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You can call me SL, this is about living.  |
ginkgo tree
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive November 14, 2011 Color Fall will quickly turn into winter but for now I am savoring it and trying to live in the moment. The ginkgo trees outside my apartment are the loveliest shade of yellow that I describe as a Meyer Lemon yellow. The Swede describes them as a "lemony yellow." I once read that men and women generally describe colors differently. Men tend to be more general and women tend to be more specific. So in this instance, The Swede and I have proved the theory as correct. archives: Miscellaneous |
limited edition Urban Swift Clyde Pumas by Hussein Chalayan
New Canaan, CT from my 2011 archive November 12, 2011 Details On a recent tour of Philip Johnson's Glass House, the guide pointed to a set of nesting ashtrays and a malachite box on the living room table. She told my group that no matter where Philip Johnson was in the house, if someone moved the ashtrays and box, he would walk over and move them back. I liked that story and made a point to store it in my memory. It gave me validation, I am the same way. Since I am not Philip Johnson, when I do similar things in my place, people look at me like I am crazy or uptight. I simply explain it as "everything has its place." Some people see the whole, I see the details. After the tour, I sat waiting for my group to finish browsing the book selection when I spotted a visitor wearing an unexpected pair of sneakers. I had just finished watching "Bill Cunningham New York" and decided to channel my inner Bill. Since I was in a small town, inside a small shop, I decided to ask the man before crouching down and snapping away at his footwear. He obliged but instantly changed his posture and began posing with his feet. Similar to the way someone's face changes when they are aware they are being photographed. I coached him to be natural, but that never works. Bill Cunningham's photo essays not only document the fashion of clothing, footwear, and accessories that are on trend in New York, his work shows other connections in his subjects as well. In one essay titled "X Factor" he comments: "The look that dominates high fashion in New York is a long stretch of leg, ankle boots and a new posture. Every era has a defining stance, and at present, it is standing with your legs crossed, like a model or a dancer en pointe." I can really appreciate that observation, and next time, I will be sure to ask the man with the Pumas to cross his legs. archives: "After Bill Cunningham", Architecture, Art |
interior of Murad Mosque (Murad Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
interior of Yeni Mosque (Yeni Camii), commonly called New Mosque
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
interior of Sultanahmet Mosque (Sultanahmet Camii), commonly called Blue Mosque
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
interior of Nusretiye Mosque (Nusretiye Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
interior of Süleymaniye Mosque (Süleymaniye Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
interior of Beyazit Mosque (Beyazit Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive November 9, 2011 Domes I cannot say exactly when I first fell in love with architecture, whether it happened through pictures in a book or in real life. I can say that it happened at an early age. Somewhere in my late teens, I was convinced I would one day live in a medieval castle somewhere in England. Not a Cinderella type castle, nor a haunted castle, but a happy bright one. And one with a manageable yard. I realize now that castles come with land, not yards. How that fairy tale manifested, I cannot recall. During college, my friend and I spend a summer in Europe, two months studying Environmental Design in Italy and one month backpacking around other countries on the continent. As we walked around Florence on our first night in town, we rounded the corner past the Uffizi Gallery and were instantly dwarfed by the Duomo. Never have I felt so small. And never have I been silenced in that way, I am the chatty type. I stood there with my head up, mouth open, and stared. We both did. We looked at each other, waiting for the other to say something but neither of us did. There was nothing to say. The Duomo spoke for itself. I spent that summer straining my neck and experiencing architectural feats one after another. Since that summer, it has been hard to match the architectural wonders of Italy in my travels, until Istanbul.* There is something very unique and special about cities like Florence and Istanbul where the city's history announces itself at every turn. When you look at the Istanbul skyline, your eye pans from mosque to mosque to mosque. At a quick glance they look fairly similar to one another, except for Hagia Sophia who holds her own among them. Deservingly so, she has more than 1,000 years on the next oldest mosque in the city. What surprised me most about the mosques is how different the interiors varied. Each has its own identity. Inside the mosques, I once again found myself standing with my head up, mouth open, and staring. This time I was not at a loss of words but wandered around only able to verbalize, "wow, wow, wow." Occasionally, I brought my gaze down to its normal position, fearful that I would bump into someone else, or worse, get pickpocketed. Unfortunately, that once happened to my sister here in New York City. It was actually my fault. As we walked down Madison Avenue one evening, I gestured for her to look upwards at a beautiful church. She did, and it cost her her wallet. *Three weeks, three days, and 8,549 photos later, The Swede and I are home. We have been home now for several weeks, but what happened to those days, I do not know. Somehow they have slipped by. archives: Architecture, Travel |
