Ever since Ottoman days, European travelers have written books on Turkey documenting all the manners in which it differs from the way things are done in their own countries, listing all sorts of customs, practices and non-sequitur trivia that has captured the imagination of foreigners for hundreds of years and spurred an exotic fascination (not to mention a good deal of myth) toward what was once a bastion of oriental despotism on the doorstep of Europe.
Turkey today is still fascinating, but in a different way: for although the Ottomans did things their way (truly their way, at least up until the 19th century when they started adopting European ways), Turkey has sought to do things the European way, but it’s doing the European way a la Turca. This discrepancy is, of course, what makes Turkey – or any country for that matter – interesting to foreigners, and particularly to westerners. We always dwell on differences, as we usually relate to what is unfamiliar through what is familiar. And for those who come from countries in which logic, reason, order and utility are the reigning gods of their modernist cosmogony, Istanbul’s differences can – and do – border on the absurd.
So kick back and enjoy the absurdity of Istanbul…
Istanbul - How about the name of the city itself: Istanbul? It comes from “To the city” (ist an poli) in Greek. How does that actually become the name of a city? It must be the only place in the world that got its name from a road sign. It’s like calling San Francisco “It’s Over There By The Bay.”
The French - The working hours of the French Cultural Center are ridiculous – every day has a different opening and closing time than the others. It’s like they made a schedule to suit EVERYBODY’S needs… literally. Laverne has to pick up her kid early on Monday, Jacqueline has choir practice on Thursday… It could also just be a case of “We can set whatever hours we like and you have to adjust to our program” attitude. “9-to-6? Pfffff, I speet on 9-to-6.”
Bathroom lights - Why the hell are bathroom light switches always located outside the bathroom? Is it so everybody who goes in has to make that embarrassing half-journey back out, twisting around the bathroom door, stretching on their tip-toes to switch the light on before pulling themselves back in, just in case everybody didn’t see them try to sneak in the first time so they all know who’s responsible for the stink that will await the next person who goes in?
Pedestrian crossings - Can you remind me again why there are those thick white stripes across the road that look exactly like pedestrian crossings? Why don’t we just be truthful and call them “Deathtraps for Unsuspecting Tourists” instead.
Istiklal traffic - If Istiklal Avenue is supposed to be closed to traffic, then why isn’t it actually closed to traffic? Why do I keep seeing a handful of shifty-looking mustachioed men honking and riding past me in Tofaş Şahin’s?
Istiklal pavements – Ok, we all expected things would get better eventually and that all we had to do was grit our teeth and bare it as they tore up the avenue and the side streets to lay the new granite paving. And what a job they did… the granite – apparently imported from China – is already breaking, there are unfinished holes and loose tiles everywhere, and everything looks as half-assed as it ever was. Now, after having to deal with all those bulldozers and mud over last autumn and winter, the Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality has decided it doesn’t like the paving (Duh!) and has decided it will all be redone, this time with Turkish granite. I guess we could just keep doing and redoing this until we find one we like, sort of like trying clothes on. Pavements are important of course. Even though we continue to be deprived of basic amenities like water and electricity, we’ll at least know that our pavements will possibly, one day, be good.
Istiklal maintenance - Garbage trucks, street sweepers and construction workers are generally expected to do their business at the small hours of the morning when no-one’s around… not at 7pm when you and your girlfriend are walking down Istiklal trying to enjoy the end of your workday with a meal and a pleasant stroll. The municipality seems not to have yet realized that a good municipality is one that is as inconspicuous as can be; instead, they send a horde of fluorescent-clad workers out there with brooms and picks and spades like there’s an emergency or something. Here’s a novel idea: WORK AT NIGHT.
Machine guns - I understand cops need to be wary, which is why in London they all carry batons and some of them even pistols. But how come our cops walk up and down Istiklal Avenue toting machine guns? And the machine guns aren’t even slung over their shoulders; they’re walking around with them swinging from their hands with such a swagger that it looks like they’re about to go trigger-happy at the first sign of trouble. “He stole your purse ma’am? Well then… RATTA-TA-TA-TAT!”
