Kemeralti – Izmir, Turkey

Flickr Tags: Turkey,Turkish Culture,Izmir,Kemeralti,Artwork,Art,Digital Art

Bulent Ersoy- Turkish Diva

Turkish culture is often full of enigmas, paradoxes and peculiar surprises. Discovering these oddities one by one is of the most interesting things about living in this country. Bulent Ersoy, in most people's opinion, would fall in this category. Despite the mixed feelings this singer arouses in the minds of Turks, she is unquestionably an cultural icon and a respected diva.

Similar to Zeki Muren and others, Ersoy is beloved for keeping the alive the traditional Turkish Classical Art Music - the music of the Ottoman palaces. This musical style, which was widely played in the urban areas in the past centuries has a distinctive sound. Beside Turkish art music, Ersoy is a famous popular music singer who has managed successfully to incorporate the classic styles and instruments of the past with the music of today.

Born in June 9, 1952 in Istanbul, Ersoy had already appeared in films and developed a following as a recording artist before having gender-reassignment surgery in London by a British plastic surgeon. Naturally this decision sparked a good deal of controversy at the time and, through the years, the pursuit of publicity has certainly been one of the trademarks of her career. 

In the years following the surgery, Bulent Ersoy's career took a hit, following the decision by Turkish  authorities to ban all public performances by transsexual singers in what was cited as a crackdown on "moral deviancy." This was during the regime of Ahmet Kenan Evren, who assumed the presidency of Turkey after a military coup. She lived in exile in Germany and Australia as a result of the ban throughout the 1980s.

 

 

Here is a clip of Bulent at the high point in her career, looking glamorous and drawing the applause of her audience as well as the eyes of a possible love interest. The song is "Impossible."

She was allowed to return to Turkey in 1988 due to revision in the Turkish Civil code which recognized her feminine gender. Her popularity soon became greater than ever and the transformation from male to female was widely accepted by the public. However, in the following year, she was the victim of a would-be assassin from a ultra-nationalist extremist group. And not long after her recovery from this shooting attempt, Ersoy made new headlines by announcing her engagement. Quite predictably, the newspapers and magazines had a field day and many felt more shocked not by the fact that a transsexual should marry but that her husband was some twenty years younger than his bride.

In 1998 she and her husband were involved in a car accident in which she was badly injured. Drama is a part of Ersoy's existence so it should come as no surprise that her marriage didn't last long after her husband was caught with a call-girl.

Although she is now semi-retired, Bulent participated in a Turkish pop idol contest as a judge. This is where she met her second husband whom she married in July 2007. That marriage also ended not long early the following year.

Bulent's  public persona is an odd mix of artifice and flamboyance. Time has not been as kind to her as it has to many Turkish female stars. Currently her appearance ranges anywhere from merely outrageous but glamorous (gowns and hair styles that could make a drag queen wince and wonder) to rather frightening (looking like a china doll colored with tempera paint by a 5 year old.)  Add to this, an excessively polite manner of a diva, peppered with the occasional pornographic metaphor or reference and you have a formidable celebrity. Nobody can say she is not one of a kind.

Bulent Ersoy's long waltz with controversy landed her in hot water once again in 2008 when she made remarks on a popular television show that were deemed critical to the military. An Istanbul public prosecutor has subsequently filed charges against her for "turning Turks against compulsory military service", which could have resulted in four years of prison. On December 2008, Ersoy was found not guilty in a Turkish court. Since any criticism of the Turkish military has long been considered absolutely verboten. some have considered this to be a milestone for free speech in Turkey. Others write it off as just another drama in the life of an over the top celebrity.

I always thought it showed a great deal of maturity by the Turks to be able to separate the artist's life and slightly peculiar qualities with the art they that produce. No matter what the Turks might think of Bulent Ersoy as a person, whether they love her or whether they merely tolerate her,  there is no denying  that she has enriched Turkish culture with her talent and her personal style.