doorman dressed as a werewolf
Upper East Side Manhattan, NY from my 2009 archive October 31, 2011 Happy Halloween! Costumes, pumpkin carving, school parties, trick-or-treating, pumpkin smashing, and toilet papering houses. Minus the pumpkin smashing, I left that to the teenage boys, that about sums up Halloween growing up in a small town year after year. The only costumes of mine I can recall before the age of eighteen were a pumpkin, a clown with mismatched shoes and a metallic wig, a ghost made from a sheet that was stained around the mouth from a lollipop I ate, and my own interpretation of Minnie Mouse. None of them were very good, handmade by me with very limited resources. I always dreaded the question, "What are you?" I envied the other kids in their store bought, easy to decipher costumes. The Swede loves Halloween. One year, he decided to join friends at a party at the last minute. I went out to run errands, and he stayed home to make a quick costume. Several hours later, I returned to a seven foot bottle of "Two Buck Chuck", sewn from industrial grade green felt, complete with label, in my living room. He ended up winning "Best Fabrication" in the costume contest and was gifted with a pen that has the video game Tetris attached to the top. The bottle costume is long gone, but the cheap pen remains. We have never used it as a pen but have spent hours squinting and playing Tetris on a 1 1/8 inch x 1 1/4 inch monitor (yes, I measured it). archives: Miscellaneous |
pigeons in front of The New Mosque (Yeni Camii)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
boy proudly holding a captured pigeon on top of the City Walls in Edirnekapi
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
pigeons in Taksim Square
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
pigeons roosting on The Column of Constantine (Çemberlitas Sütunu)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
pigeons at Topkapi Palace (Topkapi Sarayi)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive October 20, 2011 Pigeons Many urban dwellers equate pigeons to rats, referring to them as "rats with wings." Pigeons like rodents and roaches are adaptable, resilient, pesky, and have the ability to survive severe conditions. I have come to feel more affection for pigeons than I have in the past, but to say that I really like them is a stretch. I see them as another entity in the background of urban life, similar to taxis, shouting persons, or fire truck sirens. More despised on my list are seagulls. (Years ago, one actually had the audacity to swoop down, brush my shoulder, and take a bite from my ice cream cone, while I stood observing sea lions at Pier 39 in San Francisco. My fingers remained intact but my cone did not and that annoyed me. It had been Häagen-Dazs. Unforgiveable.) The people of Istanbul seem to embrace, rather than reject the massive flocks of pigeons that congregate on and around every major monument. Pigeon feed is sold and purchased outside many mosques and buildings noticeably lack anti-roosting spikes. Mary Poppins and the song and scenes from "Feed the Birds" runs through my mind and so does the threat of being hit by pigeon poop. Italians say it is good luck to get pooped on, and my brother-in-law once received a dose of "good luck" while we waited to get a glimpse of Pope John Paul II in Saint Peter's Square in Rome. My brother-in-law thought it was double the luck, being christened by a "papal pigeon." archives: Miscellaneous, Travel |
Artist Unknown
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive October 12, 2011 Street Art continued... Surprisingly, there is very little Street Art in Istanbul. I imagined beautiful stylized patterns and Arabic script. A complete naive fantasy. Nevertheless, for a major urban city, I would expect a lot more graffiti. The little amount of graffiti I have seen seems to be done by a handful of artists. This Istanbul version of "The Eye" is not exceptionally skillful, but the artist is committed to it which I respect. It is a bit fun and happy with its accentuated eyelashes and whimsical line quality. I found it in abundance on a quaint sloping cobblestone street that focuses on selling musical instruments. Taking an early morning walk gave me an opportunity to see the work on various roll gates that would otherwise be hidden during shopping hours. archives: Street Art, Travel |
cat napping in the Eminönü District
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
cat napping in the Eminönü District
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive October 5, 2011 Space With a population of more than 8 million people in New York City, I often find myself needing a little personal space. Unfortunately my needs are rarely met. Just when I think I have found a quiet spot, the moment is shattered by a honking horn, or someone shouting, or some other city noise. Istanbul has a population of over 13 million people. That is 5 million more individuals that need space of their own. If you count stray cats and dogs into their population, the sum could easily reach 20 million. Purely a guess. How can you estimate the number of strays? Cats being the agile creatures they are, are found in the unlikeliest of places and here is one who looked like it had finally found a place of its own. Nestled in the shade of a metal roof, I almost missed the ginger haired beauty in the bright midday sun. But luckily for me, it did catch my eye, and I stood there for several minutes gushing over its cuteness and snapping photos. The cat stirred, likely thinking that if it remained still, the annoying paparazza tourist would eventually go away. archives: Miscellaneous, Travel |
