Idling

A little more than a week ago, back in our hotel room in Istanbul, I found myself reading an article in some on-line publication about the finales of various series on tv and how satisfying, or otherwise, these had been in the estimation of the author. The article was followed by a considerable number of comments and it was when I was some halfway through these that I found myself wondering exactly why I had embarked on reading them, or indeed the article, considering the fact I had watched none of the series under discussion. Not any of them. Not even a single episode - though I had caught odd moments of Game of Thrones.

I suppose reading the comments was a way of passing the time, and it was vaguely interesting to register the genuine enthusiasm of other readers for quite a number of these programmes. But I'm pretty sure I won't be seeking to find time to actually watch any the series in question since I know I have what I consider better things to do with my time.

But there's the rub. Why on earth did one of those better things consist of reading this article? Perhaps this points to the need to adopt a resolution for the year ahead regarding the need to spend limited time effectively? The thing is though that it's daunting to think of trying to maintain some kind of purposeful focus of attention all of the time. The need to goof-off seems deeply written into my DNA.

Way To Go

13.05
We're off to Melaka later today to see how Mak is. There's little in the way of standing still for us, that's for sure!

23.16
The way north was generally clear, making for a relaxed drive - so relaxed that I found myself almost dozing at the wheel by the time we reached Machap. Fortunately Noi was awake enough to take on driving duties from that point onwards, and I then slept nearly all through the rest of the journey. It's nice to catch up on sleep but I have a feeling I'm over-doing it!

Familiar Feelings

A day of meetings - either the final meetings of the year that's almost gone by, or the first meetings of the year ahead, depending on which way you look at it. Lots of the usual, which is comforting in its way, though daunting in its implications.

Managed to listen all the way through, despite feeling mildly jet-lagged. Though I must confess, I wasn't on top form in terms of alertness at Friday Prayers. Somewhat surprised I'm still functioning this late in the evening - but will undoubtedly happily crash in the next 30 minutes.

Not So Welcome

Now back in the warmth of our usual Far Place after a couple of smooth flights. Ironically our final morning in Istanbul saw the weather there at its finest for our visit. It certainly brought out the crowds around the Blue Mosque and Aya Sofya.

As is usually the case, the bracing cold weather we generally experienced on our jaunt has resulted in my skin drying out which, in its turn, means that biometric devices designed to identify my thumbprints and other digital insignia, no longer work. I am no longer who I was according to the biometric system at the Airport Immigration desks and the system in Hall which allows me access to my place of residence. This is funny and irritating, as is so much of modern life, I suppose.

They say that travel broadens the mind, but one rarely hears it claimed that it can change one's identity.

Lost And Found

For some twenty minutes yesterday I was racking my brains to think of where I might have seen a shoe shop around the Misir Carsisi, (also known as the Spice Bazaar, or Egyptian Market.) I couldn't think of any off-hand, and faced the prospect of wandering shoeless for an hour or two, haplessly treading freezing pavements. My temporary lack of footwear resulted from my popping into the Yeni Cami - the New Mosque, which is only 400 years old - for the Zuhor Prayer. I'd prayed there a couple of days earlier without any problem and took it for granted that my shoes would be waiting for me on the rack at the back as previously. They weren't.

After searching in vain for a good fifteen minutes I walked shoeless to where Rozanah & Fafa were waiting for us in the outside courtyard and reported my shoes as stolen. Actually that was a bit over-the-top as it was more likely someone had taken them by mistake. Since Noi was still in the mosque praying, the women's section being very crowded, I went back to see if she could help me find the missing footwear. She was coming down the steps as I went back, so in we went together and, with almost disorienting speed, we found the shoes. They'd been moved a considerable difference and the bag I'd left them in had been securely tied by someone. I know this because I'd not bothered to tie the plastic bag when I placed my shoes on the rack. In fact, when I initially picked up the bag I assumed the shoes couldn't be mine precisely since they were tied-up so well. Far from my footwear being half-inched, someone had gone to some trouble to make sure the shoes wouldn't be separated. I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling deeply grateful to be able to walk in my own shoes, enjoying the sunny-cold day.

In the evening we prayed in Sultan Ahmet Camii, the Blue Mosque, and I was oddly content to leave my shoes at the back.

Reading Time

Our days in Turkey have been uniformly packed, so I haven't got much reading done at all. Not that I expected to. I only brought two books along, one of these being Philosophy of Mind, which I thought I might just dip into, with a view to confirming my understanding of what I'd already covered rather than making any progress in. In the event I've only gone back to a couple of Prof Feser's explications of ideas related to the identity of the mind and brain and those were quite enough for an overseas getaway, thank you.