 

Live performance

Technorati Tags: Transsexual,Celebrity,Turkish,Turkey,Bulent,Ersoy,Turkish Music

Television News in Turkey

I find Turkish television news very interesting, but only if you start with the premise that about 10% is actually news. The stories can be extremely educational- though probably not in the way they were intended. A lot of ex-pats avoid the local and national news altogether and I sort of feel sorry for them. They don't know what they are missing. (Literally!)

I think it is a bit peculiar to decide to live in a country and then do everything possible to avoid learning about what's actually going on. Sometimes I'd meet my circle of friends with news of latest constitutional crisis or horrendous calamity and they would knit their brows, without a word to say. It didn't seem to have anything to do with them. Having said that, many of them would probably have the same ostrich-mentality back in their own countries.

Perhaps they are right. I am not sure, but I would say it might explain how innocent foreigners can wind up in the middle of a war zone wearing flip-flops and Bermuda shorts, getting bum-rushed by soldiers on tarmacs to waiting helicopters.

The morning news is traditionally the lightest news of the day, the idea being not to push viewers too hard before they start their workday. I guess they fear that too much talk about the economy or crime or government investigation will result in mass nervous breakdowns in the afternoon. So one is apt to see a lot of You-tube videos showing "wacky" stories- babies dangling from hot-air balloons by one leg- and promotions to the channel's latest evening soap operas. (Yes, they do consider it news.) Stories about the latest invention for losing weight or the oldest living granny. (Sixty-seven grandchildren!) That sort of thing.

The evening news, on the other hand, pretends to be hard-hitting and serious. The new readers work each story as if they were making it at a potter's wheel. Reporters at the scene, shouting at the edge of hysteria and shaky camera work. Stories that last 10 minutes with footage that lasts only 45 seconds, shown over and over in a tight loop. This is punctuated by in-studio interviews that inevitably wear down into the same dreary talking heads. Talking heads, channel after channel. 

The producers seem fond of emotive background music to set the proper tone of the story. Sad stories without fail use violins or smoky-voiced Sezen Aksu songs. Funny stories are accompanied by silly music from the 70s and 80s or that dreadful "Yakty Sax," better known as "The Benny Hill theme."

When all else fails to attract attention, there's human anatomy. In summer, any low-down excuse will add a filled bikini into the program and truly any excuse will do. Dangers of sun-burn is tried and tested. The number of tourists is expected to increase? Then you had better show a German vixen cavorting with her friends on ze beach. I have even seen stories about breast cancer treatments that used Natasha-like women "au naturel" on the beach as their primary footage- tantalizingly digitized boobies under threat of attack.

Anyway, here is my selection from today's news.

According to the morning news, new laws in Turkey will prohibit, vegetable and fruit sellers in the farmers' markets - and presumably at bazaars- from shouting. Violators will be fined 50 tl. for each instance of such noisy marketing. The sellers interviewed were, of course, rather surprised or confused. Some had that look you often see, of weary resignation. Many were nonplussed by the new laws and in response, have decided to "sing" their prices instead.

There was another story about "One Minute" Cafe in New York City. The reporter desperately attempted to make a faulty connection between the name of the establishment, run, incidentally, by a Turk and an Israeli. The infamous incident in Davos last year between Erdogan and Perez was once again rehashed. Flustered and fuming, the Turkish president's face was once again beet red, with his index finger potently erect. Link

In end, as anybody could have clearly seen at the start, the name of the diner had absolutely no connection to that silliness but, as the Turkish co-owner painfully explained, was a reference to the speedy service.

Still another story, this time from the US. According to the news, salt is now banned in New York restaurants and. users will be fined up to $1000. This left me scratching my head with visions of a customer in disheveled business suit being hauled out of Gotham Fine Dining in handcuffs as he hisses to his wife to "Toss the shaker. Do it.  For GOD'S SAKES! Do it!"

