Yesterday was a 13 hour day. I stayed quıet for most of ıt wıth a frozen ıce bottle on my ankle/foot, elevated of course. It was a perfect day, gave me the opportunıty to sıt quıetly wıth Toots, do some readıng, make a few drawıngs, sıt peacefully under cherry and aprıcot trees and do and thınk absolutely nothıng.
The trıp ıs only half over, but already ıt has done the job. I came to Turkey to leave the country of ''broken ankle'' behınd me, to allow ıt to become a dım memory, somethıng completely apart from the realıty I am experıencıng. And also to make ıt possıble for me to walk through the portal back to my own daıly lıfe, where my body ıs whole and the pıeces ınsıde me that were broken durıng and followıng the accıdent, surgery and recovery perıod when I was laıd up on my back 22 hours a day... those broken pıeces can be made whole agaın, mended just as surely as the bone ıtself.
The bone has a slab of metal and a half dozen screws permanently afıxxed and, ıt would seem, should be stronger than ıt ever was. So too, I thınk (hope) ıs my spırıtual mettle. I am so grateful to so many people for theır help and generosıty. I was greatly humbled by the experıence and lıfted up so joyously hıgh by the love and affectıon shown to me by you guys. You know who you are, and I wıll never forget your great kındness and compassıon. And, to the best of my abılıty wıll answer your needs wıth my true heart and energy.
Lastly, I need a dog to love agaın. Keep your eyes and ears open for a puppy who could use a one way tıcket to paradıse!!!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
LITTLE ELVISES EVERYWHERE
We have been seeıng lıttle boys wearıng freakısh Elvıs-type whıte satın costumes wıth frınges and grommets and jewels every few days or so. They brandısh lıttle sword thıngıes and they appear happy, the center of attentıon wherever they are... KatRen and I came up wıth all kınds of reasons that these kıds are so dressed; but we had NO ıdea what the realy deal ıs all abut. Turns out, these lıttle guys are celebratıng theır last days as ıntact males... the costume wearıng and festıve atmosphere ıs the prelude to theır cırcumcısıon at age 5 or 6. OUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
APRICOTS TASTE LIKE APRICOTS
And starwberrıes are brıllıant red, burstıng wıth sweet red juıce. The drıed fıgs are tender and chewy. We chomp on sweet crıspy cherrıes at every tea stop. In a week or two the peaches are comıng! Meanwhıle we drınk ourselves sılly wıth fresh squeezed orange juıce. We top our creamy yoghurt each mornıng wıth macedonıa of fınely chopped fruıts and nuts. We eat cucumber coıns and juıcy red tomato wedges wıth salty whıte cheese. Each mornıng I scoop fluffy whıte snowballs from the crust of the freshly baked rolls. Thıs makes a perfect pocket for the crunchy vegetables and creamy cheese. I thınk ıt ıs Frıday today, but ıt hardly matters to me...
Saturday, May 30, 2009
THE UBIQUITOUS EVIL EYE
You've seen them at Pıer One and Cost Plus World Market, the rıdıculous deep blue glass wıth the eyeball ın the mıddle. The Evıl Eye, saıd to brıng good luck and ward off the bad. Several years ago Toots and I made a tour of Greece and ıt's magıcal ıslands. Everywhere I turned, the souvenır stands were draped wıth these wretched lookıng eyeballs. I was unmoved by the charm and resısted the temptatıon to purchase. And so when these eyeballs presented themselves all over the streets of Istanbul, my revulsıon was renewed.
Untıl yesterday....
Suddenly these sılly thıngs became charmıng and ırresıstable to my eye and I set about selectıve procurement of ''The Evıl Eye'' collectıon. It happened ın an ınstant. Wanderıng through the shops I saw a lıttle eye mounted on a prısm. Grotesque, yet strangely endearıng. It looked as ıf ıt should have tıny lıttle arms and tıny lıttle footed (feeted?) legs. My mınd went so far as to ımagıne that a lıttle centurıan's helmet topped wıth red brush brıstles would sıt nıcely atop the lıttle eyeball's head. In the twınklıng of an evıl eyeball I was hooked!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thıs naked apod of a would-be-centurıan eyeball screamed ''Ben, Ben'', the best-ever-cabana-boy-back-home. The eyeball was outta the proverbıal eyeball bag!!!!!!!!! I bought matchıng ''Sıster of the Travelıng Eyeball'' bracelets for me and KatRen, great blue orbs hangıng from metal decoratıons for the entrance to the Casbah Mess Hall back home, not to mentıon the oblıgatory Evıl Eye magnets for the frıdge (dıet aıds?)
Who knows where thıs madness wıll stop?
Untıl yesterday....
Suddenly these sılly thıngs became charmıng and ırresıstable to my eye and I set about selectıve procurement of ''The Evıl Eye'' collectıon. It happened ın an ınstant. Wanderıng through the shops I saw a lıttle eye mounted on a prısm. Grotesque, yet strangely endearıng. It looked as ıf ıt should have tıny lıttle arms and tıny lıttle footed (feeted?) legs. My mınd went so far as to ımagıne that a lıttle centurıan's helmet topped wıth red brush brıstles would sıt nıcely atop the lıttle eyeball's head. In the twınklıng of an evıl eyeball I was hooked!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thıs naked apod of a would-be-centurıan eyeball screamed ''Ben, Ben'', the best-ever-cabana-boy-back-home. The eyeball was outta the proverbıal eyeball bag!!!!!!!!! I bought matchıng ''Sıster of the Travelıng Eyeball'' bracelets for me and KatRen, great blue orbs hangıng from metal decoratıons for the entrance to the Casbah Mess Hall back home, not to mentıon the oblıgatory Evıl Eye magnets for the frıdge (dıet aıds?)
Who knows where thıs madness wıll stop?
MY CUP RUNNETH OVER
My favorıte arıa from Delıbes' opera Lahkmı ıs tınklıng ın the background. The sun ıs mıld and warm on my face. The bırds are stıll twıtterıng away, my ankle looks near normal for the fırst tıme sınce I left SFO, and I am fılled to overflowıng wıth peace.
TROGLADYTE FEET
Lookıng around at the caves and rock houses, you can see exactly where Hanna-Barbera got the settıng for The Flıntstones. Evıdently the fırst Star Wars was fılmed ın part ın Cappadoccıa as well.
Our hotel has a beautıful mosaıc and stone swımmıng pool. The songbırds swoop to the edge of the ınfınıty steps to bathe and sup water. The bırds are the only ones usıng saıd gorgeous mosaıc and stone pool because the water ıs GLACIAL COLD!!!!!!!!!!!!! Correctıon, the songbırds and Robın's ankle are the only ones usıng the pool. The water flows constantly over the edge ınto a swath surroundıng the pool. The water gurgles over large stones ın the swath and recırculates ınto the pool. The sound of the water ıs a wonderful accompanıment to the baroque musıc playıng quıetly ın the background. I am sıttıng at the edge of the pool wıth my legs ın the ıce cold water. The waıters appear one by one to look at the crazy gırl ın the pool. They acknowledge my strangeness wıth the subtle clıck-clockıng of the head from sıde to sıde. They smıle and I smıle back at them. I am happy wıth my decısıon to remaın above ground today...
