Our First Year: Everywhere

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Harem...

Movie theaters suspend reality. Something about sitting in a dark theater drops me out of place and time. Friday night, as we came out of a showing of "Social Network" or "Social Networking" as it's called here, in a theater that looks and feels like one at home, I found myself shocked when we left and I found Istanbul outside. For two hours, I forgot about that. There it was. And there we were on a typical Friday night, catching a movie and dinner...in Istanbul. This is our life. Some parts familiar and routine, other parts unusual and different.

I love when I find delight in simply seeing what already is.

Saturday, it seemed that we had seen all the sights we wanted except the palace down the street. It's been there this whole time with its giganticness, history and splendor. We just hadn't taken the time or the three block walk to it.

From the 16th century until 1856, Topkapi Palace was the center of power of an empire which spanned Turkey, parts of Europe and the entire Middle East. Topkapi was one of the great addresses of the world.

And while I've seen a few palaces in my life, I've never been to a harem. To the average American, it seems racy. The media and cultural image the West has of a harem is something more akin to a private monarchial brothel.

In reality, it is something any Jewish man can immediately identify as a man's worst nightmare - a giant house of women run by a powerful mother. The Harem was the royal household complete with wives, children, concubines and the mother of the Sultan - who was in charge of the household and all the women in it.

For the first time ever, I felt bad for the guy who lived at a palace. The more I learned, the worse it got too. I can only imagine the amount of intrigue, backstabbing and hatreds - secret and not-so-secret that must have stemmed from this system of women ruling women and women competing for the prize spots of Valide Sultana (Queen Mother) and Favorite Consorts.

The Harem had a pyramid structure - literally. Girls chosen to be concubines lived in dormitories on the lower, subterranean floors. They had no power or money unless they were chosen by the Sultan to share his bed. Once they did, they got to move upstairs and begin receiving a more substantial allowance. The concubines he loved most, he would marry and they would occupy the four best apartments. Whichever bore him the first male heir - the Crown Prince - got another special title. She was the top wife.

Only all of them answered to his mother whose apartments were not only the nicest of all - but sat between the other women and the Sultan's apartments. The Valide Sultana also oversaw the education of all of her grandchildren.

Whoever came up with this system clearly either understood nothing about politics between women, or hated the Sultan. I imagined exhausted Sultans who didn't want to come home to the Harem from other parts of the palace where he had been dealing with state matters only to hear several wives, his girlfriends and his mother coming to him to complain about about the others and set plots in motion. I could see the Sultan staying late at the Treasury, having an extra beer with the advisors and wishing they'd hurry up and invent e-mail so he could stay late at the privy chambers "catching up" on something.

Apparently, some of the more powerful Valide Sultanas even ruled over which women the Sultan could be with and when. "But Mom, I rule over half the world and am Caliphate of all Islam.... can't I pick my own concubine tonight? Just this once? Please?" and a minute later, "Yes, I know you have my best interests in mind....Yes, I remember how hard the childbirth was....Yes, I remember that time you made sure Grandma didn't find out I cheated on my exam...."

In short, the Harem is a beautiful part of the palace that was not as much a brothel as it was some other HBO drama. All the top people - the Valide Sultana, the Sultan, the Crown Prince and the Favorite Consorts had beautiful rooms complete with 16th century domes and handcrafted artisan tiles that were the height of decor and art at the time.

It all looked fantastic until I found out that the Sultan and his mother shared a bathroom. Literally, a set of rooms in which they were bathed by attendants Hamam style. Nonetheless, that too is a recipe for disaster.

So, in the end, I concluded that unlike Louis XIV who has women sometimes secretly whisked in and out of his chambers in Versailles, but actually ruled the roost, the Sultan must have been a man VERY happy to go to work each day. And this system must have been designed to keep him focused and honest.

Meanwhile, the Treasury was one of the most impressive collections of objets d'art I've ever seen. Somewhat like a multi-vitamin, it had everything from Jade to Zinc. An 86 karat diamond pendant, incredible finely carved jades from China, thrones taken from rajahs in India, finely made bowls and plates made of zinc, bejeweled pendants of all sorts - many given as gifts from other countries, emeralds the size of kidneys, and Koran covers fashioned by the sultan's jewelers.

But the most impressive holdings - that I never would have imagined could exist - the "Objects of the Prophets." Items and relics that supposedly belonged to great religious and biblical figures. The staff of Moses was a big claim. The saucepan of Abraham was my favorite. Apparently, the Sultan was keeping track of what Abraham used to make his eggs.

A piece of the skull of St. John in a special, curved bejeweled gold encasement. Beard trimmings of Muhammed. A cast footprint of Muhammed. Muhammed's water bowl - which didn't look that different from Abraham's saucepan. Muhammed's sword as well as the swords of his unnamed companions.

It was all....impressive.

When we were done at the palace down the street, we ran a few errands to get ready to for the jump to Nepal on Monday. Because this is our life. We get up, have a leisurely breakfast, run a few errands, walk to the nearest palace for a tour, run some more errands, walk to dinner and get ready to change parts of the world.

And while we talk about it like it's normal - it's not. And yet, when it becomes the everyday reality, it is. So, I try to remember that it's actually amazing and something one only gets to do once in a lifetime.

I know we'll travel again. We'll have vacations. Emily and I will never cut ourselves off from exploring and adventuring altogether. But never again will we be able to run our pre-Nepal errands after evaluating a Sultan's living conditions on a Saturday afternoon. On a weekend such as this, I feel my life to be far greater than any Sultan's.

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The Gift To Breathe Freely

We were late. The taxi driver - who we knew was overcharging us, but we went along with it anyway because it was a cold, rainy public holiday and he was right where we needed him to be - dropped us off at the wrong place. We had showed him our destination on a map, and it wasn't far away. But he overshot it and dropped us off at the completely wrong place. It took another quick taxi ride to get near it and about 20 minutes of exploring on foot before we were standing in a narrow side street, about to give up.