In fact, further details erased that extreme vision. According to the proposed ban, restaurant chefs were forbidden to use salt in their prepared meals. With shakers on the table, the amount of salt used by the customers is purely a matter of choice. A bit more research on this subject reveals that New York assembly member Felix Ortiz has introduced this bill while  the mayor, Michael Bloomberg, "has stopped well short of proposing an outright ban on restaurants adding salt, instead campaigning for a voluntary cut of a quarter over five years."

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/11/business/11salt.html

The fog of the original story was starting to clear somewhat. Presently it made more sense to me. I recall my father whose high-blood pressure forced him to adhere to a strict no/low salt diet. In the beginning, he was exasperated and depressed. "Nothing tastes good anymore,"he'd complain. After a few months and my mother experimenting with other spices, he became more accustomed to living without salt. "You cut out salt and all of the sudden you start to notice how much salt is in EVERYTHING. Even toothpaste and the worst? Ready-made soups." I didn't have the heart to tell him that condensed soups were not meant to be served directly from the can.

In New York, where eating out is the norm, trying to stick to such a diet would be next to impossible. It'd be like trying to find a non-smoking bar in the 1990s.

Still, I kind of wondered about both of the newly- proposed laws. If all of the details are accurate, then I have to question the logic behind the laws. I mean, is it really necessary to make every violation a punishable offense? Is self-regulation now obsolete? What's next in the farmers' market.. all signs must be printed and not hand-written? The vegetable sellers must all shave and wear uniforms?

In New York, what's next? No sugar in anything because some people are obese? Eventually we may find ourselves dining on a moderate sized bowl of oatmeal and plain yogurt on the side with a peeled apple slice for dessert.

Some laws are designed to protect the citizens and some are designed to keep public order. But what is the purpose of fining chefs that use too much salt and poor cucumber sellers for shouting?

But perhaps there is a higher level of logic at play. Some laws, it seems, are designed merely to add a new source of revenue to the local government.

Bird-Catcher and Blackbird- A Turkish Fable

Here is the fourth in our series of Turkish fables. I have left off the moral of the fable. In general, the meanings are either clear or open to your own interpretation. All of the fables I have submitted come from an anthology of pre-Republic Ottoman literature collected in a book by Epiphanius Wilson. HERE is a link at Google Books.

The Bird-Catcher and the Blackbird

A bird-catcher was setting his snares and a blackbird, flying by, caught sight of him.  

"For the love of God, "he said to him, "do tell me what you are building there." 

"I am founding a complete city." 

The blackbird believed this deceitful answer  and alighted on the net. Scarcely had he touched it, before he found himself caught. 

When the bird-catcher came, the blackbird said to him, "If this is the way you build your city,  you won't attract many inhabitants."

Photography by Yusuf Aslan

Yusuf Aslan is a freelance photographer based in Istanbul, he is specialized in documentary, commercial, archeological, and editorial photography.  

Hakkari

 İran İstanbul Resmi

You may find more of his photography at: http://yusufaslanphotographer.blogspot.com/

Forbidden Love's Fervent Kissing

The popular Turkish soap opera, “Aşk-ı Memnu” (Forbidden Love), adapted from a novel by renowned author Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil, appears to have come under the scrutiny of The Radio and Television Supreme Council (RTÜK) for its scenes of graphic extra-marital sex.

Family and Women’s Affairs Minister Selma Aliye Kavaf stated that her objections centered around the show's erotic scenes, which she believes encourages young people to engage in sex at an early age and poses a threat to Turkish family values. RTUK has issued fines and punishments for the series due to its “fervent kissing” scenes and because it presents an extramarital affair as normal, damaging the public values. For the interesting debate on this issue click at the

Today's Zaman article here: http://www.todayszaman.com/tz-web/news-202138-101-do-tv-series-pose-a-threat-to-family-values.html

I remember this whole argument when Dallas first appeared so so many years ago.

