly club party called "Gayhane," filled with gay, lesbian and bi-sexual identified people of Turkish or Arab background. Hane is Turkish and Arabic for "house" - perhaps this is also a play on words of the "Meyhane" - an establishment where men will gather, drink, and smoke.
"When you're here, it's as if you're putting on a mask, leaving the everyday outside and just having fun," said a 22-year-old Turkish man who spoke on condition of anonymity out of fear that he would be ostracized or worse if his family found out about his sexual orientation.
Ideas on homosexuality in Turkish communities is an incredibly complicated discussion beyond the scope of this post. What interests me in this article is this tension in these Turkish diasporas relating to sexual and gendered identities, this navigation of two or more languages, identities, cultures and expectations.

Safety and secrecy come up regularly in conversations with guests, who laugh and dance but also frequently look over their shoulders. To be a gay man or lesbian with an immigrant background invites trouble here in two very different ways.

"Depending on which part of Berlin I go to, in one I get punched in the mouth because I'm a foreigner, and in the other because I'm a queen," said Fatma Souad, the event's organizer and master of ceremonies. Souad, 43, a transgender performer born in Ankara as a boy named Ali, has put on the party for over a decade.

During my visit to Berlin, most of my feelings of familiarity and foreignness were a temporary state as a visitor attempting to navigate this new terrain in relation to other experiences. But the everyday navigation of men quoted above is just one aspect of their lives in the city. Much writing and theory has grown out of or been inspired by this aspect, this idea - I was pleased to see a brief exploration of such issues raised in this article.

The Guy in the Shop Window

In a commercially condensed version of Ed-TV, a 22-year old Istanbul design student recently spent one week of his life in the shop window of the Sisli YKM department store - under constant surveillance by both passerbies and internet visitors to the corresponding website - in an advertisement installation called "Vitrindeki Cocuk" - The Guy in the Store Window.

The project lasted for one week - conveniently coinciding with the week before New Years - a very heavy shopping time of year in Istanbul. Families out doing their last minutes holiday shopping in the shopping area of Sisli - which includes Cevahir, the largest shopping mall in Europe, and several clothing, shoe, and electronic stores - were awe struck by such a sight, stopping to watch the "guy in the shop window". His temporary home is equipped with several goods from the department store itself - a fully stocked kitchen, fashionable clothing, flat screen TV, and a New Year's tree.

At the start of the project, the anonymous "Guy in the shop window" exhibited much excitement, quoted in the Turkish Daily News saying "I am very excited and I think I will get used to living here...I don't know how I will be and what people will do when they encounter me on the street after I get out of here."



By the time I visited on the 6th day of the project, however, he seemed a bit less excited. As I walked down the sidewalk to the popular Turkish department store, I saw the crowd gathered around the window. He was drawing a colorful, flowing picture of people yelling and banging drums. In red he had written Bağırmayının... - "Don't shout..." This taunted the psychology of the children viewing the installation, who ran around screaming, "He wrote 'Don't shout!', he wrote 'Don't shout!'"



His face had been made into a icon, advertising the corresponding website vitrindekicocuk.com, and posters declared that the installation was sponsored by several Turkish and international companies. The cameras in the installation captured "guy" from four angles - but simultaneously captured those viewing him, updating to the website in real time.

The installation certainly encourages the viewer to interact with "Guy," both through the online home of the project and at the project itself. A button on the wall states "Push the button to speak with the "Guy in the shop window." A young girl kept running up to the button, pushing it, and attempting to taunt the guy before tumbling into laughter and running to her friend's side. "What are ya gonna do tomorrow, man?" she asked him, squealing. He spent half his time ignoring her and half glaring. A security guard told the girl not to bother him. "But it says push the button to talk to him!" she said, dashing over to push it again.

Walking up and down the window, snapping pictures of the window and the viewers, I felt no less an intrusion than that young girl. I just found myself hoping "Guy" would not turn around and pose, dragging me into the circus. Of course photographing a scene behind a window is not easy, and even from the best angles it is difficult not to end up taking a photograph of your unsuspecting self (Or, the mosque in the background, as you can also see in this photo).



It would be an exaggeration to say, however, that the glorified commercial was or inspired an inquiry of the self and the other, the viewer and the viewee, the observer changing that which is observed. Perhaps it was the icon of the "Guy in the Shop Window" plastered next to the adidas and Chanel ads, or the bright orange sign "He sleeps in the store window, he wakes up in the store window, he eats in the store window, he watches TV in the store window! He lives with the YKM products in the store window 24/7," and the clean row of shoes waiting to be voted for Guy's outfit of the day - or to be purchased by holiday consumers.



In contrast to most of the shoppers stopping by, I actually took the bus to Sisli for the sole purpose of seeing this living, breathing advertisement in context. While my trip there was motivated by visions of some sort of pop-sociology experiment, the seamless integration of the the New Year's shopping rush with the lean-lanky design student in sunglasses left me instead contemplating my affinity to such guilty pleasures - reality TV trends, shopping, and aesthetically pleasing advertising!

Feed the birds, Taksim square

Ho-ho-ho - Merry New Year!

Last winter I approached my first holiday season in the city with a bit of uncertainty. Would I find it refreshing to be away from the holiday hustle-and-bustle, or would I find myself descending into holiday homesickness?

Of course all the Starbucks branches deck the halls and provide disposable seasonal merriment with every toffee nut latte. But soon after Starbucks declared the holiday season, I started seeing Christmas decorations pop up all over the city - advertisements, department stores, city decorations. One of the most prominent images in this decoration is the unlikely character of Santa Claus himself.

No, it isn't a nod to the small Christian minority of the country. Santa Claus has gained strong place in Turkish culture over the past 10 years - as Father New Years.

It doesn't stop there. Christmas trees are New Year trees, Father Christmas is Father New Years, Christmas Presents are New Years presents. Company Christmas parties are Company New Years Parties. In other words, a secular, consumer culture centered American "Happy Holidays" with all the green and red and tinsel but no nativity scene on the courthouse lawn. Less days off work, too.

When I was teaching English to 1st-3rd graders, the other foreign teachers and I always corresponded our lessons with major U.S. and U.K. holidays - Halloween, Valentine's Day, Thanksgiving. The lesson about Christmas was a bit confusing for the children - and not only because of the language barrier. They wanted to translate "Christmas" as "New Years," and couldn't understand why New Year's occurred in America on December 25th but in Turkey on January 1st. In the end, I just cranked up "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" and hoped no one would ask me what the hell "figgy pudding" was.

It is comforting in a way to have these echos of my own culture here during the holidays. But there is something slightly odd about the purely commercial nature of these "Christmas" images; I think few would argue that these images were not introduced specifically to fuel consumer spending around New Year, and this is not a cynical exaggeration. From "Treat yourself to a fine New Year's present at Kanyon Mall" to the advertisement at the bus stop with Santa exclaiming "Ho Ho Ho - buy a new cell phone," this cross-Atlantic importation of the modern "Christmas spirit" is a bit difficult to swallow - but then again, it is at home as well.

Last weekend I joined many of the city's residents doing some last minute "New Year" shopping at Cevahir Mall. While walking around the busy mall, shoppers everywhere buying presents for their loved ones, I saw this 5 -piece Santa Claus band, playing an off key jingle-bells outside of a Turkish department store. A bit tacky, of course. Have they gotten it all wrong? Repackaged our warm Christmas spirit only to encourage consumer spending spending among a growing population with disposable income? On the other hand, it is quite an interesting interpretation of the most visible aspects of a modern day American Christmas - hustle, bustle, and ho ho ho.