...passport 1920

...passport today

swimming, cooking, waiting

(i)
spent the morning swimming. the pool i usually go to is a stunning indoor facility with one side overlooking (through an amazing ceiling window) a perfectly kept park. what i love about swimming is that it puts me in the most peaceful place and kind of seems to make me think very straight. some years ago i considered swimming exhausting and tedious -- and somehow lonely too... i just feel the opposite way now and could not live without it.
the best about this pool i go to now is that it is hardly ever crowded. the only people who take an interest in swimming, it seems, are a group of elderly ladies - who are too sweet and funny for words. they are all enrolled in these bizarre "aqua gym" classes - taking place every thursday afternoon. about a dozen of these ladies join in, looking like proud, oversized testudines ready for a migration across the ocean. guided by this over enthusiastic pint-seized girl who jumps around for an hour or so, they keep going like a pack of cheerleaders training for the super bowl. from the back of the pool, where i keep to myself... it always looks like a crazy routine...with a dozen of puffy, old-fashioned swimming bonnets bobbing around the water to the rythm of music pumping in the air. and when i say music...well, no chopin or new agey calming tunes... i mean stuff like lady gaga and black eyed peas... which is comedy, to say the least.

(ii)
the weather has been very rainy and wet for the past three days...with darker afternoons. perhaps because of this i have been busier in the kitchen - especially baking. i love the way the house smells when there is something roasting or baking in the oven.
i have been learning a couple of new "turkish tricks" by eating out in some traditional eateries in town and always try to replicate at home the incredible way turkish recipes make use of any herb, veggie, leftover or simple ingredient. have grown especially fond of Mücver...that is to say a kind of zucchini fritters with a signature, unbelievable aftertaste of mint.

they are easily made mixing together the flesh of some zucchini + parsley, dill, onions, mint and some flour combined with feta cheese.

(iii)

heading downtown for some errands now. tried to do this yesterday - but a sudden shower got me stuck in a cafe for half an hour or so. ordered some tea to kill time and realised the delay, the change of plan did not bother me in the slightest. i kind of smiled as - one year or so ago - a mishap of the same (innocent) kind would have looked like a bit of a bummer, if not a spoiler. after one year in turkey something has changed in that sense. i have somehow learnt how to wait without minding much about delays, inconveniences, malfunctions, setbacks, frustrating cohincidences, hindering circumstances... as someone brought up and kind of "trained" (/educated) to "do" and function and act promptly, independently... i now sense i am less prone to feel discouraged or annoyed if something "gets in the way". perhaps since a place like turkey teaches you nothing can be expected and nothing can be demanded as your own, innate right. i am no believer in destiny and will always be far from the very turkish talent of always adding a touch of slacky fatalism to things... however i must confess that waiting without fretting about it is a good quality, especially if you have a small something on the side...like a cup of tea...that you actually truly, intimately enjoy and relish as precious.

dreams and barbies

(i)

am not getting much sleep these days. a friend, working as a naturopathist - explained with dead certain eyes that in the final weeks of pregnancy your body tries to "train" you for the major sleep deprivation of the early stages of living with a newborn. i nodded on as she was saying this -- trying to figure out whether it did make any sense at all. "we are not aware of it" she added, very solemnly "but nature is much stronger than we are... do you know that, in case of natural labour, the time of your baby's birth will actually be about the same as the time he or she was actually conceived?" ... - right...- i kind of mumbled, looking a bit confused - that's a very fascinating theory. i guess... - with my eyes kind of dropping somewhere else. checking my hardly manicured hands in fact. with naturopathy suddenly giving way to other immortal reflections...

"blast. i am 32. i should really quit biting my nails".

anyway, wacky theories aside. these days my motto seems to be like that quote from r.e.m. ... "i do not sleep, i dream" - with every night becoming busier and more entertaining than the previous one.

"what do you dream about?" was one of my favourite conversation starters with my students - and, had i now to answer something like that i would list (taking inspiration just from the past two nights):

1. we got relocated to asmara, erithrea - where, for some extremely impractical reason my mother decided to join us to look for a house;

2. a friend from naples tried to involve me in a rather dodgy online betting and poker business. quite rightly...i did look very worried all throughout the dream;

3. i was on holiday in my favourite bay here in turkey, walking under the sun towards the pebble beach - when, to my shock - i realised i was not pregnant anymore. i had a bikini on, a lovely tan and a flat tummy. "fuck. i am not pregnant anymore!" i heard myself saying in disbelief - which may not be very lady-like...but is kind of credible, me being me...

4. i had to walk around town with a white rabbit under my arm. i had no clue about the purpose of the chore. he was quite chubby too!