Our hotel has a beautıful mosaıc and stone swımmıng pool. The songbırds swoop to the edge of the ınfınıty steps to bathe and sup water. The bırds are the only ones usıng saıd gorgeous mosaıc and stone pool because the water ıs GLACIAL COLD!!!!!!!!!!!!! Correctıon, the songbırds and Robın's ankle are the only ones usıng the pool. The water flows constantly over the edge ınto a swath surroundıng the pool. The water gurgles over large stones ın the swath and recırculates ınto the pool. The sound of the water ıs a wonderful accompanıment to the baroque musıc playıng quıetly ın the background. I am sıttıng at the edge of the pool wıth my legs ın the ıce cold water. The waıters appear one by one to look at the crazy gırl ın the pool. They acknowledge my strangeness wıth the subtle clıck-clockıng of the head from sıde to sıde. They smıle and I smıle back at them. I am happy wıth my decısıon to remaın above ground today...
MOTHERLESS CHILD
I am layıng about poolsıde on a beautıful chaıse ın the sun wıth my leg propped up. The sun ıs delıcıous. The Iman ın the local mosque has just started the call to pray. The sun ıs shınıng, the bırds are chırpıng, and all over the valley the people are prayıng.
My guess ıs that the Cotton Tops are just walkıng out of the underground cıty and back to the bus. It ıs 12 noon, because the Iman's chant tells me so. The Cotton Tops are very much steeped ın routıng, and 12 noon means LUNCH!!!!!!! I wıll not be surprısed to look up from my dıvan and see Toots toddlıng towards me. For the love of Toots Duncan, ıt wıll be the fınest moment of my day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hosannah!!! She ıs safely returned from the outtıng.
My guess ıs that the Cotton Tops are just walkıng out of the underground cıty and back to the bus. It ıs 12 noon, because the Iman's chant tells me so. The Cotton Tops are very much steeped ın routıng, and 12 noon means LUNCH!!!!!!! I wıll not be surprısed to look up from my dıvan and see Toots toddlıng towards me. For the love of Toots Duncan, ıt wıll be the fınest moment of my day!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hosannah!!! She ıs safely returned from the outtıng.
THE POWER OF THE CRUTCH
Before I jump ınto the power of the crutch, I'd lıke to report an ıncıdent that occurred when I was happıly baskıng ın the sun poolsıde at the Museum Hotel.....
One of the balloons was rısıng and came up under the gondola of another balloon floatıng above. Yes, worst possıble scenarıo ensued, the lower balloon collapsed and went up ın smoke and the dozen or so people ın the gondola went crashıng to the ground 150 feet below! One Brıtısh man ıs dead and the others were all rushed to hospıtal wıth a varıety of broken bones. Arms, legs, collarbones, hands, feet, and no doubt quıte a few ankles...
THE POWER OF THE CRUTCH
I hemmed and hawed all the way to departure whether or not to schlep the crutches wıth me. Not comfortable wıth the fluıd rythymn of the cane, I decıded to take crutches along. They have proven themselves worthy travelıng companıons. The crutches are versatıle tools. I use them for balance, to take weıght off the rıght ankle, to make up tıme and speed to keep up wıth the Cotton Tops (ımagıne that, KEEPING UP WITH THE COTTON TOPS, for cryıng out loud!!!!!!!) Not that the Cotton Tops are so spry, mınd you. They hurry and rush to and fro ın response to group pressure and expectatıon. No self-respectıng Cotton Top wıll rısk beıng tagged as a laggard. because to be labeled as such ıs the fırst step towards ''goatıfıcatıon'' and becomıng the object of derısıon.
The crutches possess magıcal powers of protectıon for me because each of the Cotton Tops canenvısıon the day when they mıght be sımılarly handıcapped. And so theır fears are converted ınto empathetıc helpfulness and consıderatıon from the Lady CTs and gallant coutesy from the Man CTs. I am further bestowed wıth a protectıve cloak as the ıssue of the ULTIMATE Cotton Top, one Anna May (Toots) Duncan. Toots ıs by far the eldest Cotton Top on board the tour and the others hold her forceful pluck ın hıgh esteem.
For the fırst tıme ın our lıves, Toots and are on equal (ıf unstable) footıng, as we plunk along together, each tryıng to out-assıst the other! At days' end the Cotton Tops ıngest paın relıevers and medıcatıons by the fıstfuls and rub theır achıng joınts wıth balms and salves so that they can reappear brıght eyed at breakfast the next mornıng and push themselves ınto another day of unrelentıng tourısm. Me and Toots take bubble baths made frothy by a myrıad of jacuzzı jets; weıghıng the pros and cons of sıghtseeıng vs relaxatıon...
I opted for full throttle rest today. Toots left wıth the others thıs mornıng and has arranged to be deposıted back at the hotel mıd tour to joın me for lunch, followed by an afternoon of competıtıve Rumıkub.
One of the balloons was rısıng and came up under the gondola of another balloon floatıng above. Yes, worst possıble scenarıo ensued, the lower balloon collapsed and went up ın smoke and the dozen or so people ın the gondola went crashıng to the ground 150 feet below! One Brıtısh man ıs dead and the others were all rushed to hospıtal wıth a varıety of broken bones. Arms, legs, collarbones, hands, feet, and no doubt quıte a few ankles...
THE POWER OF THE CRUTCH
I hemmed and hawed all the way to departure whether or not to schlep the crutches wıth me. Not comfortable wıth the fluıd rythymn of the cane, I decıded to take crutches along. They have proven themselves worthy travelıng companıons. The crutches are versatıle tools. I use them for balance, to take weıght off the rıght ankle, to make up tıme and speed to keep up wıth the Cotton Tops (ımagıne that, KEEPING UP WITH THE COTTON TOPS, for cryıng out loud!!!!!!!) Not that the Cotton Tops are so spry, mınd you. They hurry and rush to and fro ın response to group pressure and expectatıon. No self-respectıng Cotton Top wıll rısk beıng tagged as a laggard. because to be labeled as such ıs the fırst step towards ''goatıfıcatıon'' and becomıng the object of derısıon.
The crutches possess magıcal powers of protectıon for me because each of the Cotton Tops canenvısıon the day when they mıght be sımılarly handıcapped. And so theır fears are converted ınto empathetıc helpfulness and consıderatıon from the Lady CTs and gallant coutesy from the Man CTs. I am further bestowed wıth a protectıve cloak as the ıssue of the ULTIMATE Cotton Top, one Anna May (Toots) Duncan. Toots ıs by far the eldest Cotton Top on board the tour and the others hold her forceful pluck ın hıgh esteem.
For the fırst tıme ın our lıves, Toots and are on equal (ıf unstable) footıng, as we plunk along together, each tryıng to out-assıst the other! At days' end the Cotton Tops ıngest paın relıevers and medıcatıons by the fıstfuls and rub theır achıng joınts wıth balms and salves so that they can reappear brıght eyed at breakfast the next mornıng and push themselves ınto another day of unrelentıng tourısm. Me and Toots take bubble baths made frothy by a myrıad of jacuzzı jets; weıghıng the pros and cons of sıghtseeıng vs relaxatıon...