Robocops - Speaking of cops, how come there’s always an exorbitant number of them every time there’s a demonstration outside the Galatasaray Lycee or Taksim, for example? Last time I passed by there were 20 or 30 university students chanting slogans, and on the other side of the street was a ferocious division of about 100 gas-masked cops with Robocop armor on, wielding machine guns and truncheons, almost itching to just crack some skulls. “Watch out men, they have placards!”
Piety in your face - We get it, the local AK Party municipality are pious Muslims, but is that horrible little tin minaret that looks like it was made out of scrap cheese cans at the beginning of Istiklal Avenue really necessary for bully-blasting the ezan five times a day out to all us infidel ne’er-do-wells who should be praying instead of walking around with our hands in our pockets? We get it, you’re Muslim, now leave me alone.
Forbidden letters - Kurds aren’t allowed to use letters essential to their own language, because those letters don’t exist in the official Turkish alphabet. Those letters are X, Q and W. But then you look all around you, and you see a store called Queen’s House, a company called Winsa and an art gallery called X-Ist… So when our own Kurdish citizens use those letters it’s treason, but when Turks use it for good old-fashioned foreign-envy-fueled catchy commercial gimmickry, it’s suddenly okay? How about some consistency here: why not make it Kvin’s Haus, Vinsa and Eks-Ist? But that doesn’t look right does it? Well neither does Kurdish without those letters, so now you know how they feel.
Road signs and traffic lights - I mean really, road signs and traffic lights in Istanbul? What’s next, law and order?
Metro - If you’ve used the metro lately, you’ll find that they’ve had to actually paint directions on the ground indicating where those boarding should stand and how those alighting should proceed, with two-dimensional aisles and arrows to guide passengers getting on and off the train… I don’t know what’s more absurd, the fact that people cannot figure out how to get on and off a train themselves, or the naïve expectation that anyone will actually follow the instructions given. And they say the height of urban street curbs is a measure of how civilized a country is. No it isn’t. Having to give directions for boarding and alighting a train is.
Queuing - Speaking of civilizational barometers, how about the capacity of citizens for spontaneous queuing? That’s right, let’s say a few people need to buy a ticket to get a ride on the bus… What usually happens is those who arrive remain behind the person who is already there, thus waiting their turn – also known as “queuing” or “waiting in line”. But in Istanbul it’s a matter of finding enough space to be able to squeeze past as many people as you can to get your elbow on the ticket counter and lean in with your head while avoiding eye-contact with anyone except the ticket salesperson. That would explain why anywhere you expect an orderly queue, you see what looks like an irate mob instead.
Museum tickets - Ticket pricing and apportioning at the state museums… Honestly, you need five different tickets, then tickets to take photos, others to film, others for private tours, and they’re all different prices for Turks and foreigners, the latter having to spend a small fortune just to see Topkapı or Dolmabahçe palace. Who’s in charge of these museums, highway robbers? (For more comprehensive ranting and raving on this subject, do a search for “Tourist Ticket Torture” on our website: www.timeout.com.tr)
Underfoot advertising - What’s with those squared glass-enclosed sidewalk advertisements under our feet? When it snows in winter those things are like Viet Cong booby traps… Slip, crack… “Ha! We got another capitalist consumer bastard! How do you like your 2-for-1-Kodak-film-offer-for-a-limited-time-only NOW?”
Veiled women - I was under the impression that the choice of wearing a veil to hide the hair and cover the head was a show of modesty on the part of pious Muslim women, and usually accompanied by loose-fitting garments, the aim being to downplay any hint of sexuality that might attract the attention of men. But now everywhere you look you see sexy women with calf-revealing dresses, curve-revealing clothes and gaudy red and blue make-up all over their faces – oh, and a veil (and even that often has a suggestively bunched up ball of hair underneath). It’s like seeing a humble, dhoti-clad Mahatma Gandhi working out with dumbbells. “We must live simply, eat rice, and practice peaceful resistance… but look at my biceps, they’re HUGE!”