(ii)

find it intriguing to compare turkish and non-turkish responses to the fact my second child will be a girl. european / italian / western friends all come up with comments like: "girls are one step ahead!" or "even when they are very little - they are so much smarter than boys!" or "girls are terrible! they get their way whenever they want" or "you will see how crafty and cheeky they are...they always get their way" or "they have a special gear girls, they do...boys are simple in comparison" --

which...if you notice...are all references to how (seemingly) girls are now portrayed as cunning, high-flying, manipulative and merciless little machines.

a family friend (mother to one teenage boy and one 10 year old girl) - phrased it even more bluntly "from the very start - you will realise girls are total bitches compared to boys" which i found a bit sad...really.

her remark kind of made me think it might be all down to mothers...at the end of the day. meaning, perhaps it is mothers who hope their female offsprings will show early signs of competitiveness, ambition, ruthlessness and (ok, there you go) bitchiness.

strange - if you ask me. since i am perhaps one of the few women left who actually admire men and believe some men have exceptional, outstanding qualities... i believe gender does not implicate any innate superiority or better temper -- and maybe there are other qualities to girls / women...like kindness, gentleness, elegance - that have been long lost in some odd race forcing females to elbow their way through things. with the "winning type" identified in the pack who shows off more heartlessness (a.k.a. - bitchiness). much to their mums' smugness.

tellingly - in turkey the common reaction to the news of the arrival of a baby girl is summed up in sentences like: "girls are so cuuuute!" or, more frequently "so nice. as a mum you will get to dress her like a doll. so much fun!".

sure - this kind of feedback is naive stock - and does say a lot about how "passive" and "barbie-like" women are still perceived (and kept) over here...

but i kind of find the first (westernised) reaction a tad worse than this one -- which, sure, does not stand out as deep. but sounds less scary, at least to me.

having said that - the genuine, almost juvenile enthusiasm surrounding "baby girls / dolls" over here still provides no alibi for the horrific turkish mania for unbelievable frou frou pink (pink pink pink pink pink pink pink pink pink PINK PINK PINK) outfits forced upon innocent newborn girls...

HENRIK - where art thou?

found out today that one of my favourite poets, henrik nordbrandt - actually lives in turkey. call me childish...but this piece of news somehow managed to make me happy. and while i fantasise about bumping into my danish guru... here are some of his verses...

THE WHITE VASE
The summer has still not gone and you are still not gone and I am
still not gone.
And the door is closed and the afternoon sun warms the window-panes and
the shadows of the birch-trees darken
the dust on the black table with the white vase. And the dust just lies
there.

SLEEPING AROUND
I love to sleep around
in foreign rooms
with foreign women
and hear the rain on the roof
and hear the banana plant scraping against the gutter
and hear the water pipes gurgle
and a radio switch on in the room next door.

I love to hear a woman
break out in moans in a foreign language.

I love foreignness:
the one room more foreign than the other
the one woman more foreign than the other
the tiger’s roar in the yard under the moon.

I love when I am in love
with a certain one

and I hear all of these sounds

alone in the dark

THE OCEAN
When I return to the ocean it will be without me.

Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées

i always walk around town listening to my ipod. three months ago, a friend bought me the latest shuffle model, a genius solution that comes in the tiniest size – main drawback is, however…it constantly plays in shuffle mode (no surprises, given the name…) something that sometimes makes you feel you have hardly any control over the choice of music you are listening too. i thought about this as i was crossing a dodgy part of town today.

a mere ten minutes walk from the centre, and right behind the hilton hotel and the rather civilised neighbourhood surrounding the “Fuar” (trade fair) and the Kultur Park – you find yourself in what looks like a corner of El Cairo, minus the desert sand in the air. my students are not fond of the area and they say only “apaches” (a slang term to indicate kurds) can live there. and while i am not as squeamish (nor racist) – today i was kind of taken aback in noticing how dirty the streets were; what kind of humanity peeps unfriendly through the shops’ windows, behind the wheels of beaten up cars…with small kids sitting on the sidewalks and trash, dust, noise sort of building up in volume and chaos everywhere.

all of a sudden i looked like an unusual, unidentified and out of place passer by - landed by accident in some corner of a town looking like a random cross between karachi and minsk after a major street riot.
at times i have the feeling that today’s turkey is an unpredictable hotchpotch of arabic fierceness and balkan unruliness – but i would never dare to say this aloud. locals here seem to dread to be compared to arab people…they see it as the ultimate form of insult, for whatever reason.

anyway…the main funny thing today was that…as i was zig-zagging between trash, beggars, street vendors, scooters zooming past on the sidewalk, cars parked everywhere, decrepit shoeshine men, women dressed in traditional dresses and headscarves and older men wearing anatolian hats…I realised with a certain puzzlement that my ipod was cheerfully playing joe dassin’s “aux champs elysees”…

Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées

... yeah, right - i thought, only (very) partly amused.