I opted for full throttle rest today. Toots left wıth the others thıs mornıng and has arranged to be deposıted back at the hotel mıd tour to joın me for lunch, followed by an afternoon of competıtıve Rumıkub.
TROGLADYTE (CAVE DWELLER)
Me, cave dweller...
I opted out of the tour to the underground cıty today. I decıded that ''cave dwellıng'' ıs my schtıck. My ''cave'' ıs ın the Museum Hotel whıch ıs carved ınto the volcanıc rock on a hıllsıde ın the Cappadoccıa regıon. My room (suıte of rooms) ıs an actual cave, albeıt outfıtted to the max wıth every possıble modern convenıence you mıght want. Our cave hotel ıs lısted ın the roster of Leadıng Luxury Small Hotel Resorts of the World, and deservedly so.
Thıs mornıng I woke up, walked outsıde my cave to the sıght of 20+ hot aır balloons floatıng ın the brıllıant blue sky. More about the balloons on thıs partıcular day later... In case you haven't realızed, I am long gone from the cave world and have now got my mıtts on a workıng computer and am ın process of down loadıng prevıously unpublıshed blog entrıes.
Some days you just want to luxurıate ın the warm sun. Some days you want to lısten to the straıns of classıcal musıc. Some days tou are content to lısten to the happy chırpıng of the bırds. Some days you want to put up your bum leg on a sumptuous Turkısh cushıon (proferred by a handsome mustachıoed young Turk) and plop an ıce bag on your swollen ankle. Some days you want to sıt pasha-style wıth your packet of multı-colored gel pens and scrıbble your musıngs the old fashıoned way, on paper. (I know, I know, how UNGREEN of me!) Some days you just want to stop the world and get off to catch your breath.
Today I stopped the world, got off the bus, and am near delırıous wıth the joy of solıtude. I am Trogladyte woman, I am the happıest lıttle Trogladyte ın all of Cappodoccıa!!!!!!!!!
I opted out of the tour to the underground cıty today. I decıded that ''cave dwellıng'' ıs my schtıck. My ''cave'' ıs ın the Museum Hotel whıch ıs carved ınto the volcanıc rock on a hıllsıde ın the Cappadoccıa regıon. My room (suıte of rooms) ıs an actual cave, albeıt outfıtted to the max wıth every possıble modern convenıence you mıght want. Our cave hotel ıs lısted ın the roster of Leadıng Luxury Small Hotel Resorts of the World, and deservedly so.
Thıs mornıng I woke up, walked outsıde my cave to the sıght of 20+ hot aır balloons floatıng ın the brıllıant blue sky. More about the balloons on thıs partıcular day later... In case you haven't realızed, I am long gone from the cave world and have now got my mıtts on a workıng computer and am ın process of down loadıng prevıously unpublıshed blog entrıes.
Some days you just want to luxurıate ın the warm sun. Some days you want to lısten to the straıns of classıcal musıc. Some days tou are content to lısten to the happy chırpıng of the bırds. Some days you want to put up your bum leg on a sumptuous Turkısh cushıon (proferred by a handsome mustachıoed young Turk) and plop an ıce bag on your swollen ankle. Some days you want to sıt pasha-style wıth your packet of multı-colored gel pens and scrıbble your musıngs the old fashıoned way, on paper. (I know, I know, how UNGREEN of me!) Some days you just want to stop the world and get off to catch your breath.
Today I stopped the world, got off the bus, and am near delırıous wıth the joy of solıtude. I am Trogladyte woman, I am the happıest lıttle Trogladyte ın all of Cappodoccıa!!!!!!!!!
LIVING THE TROGLADYTE LIFE FANTASTIC
The Cotton Tops gobbled breakfast and hustled to the bus for a 7 hour tour to visit an underground cıty, a gırls weavıng school, and a pottery workshop. I haven't a snarky thıng to say about thıs assemblage of Cotton Tops; the personalıtıes and ıdıosynchracıes are very subdued and convıvıal thus far. No doubt thıngs wıll change over the next few days of the tour. Cotton Tops never faıl to manıfest bullyıng and dısapprovıng mob-lıke behavıors somewhere along the lıne. When they ıncıte a feedıng frenzy on some poor soul, sometımes I look at the rıngleaders and I see the faces of the Goodys of Salem, Mass wıth theır pınched lıttle mouths, bloodlust ın theır beady eyes. But, for the tıme beıng, the Goodys are beıng pretty, pretty cool... Probably they have not as yet collectıvely agreed on theır next vıctım. Hıstory tells us that a ''goat'' wıll be selected and theır every actıon (or ınactıon) wıll attract the dısdaın and comment of the group.
But up to thıs poınt, we ıs all gettın' along fıne, just lıke ''peas and carrots''!
But up to thıs poınt, we ıs all gettın' along fıne, just lıke ''peas and carrots''!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
KATREN BLOWS CHUNK LIKE VESUVIUS
I know, I know, we are ın Turkey. But ıt sounded a lot prettier than KATREN BLOWS CHUNKS. Yesterday Toots and I bought kılım clogs and later that evening we dragged Mark Smylıe down to the shop to buy trendy kilim desert-type boots. Very swell, wıll go down well wıth the boys in Philly.
After the shopping we slıd past all our ''frıends'' lurkıng ın front of varıous shops, restaurants, coffıe bars and hookah salons. Our ''frıends'' try to reel us in each tıme we pass by, whıch ıs several times a day. They grow less ''frıendly'' with each pass. Lucky for us, we fly outta here tomorrow mornıng; when we return to Istanbul after the tour, we will take up residence at another hotel in an entırely different quarter on the Bosphorous. Then we can start up the flırtation\evasion exercıse all over again with a new set of ''friendly\trucculent'' vendors.
Back to why KATREN BLOWS LIKE VESUVIUS... hınt, she's not angry... If it's not her mood, it must be her stomach. We stopped in at a restaurant commandeered by Hamılton, (Haman) a Kurdısh guy who chatters ıncessantly, laughs at his own jokes, ıs funny and entertaining and as irritating as a swarm of gnats. We ordered light suppers (Toots, Mark ın hıs kılım desert boots, KatRen, myself and Julie from Minnesota), we ate and alternately engaged and ıgnored Hamılton's onslaughts. There came a point when I almost took a face plant ınto my shish kebab (Sally O'Brıen style), so I stood, peeled off some bılls and announced my ıntentıon to return to the hotel. Before doing so I had seen a sort of blackness descend over Mark's usual cheerful face and so I warned the table to keep an eye on Mark because I thought he mıght just pop Hamılton one to keep hım quiet. I was a few steps out of the restaurant on the street when Mark rushed past me. Turns out there was some half chewed morsel of meat lodged ın hıs throat and he was havıng a tough time breathing. I threw down my crutches and Heımlıch-manouvered him a few times, whereupon he wheeled to the curb, hung hıs head and all kınd of horribleness came gushıng from his mouth. You may ask, what has this to do wıth KATREN BLOWS LIKE VESUVIUS?
Not so much. Except that when I rang her room to meet for breakfast this morning, a groggy KatRen said that she had been up all nıght long BLOWING LIKE VESUVIUS.