Rail transport - Okay, if I’m in Nişantaşı and I want to go to the airport on public transport, here’s what I have to do: Get to the metro station at Osmanbey, take metro to Taksim, get out, get on the tram till end of Istiklal Avenue, get out and get on the funicular underground Tünel tram down to Karaköy, get out and get on the light railway metro till the airport – which, by the way, shares the same road as car traffic around Sultanahmet. A mass rail transport system is supposed to weave through the city like a continuous web, not be thrown in here and there to give the semblance of continuity. If you have a map you can play connect the dots as you make your laborious way from point A to point B… and then points C, D, E, etc., until you get to your real point B.
Public toilets - Having to pay to use a public toilet is basically tantamount to encouraging people to piss in the street instead, which they do. I suppose the idea is that you’re paying for someone to keep the toilet clean, which they’re generally not. So that means we should either not be paying at all, or we should be paying more. But that’s a two-way Catch 22, because by paying less, even though you’ll be peeing for free, you’ll know that the toilet will be filthy and will be dissuaded from using it; and by paying more, you’ll be dissuaded from using it because no pee – no matter how good – is worth 75 cents, even though you’ll know the toilet will be clean…-er. Who knows though, for 75 cents a wizz they may even throw in some toilet paper.
Mysterious taps – While we’re on the subject of public toilets, you may be wondering what those water taps right next to the toilet are for. Well, that’s what you’re expected to use instead of toilet paper. If you weren’t in the habit of soaping your hands after going to the bog before, you will when you’re done with this one.
Cats – This has got to be one of Istanbul’s sweetest absurdities. No conception of Istanbul would be complete without the inclusion of cats, being as they are such an integral part of the city. You’ll see them lazing around in groups on windowsills or on the hoods of cars, you’ll see them slinking around stairwells or tip-toeing across the street, graceful and dignified, as if they were the true guardians of the city. They’re also the reason why you don’t see too many rats or cockroaches around.
Nişantaşettes – We’re talking solarium-tanned girls with nose jobs wearing DKNY sunglasses, walking ridiculous little dogs that match their designer jeans, and talking on cell-phones with noisome nasal tones before getting into daddy’s-birthday-present-car to drive off either to a brasserie, a hairdresser, or back to the tanning salon for a little touch up on that skin cancer she’s been working on since summer. They usually congregate around Nisantasi, armed with credit cards and armored with make-up. These girls might also feature in our upcoming “Horrible Istanbul” and “101 Things Istanbul Could Do Without” features, so get ready for some more goose-bumps and retching. (For more comprehensive ranting and raving on this subject, check out Nisantasi 90210)
Magandas – The best way to describe a maganda would be as an uncouth and offensive social misfit (if you take out the “offensive” they then become just a kıro). Some have white socks and black shoes, with a prayer bead in one hand and a cigarette in the other… Some park in front of your apartment and honk repeatedly to signal to someone that they’ve arrived to pick them up, and then yell back at you and show a knife when you complain from your window… Some go to Italian restaurants and ask for ayran to go with their pasta… Some make strange chimpanzee-like noises and stare at your (or your girlfriend’s) breasts as you walk by… You get the picture. If you would like to go maganda-spotting, your best bet is either the cheap seats behind the goals during a match at a football stadium, places where tourist women are to be found, or any cinema still showing Kurtlar Vadisi Irak. (For more comprehensive ranting and raving on this subject, do a search for “Magandamania” on our website: www.timeout.com.tr)
Water and electricity cuts – Half the time either one is cut off or the other. If it doesn’t snow or rain we’re screwed because the dams and reservoirs remain deprived of water… If it does snow or rain we’re screwed because the traffic becomes deadlocked and whole neighborhoods get flooded. Could somebody remind us why we pay taxes again?
Ambulant salesmen – You could buy everything from scrap metal to feather dusters just by poking your head out the street every time you hear the strange wail of an incomprehensible word (even for a Turk). They all usually sound something like “HOOO-HUUUUUUU”, weather they’re saying “onions”, “simit” or “balloons.” If you want to have some fun, yell “POLIS!” (police) or “ZABITA” (patrol car) when they pass by. There’s nothing funnier than seeing a guy trying to run as fast as he can while pushing a cart full of oranges. (I’m kidding, you sicko. Why don’t you go laugh at cripples too while you’re at it?)