Our appointment to visit and tour Ashkenaz Synagogue was at 9:15 am. It was 9:23 and Emily hates being late. Using my best navigational skills, we had gotten to where it seemed the synagogue should have been, but we found nothing. The guard in front of the nearby French Lycee had pointed us in this direction and the map agreed with him. I was a little nervous about asking anyone for directions to a synagogue. We had both been nervous about asking the taxi driver.

Nonetheless, just as we were about to give up, Emily decided to walk into the computer parts shop across the street and asked if we were near our destination. The man there said, "No" with a wry smile and took her to the front of the store where he pointed up at the dome with a big star on it just behind where I we had been standing. He pointed to the unmarked metal door next to where we had stood and told us to ring the bell.

Sure enough, it was the right place and we were expected. We had to identify ourselves and show our passports as we stood in a holding area between two giant, heavy metal security doors. More than one guard stood by. The synagogue kept no street-level signs or markings. You either have to know where it is, or look up to the dome which can only be seen from one side, on one street.

This synagogue of 500 congregants lives in fear.

Once we got past the security chamber, we found a beautiful synagogue designed at the turn of the century by an Italian architect who was apparently well-known at the time. A very nice, elderly Turkish gentleman met us and began speaking to us mostly in French and seemed to enjoy saying Madame Emily (which does sound very nice French).

Fortunately, I could roll with that and asked if French was his best language. He said he speaks it well enough and seemed very happy that he wouldn't have to try to speak to us in the little English he knows. I had to then explain that Madame Emily doesn't speak French - which didn't surprise him, but it meant he had to go back to his usual schtick which involves sitting foreign visitors down in the sanctuary, pulling out a pad of paper and explaining facts about the building, the congregation and its history in an unusual mix of Turkish, English, French, Hebrew, writing numbers and a few rough sketches.

Amazingly, we understood. Had we not had some knowledge of at least two foreign languages, I'm not sure how it would have gone. The whole thing was fascinating in and of itself.

We gathered this: The synagogue was built around 1907 using monies donated by Austro-Hungarian Emperor Franz Josef. I would love to have learned more about why the Emperor of Austria - a dying empire which saw much of its Jewish population emigrating to America and elsewhere - donated money to build a synagogue in Istanbul. But I wasn't sure our guide would have that information and it seemed far too complex to explain through drawings and our special creole we had just invented.

The building runs four stories down into the hillside with one floor just for heating and others for kitchens, the rabbi's study, offices, and social areas. The sanctuary itself had two mezzanine levels where women sit for services.

Turkey has 23,000 Jews, 19,000 of which live in Istanbul and only 1,000 of which are Ashkenazi. There were once three Ashkenazi synagogues - the oldest one is now closed and was turned into a museum.

We were allowed to wander freely and take photos. I had never seen a synagogue with a dome before, and imagine this was an adaptation to the Istanbul environment.

We left to get over to Ahrida Synagogue, a Sefardic temple with a history dating back to the early 17th century. A friend of Emily's parents helped us arrange to visit some of the city's synagogues. Visitor's must apply to the Istanbul Rabbinate for permission and appointments. We had to fill out forms and submit our copies of our passports, contacts of our personal references and explain why we wanted to visit. We were given precise times and locations. The synagogues had paperwork on us when we arrived.

Getting to Ahrida involved one of the craziest taxi rides I've had outside of the third world with a taxi driver who didn't know the destination exactly, but who was clever enough to get to the right area, ask people walking by and then navigate the maze of small, narrow, cobblestone streets in what was clearly a very old, nice neighborhood. The fare came to a reasonable 8.5 Lira, I gave him 20, he tipped himself 1.5 and gave me back 10 Lira. Fantastic.

Ahrida was also invisible to the street and hidden by tall walls and a large, heavy metal security gate. When we rang, the man who came to the gate asked immediately if it was Emily and checked the copy of our passports he already had to identify us. We received no tour, but were allowed - like several other visitors who were scheduled for 10:30 - to walk around the synagogue which felt old and loved. The hand-carved wood pulpit was hundreds of years old. We learned from someone else's guide that Ahrida has no membership mechanisms, but about 100 people attend services each week.

While the wooden seating and fixtures were clearly loved and cared for, the building and walls showed their age. Beautiful old wallpaper decorating the doorways has faded, frayed and started to chip away.

What we learned from this is that while Jews have a long history in Istanbul, not too many remain. Those who do, keep their Judaism locked behind heavy metal gates and security bells. Visitors are not openly welcomed. Trust is gone. The most central synagogue in town, Neve Shalom, has been bombed several times.

In a city with giant and beautiful mosques and churches on display for the world, the synagogues cloak themselves. People come to peer at you through security cameras and holes in the gate before you can be admitted.

It wasn't always this way. The Ottoman Empire was actually very tolerant of its minorities. Look back 100 to 150 years ago and only about half of Istanbul was muslim. Greek and Armenian Orthodox were a large part of the Istanbul community - as were Jews.

Many things changed after the Republic - and especially after the riots of the early 1950's when Greeks and Jews were pulled out of their homes and businesses to be beaten and raped while mobs destroyed everything they owned. People took the hint and centuries of co-existence ended as Greek ethnics fled to Greece and Jews emigrated.

Of course, the Armenians suffered the worst fate at the end of the Ottoman and beginning of the Republican eras when they were put on "The Long March" of "relocation" - aka the Armenian Genocide of the early Republic.

Today, Jews - who probably consider themselves Turkish and Istanbullus - live a precarious life. This is the first and only place I've been where I have had trepidation asking for directions to a synagogue. Emily and I often choose not to mention Israel when conversing in public

Yesterday reminded me why my grandmother - who was so proud to be Jewish in her home, and who hosted every holiday with joy - was uncomfortable with wearing a star or a chai necklace. Growing up the daughter of poor, illiterate (in English) Jewish immigrants from Galecia and Austria - she knew antisemitism. She could love to go to synagogue, but feared being too closely identified as being Jewish in general society.

It was only two generations ago. I have lived with a luxury that even my father didn't have growing up in a small town in Upstate New York - to be open, proud and completely comfortable in being Jewish. I have the gift to breathe freely because my great grandparents decided they didn't want to live like the Jews in Istanbul live today.