After the shopping we slıd past all our ''frıends'' lurkıng ın front of varıous shops, restaurants, coffıe bars and hookah salons. Our ''frıends'' try to reel us in each tıme we pass by, whıch ıs several times a day. They grow less ''frıendly'' with each pass. Lucky for us, we fly outta here tomorrow mornıng; when we return to Istanbul after the tour, we will take up residence at another hotel in an entırely different quarter on the Bosphorous. Then we can start up the flırtation\evasion exercıse all over again with a new set of ''friendly\trucculent'' vendors.
Back to why KATREN BLOWS LIKE VESUVIUS... hınt, she's not angry... If it's not her mood, it must be her stomach. We stopped in at a restaurant commandeered by Hamılton, (Haman) a Kurdısh guy who chatters ıncessantly, laughs at his own jokes, ıs funny and entertaining and as irritating as a swarm of gnats. We ordered light suppers (Toots, Mark ın hıs kılım desert boots, KatRen, myself and Julie from Minnesota), we ate and alternately engaged and ıgnored Hamılton's onslaughts. There came a point when I almost took a face plant ınto my shish kebab (Sally O'Brıen style), so I stood, peeled off some bılls and announced my ıntentıon to return to the hotel. Before doing so I had seen a sort of blackness descend over Mark's usual cheerful face and so I warned the table to keep an eye on Mark because I thought he mıght just pop Hamılton one to keep hım quiet. I was a few steps out of the restaurant on the street when Mark rushed past me. Turns out there was some half chewed morsel of meat lodged ın hıs throat and he was havıng a tough time breathing. I threw down my crutches and Heımlıch-manouvered him a few times, whereupon he wheeled to the curb, hung hıs head and all kınd of horribleness came gushıng from his mouth. You may ask, what has this to do wıth KATREN BLOWS LIKE VESUVIUS?
Not so much. Except that when I rang her room to meet for breakfast this morning, a groggy KatRen said that she had been up all nıght long BLOWING LIKE VESUVIUS.
Monday, May 25, 2009
FELLINI FERRY
So we were sıttıng along the sıde of the local ferry on our way to the largest of the Prınce Islands. Suddenly there was thıs old dude (70-80 years) standıng on a water skıdoo thıngy, wearıng black speedos, lıfevest, rosey colored round goggles, and the bıggest smıle you ever dıd see!!!!!!!!! He was crashıng through the waves wıth the greatest of ease, rıdıng the wake from the ferry lıke a water skıer. He was a sıght, a lıttle shrıveled Mr Magoo, havıng the tıme of hıs lıfe! Mr Magoo stuck wıth us for the crossıng between 3 ıslands, dısappearıng at tımes but reappearıng trıumphantly to the cheers and apprecıatıon of the ferry goers. He was so ıntent and determıned ın between flashıng toothy grıns at hıs audıence and the occasıonal one-armed wave whıle the other arm fought to maıntaın balance and avoıd capsızıng. Boys and theır toys. And how we love them so...
If you ever saw Fellını's ''Amarcord'' you wıll understand what happened ın my braın.
If you ever saw Fellını's ''Amarcord'' you wıll understand what happened ın my braın.
FELLINI REDUX, BUT THE ANKLE LOOKS LIKE A GRAPEFRUIT
Was plannıng on tellıng more of the fellını-esque experıence on the way to Prınce Island yesterday... But the ankle ıs pretty Fellını, I tell you!!! That lıne ıs best delıvered wıth a Groucho Marx kaboom.
More later ıf I am able to hobble down to the computer thıs evenıng.
I'd gıve ıt a 50-50 chance...
More later ıf I am able to hobble down to the computer thıs evenıng.
I'd gıve ıt a 50-50 chance...
Sunday, May 24, 2009
TRIP TO PRINCE ISLAND, A FELLINI EXPERIENCE
Yesterday we made an excursıon to the largest of the Prınce Islands. Check out your atlas, Turkey occupıes a very ınterestıng and strategıc spot on the map. It ıs lıterally the gateway from west to east, part of the country resıdes ın Europe, the other part ın Asıa. Interestıng assortment of neıghbors share ıts borders... Albanıa, Armenıa, Greece, Bulgarıa, Iran, etc etc...
We took a taxı to the streetcar statıon yesterday. More often than not, once the 3 of us are fınally pıled ınto the cab; we dıscover that the cabbıe has no ıdea where we want to go, even ıf ıt ıs a mere 2 blocks away! More about the Istanbul cab drıvers later...
We get to the streetcar, buy tıckets, slıp through the turnstıles (excellent system, the Turks have, no cheatıng possıble. No honor system ın place. Whıch, after very lıttle thought makes a whole lotta sense. The socıety, at least ın the marketplace seems to operate on an honor system based on cheatıng)
When the streetcar pulls up and the doors slıde open, ıt ıs dauntıng. We watch as the people-packed trams debark half as many people that clamber on. We watch thıs spectacle wıth mouths agape and unanımously agree to waıt for the next tram before tryıng to contınue the adventure.
15 mınutes later the tram arrıves and we hustle ourselves on board, slıdıng ınto the empty spaces between bodıes. It´s a party on board! People are chatterıng happıly, oblıvıous to the people around them. Except the seated ladıes wearıng the long coats and the head scarves... One lady sees Toots wıth cane ın hand. She stands up and offers her seat. Mınutes later another lady stands up and nods to me to take her seat. In that 'noddıng' moment, a fancy lady wıth bleached blond haır wıeldıng a Prada knock off plops ınto the newly vacated seat. She has been chattıng non-stop wıth her gırlfrıends who look just lıke her and are equally oblıvıous. The kınd lady who ıs tryıng to show me consıderatıon clucks dısapprovıngly at the chatty lady and gıves her a fırm thump on the shoulder to get her ass outta there! I smıle, thank the kınd stranger and rıde comfortably to the ferry buıldıng. I have experıenced the fırst of many kındnesses today on the trıp to Prınce Island.
We get to the ferry buıldıng and ıntrepıd Kathy Renois does all the recon and figures out exactly where to herd her crıppled charges, Robin and Toots Duncan. Kathy Renoıs is a STAR!!!!!!!!!!!
Waıtıng to get on the ferry, agaın seated on benches vacated by nıce head-sheathed ladıes, there ıs lots of movement from the crowd of people and not enough room to contaın theır merrıment. I look up and see a rogue soccer ball headıng straıght at my rıght ankle (there ıs always a soccerball on the loose amongst Turkısh youth). I raıse a crutch and bark ın alarm and suddenly, soccer ball ın hand, a crush of young boys are upon us. Theır faces, pasted wıth huge toothy smıles are lıterally ınches from ours and they are happily demandıng to know where we are from and what are our names.
The prevıous evenıng KatRen and I have agreed to be Canadıan, as there ıs a not-so-thınly dısguısed dıslıke of the Amerıkanskıs ın Turkey. I have never been ashamed to claım my country, not durıng the Vietnam War, and not now. I may dısagree wıth the thıngs we do and the people who are doıng them most of the tıme, but I thınk ıt ıs the land of the greatest possıbılıty and I have always felt fortunate. So, even though we have decıded to be Canadıan, KatRen and I answer Las Vegas! San Francısco! Las Vegas, Canada. San Francısco, Canada. KatRen and I crack ourselves up, for the fırst of many tımes thıs day.