(ii)
as i was trying to wake up under the shower, this morning - i was surprised to find my little boy knocking on the shower door, the house's cordless phone in his hand. trying quickly to get the water out of my eyes and some (at least some) soap away from my neck...i distinctively heard my mother's voice chanting "sweetie, it is na-naaaa here!!" - to which, with a markedly unimpressed face, he passed me the phone.
- mum, it's me - i said.
"are you at the hospital then?" she asked, with the voice of someone who has just survived an asthma attack.
- mum, you have just called my fixed line. at home. - i said.
"so - you are not at the hospital then?" she insisted.
- no. i am in the shower right now. no hospital -
"but...i called your mobile and there was no answer...ha, i was so sure they had admitted you"
- i am in the shower - i heard my voice repeating, and there was something slightly painful in it.
"speaking about your mobile" my mother continued " i was actually wondering whether you have memorised the emergency number to call an ambulance to fetch you...just in case".
- an ambulance? what for?
"for emergency".
- mum - i tried to cut the conversation short - i am not sure if you realise that in this country...if i call an ambulance...the odds are i will never ever see one showing up...if not three months late, if not at the wrong address...always hoping the driver does not decide he would rather have some tea before checking what the matter is.

but i do not think she listened much.
especially to the truest bit... the tea part -

.............Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées!!!!!!!!!!!!

(iii)
dropped my boy at kindergarden this morning. as we entered the school's gate - i was greeted by another mum pushing her three year old child (k.) in a pram. k. looked like someone just taken forcibly out of bed and sported massive black bags under his eyes. "he loves his sleep" his mother remarked beaming "he would stay in bed till 11 am every single day" -
wow, lucky you - i reassured her - i wish i could say the same. ours...he is in bed at 8.30 pm and wakes up in between 7.30 and 8am. "you see...you are the lucky one then" she concluded with a smile "he never goes to bed before 2am".

2 AM! blast... i pictured myself having to endure bizarre routines involving my little one roaming the house till 2 AM and had to pause for breath.
however - this is another funny thing about families here. children are happily kept up till late, with late meaning midnight, 1 or 2 am. they escort their parents on every outing to restaurants, parties and family gatherings - and even when they stay home they are sent to bed at unbelievable hours.
the 2am story made me think of peter hedges - who once wrote:

"children fall asleep so you can love them again"

but...at the end of the day...

"Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées"
in karachi, minsk, the "apache" part of town...or at the hospital (under the shower) - regardless...

tilda tilda

watched "i am love" last night - a movie by luca guadagnino starring tilda swinton. i cannot say i liked the movie 100%... especially as in its second half it seems to spiral out of control, but some details about it are simply outstanding.

the film tells the story of a rich milanese family, the recchi's - and starts off by showing their extremely privileged life. it does so mainly by capturing in all its splendor their amazing villa, its interiors, its solemn architecture, its gardens, its impeccable bathrooms and stairs, its very dedicated maids and waiters, a certain aura of austerity that is palpable even in the light entering through the windows. there is nothing in the interiors that leaves room for disappointment - all the colours, pieces of furniture, frames, carpets, dinner plates seem to match and project this flawless picture of aesthetic perfection. the same can be said of the actual clothes and accessories worn by the statuary members of the recchi's family - who both in posture, style and physique seem the ultimate definition of aristocratic elegance.

the main core of all this careful, painstaking work of visual and aesthetic symphony is the family's mother, mrs. emma recchi - played by tilda swinton. she is the main focus of the story and she will eventually also become the epicentre of the entire crumbling crisis that will engulf everything and everyone, down in a spiral of unchecked tragedy.

i love tilda swinton and find her mesmerising. in this movie even more so. rarely i have seen such poise and elegance in one single character - and i believe there would be no movie at all without her, her elfin looks, her sashaying around in unbelievably stunning dresses. there is something utterly cold and hardly human in her features, her skin, the lean silhouette of her ethereal, long body...and yet every single gesture she makes conveys so much meaning and in such a powerful way - a bit like a work of art when you admire it in a dimly lit art gallery. mesmerising.

so, i guess the movie is worth watching just because of her! yet - having said that... i will also add this is the very first time i see milan (especially in the opening, with all the snow) under a different light...

milan is usually a city that on screen can appear even more soul-less than what it already is in reality. however - in the images carefully created by guadagnino you can discover a touch of magic to the city that is rather unprecedented.

finally, there is also a very strong and erotically obsessive twist to the story - which gets out of control and drags everything into disaster. must admit that, however, even if sex is not missing (euphemism) -- the most sensuous image of emma recchi finding pleasure is seen in a restaurant (food is a major element - from both a visual and narrative point of view) where she is having lunch and slowly savouring every morsel of a... shrimp. the utter, delirious joy she does this with is somehow too sexy for words - and a telling prelude of how her character will in the end lose herself in her absolute Love for life.