vendor offering me a strawberry at the Fatih Market
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
vendor proudly shows off his cabbage at the Fatih Market
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
vendor selling phyllo dough sheets at the Fatih Market
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
vendor giving me the "shaka sign" at the Fatih Market
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
vendor and his spices at the Fatih Market
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive September 30, 2011 Fatih Market Having accomplished nearly all of my to-do list in Istanbul, I set out to find a mosque and a street market off the beaten path. The neighborhood in mind was Fatih and it seemed complicated and easy to reach all at once. It turned out to be both. The planned route would take me through Sultanahmet (Old City), three stops past the furthest one I have been, from there a short walk to a Metro line, one stop, and a short walk to the Fatih mosque and surrounding markets. This all becomes exponentially more difficult once you miss your stop, no one speaks the same language as you, and you have to desperately use the bathroom. I got it together, backtracked to the right stop by walking parallel to the tram tracks, and "felt" my way there. Prior to venturing to Fatih, I read that it had a more local scene, was more conservative, "so dress accordingly." In the center of Istanbul, you will find a disproportionate number of men than women. When I arrived in Fatih, I realized where all the women were, they were shopping in the market for things like clothing, housewares, and food. Prices were lower, fresh fruit and vegetables outnumbered other items, skirt hems were longer, more women were "covered", and more men were wearing caps. And vendors were more friendly. Understandably, in main tourist areas like the Grand Bazaar and Spice Bazaar, vendors can have short tolerance levels (tourists are annoying after all, myself included). The vendors at the Fatih Market were excited to have a foreigner amongst their regulars and no one minded me taking photos of their offerings. Many in fact, asked to have their photo taken. A customer even asked me to photograph he and his daughter. As he scribbled onto a torn piece of a paper bag, I realized he wanted me to email him the photo. I did, and he likes it. He replied. archives: Food, Travel |
cat with "evil eye" collar
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive September 27, 2011 Two things that I can say with confidence, the Turkish people have a great affection for cats and a strong belief in the "evil eye." Both are seen everywhere. Stray cats are found all over the city, inside and out. You will find them in restaurants, cafés, mosques, museums, embassies, shops, and just about any other place that you can think of (or not think of). And they are welcomed, as I said, Istanbullus have a great affections for cats. The "evil eye" is also found throughout the city, adorning building fronts, constructions sites, car parks, businesses, etc. The sight of an "evil eye" charm is so abundant that when our hotel, which is still partially under construction, added a small charm over the entrance, it was instantly noticeable. It somehow validated our hotel as a hotel. Sitting on a bench outside a café, I noticed this lounging cat under a row of small shrubs. It is hard to say whether or not this cat is a stray based on its collar. I would not be surprised to find out that it is a stray. Strays are cared for here so well, to a level I have never witnessed in any other place, that it is perfectly conceivable to think that someone gave it an "evil eye" collar to keep it safe. I like to think it is true, a sweet gesture and an example of the need to protect all that you love. archives: Miscellaneous, Travel |
süt misir (sweet corn) cart outside Ayasofya (Hagia Sophia Museum)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
süt misir (sweet corn), price - 1TL outside Ayasofya (Hagia Sophia Museum)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive 
vendor and customer cooking süt misir (sweet corn) outside Ayasofya (Hagia Sophia Museum)
Istanbul, Turkey from my 2011 archive September 22, 2011 Süt Misir Similar to the way hot dog, bagel, nut, and Halal carts are the face of New York City; corn, chestnuts, Turkish bagel (looks like a pretzel), and pomegranate juice carts are the face of Istanbul. I assume süt misir means sweet corn. It is eaten by all and naked cobs can be seen littered around the city. (At least it is biodegradable.) As The Swede and I were looking for a cab to hail, a taxi driver pulled over, parked his car, got out, and bought a süt misir. We approached unsure if he was for hire, but he said he was free to take us. We halfway assumed we would wait for him to finish his snack, but he insisted he was ready. Off we went. He proceeded to drive us back to our hotel, one hand on the wheel, one hand eating his cob, all the while talking and pointing out various points of interest in the city. It was a nice ride, at a nice pace, unhurried, and smooth. Turkish drivers are known for being...not the best. Perhaps eating a corncob while driving helped our driver to take it easy. archives: Food, Travel |
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