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Republic Day

On the third floor of a cafe, overlooking some of the nicer and busiest streets, it's easy to forget that Istanbul has been an imperial capitol for 1,500 years. Few cities can claim that kind of longevity as the great city of an Empire. Athens, Rome, Jerusalem all had their days. While they remain important cities and capitols, their empires fell long ago.

Although Turkey isn't what it once was, it remains a large and relatively powerful country. It's days of Empire ended only 90 years ago and while the seat of government was moved to Ankara, Istanbul remains the jewel of the crown - the big international city it always was.

Time walks Istanbul's streets.

Today Istanbul is decorated to the hilt to celebrate Republic Day - a national holiday commemorating Turkey's independence/rebirth in its modern form. Mustafa Kemal - known as Ataturk (Father Turk) - led the successful rebellion to kick out the Europeans who were carving up Turkey (no pun intended) among themselves as spoils of victory from World War I. Turkey refused to become segmented into British, French, Greek and Italian colonies.

While the Ottoman Empire's Middle East holdings were lost to the British and French mandates, Turkey became a "republic" under Ataturk - who made it the country's mission to modernize. Secular government, westward outlook and modernization were the orders of the day. Ataturk was bent on bringing Turkey into the world stage in a new way.

Like revolutionary leaders in China and Russia, Ataturk found that new government didn't mean anyone would so easily make a radical break with their deeply rooted pasts. Change meant shunning the past. Change meant renouncing what was Ottoman and Byzantine - and bringing glory to a new government, with new ideas and new directions.

Unlike China, Turkey didn't try to completely gut its culture. The republic worked to walk that fine line between using history culture to keep hearts and minds, but at the same time dissociating with past.

It all seems very complicated to me, but the best illustration I've found is that there's a government building on Cumhuriyet Caddessi which has a sculpture garden. In a semi circle are bronze busts of some of the great Ottoman sultans. They are all facing a roughly 30 foot tall, imposing statue of Ataturk looking down on them.

Today, people celebrate the republic and its achievements. They don't celebrate centuries past. They don't celebrate 1500 years of civilization. Just the past 90.

History has a sense or irony. Ataturk, like Mao Zedong, supplanted royalty and worked hard to take his country in a different direction. Along the way, he moved into the sultan's palace and died there - much as Mao finished his days in the Forbidden City.

It's hard to really change cultures and empires as old as theirs. And that's exactly why they have survived - they flex, but never break.

The other day, as I watched a traffic jam at a busy intersection with taxi horns blaring and pedestrians rushing through the gridlocked cars, I wondered what someone who lived on that block 200 years ago, would think of what they saw. What about 600 years ago? People probably even lived on that block 1200 years ago.

Nobody imagines just how different the world can be after they're gone. We like to think we are living the chapter where we shape how things will be. We like to think that the current world order is the way "it ended up". History teaches us how the story leads to the present moment - but not how the present moment is just part of the larger, ongoing story.

The people living on that block 300 years ago were living in height of Ottoman greatness. Their block, in the middle of their glorious capital was one of the centers of the world. Today, it's just a busy street in a country struggling between worlds - neither first nor third world, neither east nor west - and not center.

It makes me think about how amazingly lucky I am to be a citizen of the predominant empire of my day. Everywhere we travel, English is the language of travel. People from different countries use English as their medium. Turks and Italians converse in English. And they do it, in part, because America made English the language of software, computers and as a result, business. This is the age of Pax Americana and amazingly - through all the possible twists of fate - I am carrying the right passport.

America is so different than other countries. We have never changed governments like Turkey or France. There was no king, emperor or other incarnation of republic before ours. We are fortunate not to have the experience of a metamorphic upheaval that tears a society apart and forces it to ask and answer very difficult and unpleasant questions. We were not born out of dire necessity like Singapore and we have never known foreign soldiers occupying our streets like so much of the world has. We enjoy the kind of security and confidence you see on a kid from a good home.

But once upon a time, Turkey came from a good home too. As a citizen of empire, Istanbul is very comforting and hopeful. Because while I know empires rise and fall, Istanbul and Turkey are proof that you can gently drift out of center without shattering and breaking. People in Istanbul are still living life in the greatest city of their nation - and it remains a vital, international city. Their country no longer enjoys the dominion of empire - but it's not weak and falling apart. It remains intact.

So, on Republic Day, I salute Turkey a country and a people which have changed with time - enduring, persevering, and in their own quiet way - triumphing.

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Illuminations From The Storm

We walked out of the hotel into a blustery wind. A storm brought a strange mixture of warm air with cold, cold gusts and rain into the Golden Horn. It's a wet cold - a little like Seattle's - which is not altogether surprising given Istanbul is on a straight and inland bay between two seas. Locals tell us it's very humid in the summer and it basically remains humid in the fall and winter, only the temperature changes.

When there's not a storm, the typically gray mornings give way to sunny afternoons followed by cool evenings.

A few days ago, Emily was having trouble getting up and I said that with the gloomy, cold mornings it's harder to get out of bed than it was before (ie Patmos). As someone who has lived in both Seattle and Bangkok - where I could feel the heat of the sun pulsating through the concrete walls of my apartment - I know how much light and temperature play a part in getting going in the morning.

Later that day Emily told me how my comment got her to thinking about how much environment affects the way one lives and feels. She used to feel that if you're happy and leading the life you want, that things like weather and size of the town you live in aren't so important.

Going from Patmos to Istanbul in the span of three weeks made her reevaluate her stance. This cold, gray, autumn-time city couldn't be more different that sunny, warm, relaxed Patmos.

In Istanbul, walking between Taksim Square and Nisantasi, if you don't keep a brisk walk, people will pass you or bump you to the side of the sidewalk. It's the pedestrian freeway of Istanbul.

It feels like we're always chasing our transportation. If you want to make the next tram, you have to hurry because the stops are short. The train you're connecting to leaves in less than a minute after you arrive. When there's a break in the cars at an intersection or crosswalk, you have to make a bold and decisive move across the street. Istanbul's transportation is efficient, fast and furious. If we had a dollar for every time i said "We have to hustle!" to Emily, it would pay for this trip. Istanbul is not for the faint of heart.