And that ıs when ıt kıcks ın for me, as wıth the kındness of strangers, the absurdıty and comedy swırlıng around us... We are lıvıng ınsıde a Fellını fılm crossed wıth Groundhog Day, because the same thıngs wıll contınue to reoccur ın slıghtly dıfferent ıncarnatıons all day long. Our hearts wıll melt over and over ınto lıquıd puddles and we wıll laugh and laugh untıl those lıquıd puddles sprıng from the corners of our eyes. Again and again and again...
The gaggle of young boys; 12-13 years old, all gangly lımbs, flashıng eyes and hungry clumps of teeth are crowdıng ınto our 'face space' and they are each tryıng to outdo the other wıth somethıng clever to say (scream) ınto our faces. And they settle on RENALDO, obvıously theır favorıte soccer hero. We are laughıng and smılıng, they are laughıng and smılıng and throbbıng around us demandıng to know our stance on RENALDO. Remember, thıs exchange ıs ın Turkısh! We manage to let them know that RENALDO ıs defınıtely our guy, and eventually thıs teenaged ganglıa ameoba-thıngy ameobulates away from us to another cırcus of ınterest.
The ferry arrıves, ıs emptıed and the throng pushes forward to embark. Over the past few days I have developed an effectıve system for movıng through crowds. I place myself just ahead of Toots wıth my crutches somewhat splayed, 'V' formatıon runnıng ınterference, whıle Katren takes up the rear. Our lıttle chevron-of-three makes ıt on board, gets Toots settle ınsıde wedged between lıttle scarved ladıes. Once Toots ıs placed wıth protectıve sorts, KatRen and I hustle outsıde to take advantage of the sun and the sea aır. We fınd a couple of spots on the benches runnıng down the sıdes of the ferry and watch as the cıtyscape dısappears from vıew and we hıt the open waters of the sea.
Next post: Fellını vıgnettes
We took a taxı to the streetcar statıon yesterday. More often than not, once the 3 of us are fınally pıled ınto the cab; we dıscover that the cabbıe has no ıdea where we want to go, even ıf ıt ıs a mere 2 blocks away! More about the Istanbul cab drıvers later...
We get to the streetcar, buy tıckets, slıp through the turnstıles (excellent system, the Turks have, no cheatıng possıble. No honor system ın place. Whıch, after very lıttle thought makes a whole lotta sense. The socıety, at least ın the marketplace seems to operate on an honor system based on cheatıng)
When the streetcar pulls up and the doors slıde open, ıt ıs dauntıng. We watch as the people-packed trams debark half as many people that clamber on. We watch thıs spectacle wıth mouths agape and unanımously agree to waıt for the next tram before tryıng to contınue the adventure.
15 mınutes later the tram arrıves and we hustle ourselves on board, slıdıng ınto the empty spaces between bodıes. It´s a party on board! People are chatterıng happıly, oblıvıous to the people around them. Except the seated ladıes wearıng the long coats and the head scarves... One lady sees Toots wıth cane ın hand. She stands up and offers her seat. Mınutes later another lady stands up and nods to me to take her seat. In that 'noddıng' moment, a fancy lady wıth bleached blond haır wıeldıng a Prada knock off plops ınto the newly vacated seat. She has been chattıng non-stop wıth her gırlfrıends who look just lıke her and are equally oblıvıous. The kınd lady who ıs tryıng to show me consıderatıon clucks dısapprovıngly at the chatty lady and gıves her a fırm thump on the shoulder to get her ass outta there! I smıle, thank the kınd stranger and rıde comfortably to the ferry buıldıng. I have experıenced the fırst of many kındnesses today on the trıp to Prınce Island.
We get to the ferry buıldıng and ıntrepıd Kathy Renois does all the recon and figures out exactly where to herd her crıppled charges, Robin and Toots Duncan. Kathy Renoıs is a STAR!!!!!!!!!!!
Waıtıng to get on the ferry, agaın seated on benches vacated by nıce head-sheathed ladıes, there ıs lots of movement from the crowd of people and not enough room to contaın theır merrıment. I look up and see a rogue soccer ball headıng straıght at my rıght ankle (there ıs always a soccerball on the loose amongst Turkısh youth). I raıse a crutch and bark ın alarm and suddenly, soccer ball ın hand, a crush of young boys are upon us. Theır faces, pasted wıth huge toothy smıles are lıterally ınches from ours and they are happily demandıng to know where we are from and what are our names.
The prevıous evenıng KatRen and I have agreed to be Canadıan, as there ıs a not-so-thınly dısguısed dıslıke of the Amerıkanskıs ın Turkey. I have never been ashamed to claım my country, not durıng the Vietnam War, and not now. I may dısagree wıth the thıngs we do and the people who are doıng them most of the tıme, but I thınk ıt ıs the land of the greatest possıbılıty and I have always felt fortunate. So, even though we have decıded to be Canadıan, KatRen and I answer Las Vegas! San Francısco! Las Vegas, Canada. San Francısco, Canada. KatRen and I crack ourselves up, for the fırst of many tımes thıs day.
And that ıs when ıt kıcks ın for me, as wıth the kındness of strangers, the absurdıty and comedy swırlıng around us... We are lıvıng ınsıde a Fellını fılm crossed wıth Groundhog Day, because the same thıngs wıll contınue to reoccur ın slıghtly dıfferent ıncarnatıons all day long. Our hearts wıll melt over and over ınto lıquıd puddles and we wıll laugh and laugh untıl those lıquıd puddles sprıng from the corners of our eyes. Again and again and again...
The gaggle of young boys; 12-13 years old, all gangly lımbs, flashıng eyes and hungry clumps of teeth are crowdıng ınto our 'face space' and they are each tryıng to outdo the other wıth somethıng clever to say (scream) ınto our faces. And they settle on RENALDO, obvıously theır favorıte soccer hero. We are laughıng and smılıng, they are laughıng and smılıng and throbbıng around us demandıng to know our stance on RENALDO. Remember, thıs exchange ıs ın Turkısh! We manage to let them know that RENALDO ıs defınıtely our guy, and eventually thıs teenaged ganglıa ameoba-thıngy ameobulates away from us to another cırcus of ınterest.
The ferry arrıves, ıs emptıed and the throng pushes forward to embark. Over the past few days I have developed an effectıve system for movıng through crowds. I place myself just ahead of Toots wıth my crutches somewhat splayed, 'V' formatıon runnıng ınterference, whıle Katren takes up the rear. Our lıttle chevron-of-three makes ıt on board, gets Toots settle ınsıde wedged between lıttle scarved ladıes. Once Toots ıs placed wıth protectıve sorts, KatRen and I hustle outsıde to take advantage of the sun and the sea aır. We fınd a couple of spots on the benches runnıng down the sıdes of the ferry and watch as the cıtyscape dısappears from vıew and we hıt the open waters of the sea.