Now the reruns look as tame as Popeye cartoons. And after all, what would soap operas be without a bit of "fervent" kissing? No smoking, no drinking and now no kissing. ( Maybe a peck on the cheek to Ayse Tezye will slip under the censors' radar.)

Technorati Tags: Aşk-ı Memnu,Turkey,television,soap opera,censorship,sex

Hens and Eagles- A Turkish Fable

Here is the third in our series of Turkish fables. I have left off the moral of the fable. In general, the meanings are either clear or open to your own interpretation. All of the fables I have submitted come from an anthology of pre-Republic Ottoman literature collected in a book by Epiphanius Wilson. HERE is a link at Google Books.

The Hens and the Eagles

The hens were at war with the eagles. When the day of the battle came near, the hens went and asked the foxes to help them.

"We would willingly help you, "replied the foxes, "if we could forget what you are and what the eagles are."

The Seller of Wisdom

Starting today and continuing  every week for the next two months, I would like to share some delightful Turkish fables.  All of these fables come from an excellent book on Turkish literature of the pre-Republic age by an author with the somewhat unlikely name of Epiphanius Wilson.

The Fool Who Sells Wisdom

In a certain village, a fool would pass through the streets calling out to all the homes and to all the people on the street, "Wisdom! Wisdom! Who will buy my wisdom?" 

One time, a villager came out of his home to meet him and presented the fool with a small handful of coins.

"Sell me a little wisdom," he said.

The fool quickly pocketed the money and slapped the man in the face. Immediately afterward, he gave the man a long piece of thread.

"Now, If you wish in the future to be wise and prudent," said the fool to the him, "always keep as far away from fools as the length of this thread."

LiveJournal Tags: Humor,Turkey,Turkish culture,fables

Technorati Tags: Humor,Turkey,Turkish culture,fables

I hear the noise of many waters

Once upon a time, if you had lived for any duration  in Turkey, at least once, you'd have encountered the following scenario. I am not sure how often this happens nowadays. Nobody likes to discuss it and humiliate themselves- like I do.

Suddenly in the middle of the night, awakened from your dreams of laying on an Aegean beach, you hear frantic Fluffy mewing for a lifesaver. And you step out of bed and into... a puddle. A cold black pool of water. Papers floating lazily around the room like square clouds. Bedroom slippers bob like unmanned dinghies. And this deluge extends down the hall and into the kitchen or bathroom. The last hours of Atlantis! Visions of the Titanic! How did this disaster happen?

You run to the kitchen and find your answer. You have left the faucet wide open, like a complete imbecile. This calls into serious doubt your standing as a reasonable responsible adult, capable of living in a world of dangerous everyday risks and hazards. You need your momma.

You spend the next two, three or four hours with cold wet towels and a mop and bucket, broken-heartedly assessing all the losses. The water-soaked clothes. Perfectly good shoes you bought last year in New York. The precious books, now water-soaked, bloated and bulging, look like second-hand concertinas. The rug you bought in Cappadocia. (And then- thank the lord- the extension cord is not in the water. If it had, you would be doing quite a final jig.)

The beautiful hardwood floor? How proud your were. However, you can't worry about it. Your brain is saturated with grief and anyway, it will take a week to learn if the water has or has not destroyed the Parke. A small fortune to replace, you whisper.

The doorbell rings. It is your neighbor downstairs. He tells you that YOUR water is dripping into HIS apartment. Sympathetic looks and self-pitying tears will hardly placate his anger. He storms away, clicking his tongue, muttering vague demands of compensation. Another neighbor steps out into the hall, "N'oldu?" she asks, trying to peer into your devastated wetlands.

Now... stop. Before you beat yourself up too badly, you might keep in mind that almost every expat I've met has done this very stupid thing. You turned on the faucet, found no water and walked away with the faucet still wide open.

Most people coming from other yabanci lands, when they turn on the faucet, know that water will come gushing out. When they hit a switch, the lights will come on. It is a fact of life, something you just take for granted.