“Luxury” Goods – Deodorants (roll-ons, sprays, etc.) are classified as “Luxury Items” and thus taxed accordingly (at up to 23%) when imported, which, unfortunately, is just one of the many wonderful reasons why the inside of public transport smells like wet socks and armpits. I know what you’re thinking, but no, toilet paper is not considered a luxury good as well. The reason why you can’t find paper in public toilets is because the people charged with keeping the toilet don’t want to pay the extra cost of supplying toilet paper in the… wait a minute, it is a luxury item!
Movie breaks – You go to the cinema, settle into your seat, the lights go out, you get into your movie, the characters are becoming familiar to you, the plot is starting to engross you, and then STOP! The lights come on, the film is abruptly cut, the sound goes, and you’re left there stunned, as if you’ve just been slapped in the face. For all you know, an attendant may well lurk up behind you, shake you violently by the shoulders and shout “IT’S A TEN-MINUTE BREAK, NOW GO BUY SOMETHING FROM OUR CAFETERIA YOU CHEAP BASTARD!” (For more comprehensive ranting and raving on this subject, do a search for “Lights, Camera, Satisfaction” on our website: www.timeout.com.tr)
“Yes piliz!” – You will probably hear this phrase 50 times a day as you walk around the Grand Bazaar and Sultanahmet. We think it probably comes from “Yes, please” but nobody really knows… In fact, nobody really knows what it means either… Yes what? Please what? Then again, I guess it’s easier to say “Yes pliz” than say “Come in and let me politely bully you into buying some flimsy overpriced crap you will probably never use or wear, you silly foreigner”… for example.
Radio Eksen 96.2 – This is a very positive absurdity in Istanbul, because it’s as good a radio station as you can find anywhere in the world. In a sea of mediocre radio channels that mostly play either inane Turkish pop, that suicidally mind-numbing wailing they call Turkish “Halk” music, or those that play songs with lyrics like “We have to come to together to make this world a better place,” Radio Eksen stands out head and shoulders with its excellent music (if we can overlook the odd Sheryl Crow or Coldplay track) and its very few commercial breaks. It’s perfect… well, almost. Unfortunately, the absurdity of it is that the best radio station around has got a weak frequency and a weak reception. Well what do you want, the world?
Gypsy flower sellers – No, they’re not “florists” or “vendors”, those words don’t describe it. They just sell flowers, beautiful, colorful, fresh flowers, on street corners, in groups or individually. Be it at the Kadıköy wharf or on Valikonağı Avenue in Nişantaşı, you’ll find these “Roma” (the politically correct – if somewhat artificial – term for “Gypsy”) and their flowers, and every time you see them you can’t help but feel that they look at us all with silent and unspoken pity as we run around to our jobs or our gyms or our schools to get our degrees, and forward our careers, and shape up our bodies, and buy our cars, and earn money, and more money... These Gypsy’s just sitting there with their flowers watching the world go by, are the closest Istanbul has to Zen masters. They’re like the only true embodiment of wisdom in a volatile and absurd city of millennia.
Metal detectors – Istanbul has probably experienced more terror than most cities in the world. Sieges by Arabs, Huns, Bulgars, Goths, Vikings, Turks (one of them successful), the horrific fourth Crusade of 1204, pogroms as late as the 1950s, and most recently the al-Qaeda related bombings of 2004, not to mention the local penchant for carrying small firearms to be fired after football games, at weddings, and on people who get on one’s nerves, for example, are all good reasons we have metal detector-wielding security guards checking us every time we go into a public building or the metro. Ironically, all those examples are also an explanation as to why the detection process is so half-assed. I mean, let’s face it, shit’s been happening for a thousand years, and no metal detector is going to be too effective in preventing shit happening in the future. “Beep… are those coins? Beep… is that your belt buckle? Beep… Fuck it, I’m bored, go in.”
Driving – In a city where even main arteries are rarely wider than two lanes, it’s no surprise that local drivers are as deft in their steering as they are oblivious of any traffic rules or regulations whatsoever. You see motorbikes zipping by you on sidewalks, cars going the wrong way, others coming at you backwards, ones blocking your path in the middle of an intersection during a green light, others that just decide to start going diagonally, or just suddenly decide to stop for no apparent reason… People basically drive their cars as if they were walking around with shopping trolleys. And if you think anyone’s going to do anyone else any favors out there, think again. The rule on the streets – whether you’re driving or even walking – is to get in front of as many people as you can whenever you can. But we should know by now that this attitude doesn’t get anyone anywhere faster, and in fact generally screws everyone up instead, so we should really try to… HEY, AN OPENING IN THE NEXT LANE! EAT MY DUST YOU LOSERS!