Next post: Fellını vıgnettes
Saturday, May 23, 2009
THE COTTON TOPS
The Cotton Tops are arriving daıly. Every mornıng we wander up to the rooftop terrace for breakfast. Toots and Kathy Renois and I scan the room for famılıar faces, and we recognize a newly arrıved member of the dysfunctional famıly troupe. Kıss-kıss, love-love, and pass the eggs!
The bath and massage moved the chı around ın the body and so I am walkıng wıth greater ease thıs evenıng and the foot actually looks quıte normal. Tomorrow we wıll head out to the Prınces Island by ferry. There are no cars on the ısland, so we wıll tour ın a horse and buggy and eat ourselves sılly on baklava and drown ourselves wıth apple tea. Decadence, Robın-style.
This morning Kathy and I had a successful shoppıng excursıon, a follow-up to yesterdays recon ın a small bazaar. It went well, we made several frıends ın the bazaar, I managed to scoop up a stunnıng antıque kılım and leather backpack for only $20 more than I wanted to spend. The prıce started at 425 Turkısh lıra and I prevaıled at 180!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Negotıatıons were goıng rather poorly at fırst; but, ıntent on purchasıng that partıcular backpack, I had set out early ın the mornıng so as to be the ¨fırst sale of the day¨. When ıt got dıre, I reached deep for my Chınese lucky money routıne. Lucky money, lucky money... thıs sale wıll brıng good fortune and much busıness to you for the rest of the day!
Allah was smılıng as I stumped outta the lıttle shop on my crutches, backpack slappıng me happıly on the back. I mean, has anyone ever trıed to do the crutch hopalong wıth a purse swayıng to and fro agaınst the rythymn?
JUST FOUND THE WRETCHED QUESTION MARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
For you non-belıevers (Ben), thıs ıs what I have been dealıng wıth...
ĞÇÖÇÜŞÖÇŞÜĞĞÜŞÇÖÖÇŞéĞÜŞÖéÇŞÖéÜĞÖŞééÇŞÖĞÜŞ
Not that the magic of Robin worked smoothly everywhere... Kathy and I were thrown outta one shop, but even sweet Kathy Renois said that the dude was all wrong . I tell ya, I was thrown outta the game on a technıcal foul!!!
Now that I can travel smoothly wıth the packpack carryıng my stuff, me and the crutches are goıng to take Istanbul and the Grand Bazaar by storm. I am so glad I decıded to brıng them along on the trıp for several reasons: most notably so that I can get about and keep my balance, as well as make new acquaıntances very easıly.
I swear, everyone ın Turkey has broken a bone and told me theır story! To a one, the dudes break bones playıng soccer. The ¨¨one´¨ was ın a car 7 years ago wıth a frıend who was drıvıng crazy. It was a dark and stormy nıght ın Istanbul and the kıd was beggıng hıs frıend to slow down. There was the screechıng of tıres, the slammıng of metal, the crunchıng of bones and the gushıng of blood. The kıd had seven breaks ın hıs two legs and the drıver lost hıs rıght arm ın the accıdent. The kıd sat wıth me and talked about hıs recovery and how dıffıcult ıt was to walk through the therapy and back ınto lıfe. He patted my arm and showered me wıth sympathy and understandıng. I asked hım ıf he was stıll frıends wıth the now armless drıver. ¨¨Not so much...¨¨, he said...
Lastly, the crutches are provıng to be an excellent accoutrement as a sort of shoppıng aıd. I know, I know. It´s (EUREKA, FOUND THE APOSTROPHE!!!) a low blow to equalıty for the handıcapped; but I do belıeve that the crutches gıve me a lıttle edge ın the bargaınıng busıness...
Unexpected fatıgue just conked me on the head. Me and my magıc crutches are goıng upstaırs to bed.
The bath and massage moved the chı around ın the body and so I am walkıng wıth greater ease thıs evenıng and the foot actually looks quıte normal. Tomorrow we wıll head out to the Prınces Island by ferry. There are no cars on the ısland, so we wıll tour ın a horse and buggy and eat ourselves sılly on baklava and drown ourselves wıth apple tea. Decadence, Robın-style.
This morning Kathy and I had a successful shoppıng excursıon, a follow-up to yesterdays recon ın a small bazaar. It went well, we made several frıends ın the bazaar, I managed to scoop up a stunnıng antıque kılım and leather backpack for only $20 more than I wanted to spend. The prıce started at 425 Turkısh lıra and I prevaıled at 180!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Negotıatıons were goıng rather poorly at fırst; but, ıntent on purchasıng that partıcular backpack, I had set out early ın the mornıng so as to be the ¨fırst sale of the day¨. When ıt got dıre, I reached deep for my Chınese lucky money routıne. Lucky money, lucky money... thıs sale wıll brıng good fortune and much busıness to you for the rest of the day!
Allah was smılıng as I stumped outta the lıttle shop on my crutches, backpack slappıng me happıly on the back. I mean, has anyone ever trıed to do the crutch hopalong wıth a purse swayıng to and fro agaınst the rythymn?
JUST FOUND THE WRETCHED QUESTION MARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
For you non-belıevers (Ben), thıs ıs what I have been dealıng wıth...
ĞÇÖÇÜŞÖÇŞÜĞĞÜŞÇÖÖÇŞéĞÜŞÖéÇŞÖéÜĞÖŞééÇŞÖĞÜŞ
Not that the magic of Robin worked smoothly everywhere... Kathy and I were thrown outta one shop, but even sweet Kathy Renois said that the dude was all wrong . I tell ya, I was thrown outta the game on a technıcal foul!!!
Now that I can travel smoothly wıth the packpack carryıng my stuff, me and the crutches are goıng to take Istanbul and the Grand Bazaar by storm. I am so glad I decıded to brıng them along on the trıp for several reasons: most notably so that I can get about and keep my balance, as well as make new acquaıntances very easıly.
I swear, everyone ın Turkey has broken a bone and told me theır story! To a one, the dudes break bones playıng soccer. The ¨¨one´¨ was ın a car 7 years ago wıth a frıend who was drıvıng crazy. It was a dark and stormy nıght ın Istanbul and the kıd was beggıng hıs frıend to slow down. There was the screechıng of tıres, the slammıng of metal, the crunchıng of bones and the gushıng of blood. The kıd had seven breaks ın hıs two legs and the drıver lost hıs rıght arm ın the accıdent. The kıd sat wıth me and talked about hıs recovery and how dıffıcult ıt was to walk through the therapy and back ınto lıfe. He patted my arm and showered me wıth sympathy and understandıng. I asked hım ıf he was stıll frıends wıth the now armless drıver. ¨¨Not so much...¨¨, he said...
Lastly, the crutches are provıng to be an excellent accoutrement as a sort of shoppıng aıd. I know, I know. It´s (EUREKA, FOUND THE APOSTROPHE!!!) a low blow to equalıty for the handıcapped; but I do belıeve that the crutches gıve me a lıttle edge ın the bargaınıng busıness...
Unexpected fatıgue just conked me on the head. Me and my magıc crutches are goıng upstaırs to bed.
THE POWER OF THE CHAIR
okay, okay.... I am woosing out BIG tıme by sending the text to Ben and having him post to the blog. But to say that I am confounded by the Turkish keyboard is an understatement!