It always comes as a mighty rude shock when all you get is a long dying gasp of an empty water pipe. (Or a hollow clicking of the switch.) Maybe they are doing work on the street below. Maybe you, naughty you, forgot to pay your water/electric bill.

Your tired mind leaps off to all your complaints about being far from home and exasperated, you go into another room, to get to bottom of this. Maybe it is late and you decide you will have to investigate the matter the following morning. Too tired to think about it now. Or maybe you are late for work and you just don't have the time to solve this water shortage problem. In any case, you walked away, mindlessly leaving the faucet open.

Oh well. Rest assure you are not the first traveler to have flooded his/her own apartment. It is not completely your fault. You, unlike the majority of people in this world,  just happen to have been born in a land and a time of dependable supply.

Meet the Neighbors

I have rarely had much luck with my neighbors in Turkey. That Turkish people are usually so hospitable to foreigners makes it that much more disappointing. Maybe because I wasn't a tourist anymore. I was not going to be moving on. Also, back then I was a single male, and therefore looked at by the families with a certain amount of suspicion.

If you have ever read, "The World According to Garp" you might recall the term, "a sexual suspect." The idea is that if you don't fit into the socially culturally acceptable pattern of life, then people who have done this duty- marriage, career and oodles of babikins- will look at you with a kind of skepticism. It reinforces conformity and is very much alive in Turkey. We do it because we have always done it this way. Why are you NOT doing it?

(Before Turkish readers get themselves into a froth about this remark, I can assure you that Turkey hold no monopoly on this attitude. I grew up in the Midwest, for pity's sake. And lived in Oklahoma and if you were not married at 18, not a father at 18 and a half and not divorced at 20 with a part-time job just to pay alimony and child support, then, brother, something was wrong with you.)

My general rule is: Treat all neighbors with smiles and greetings in the elevator or in the parking lot but be wary. It is sad to think that every small act of kindness has to be examined from all obsessive angles but I have so often felt this "small end of the wedge." A slice of cake in the doorway suddenly becomes a in-depth look at your love life. A bayram greeting can transform into a conversation about how much you earn. A warm hello at the entrance of the apartment building can become a request for English lessons to a drowsy 10 year old.

The last building I lived in was probably one of the worst examples. It was absolutely unbelievable but readers, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, believe me,. everyone in the building seemed a bit on the other side of sane. To them, all the things they did were perfectly normal.

In front of my living room window, there was a lovely view of a plum tree. One spring day, I see a child climbing the tree to pluck off all the green plums. For some reason, Turks love green- immature- plums, despite being sour enough to lock your jaw. The poor tree was still quite young and the branches were cracking as he climbed further and further out. I shooed the cluster of children away. I asked them if they thought they were monkeys, as a matter of fact. A few days later, I was gob smacked to see a middle-aged woman, headscarf and overcoat, climbing the tree for the remaining plums. Her friend was goading her on.

As much as grumble here, I really really do enjoy having fun and trust me when I say I have done a lot of silly (and dangerous) things in the name of a good time. But seriously, how much do these unripened plums cost in the market? Is it really worth breaking your neck for? This example took place outside the building so it might not actually qualify in the neighbor category.

One thing I noticed that tended to disgust and stun me was how often my neighbors would quicken their pace into the building in order to get the elevator. Alone. It seems they didn't like to share it. You could even shout to ask them to hold it and you would arrive with your shopping bags, just as the door closed shut on a pair of nervous eyes. And often I would be coming in as they were going out and it would never occur to them to hold the door open. I know what you must be thinking, is that so important?

I would say, yes and no. No. I won't cry about it. My heart wasn't broken. No, it wasn't a strain for me to open the door for myself. And no, there was no mandate or obligation for them. They were perfectly within their rights to walk right past, without giving the least amount of consideration for me. However, these little things are the social lubrication for a society. Giving up your seat on a bus to an elderly person. Allowing somebody to go before you at the check-out aisle when you have a lot and they have one or two items. and the best part is, it doesn't cost anything to do these things.