Compare it to Patmos where walking from your beach chair to the beachside cafe to buy a bottle of water was hustling, and you can see the shock. A month in Patmos turned us soft like butter. Istanbul wants to toughen us like leather.

While neither one of these places is what we want for our real life (okay, Patmos kinda' is...but not really...but kinda'...because there would be something wrong with us if it weren't....), the contrast between waking up to glorious sun bursting through our French doors versus the dull, pale light leaking through our window brings to light something more than light. Where you live affects how you feel which shapes your entire attitude toward your day. Lifestyle matters. At least it does for us.

Today we are going to harness the power of the storm to turn our laziness into efficiency. Heavy rains and blustery winds leave us wanting to go nowhere. The trams get so packed in the rain that yesterday a woman was leaning her full body weight against me for stability while other people were pinned up against walls and rails. We'll skip that today.

Instead, we'll turn our desire to stay in and curl up in bed into a work day that involves no commute, no exploring, no rain - just comfort. The best Internet we get in Istanbul is right in our hotel. So, we'll work in bed and at the restaurant around the corner when we get hungry. It may be slothful in one sense, but at the same time, we'll start working earlier than usual and have fewer distractions.

Besides, the great thing about our urban hotel is that it has the best bed we've had so far. With four days left until Nepal - where the very definition of mattress is up for question - spending a little more time with our mattress sounds like a great idea.

Protecting "The Office" In The Rain

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It's The Same

My dad tells this story frequently.

When I was about ten, we had a foreign exchange student from France come and stay with us for a couple of months. Sylvie was very shy and visibly miserable. Her family sent her on this program with her sister against her will, and she decided to make the worst of it.

My father is not one to let misery go unchecked, so one day he struck up this conversation as we were getting in the car to go out and he was offering up chewing gum:

"Sylvie, tell me, how do you say chewing gum in French?"

"Chewing gum, it's the same."

"Sylvie, how do you say air conditioner in French?"

"Air conditioner, it's the same."

"Sylvie, how do you say garage in French?"

"Garage, it's the same."

"Sylvie, this language is too damn easy!"

I think of that often in Istanbul. While I will never claim to know any real or usable Turkish, I have noticed that Turkish borrows words and terminology from whichever culture introduced the concept. If you know some French, English and Farsi, you can catch a surprising amount of vocabulary. I look at signs and menus and think things like, "Kek - Cake, it's the same!"

These are a few of the finer points of Turkish that I now know. Kuafor = Coiffeur = Hairdresser. Manikur = Manicure. Pedikur = Pedicure. Pantalons (same as French) = Pants. Accessories = Accessories. Tramvay = Tramway. Bankasi = Bank, Billeti = Billet (French) = Ticket. Sahbzi = Sahbsi (Farsi) = Vegetables. Patates = Potatoes. Dolmates = Tomatoes. Cay = Chayi (Farsi) = Tea (and it's the same exact tea that Persians drink). Okay = Okay.

I'm sure if my Farsi extended beyond food and a few bad words, I'd catch many other things too.

Beyond accessing easy vocabulary, Istanbul has been growing on me. While it's not a city I can imagine living in like Hong Kong or Paris, and it's not a city that's incredibly energetic and exciting like New York, it has a certain charm that has slowly lured me in.

I like how no one knows who is from which country. Istanbul has so many foreigners from tourism and business that it's truly an international city. People have spoken to us in Spanish, Turkish and Italian. It's all a guessing game here.

I love that when we sit in a cafe to work, the music runs back and forth from American pop to French pop to American oldies to French classics. In the span for an hour I heard Lady Gaga, Dean Martin and Charles Aznavour (Oh, Isabelle...). An hour later there were a few Spanish latin songs and then we transitioned to some Sergio Mendes. Walk to the shop next door and people are blasting music to which you could bellydance. Their influences are all over the board.

I am awestruck and amused that on a very nice street in a very nice area, one shop will be blasting a song with the lyrics, "Girl, push back on it..." while religious women covered from head to toe go strolling past.

While five times a day, the call to prayer is blasting out of speakers from every mosque making parts of town vibrate, people walk along and go about their day in their secular attire acting as if their eardrums aren't about to pop.

Men talk on cell phones while they fish off the main bridges in the middle of the city.

Every twenty feet there's a chestnut vendor helping to bring one of the most wonderful smells into the autumn air. Best yet, it doesn't matter which one you buy from, they all make their chestnuts perfectly with skills I'll never have.

People walk past grand monuments and palaces with seemingly no awareness. The giant gates and marble walls have become wallpaper to them. Life is in the present with the people with whom they're walking. Friends of the same sex - both genders - walk down the streets arm in arm. I even saw one group of three teenage boys walking as a chain.

In the evenings, as people get off work, they fill the streets and walk all around catching up on the day and life. Evenings are very social. Aside from a few very professional women in wealthy Nisantasi, I haven't seen many women alone. They walk in pairs and groups - with each other or with the men in their lives.

The feel of streets filling at 6pm is different from other places we've been - perhaps because unlike Greeks and French, these people work.

"Greeks, the people of Yugoslavia and Turks - we are all the same people who have taken this turn and that - but we have the same history, we are the same," one Turkish man told me. "The only difference between us and the Greeks is that Turks work."

Fair enough.

Istanbul is both refined and rough, cultured and blunt. It is secular and devoutly religious. People do kind things to help, and will just as easily plough into you when they get on and off the train. They'll also walk straight into you on a sidewalk or anywhere else that one might choose to veer to avoid personal collision... But if one person knocked you down, the others would probably pick you up and offer you some tea.

In it's contradictions, paradoxes, parallels and parallelograms, Istanbul has caused me to stop being as shocked and to start smiling again. Sometimes, when it doesn't all make sense, it's best to go with the flow and let the crowd carry you along with them. In the oddness and quirks of a culture that doesn't fit cleanly with any other I've encountered, yet has pieces of everything I know, there's comfort in knowing that despite the fact that it's completely different, Sylvie was right - "It's the same."