Parking lots – Here’s how to get your very own car park going: burn down an old, neglected, historical wooden building (it doesn’t have to be arson, you may just accidentally flick a match in through the window after lighting your cigarette and carelessly spilling a couple of gallons of gasoline from your pockets. Oops!); clear the space out with the help of cheap day laborers; talk to local mafia to figure out what sort of cut you’ll be getting OR confront local mafia with threats and small illegal weapons so as to be in charge of your very own car park business; bribe local municipal officials with monthly gifts of money and/or from your other illegal rackets (stolen DVDs, prostitution, gun smuggling, etc. Note: If you don’t already have these side projects, get one or two to give “weight” to your legitimacy); and finally, guarantee the safety of potential clients’ vehicles by pointing out to them the possible dangers – God forbid – of leaving a car unattended in a “dodgy neighborhood like this.” Hey, if you don’t use some initiative you’ll just find yourself waiting around a few years for the local municipality to finally start building that “legal” car park they’ve been talking about – just around the time of local elections, coincidentally enough – as soon as the mayor finds the “best” tender, i.e. his brother-in-law’s contracting and construction firm.
4. Levent – Ok, there’s a suburb called Levent and there’s an adjoining suburb called 4. Levent, but whatever happened to the second and third Levents? Why can I not go to 2. Levent, or stroll around 3. Levent? What is the government hiding? Why don’t they want us to go there? What did they do with those missing Levents? There’s something fishy about this…
Nightfare – Get in a taxicab at 11:59 pm and you pay the day-fare; get in a minute later and you pay the night-fare. So, to repeat: 11:59pm nyeh, 12am nyah. Nyeh. Nyah. Be one minute late, and you’re the one who turns into a pumpkin at midnight – a big, fat, plump, juicy pumpkin full of lavish money to throw away on tardy cab rides.
Prayer beads – Similar to rosary beads, prayer beads come in all shapes, materials and colors, and can often be seen flipped, tossed and twirled in the dexterous hands and in between the fidgety fingers of many a man on the street. They’re supposed to help you count your prayers, but we have long suspected that they serve a more useful function in helping release stress and provide an outlet for nervous fingers, which, in the absence of said prayer beads, would probably be fidgeting around with keys, coins or their genitalia instead.
Yoga anyone? – Of course, Istanbul’s not the only city that’s been swept by the yoga fad that has acted as a stopgap in the existential angst of wealthy upper-middle class materialistic career yuppies in need of some sort of “spiritual” balance to their soulless, pointless, stressed out, inane lives… (deep breath)… but it’s definitely one of them. Now, thanks to yoga, people driving SUVs and spending a thousand dollars on plazma-screen TVs can rest assured that money is not the most important thing in the world, and can thus feel better about having lots of it – because it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, right? And that’s exactly what they’ll tell you, that they’d be happy even if they were poor, even though they will still spend 6 days a week, 10 hours a day trying to make sure they are ever anything but poor. But now they have the enlightenment of glamorized stretching exercises in their lives, and thanks to that, rich housewives with too much time on their hands and advertising executives with goatees and coke habits can find the best spiritual nourishment money can buy. You should also note that, for many, yoga is a total way of life, and the exercises go best with a light diet of fruits, vegetables, and Prozac.
Sunflower seeds – In Turkey, as in many other countries, all social interaction revolves around tea, while sunflower seeds are normally consumed when engaged in watching something, like football, TV, or when sitting on a park bench looking out at the ships sailing by on the Bosphorus. But it’s not easy eating those little suckers. It’s hard not to be amazed at all those Turks who can crack and split them with their teeth and extricate the seeds with their tongue, all without the use of their fingers for anything other than holding the seeds up to their mouths. Besides, they’re not only good for you, but learning how to eat them is also pretty good practice… for the guys, that is.