Some friends of mine moved to Izmir from Istanbul and my first advice was: beware of your neighbors. About a week later, after they have settled in, she told me, "Well, we already had a problem with one of the neighbors. On the day we were moving in!" I said, "Let me guess. He told you that you couldn't use the elevator to move any of your things." She was taken aback a bit but I couldn't count how many times, the self-elected elevator protector has made this announcement. I understand it and I obeyed the dictate but, when you first arrive, it is hardly the most attractive display of hospitality and neighborliness In short, Welcome Wagon, it ain't.

In my last apartment, I had a running battle with the people upstairs. It all came from their side because I never return fire. The father was a booming retired army commander type. An especially dreaded type too, because for the last 30 years of their lives, they have been allowed to bully poor recruits and have had underlings fawning over them and everything in their regimented lives has been arranged, inspected and perfected. Now, in retirement, they learn that bluster and bullying doesn't always work and life isn't perfect. The wife was also directly out of central casting, deceptively mousy. Frizzy-haired, bony, tired looking.

The son was a huge monster with a stupid look on his face. For the first year I was there, I listened to him burn through his hobby of playing drums- lucky me- and later watched him, tootle off to start his career in high finance with suit and tie.

After about a year or more, they suddenly developed this fixation about my two cats. She complained about the smell. Admittedly I could have been cleaner, I was working at the time and, short of putting diapers on them, there wasn't much I could do when I wasn't there. As it was, I spent a lot of time, worrying about it, hosing down the balcony (where their litter box was) and using bleach and room deodorizers until my head spun. I closed off all the shutters but for one- it was like living in a cave.

No offense to Turks but I was rather surprised that anybody here would be so sensitive to foul odors. I remember Izmir bay in 1995. Perhaps they should have worked in customs at the airport if their noses were that finely tuned.

The wife was the note-giving type. I find this lack of spine particularly irritating, especially when she would leave it on my door for all the other people in the building to read. Threatening notes on the door with promises to call the authorities ( The Feline Excretion Division at the police department?) This campaign also included loud hour-long corridor conferences with the other neighbors in the building. Talk about humiliation. Having watched many cowboy films, I was aware that this was exactly how lynching parties are formed.

My landlady called and informed me that they had found her telephone number and abused her as well. Thankfully, she was a bit astounded by their attitude as well and told them, "I don't even know you." She came for a visit- store bought cookies and tea- and found nothing extraordinary in the scent category.

Although she was, herself, not fond of cats, (she flinched when one walked by) she had no problem with the pets or with any imaginary smells. However, she did mention one thing they said which was enlightening. They'd asked her when my lease was up and when she planned to rent the apartment.

I found that strange. Subsequently, I learned that the neighbor's son was engaged and they were trying to get me out so he could move in. Honestly. And that son must REALLY be more of a fool than he looked.

Finally, one afternoon, I am sitting in front of my PC and my cats suddenly tore through the apartment like they had just seen "The Exorcist for Cats." I looked out to my balcony and I see clods of dirt. and then I hear another. hitting the balcony shutter. That's correct. The crazy loon was throwing dirt onto my balcony, although I cannot exactly tell you why. I called up to her and asked what the blankety-blank she thought she was doing? She denied doing anything and started in on my cats again. It was all so surreal.

On the day that both my cats became ill at the same time-cat puking, by the way, is like the crescendo of Bolero- I decided that enough was enough. I couldn't be sure she wouldn't poison them and they are stupid enough to trust any human- even madwomen- with a bit of steak. Paranoid? It happens all the time.

As a postscript, after I moved away- within a week- I found out that the pushy brow-beating father had died of lung cancer. Was I over-wrought with grief? Not much. Perhaps this could explain their belligerent and un-Turkish behavior but I am not sure. Some kind of drama that I was forced to play a cameo role in. Maybe that's it. Maybe not. In any event, as the victim of persecution by obnoxious neighbors I should not be expected to show too much genuine sympathy.