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Hobbies And Perspectives

Emily is creative. The other day, she updated her list of logins and passwords she keeps in hidden files in our backpacks. The old ones needed to be destroyed. She had the idea to rip them up into pieces and flush them down the toilet - which I thought was pretty ingenious.

But a few minutes later, I noticed her tearing half of each page up into tiny fragments and tossing them into a wastebasket. A few minutes later, the toilet flushed. It turns out that she was concerned that somewhere in the sewers of Istanbul, someone would find these tiny, soaked in who-knows-what pieces of paper and reconstruct them in order to steal the passwords of an online university instructor.

So, she tossed one ripped up half of each page in the garbage and one half down the toilet. Because the garbage people and the sewage people are unlikely to collaborate.

Usually, however, she puts her creativity and ingenuity to what I think are better - although less colorful uses. You may have noticed that in the last week, the quality of the photos on the blog have improved substantially. Emily is back behind the camera, running everywhere, grabbing shot after shot of Istanbul from every angle. I think she does great work.

In her long search for a hobby, she has found and decided upon photography. Not only do I love that she has a hobby - it's so useful for this trip. Not as useful as defeating the toilet monster - but useful nonetheless.

The most difficult part of Emily's job is that no matter what she does in photography or I do in writing, we at most capture pieces of our experiences and thoughts. There's nothing either of us can do to accurately convey the feeling of the air, light and beauty of a sunset in Patmos. We can't produce anything that conveys the feeling and mix of people in the Istanbul streets as we make our way through the side streets of Beyoglu. There are textures that just can't be put into two dimensions.

However, I can try to share the prism from which I see the world. For me, among many things, travel is a way to look not just at places - but cultures, people, history and even time. The world is full of so many interesting and varied ideas. We all seem to want similar things out of life - connection, safety, meaning, hope, futures for our children, happiness and love. But people around the world have so many ways of living and approaching these goals.

I like to collect ideas. Sometimes I see things I want to take home and hope one day we can adopt, incorporate or adapt. America is one of the great synthesizers of culture and ideas - so it always seems possible to me to borrow and integrate.

However, as I look at the world, it is always from a platform of being very proud of who I am and where I'm from. I'm Jewish. I never hide it. I'm American and I believe my home offers people whatever life and opportunity they want to have. I believe I come from possibly the most blessed and fortunate background a person could hope to be born into.

A favorite and valued reader recently pointed out that lately, some of my posts have seemed to be negative on America. I was a little shocked because that isn't at all the message I want to convey - although with some of my recent compare and contrast writings, I can look back and see how someone can read it that way.

I wouldn't prefer to be French, Turkish, Greek or anything else. Nor do I think anyone "has it down" better than Americans. If anything, I try to create and bridge gaps of understanding with the foreigners I meet. I feel very proud to help shape a positive image of America and Americans whenever I can.

In my blogs, I sometimes focus on the ideas I see as wonderful, useful and perhaps adoptable from out in the world. Some people nail a great concept or two (turning off the cell phone at night, public transportation, spending regular time with family and friends, more affordable/accessible healthcare, taking time to watch the sunset, baklava...).

In my own life I believe that while we can never have it all and there are difficult choices we unfortunately face - why not try to skim off the top and choose the best of everything we can? Life has such bitterness and sweetness - why not take the sweet whenever you can and cherish it? Why not strive for more? Why not look to the possible? So I feel about ways of living, points of view and opportunities.

From my standpoint, America is fantastic. We have room to improve. But then so does everyone. Except Emily who has figured out how to prevent identity theft in the most foolproof way possible.

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Golden Sunset And Black Sea

The sunset created a golden glow over the Bosphorous. Exactly as I had wanted and imagined, I watched the sunset over the European shore with my beautiful wife as we sailed south heading from the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmara.

The day was clear and jubilantly sunny, so it seemed ideal to spend our Sunday taking a ferry to the very end of the Bosphorous Strait in order to add the Black Sea to what I like to refer to as our "known world". Everyplace you go, every street you drive down, every boundary you push expands your map of the world.

Whenever I hear U2's "It's a Beautiful Day", I'm always proud that I've seen all but one thing on their list. When I talk to someone in another city knowledgeably about geography and directions - whether it's talking about Seattle, Singapore or Taipei - I feel fortunate that my mental map includes that much.

So, to be so close to an entire other sea - an inland sea that connects Russia, the Ukraine, Bulgaria, Romania and Turkey to each other and to the other seas and oceans of the world - was just irresistible. I'm not sure if we'll ever have another opportunity to see it. As nice as I'm sure the Ukraine is, it's not anywhere close to the top of my desired travel destinations. But in the matter of 90 minutes, we were able to lay eyes on the Black Sea.

In fact, it's rather amazing to reach the end of the Bosphorous and to look out at where the green hills that line the strait give way to a giant, empty nothing of the vast Black Sea. It's also interesting to learn that it is much darker than the sparkling blue we had come to love in the Mediterranean. The Bosphorous is also darker. The energetic, roaring Bosphorous is filled with fresh air and vitality, but nary a good, eye-catching blue.

Instead, our eyes were drawn to the lush green of the hills and the incredible mansions - old and new - known as Yalis in Turkish. The summer and retirement homes of Ottoman era ministers and later the nouveau riche line the strait - some restored and amazing, others on their last legs.

We also saw an official residence of the President of the Republic and a smattering of Ottoman Palaces including Dolmabahçe Palace, the palace used by Sultans from the mid-19th century to the end of the empire in 1920. The Bosphorous isn't just a waterway, it's a heritage.

Some people will read this and think, "Wasn't there already a post on the Bosphorous? Didn't they do the boat thing before?" Yes, there was and we did. But when we found out you can reach the Black Sea by land or by sea, it was a clear choice. There will be plenty of buses and trains in our future, but how often does one get to sail to their destination? Mix in a sunny Sunday in autumn and it's a clear choice.