The other book is Volume 1 in the Penguin edition of Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur. I've encountered so much enthusiasm in odd places for Malory's work over the years that I thought I really should fill in my knowledge of this branch of Eng Lit. Wishing I hadn't now. Have decided some way into Book 4 of TM's recounting of all things Arthurian that this really isn't for me - but I've started, so I'll finish. More of this, unfortunately, later.

Happier reading by far has been the NYRB from early December which I've read cover to cover. Fruitfully depressing articles on a wide range of troubling political developments ranging from Putin's homophobic Russia to the rise of the alt-right in the US of A and Germany. Funnily enough the most hopeful piece was on Somalia, specifically improvements in the capital, Mogadishu.

By the way, I need to correct a reference to a post from a few days back when I talked of Istanbul having only a few bookshops. I now realise that there's quite a healthy number, especially in the backstreets of Beyoglu. I've even seen someone reading a book on one of the trams.

Blowing Hot And Cold

From our hotel in Istanbul we get an excellent view of the Bosphorus when we're in the top floor dining room, tucking into breakfast. Yesterday morning, for the first time on our trip, the sun was shining brightly, indeed blindingly, across the water, suggesting a warm day was in store. After the biting cold we've experienced so far in Turkey this would have been a welcome change. But, alas, it was not to be.

As Fafa pithily explained as we approached the Hippodrome, My body is confused. It looks like it should be warm, but it's really, really cold. Yes, exactly that. If you managed to stand in a patch of sunshine for a while you could detect some warmth, but otherwise the cold was unrelenting - definitely cold enough to snow, I reckon.

But since this is Christmas I suppose we can consider our not entirely unpleasant ordeal satisfyingly seasonal - so Merry Christmas to all who keep the season. Hope you're all warmer than we are.

Postscript: Later in the day we found our White Christmas in sunny but chilly Bursa, on the slopes of Uludag. Evidence below. Brrrrrrrrr.

 

 

A Place Of Wonder

Yesterday afternoon we found ourselves in Masumiyet Muzesi, The Museum of Innocence, based on Orhan Pamuk's great novel. But 'based on' is surely the wrong term. I'm still trying to process the relationship between the novel and the actual place. They seem to be symbiotic extensions of each other in an extraordinarily beguiling manner.

Everything about the experience was thought-provokingly magical. I need  to come back to this when I've had time to think - and isn't it wonderful in itself that a museum can do that to you?

Safe And Sound

When the owner of the hotel at Goreme told us on Thursday evening that we'd be quite safe walking into the town to view the sunset, I was slightly taken aback as it had never occurred to me for a moment that we would not be safe. Curiously, later that same evening a couple of young ladies appeared at the hotel reception whilst we were waiting for transport to take us to our 'Turkish Evening' asking with some real concern as to whether they'd be safe to walk down to the near-by restaurants (though, obviously, ladies' concerns about safety can be much more real than those of gentlemen.) Again, I was a wee bit disconcerted about the idea that it was wise to be extra wary in this region of Turkey - or, possibly, Turkey in general.

In fact, when we walked into the town very early on Friday morning, before sunrise, we were happily surprised to see that most of the vendors had left their goods out quite openly. It seems they had no fear at all of things being stolen. Difficult to imagine doing this in London, or Manchester, or Singapore for that matter. This would seem to be a sign of an essentially safe place.

I have been more than usually cautious about the location of my wallet whilst in Istanbul, especially at the Grand Bazaar, however. There are so many warnings about the threat of pick-pockets that this is obviously sensible. But here's the odd thing. When we were queuing for tickets into the Topkapi Palace a few days ago I idiotically managed to leave my credit card in the machine that dispensed the tickets. We'd walked a good way from the machine when a guy who'd been hanging around the machines helping people- (to be honest I'd wondered if he was some sort of tout, but he wasn't) came running up to return the card. I can tell you, my relief - and gratitude - was considerable.

I'm not naïve about very real concerns about safety when visiting foreign climes, or even when happily at home, but it's useful to be aware of how often the better angels of our nature rear their heads and help protect us against our folly.

At The Moment

Now in Cappadocia. Staying in a cave hotel and savouring a new environment. Less humanly monumental than the big stuff in Istanbul, but redolent with nature's power.

We're doing the tourism thing here, with the guide and everything. Yesterday's dinner featured local dancers and musicians. Tailored to the tourist audience, but colourful and fun and exuberant. A different kind of beauty. It began, all too briefly, with four whirling dervishes doing their sufi stuff. Just a thinned-out taste of the real thing but still hypnotic and jarringly serious in an interesting way. Mak Ndak told Fafa to take pictures but she rightly replied she was content to be in the moment.