Technorati Tags: Turkey,Turkish Culture,life experiences,Expat advice

Gecekondu

Like many countries in the midst of development, Turkish migration from the rural regions into the metropolitan areas has, over the last few decades, created an assortment of burdens on urban centers, such as poor infrastructure, a lack of clean water, and problems with mass transit. In Turkey, you see the "gecekondu."

Gecekondu, which means "put up in night", is one result of this unrestricted movement of people. Basically, village residents that have come to the city in search of employment and opportunity,  build homes without proper permission, against building or zoning codes or any legal standing. There are large neighborhoods in Istanbul, Ankara and Izmir where homes- often little more than shacks for squatter families- are hastily constructed, using stolen electricity and water from whatever source available. Like many problems in Turkey, the origins of the gecekondu problem go back in Ottoman history.

Ottoman Origins

According to the Ottoman laws, if a person could find unused government land and build a home within 24 hours, it became the property of the settler, hence the name.  Added to this were vast ethnic population migrations following the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, making the problem of legal property ownership  a nightmare. Later land reform laws did nothing to curb illegal seizing of government (miri), private (mulk) or charitable and religious (vakif) lands. 

For example, laws regarding the problem of gecekondu were passed in 1966, which in effect, gave the government the necessary legal power to demolish such neighborhoods for the sake of urban development projects. Unfortunately political partisanship in Turkey has done little to find a equitable solution.

Little Sympathy

Long time residents of these cities  generally have very little sympathy when shanty homes are bulldozed and police escort hysterical families from their dwellings. They see these neighborhoods are breeding grounds for crime, disease  and political extremism and, more importantly,  an obstacle to urban development.  Undoubtedly, villagers from the eastern regions are seen, by the elites and  as illegal invaders, bringing into the cosmopolitan city their  backward culture.

On the other hand, life in the gecekondu communities cannot be considered much better than the village life they left behind. There is, however, the opportunity for improvement and the potential for a change in the living standard.  This source of cheap- but untrained labor- drives down costs but also wages for all workers.

In addition to the problems that gecekondu brings to the city, there are also zoning problems. Homes built illegally are often located in zones prone to flooding, landslides or are, themselves, unsuitable for habitation.

Watch Turkish news and, on occasion,  you may see virtual riots between families, trying to save what little they have and police, trying to prevent the illegal seizure of land and carry out the law.  I suppose it makes great news footage for television, of course, crying children, wrecking equipment, fathers standing on roofs with knives, threatening to off himself.  Certainly it is  genuine and it is heart-breaking.

According to  Robert Neuwirth in his book, Shadow Cities, "half the residents of Istanbul - perhaps six million people - dwell in gecekondu homes."

Until life in the city becomes so unbearable or life in the village offers more incentives for residents to remain, then the problem of gecekondu is likely to remain.

You can also find more information on gecekondu in the links below:

http://amershon.edublogs.org/2009/12/13/gecekondu-what/

and a fine scholarly study on this problem:

http://ejts.revues.org/index54.html

Yummy Toilet Paper!

 

Flickr Tags: Humor,Funny product names

Zeki Muren- A Turkish Original

One of my guilty pleasures has always been Zeki Muren. The first time I stumbled upon his image on a cassette cover, my reaction was,"Who is that... woman?" By then, Muren was well past the definition of "over the top" and working into peculiar. 

But then, I had just arrived in Turkey and I still had a lot to learn about Turkish culture. Artists here have, in many respects, much more latitude than in the West. One of the reasons for his public approval may be the fact that Muren was able to merge high Art and an understanding and sympathy for his audiences together with a unique style and stunning flamboyance.

Muren was given the freedom to live and perform as he wished because he was recognized as a cultural asset and a contribution to the appreciation of classical Turkish music. I was impressed by how easily Zeki Muren was accepted by Turkish audiences despite the fact that his appearance was extremely feminine, especially in the second half of his long career. He was the cultural equivalent to Liberace except with a lot more talent.