What was surprising and more noticeable this time around - especially as we got closer to the Black Sea - was the volume of oil and natural gas tankers heading south toward the Sea of Marmara. As soon as one giant ship passed, another came around the bend. Being on the water long enough, it became clear that a huge amount of petroleum passes from Russia to the outside world through Turkey. Suddenly, the concept and importance (in a relative way) of the Crimean War became clear to me. Cut off Russia's access to the Bosphorous and you can stranglehold its best - and in the mid-19th Century, really only viable - shipping route.

How many people get to expand their known-world and understand some bizarre and somewhat obscure 19th Century European limited-objective conflict on a casual, relaxed Sunday afternoon? And I still had time to enjoy an amazing sunset with the love of my life. How fortunate am I?

The Black Sea

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Public And Private

"Why do you need all this space?!" Emily asked as we walked through the Hagia Sofia. "You don't NEED all this space," I said, "It's about showing the glory and grandeur of your religion, city and empire." Later I added that it's also about the effect of making people feel small and drawing their eyes upward as the Gothic cathedrals do.

The Hagia Sofia is interesting for its interior, which is far more grandiose than the impression the building gives off outside. Maybe it's the amalgam of older church and newer (in a very relative sense) addition of mosque structure and fixtures. Inside, despite the additions of Arabic script in various places, I could only see the old Byzantine church. It felt like a church to me. Of course the Madonna and Child and remnants of the mosaic of the Arch-angel Gabriel over the basilica stood out to help remind people of what the Hagia Sofia was and who built it.

I'm sure this difficult to ignore juxtaposition is what prompted Ataturk to annex the Hagia Sofia into state property and turn it into a museum, rather than allow it operate as anyone's place of worship. It represented conflicts which the Turkish state in its secular approach preferred to move past.

We walked the Hagia Sofia immediately after visiting the Sultanahmet or Blue Mosque just across the park from it. The Blue Mosque was more impressive to us outside than inside - but by no means disappointed anywhere. The gorgeous structure completed at the beginning of the 17th century is architecturally and artistically inspired and truly deserves its place among world heritage and religious sites. It is - for lack of better words - profound and awesome.

As we finished this most routine but very wonderful of tourist trails, I found Emily's question percolating in my mind. It wasn't the architectural issues so much as the greater social purpose.

The Blue Mosque was built just after the Gothic period in Europe came to a close and Hagia Sofia was constructed using Romanesque stylings more than 600 years before Gothic architecture in Europe. And while neither meet the definition of Gothic architecture - the purpose was the same. They demonstrated both the power and glory of their religions and their civilizations. They remain symbols of Byzantine and Ottoman era greatness and points of pride for Turks today.

Rulers throughout history have created monuments as points of pride and celebration for their people - markers of their civilization and grandeur. As Orhan Pamuk aptly points out in "Istanbul", European countries preserve these monuments as if the countries are giant, living museums. Their histories, their art, their culture, their moments of greatness as epitomized in statues, bridges, sculptures, churches, monuments, palaces and architecture are the treasured heirlooms that help define them.

To me, no place exemplifies this like Paris where people literally drive around the Arc de Triomphe and play soccer on the grasses of the Tueilleries at the foot of the Louvre. They live among their immaculately kept cultural and artistic treasures. France devotes tremendous public funds to the upkeep of their public art and architecture - which is the collection of every government in every era.

Then I thought about American society. What are our public treasures? What pieces of art and monuments do we live with that inspire us? Emily's question and my having to explain suddenly bothered me. We have a number of monuments, buildings and statues in and around Washington DC. New York has Grand Central Station, the Statue of Liberty and the New York Public Library. We blew up a mountain in South Dakota in the image of a few of our better presidents.

Every city has a few statues honoring public and social figures. Pershing Square in downtown Los Angeles has a statue. That's one I can think of for my hometown. And I strained to think of that.

It seems to me that in America we name parks for people. We have presidential libraries. We name streets for people sometimes. But what sadly came to mind is that we take great interest in skyscrapers and the homes of the wealthy. We preserve the Hearst Castle, Huntington Gardens and Library and a number of turn of the century mansions in Newport, Rhode Island. Private wealth is turned to public monument and adoration.

Americans spend money our public dollars on so many things and we debate which worthy cause and use is most important when budgets tighten. Americans have little appreciation or value on spending millions to erect a piece of public art just because. We consider it frivolous.

Indeed, many European and Ottoman rulers were spending countless sums on their public art and monuments while people died in the streets of dysentery, poverty ran unchecked, people were illiterate, and there were no resources for the mentally ill.

At the same time, no one in France seems bitter when they walk through the splendor of their capital. There is no economic value or contribution to the Arc De Triomphe. I have never heard a Brit curse Trafalgar Square or spit on Buckingham Palace. Even in Cannes, Grasse and Nice - so far removed from Paris - public art adorns the streets. You can't walk more than two blocks without a statue or sculpture.

Istanbul is littered with gorgeous mosques and monuments - some forgotten and badly kept, others resplendent. However, it is clear this has been a place and culture which takes pride in its history. These monuments are part of the fabric of their lives - a tie to their culture and a reminder of what links generation to generation.

Meanwhile, in a very different aspect of the role of public and private, we have had discussions with many people from many places about healthcare. People from the Netherlands, Greece, Britain, Turkey, Norway, and Russia have all told us how shocking it is that there are people who cannot either receive or afford their medical care in America. People in France - each and every time - consider American healthcare their worst nightmare. Even the most American friendly French feel our healthcare situation is shockingly out on synch with the values and wealth of our country.

Hussein, my cafe conversation friend of two days ago, told me that Turkey gives 100 percent free national healthcare. However, people go to the doctor whether or not they really need it and it has begun to tax the hospital system to the brink. The government is rolling back coverage and instituting co-payments so that people bear some responsibility for their healthcare.

When I explained that we have that concept with our private health insurance, he felt that it was going too far to have people pay for their insurance and then pay deductibles and co-payments on top of that. Hussein - a successful producer who has earned his way in life and who says Turks work hard from early until late - feels that everyone needs healthcare. The idea that someone can go bankrupt over being ill is disgusting to him.

At the end of our day yesterday, we took a public ferry to Kadikoy on the Asian shore. This interesting and happening neighborhood has amazing backstreets with a crowded and gorgeous fish and produce market. Happenings restaurants, bars and shops like the streets and the energy is positive. Kadikoy is very alive.