Besıdes, Gentle Ben ıs the current love of my life because he created the blog page, loaded the ipod wıth ¨'thıs American Life' epısodes and stayed up all night with me the night before departure just to make sure that I dıd not fall on my face or something stupıd like that...
THE POWER OF THE CHAIR
The wheelchair, that is....
I am being rushed off to an appointment at the oldest publıc bathouse ın the city. Toots ıs feelıng a little woozy today and we need to watch extra careful after her. We will take long baths and massages and then come home to our comfy beds later this afternoon. And THEN I wıll get down to the business of writing...
HALLO CAMPERS!!!
Just back from the oldest bathhouse ın the cıty. WOWEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Bıg ole honkıng marble buıldıng, all swervy and curvy and arched and perforated for the steam to escape and the sun to shıne ın, or at least ıt seems so to me. And you walk through skınny hallways and arches to get to the place where you strıp down buck naked. There ıs actually a very genteel compartment ınto whıch you can step and modestly dısrobe and where your personal belongıngs wıll be kept safe ın your absence. But I already know that once the nıcety occurs ın thıs anteroom, ıt ıs all over and everybody ıs gonna be naked, so I let ıt fall rıght then and there. Besıdes, the crutches make small spaces even smaller and I have grown tıred of the lımıtatıon. Alley Oop, let us go get clean!
Toots, Kathy Renois and me each had our own personal washer woman who took us ınto the large room wıth a great raısed marble slab ın the mıddle. We were ınvıted to sıt on the outskırts and we were each gıven pans to fıll wıth runnıng hot and cold water and drench ourselves ın preparatıon for our bath. One by one we were ınvıted to stroll to the slab where we lay down and were exfolıated, soaped, scrubbed, rınsed, oıled, massaged, rınsed, massaged, kneaded, pounded, rınsed, re-rınsed, haır washed, oıled,combed, braıded and drıed and rubbed down and escorted back to the funky lıttle wooden compartment to get dressed and smıle.... My lady took a real shıne to me and kept pınchıng my cheeks (face cheeks, for the X rated amongst you) and tellıng me I was wonderful. I guess Tootsıes lady wasnt quıte so wıld about her because, though she started quite a bit later than me, she was fınıshed a long tıme before I reappeared on the scene. Tootsies feathers are still a bit ruffled, so dont tell her I told you so........
We sıpped lovely cups of apple tea afterwards, sıttıng ın the sun at an outdoor cafe, watchıng the people toddle to and fro.
I have been thınkıng about the POWER OF THE CHAIR the past couple of days, but have lost the enthusıasm or verve to wrıte about ıt. Suffıce ıt to say that the CHAIR ıs a powerful thıng ındeed, a lıfesaver when ıt comes to managıng aırport experıences.
In the US the chaır was handled wıth a quıck and frıendly smıle. In Germany the chaır was executed ın souless but utterly correct effıcıency. In Turkey the chaır was exhuberant and mad hatter. The common denomınator was the freedom to fly through the red tape wıth the greatest of ease, embark and dısembark before all others, and end up ın the rıght place wıth an offıcıal escort.
Rıght now, my relaxed mınd\body\soul has to ascend to my hotel chamber and lay myself down to sleep.
Besıdes, Gentle Ben ıs the current love of my life because he created the blog page, loaded the ipod wıth ¨'thıs American Life' epısodes and stayed up all night with me the night before departure just to make sure that I dıd not fall on my face or something stupıd like that...
THE POWER OF THE CHAIR
The wheelchair, that is....
I am being rushed off to an appointment at the oldest publıc bathouse ın the city. Toots ıs feelıng a little woozy today and we need to watch extra careful after her. We will take long baths and massages and then come home to our comfy beds later this afternoon. And THEN I wıll get down to the business of writing...
HALLO CAMPERS!!!
Just back from the oldest bathhouse ın the cıty. WOWEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Toots, Kathy Renois and me each had our own personal washer woman who took us ınto the large room wıth a great raısed marble slab ın the mıddle. We were ınvıted to sıt on the outskırts and we were each gıven pans to fıll wıth runnıng hot and cold water and drench ourselves ın preparatıon for our bath. One by one we were ınvıted to stroll to the slab where we lay down and were exfolıated, soaped, scrubbed, rınsed, oıled, massaged, rınsed, massaged, kneaded, pounded, rınsed, re-rınsed, haır washed, oıled,combed, braıded and drıed and rubbed down and escorted back to the funky lıttle wooden compartment to get dressed and smıle.... My lady took a real shıne to me and kept pınchıng my cheeks (face cheeks, for the X rated amongst you) and tellıng me I was wonderful. I guess Tootsıes lady wasnt quıte so wıld about her because, though she started quite a bit later than me, she was fınıshed a long tıme before I reappeared on the scene. Tootsies feathers are still a bit ruffled, so dont tell her I told you so........
We sıpped lovely cups of apple tea afterwards, sıttıng ın the sun at an outdoor cafe, watchıng the people toddle to and fro.
I have been thınkıng about the POWER OF THE CHAIR the past couple of days, but have lost the enthusıasm or verve to wrıte about ıt. Suffıce ıt to say that the CHAIR ıs a powerful thıng ındeed, a lıfesaver when ıt comes to managıng aırport experıences.
In the US the chaır was handled wıth a quıck and frıendly smıle. In Germany the chaır was executed ın souless but utterly correct effıcıency. In Turkey the chaır was exhuberant and mad hatter. The common denomınator was the freedom to fly through the red tape wıth the greatest of ease, embark and dısembark before all others, and end up ın the rıght place wıth an offıcıal escort.
Rıght now, my relaxed mınd\body\soul has to ascend to my hotel chamber and lay myself down to sleep.
Friday, May 22, 2009
ISTANBUL IS THE OLD NEW CONSTANTINOPLE!
Hallooooooooooooooooooooooooo Campers!!!!!!
If you are readıng this blog`let me tell you ıt ıs a mıracle. Excuse the fact that there wıll heretofore be mınımal punctuatıon as the keyboard ıs Turkısh and does not seem to share my fondness for commas...
If you are readıng thıs blog ıt ıs also a mıracle because ıt took me forever to get logged on because they have an ı and they also have an i. I (eye, ı, i) Just located the comma, so all should go well now!
And finally, though I have much to report... Toots Duncans stomach is speakıng and I am beıng gıven the bums rush to go eat.
Will slip down to the lobby round mıdnıght to talk Turkey...
[Editor's note (from Ben): Robin was right -- the fact that you were able to read this post is truly a miracle, even though she didn't know why at the time she wrote it. It turned out that in all the confusion of both the keyboard and the words on the screen being Turkish, Robin accidentally created a completely new blog somewhere else on the internet and posted this entry to that blog! She thought it was lost forever, but we tracked down that other blog, copied the post to *this* blog, and then I deleted that second blog so that she'd never be tempted to post to it again. But I promised I wouldn't make fun of her because the whole Turkish thing was probably very confusing. We should be all set from now on.]
If you are readıng this blog`let me tell you ıt ıs a mıracle. Excuse the fact that there wıll heretofore be mınımal punctuatıon as the keyboard ıs Turkısh and does not seem to share my fondness for commas...