Imagine sitting in a nearly empty diner in a backwoods Turkish town and watching with a few bored middle-aged waiters what I mistook to be a masculine lesbian. By that time, he was into the frosted and elegantly arranged hair, pink sparkling tops, rings as large as ice cubes. It was a bit too easy to make a hasty judgment and write him off as just another cultural oddity that foreigners, from time to time, have to accept when they live abroad.

Still, the waiters didn't look like all that disturbed by this singer's appearance. In a nation that prides itself on his macho image, here was a performer who had found his niche as far on the opposite side of male bravado as possible and yet there was none of the shocked revulsion that one might have expected. One point for Turks- they seemed better able to separate the artist from the Art.

Zeki Muren was born in Bursa Turkey, on 6th December 1933. He began his career by performing in local summer theatre and in 1944, moved to the big city of Istanbul with his father's support to pursue his dream of becoming a singer.
After completing his training at the Fine Arts Academy in Istanbul, he recorded his first single in 1951 when he was a regular singer on Istanbul Radio. Its success began a forty-five-year professional career in which he composed more than one hundred songs and made more than two hundred recordings.

His first musical film “Beklenen Sarki” with Ms. Cahide Sonku the greatest female Turkish film star at the time received the success it deserved. Zeki Muren made 18 consecutive films with all great success.

If you have never seen a Zeki Muren film, you really ought to hunt one down, especially one of his black and white ones. Playing the romantic lead was no doubt problematic and for the most part, he tended towards playing shy and yearning types that loved the female lead from afar. The technical quality of his films are, for the most part, impressive but the storyline can take some striking and outrageous turns. One time I watched a film, which plodded along from song to song but then ended with a wild chase in which Muren tries to kill himself by running into an oncoming train while he is being chased on the railroad by a bride in full wedding gear!! anybody know this film? I would love to see it again.

Muren's stage performances were novel and extravagant by any standard and Muren was one of the first to use a catwalk stage in order to mingle with his audiences. In fact, it was this dialogue with his audiences, his manner of interacting and his diction and pronunciation of the Turkish language that probably best explains his appeal.

Between his films, Zeki Muren appeared in daytime matinées for women only.

"Only women come to listen to singers, and they bring their food and tea with them, like a picnic. They eat together, they dance together, they laugh together, they cry together." 

T.H., a graduate student at Middle East Technical University in Ankara, explains, 

"Zeki was very popular at these matinées and made many jokes about the fights between mothers and daughters-in-law. My mother has told me that not one single seat could be found, and at some matinées, there was standing room only."

By the time I arrived in Turkey, Muren was fighting accumulating health problems. He tended to lead a solitary life in Bodrum and appeared only rarely in public. Perhaps it was vanity and perhaps, he wisely chose to be remembered his past performances and his previous film and television appearances.

His failing health in the last five years of his life lead him to write many songs about death and dying. Muren died of a heart attack following a live performance on stage in Izmir for TRT television on September 24, 1996. His death caused the greatest public grief in years and thousands of Turks attended his funeral. T. H. observes,

"For those who felt sadness over Zeki’s death, there was still comfort in playing his music on records and videos. Zeki was unique, without precedent—an original. "

By the way, as a commenter has pointed out, I was remiss in not including the link to the entire interview cited in the text above. The interview from which quotes were taken was conducted by the late Mr. Sean Killeen whose colorful life and contributions are noted in the links below.  I encourage all readers to look at the links below.

The interview in full. http://www.pcasacas.org/SPC/spcissues/22.3/killeen.html

A dedication to Sean Killeen: http://peacecorpsworldwide.org/babbles/2009/03/25/the-passion-of-rpcv-sean-killeen/comment-page-1/

Sean Killeen’s obituary -Feb. 8, 2003 http://www.nyfolklore.org/pubs/voic29-1-2/obit.html