Our ferry costs us 1.5 Lira - about $1. Every train or tram ride costs the same - no matter which stop you choose. If you change lines, you pay again. Locals with passes receive a discount on their transfer to make the entirety of the trip more affordable. Between the trams, light rail, funicular, subway lines and suburban train lines - Istanbul has a phenomenal public rail network with very affordable fares. No wonder people pack into the trains like sardines.

Public ferries run perhaps 20 or more different lines along the water and we haven't even figured out the bus network. Public transportation is fantastic. Istanbul is an old city which spend most of its existence without public transportation. It has roads built long before cars for that matter. Much of its public rail improvements have come in the past 20 years. What a pleasure it is to be able to get quickly and efficiently through this ancient city. The affordable prices that make it so Istanbullus can really make use of these systems are fantastic.

As we zipped along the water on our 15 minute ferry ride to Kadikoy which cost us $1, I looked out at the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque and Topkapi Palace on the hill and thought of home. Where is the art? Where is the value on splendor? And why can't I get to the Westside in less than an hour on the freeway?

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My Life Is Noble

Fatigue makes us feel guilty. Emily was tired and didn't really want to go out into the cold, chilling wind that swept through the city last night. We had intended to take a ferry and explore the Asian shore. It was Friday night and Istanbul doesn't seem to sleep. But Emily wanted to. A mix of getting past jet lag, the fatigue of a new and very busy city, and the shock of the cool and half-gray Autumn days was tiring.

Where did this cold come from? Until last week, we lived in mild to hot weather. Even with the couple of days of rain in Cannes, it was never chilling the way Istanbul turns when the wind picks up. It was never so damp. Until now, our lives have felt like ongoing summer. The weather outside does not match our hearts and outlook.

So, I pointed out to Emily that if we act always as tourists, we'll exhaust ourselves. We are also living our lives out in the world and it's okay to have a night in just as we would at home. We have two weeks in Istanbul and we've been using the time well. So, a night of sorting photos into sets and albums doesn't make us bad people.

Besides, the real learning doesn't happen exclusively out on the streets and places we go. You always think that seeing the sights and walking the neighborhoods will give you the most perspective. While it's invaluable and what you think your purpose to be, some of the best learning happens at the cafes where we work.

In France, I spoke the most French at cafes. I learned about people and what they think. Without cafe conversation, how would I know that half of Cannes wants to bail on the EU? How would I know that if you don't take the time for an after-lunch limoncelo, you're just wasting your life?

Yesterday, the best Istanbul education was also in a cafe. This huge cafe at Kabatas across from the Bosphorous caught Emily's eye each time we passed it. So we went, only to discover that not only is it one of the busiest cafes in town, but it specializes in it's own brand of chocolate, chocolate treats and gourmet pastries. Perhaps it's because of these that it's so popular.

In any case, just after Emily moved to a seat where she could plug in her laptop, a nicely dressed Turkish man in his early 60s sat down at the table next to me. As usual, the iPad became a conversation starter. He asked in careful, hesitant but good English about the iPad, what it does and how I like it. He, like nearly everyone else, was most taken with the keyboard docking station which turns the iPad from an interesting tool into a viable option for a laptop replacement.

The iPad recently became available in Turkey, but until he saw me using it and I showed him about it, he hadn't considered it. I have a feeling Apple has a new customer coming.

But once we got past keyboard talk, things got more interesting. It turns out this man is a censor. He is officially a high level Producer for one of Turkey's television networks. He used to actually produce television shows, but promotions and successes elevated him into a position of responsibility which he sort of hates. The state carefully monitors everything broadcasted. Hussein's job is to make sure programming complies with state regulations. This makes him a censor. He doesn't enjoy it and it's not a concept he defends. However, he is proud that his diligence and judgement protects his company and the people who work for it from hefty fines and legal problems.

What does Hussein screen for? Product placements in movies and shows. Characters can't be seen drinking Coke or wearing a Seiko watch - Turkey considers it unfair free advertising air time. In light of recent anti-smoking laws, no images of people smoking can be aired.

No negative comments about any religion or religious figures - even in jest. Even fairly benign comments have to go. Hussein gave the example of the Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy movie "Before Sunrise" which is a very benign, non-explicit romance. At one point, two nuns and a priest pass the couple and they make some remark about clergy. That had to be cut out.

Most importantly, and perhaps most difficult - no slander. Hussein has to screen for lies. As a result, this means critical opinions are all subject to review. Also no denigration or insults. So statements like, "He's an idiot!" "You have no idea what you're talking about." and even "Jerk" are out. This pretty much takes out at least half of American news media.

Whatever's left can air. Hussein's big problem - producers come to him daily begging to leave their work or content in tact. He understands perfectly why they want that and sympathizes. He was once a producer like them. So, when they are set on their view, he doesn't make it a personal issue - because he sees nothing wrong with what they want. Instead, Hussein just writes a report outlining the risk exposure and sends it to the executives. The producers can then debate it with the top level guys.

Hussein has two years to retirement and says it feels like 202 years away. He hates it. Being honest and doing good work has gotten him far in life, he said - but this role is a reward that has been too heavy.

At one point, his integrity and hard work got him a job offer in the United Kingdom back in the 80s. But his mother was sick and he promised her he would return to Istanbul following his UK education.

A few years later, an American company wanted him to be part of a news production team they were assembling for Middle East coverage, but in 1987 with no pagers or cell phones, they couldn't find him when he was away for a week's vacation and after four days of calling his home, they offered the job to someone else. He wonders what his life would have been like had he been home to pick up that phone.

Either way, he's successful and makes good money. He was born in a poor part of town and lived in a 36 square foot "apartment" with his mother. He decided he would get an education and go to Europe and the UK. People told him those were dreams for people like him. But he worked two jobs from age 12 onward along with school and achieved all his goals. Hussein lived very modestly in England and worked while studying. When he traveled to Venice, he slept in a sleeping bag in park so he could afford to see Venice.

Now, he goes to France, England and elsewhere in style.

