Travels

Madrid

We spent most of our holiday vacation here, so there isn't much touristy stuff left for us to do. Mostly we just settled into our apartment and dealt with the jet lag (strangely, Jesusa, who has been living here for over seven months, is struggling with it almost as much as I am), falling asleep between 2 and 4 am (though we get in bed at 12) and sleeping until 11 or 12 the next day, when we wake for breakfast. After breakfast, I go out to my favorite cafe to do a little writing and reading over a cup of Americano and a sugary pastry. Then it's back to the apartment for a bit of not-at-all-earned R and R. At about 4:30, we head out for lunch. A long walk to some part of the city thereafter and then out for some tapeando (tapas + ing). We went out with some of Jesusa's Colombian friends one night, a group of Couchsurfers another, and, on my birthday, went to Carmen, a Flamenco show, and to a nice restaurant after. Lots of good wine and good food. I'll have more to say about the beauties of Flamenco when we get back to Spain.

Istanbul

Woken up by the call to prayer. It moves me every time I hear it, makes me suddenly solemn, regardless of what I'm doing.

We didn't do much the first day. Took a walk and had lunch. The people are unbelievably friendly. We're staying near the airport, well outside of the tourist zones, and maybe for that reason the people here still find us exotic. And maybe they wouldn't be so friendly if I weren't with an attractive Colombian woman. When Jesusa left her sunglasses at the place we had lunch, two men from the kitchen chased us down about five blocks away in order to return them. After a coffee and tea, a man gave us a ride home because it was raining and we weren't dressed for it. The next day, at dinner, we ordered two durum from a small shop. The man brought us the durum and then a yogurt drink and two teas that we hadn't asked for. When we got up to pay and leave, he refused to take our money, which he did twice more on subsequent visits. We eventually learned to leave one or two things on our plates. If we didn't, he would bring us more food. He doesn't speak a word of English, but his unassuming smile and pleasant demeanor, even more generous than his actions, is something I hope stays with me.

Today we went to the Blue Mosque, which was quite impressive. In the tourist zones, most people speak English, unlike where we're staying, and they're still friendly though not quite as genuine, motivated more by the "plata" perhaps, than the people in the non-touristy areas.

When we got back to our place, the call to prayer chant started up again. It happens six times a day: twice in the early morning, again around noon, mid-afternoon, sunset (which, in the Muslim calendar marks the beginning of the new day, our morning), and evening.

At the Blue Mosque, they gave us a free informational seminar about the mosque and Muslim culture. While there's plenty to despise about the Muslim religion--most especially the militant permutations that have occurred in response to Colonialism and Globalization--there's much still to find appealing about the culture, perhaps the lone remaining contrast to western consumer lifestyles.

Dreams

I'm about to enter a Buddhist monastery as a monk. I'm uncertain about it, but a friend convinces me that it's "natural" and I join. Within the monastery, we hear a beautiful sound coming from outside. We go out to investigate and find one of the priests showing a number of other student monks a blank wall and, in song, describing the sounds made by the images on the wall. My friend rushes passed the wall and into the forest. I follow. I'm made to understand that the priest was playing a trick on everyone, reminding them that the finger that points to the moon should not be confused with the moon. The sound comes from the forest, not from the images or non-images on the wall or from the priest's singing.

I'm sure this has something to do with my admiration for the call to prayer.

In another dream, I'm about to meet a beautiful woman who is interested in me. Only I'm unable to have an intimate conversation with her due to my preoccupation with other smaller, more trivial conversations. I think this has something to do with the way Facebook, Twitter, etc. distract us from real human connection.

Istanbul Cont.

Saw Hagia Sofia finally. Breathtaking. Everything I anticipated. Later we saw a dance show--the whirling dervishes. They did a sama ceremony. It seemed weird to applaud what is meant to be an august and meditative spiritual ritual. But we did, along with all of the other smiling, dining tourists. It seemed even weirder to follow a religious ritual with a sexy belly dancer. But tourism comes before everything and maybe reduces everything to simulation. Or maybe not. If spiritual ecstasy can't express itself in the dance, maybe the dance, even when commodified, can create the ecstasy.

After the belly dancer, musicians came out to solicit money for the show we had already paid twenty dollars for.

Last day in our apartment near the airport, the less touristy, less western, part of the city. Hearing again the call to prayer echo off the rooftops I can see out our window.