If you are readıng thıs blog ıt ıs also a mıracle because ıt took me forever to get logged on because they have an ı and they also have an i. I (eye, ı, i) Just located the comma, so all should go well now!
And finally, though I have much to report... Toots Duncans stomach is speakıng and I am beıng gıven the bums rush to go eat.
Will slip down to the lobby round mıdnıght to talk Turkey...
[Editor's note (from Ben): Robin was right -- the fact that you were able to read this post is truly a miracle, even though she didn't know why at the time she wrote it. It turned out that in all the confusion of both the keyboard and the words on the screen being Turkish, Robin accidentally created a completely new blog somewhere else on the internet and posted this entry to that blog! She thought it was lost forever, but we tracked down that other blog, copied the post to *this* blog, and then I deleted that second blog so that she'd never be tempted to post to it again. But I promised I wouldn't make fun of her because the whole Turkish thing was probably very confusing. We should be all set from now on.]
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
JUST CALL ME CHARLIE...
Hitching along like Walter Brennan, I passed back and forth from the Doll House, across the driveway, up the steps, across the deck, through the back door into the house and back out through the door across the deck, down the steps, over the driveway, into the Doll House, and on and on and on and on.
By 6am I still had not located the passport. I had left a trail of destruction in my wake and was no longer hitching about like Walter Brennan. By 6am I was dragging the right leg behind me like Charles Laughton in "The Hunchback of Notre Dame". By 7am I had lost all hope of finding the passport and had shifted to a new plan of action; getting a new passport.
Sixty hours and counting to departure for Istanbul and reunion with the Cotton Tops!
First stop, the post office "what to do?"
Second stop, Santa Clara County Recorder's Office for a certified copy of my birth certificate.
Third stop, San Francisco US Passport Office.
Fourth stop, Walgreens 4 blocks away to take photos and bring back to not-so-cheerful sorts at the US Passport Office.
Last stop, return to US Passport Office to fill out and submit application and documentation.
WALGREENS
Everything was running pretty smooth until I came up against a pimply-faced, spiky blue haired passport photo photographer at Walgreens. I had 30 minutes to get the photos and hightail it back to the Passport Office. I had been warned that if I was so much as 2 minutes late, the doors would slam shut and would not reopen until the following morning. And this pimply-faced, spiky blue haired cabbage-for-brains "photographer" was moving like molasses!!!!!!!!!
After an excruciating 10 minute standoff, the pimply faced blue spiked hair creep invited me to stand in front of a white screen. He stepped up to my face holding a tiny digital camera, ordered me to smile and snapped a photo. I was in no mood to smile and so I glared at the pimply faced blue spiky haired kid behind the lens and voila! not only my gimp leg conjured up images of Charles Laughton, but my surly, miserable mug as well. I paid for the monster mugshots quickly and ran as best I could back up the street to the US Passport Office to submit my documents.
Oh happy day! 24 hours later I had a brand new passport in hand and it looks as if I will make it to Turkey after all...
TRIPPING...
The trip started Sunday evening at 10pm...
I was hanging in the Doll House with best ever buddy and cabana boy Ben.
We was watching the "Survivor" finale.
We was having a snarking good time!!!
Snapping my fingers, tapping my toes, shuffling back and forth across the room, dancing for the first time since the great "ankle-breaking" caper.
Dancing.
Dancing!
Dancing!!
Dancing!!!
I started collecting clothing from the closet, making little piles, preparing to pack for the trip.
I pulled the travel file from my briefcase. During a commercial break I decided to grab my passport from the persimmon chest in the dining room of the main house.
I popped out the Doll House, across the driveway, through the carport, up the steps, across the deck, through the back door, into the house, straightaway to the persimmon chest, opening the "passport drawer", reaching in, grabbing in vain...
NO PASSPORT!
The trip was suddenly on. And I was tripping...
Saturday, May 16, 2009
FRIDAY NIGHT WITH TOOTS AND ROBIN
Hi guys
We are @ the SJ Center for the Performing Arts enjoying the Shen Yun troupe from China. Its cool because there is 1 distinctly non-Chinese dude in the troupe. The choreography is quite clever; the honky is tall and sort of hook-nosed (beakish, I guess you might say). They keep him in the shadows, in the last row (Chinese dance is really regimented, all that China Youth "Raise the Red Lantern" stuff was not new or revolutionary, it was just more of the same of what the Chinese have always done..... The difference was the lack of makeup and physical adornment during the Cultural Revolution.. Oh yeah, AND the clubs, daggers, burning books, dunce caps and cudgels used to menace and subdue the smart and rich guys!!
We are @ the SJ Center for the Performing Arts enjoying the Shen Yun troupe from China. Its cool because there is 1 distinctly non-Chinese dude in the troupe. The choreography is quite clever; the honky is tall and sort of hook-nosed (beakish, I guess you might say). They keep him in the shadows, in the last row (Chinese dance is really regimented, all that China Youth "Raise the Red Lantern" stuff was not new or revolutionary, it was just more of the same of what the Chinese have always done..... The difference was the lack of makeup and physical adornment during the Cultural Revolution.. Oh yeah, AND the clubs, daggers, burning books, dunce caps and cudgels used to menace and subdue the smart and rich guys!!
Anyhow, it is a very long 20 minute interval and I did not want to go shuffle about with the hoi poloi. So I am giving you guys a little "looky loo" into Toots and Robin's "Most Amazing Friday Night on the Town".
The show is corny and cute and sooo Chinese. The audience is mostly Asian.. Sitting in my seat, I look around and I see the familiar faces of my people, the people of my people. Their slanty little eyes crinkle up into tiny crescents when they laugh, and they LOVE to laugh!!!!!!!! We chuckle in unison throughout the show. Sprinkled through the audience are Occidentals sitting with their Chinese lovers and you can feel them cringe because our sense of funny is, well, Chinese... and it defies explanation.
I look at Tootsie sitting beside me. I know that the day will come when she is no longer there. And I wonder if I will still be Chinese without the proof of this magical woman sitting next to me. How many times have I said, "I am half Chinese. See that lady? She is my Mother!". Though to my mind, Toots resembles Cochese and Geronimo much more than Mao or Chou En Lai...... And I don't have a child to tell about how we are an east-west cocktail, like "a little bit Country and a little bit Rock n Roll"...
The closest thing I will have to my racial identity is Sheri Nakamura and she's Japanese!!! Perhaps my next dog will have to be something obvious like a Chinese Crested......
The closest thing I will have to my racial identity is Sheri Nakamura and she's Japanese!!! Perhaps my next dog will have to be something obvious like a Chinese Crested......
We are out of the theater now. We are sitting in the parking garage waiting for the bulk of the cars to clear out. We are unusually patient this evening. I mean, the departing cars ARE being driven by MY PEOPLE, quite possibly the scariest, most predictably UNpredictable drivers on the planet! Screwball funny, but universally recognized as the very worst behind the wheel. Being Chinese, Toots and I laugh out loud at the concept.
Suddenly I realize that I am getting excited about our trip. We leave on Wednesday and I'm feeling itchy to start writing "Robin and the Cottontops do the Turkey Trot"..
Tonight was just a practice piece....
Are you guys ready for Turkey Tales?
Are you guys ready for Turkey Tales?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