"People worry that they can't do it. When they worry, they stop themselves. When you're young, it's easier. But if you think you can't, then it's not possible."

I told Hussein that he's an interesting person and has led an interesting life.

"Everyone's life is interesting."

"But some people are afraid and don't try things the way you do."

"In Turkey, people say 'My life is noble.' They try to make their life good."

I think what Hussein was trying to say and having some trouble elucidating in English is that everyone's life has intrinsic worth and that we each bring meaning to our lives. It doesn't matter what specifically you achieve or do - it's who you endeavor to be.

He said it's a Turkish value. That endears Turkish culture to me.

Hussein intends to spend the rest of his life in Istanbul.

"The city never sleeps. All my family is here. My father is here. You meet all kinds of people and see everything happening. All the knowledge in the world is here. You can learn something everyday."

So, I will take Hussein's words to heart. Today, we go out into the city to see some sights and walk some streets. I will expect to learn something. As I watch how people live and what they are doing, I will enjoy that - whether you're an American traveler walking to the Hagia Sofia on foot, a Chinese tourist on a bus tour stopping at Topkapi Palace, a man shining shoes on a street corner, or a faithful Muslim suppliantly praying at the Blue Mosque - we can all share how noble life is.

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Recruited

"Yes, please!" they all say as we pass - as if we were asking who would like a cookie. Some clap and point. Others begin an interrogation vaguely resembling an El Al check-in counter. "Where are you going? What's your name? Have you eaten? Where are you from?"

Restaurants - once one of our great pleasures - have become one of our greatest fears. In Turkey, every restaurant has at least one recruiter and some have recruitment teams. Like mighty vultures, they constantly watch, looking for weakened prey - and by weakened, I mean someone who slows down, looks or answers. The trick is to avoid answering, walk purposefully and avoid eye contact.

If however, a recruiter should get in your face or block your path - which hungry recruiters will do - then a loud, clear, guttural "No thanks." "I'm not interested" or "We aren't eating or drinking" is the next defense. The best situation is if the recruiter calls to you in the wrong language. Some toss out a little Spanish, Italian or Russian in case they have you pegged wrong. English is unfortunately, their best and favorite language.

We had some of this in Crete, but Greek recruiters are amateurs by comparison. They just stand outside and make their existence known - like a blue jay singing to passers by. "Have you eaten? We have great seafood..." Maybe a particularly energetic one might ask, "Do you like mussels?" and if you say, "yes", he's likely to say, "me too!"

In Antalya, we got our first experience with Turkish recruiters. They lined the Kaleci, calling as we passed. One was not only aggressive, but had something I can best describe as a sharp look in his eyes. I preferred to scoot past the turn in the road near his restaurant. He's the only person who made me wonder about the "evil eye".

Only the best of the best make it to Istanbul. Istanbul recruiters have an energy, vitality and precision that make restaurant recruiting worthy of an Olympic sport.

Last night we were in Beyoglu seeking out a famous meyhane - a restaurant which specializes in mezzes or Turkish and Greek appetizers. One particular section of Beyoglu is famous as a meyahne district and the particular restaurant we sought and ultimately dined at, had a few Armenian influenced specialty dishes which were excellent.

The narrow cobblestone street, a block off the gorgeous promenade of Istekal Cadessi, was lit by old lamps encased by 19th century French ironwork arches. The restaurants were old houses beautifully restored and renovated. Each had patio dining with awnings that extended when there was a little drizzle. A mixture of foreign tourists and Turks getting together after work gave the tiny street a warm, social air.

But the path from Istekal Caddessi to the restaurant was a minefield lined with some of the greatest names and talents in the restaurant recruiting business. It takes more than a fast pace, some garlic and a wooden stake to make it to your destination alive.

Of course it was worth it.

What gets more complicated is getting in and out of our hotel. Our little street is lined with tourist oriented restaurants and some very fine recruiting teams. They see so many tourists in a day that most don't recognize that they've already hassled us twice that day. One at the restaurant to the immediate left of the hotel has caught on that if he wants our business, his best tactic is to let us pass. But the restaurant recruiting thugs at the corner, where we turn to head down toward the tram - they are relentless.

The other night I watched them team up on a poor girl who was walking alone. The worst thing to be in Istanbul is a young, attractive, female tourist alone. A combination of recruiting and lust turned these recruiters particularly aggressive to the point where I almost intervened. One got in front of her to block her path and the other came up from behind trying to talk her into sitting down and having a drink. She sat down, took a menu, smoked a cigarette and waited for them to leave. As soon as they did, she got up and left.

Two days ago, we went into a shop which sells backpacks since I still need a replacement for my poor backpack that died a grizzly death in the Rome airport. As we began looking, the salesman started to ask Emily questions about what she was looking for. "Just looking..." she said in that tone that said, "Don't swarm me...."

"I can tell you don't like the way Turkish salesman are. I can read your emotions. This isn't that kind of a store. Take a look around - enjoy your looking."

I have never met anyone as knowledgeable about cheap backpacks as this man. He was nice and listed every feature possible right down to, "And of course it's a good looking backpack and that's very important because it's like a piece of clothing you wear everyday and it has to look good on you." When we left he said, "It will be a nice emotion to see you again."

The backpack costs more than we want to pay, but I still think about it just because of that guy and his fantastic sales approach. He left us wanting to buy from him. Smart man.

The cheaper places where locals eat are recruiter free, very tasty and good for our budget. So, while we might enjoy eating at some of the nicer restaurants near the hotel, the recruiters actually push us toward the aggression-free environment of the eateries a few blocks away. We get better and more for less without the hassle.

The best was the place which specializes in tavuk doner kebab - the Turkish version of chicken shwarma - where they roast vegetables between the layers of meat. Their product looks different and attracts crowds as the doner men show you how they place peppers, eggplant and cheese in their special wraps to make their doner special. For five lira we got great food, a lesson and entertainment.

Still, we won't let recruiters stop us from visiting the places we want to go. But when we have the choice to take a street with restaurants and one without, you can be assured that like two people on some kind of sick Weight Watchers restaurant aversion therapy - we'll take the road less dined.

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