"Our Country is Modern Islam"

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If I was to wake one morning forgetting just what country I had found myself in that day, all I'd need do is listen to the discernable clues drifting on through the window to help decipher that conundrum.
In Romania it was the trotting of the horse and cart as it cumbersomely made its way down the road, in Holland it was the quiet but distinguishable turning of the many bicycle pedals as their passengers whistled their way by and in Turkey- it was the slow reaching cry, of the muslim call to prayer.

Arriving in Istanbul, I was more then aware that this was the first time my worldy wanderings had taken me to a country of a predominantly Islamic culture, but at one and the same time I was more than a little ignorant to the differences this might entail.
Had I picked up the Lonely Planet Guide to Istanbul it probably would have been able to tell me that in a city of around 13 million people and the only city in the world that spans two continents, a mosque can be spotted every 100 metres or so, where 5 times a day some noble foot soldier takes his turn in belting out a tune for his Allah-the lament echoing throughout the city streets.
But not being privy to such knowledge,I was surprised on my first morning in the city when at 6am I woke to the first call to prayer, of the new day.
Rousing to consciousness by what sounded to me like a man singing the sad tenor of his broken heart,I was drawn to the window half expecting to see his befallen figure-knelt over in its private gesticulation to Allah.Of course there was nothing to be seen-for the man and his voice were really to be found over at the famous Blue Mosque;standing upright,singing into a microphone,awaiting his call to be heard by a much larger audience than that of my own.But I was undeterred by his physical absence-I stood transfixed to the voice alone.I thought if I could be stricken by the beauty in the pain,I could only imagine that somewhere, this Allah guy must surely be listening.
When there is such a public proclamation to the time of day, there is no need for a personal alarm clock. I once saw an old man and his wife about to sit down to dinner,just as the call to prayer rang out;he looked down at his watch in surprise,grabbed his wife and ran, hurtling their little round bodies down the street-making quite the hilarious spectacle.
To look and listen to the people of Istanbul, I could see that the Turkish all adhere to their religion in varying degrees (like any other religion in any other country you could say;but Islam and fanatacism being continually tied together at the perpetuation of the western media,I think it's a valid point to make)-some women wear the full length burqa,others just wear the hijab (head scarf)and many young women wear neither; some attend mosque daily,where others like the few 20 something men I talked to are more relaxed about it "it's in the heart" they say, "our country is more relaxed about religion than other Islamic countries"...
In substitute for the alcohol that many Muslims choose not to drink, there is the smoking of the water pipe (Narghilè, in Turkish).Curious to have a puff,my first opportunity to do so presented itself when I was walking along a small bazaar and noticed two Japanese ladies being entertained by a stylish mid 20's,hair slicked back, bling bling wearing Turkish businessman. They were all taking turns smoking a water pipe-but it was what they appeared to be smoking that really caught my attention...."Is that milk,that you guys are smoking?", the man turned to me, "yeah,do you want some?" I turned down his offer, I did not want my first try of this thing to feel like a 5 year olds equivalent of smoking weed; if I had stayed longer, I'm sure I would have seen a packet of cookies doing the rounds.
Nope, I decided to take the much more hardcore route, one that would do wonders for my credibility amongst all the cool kids- I went with the apple flavoured option.
Being as it was that milk, orange juice and licorice were the only other choices and given my newly acquired addiction for apple tea-it seemed like the perfect fit.
A waiter, who's restaurant a couple of Canadian chickas and I had been dining at had invited us along to a local haunt where the Ottoman Empire once frequented; we drank tea,smoked apple flavoured water pipe, pretended to take interest in the soccer, all whilst reclining back in the couches sprawled with Turkish rugs...this was as pseudo Turkish as I was ever going to get-and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

On a quick side note, I broke up my week stay in Istanbul with a 5 hour pilgrimage down to the Gallipoli peninsula -visiting the sites of two famed battles of war- Gallipoli WWI (famous to all Australians and New Zealanders) and a more ancient bloody battle-the Trojan War, the premise of the epic tale of the Iliad.
All I'll say is this- to me at least, all war is futile.

Back in Istanbul , I continued to drink copious amounts of apple tea; watched the carpet sellers meticulously sweep their shopfronts;laughed as I ordered some food from one restaurant and watched the waiter go down to the next restaurant and return with my order ( it's amazing how willing these businessmen are with working together,rather than against each other); ate too much of the Turkish sweet ,baclava(straight through the lips onto the hips),froze my nipples off on a bosphorous cruise and laughed the heartiest laugh I had in a long time at the Irish lad I had accompanied on a shitty city bus tour(the best laugh of all- I cried and my jaw was hurting).

I do have to warn you ladies-watch out for those Turkish men.
I was too distracted by my thoughts of what would lay ahead of me with the Indian men to make room for any thoughts of what these smoothe talking men would be like.
It was inexplicable,unwarranted and embarassing, if not a little bit flattering, the attention I garnered (no I do not have tickets on myself for I'm certain even if I walked around with a sack on-these men still would have tried their hand).Some days I couldn't walk 50 metres without being asked on a date or have the worst pick up lines used on me.."Oh you dropped something"..naturally I looked down.. "what?".."you dropped my heart".. "You should have just seen the way the moonlight lit up your face".."Oh you are Australian"..how does he know that? "Because Australia is a beautiful country, and you are a beautiful girl".One guy did go in for the kill when he was shaking my hand goodbye, when I rejected his advance he just gave me a look of "hey,it was worth a try".But really, they were all sweet puppy dogs.Never did I feel threatened,intimidated or uncertain of their attentions (all three things I have felt at some point in time in the last three weeks;what I would give for those sweet puppy dogs and their cheesey pick up lines now).

But in some of those puppy dogs there were rough interiors.Two conversations I had really caught me off guard and gave me the impression that even while Istanbul portrays itself as a modern,western, touristic city-she can't escape her geographical position in a region with immense volatile history between its neighbours.I think it's because of this history and Turkey's desperation to distance itself from the 'Middle East and hurl itself into the comfortable confines of the European continent that some of her citizens have now been weighed down with such narrow minded and bigoted views.
" I don't like Jews,they are all terrible people, they don't want to take over just the Middle East but Turkey as well" - 25 year old carpet shop owner.
" All Arab countries are evil, they are fanatics and I don't like them, they all kill young girls, all the people are evil..Turkey isn't like that, we are modern Islam" - Hostel worker.
I think on both these seperate occasions I nearly choked on my apple tea that I had been drinking in what I thought was jovial conversation with these men.
How could I respond to such hate filled words? I decided to defer to my terrible diplomacy skills...
"Really?? I'm sure they're not alllll that bad!?"
Both of them had thought about that for a few seconds, deciding whether they could meet me halfway on that statement.. "Well...maybe one or two are alright,but the rest..terrible people".
It was shocking how the hostel guy couldn't see that his real, frightening and ignorant views were just as fanatical as the views he was projecting onto strangers who he had no idea about; how they really lived.

I really do appreciate that I do not come from a country that is burdened by such a history. Yes, we had some bogans on cronulla beach who preached their bullshit about "our country" and "our values"-but they were just ignorant dicks who needed an education. I guess the most fragile relationship we have with a neighbour is New Zealand...but calling them sheep rooters is hardly going to start World War 3.

But I am fascinated by the Middle East, and Turkey was a teaser, even if it doesn't want to associate itself with that region...So, I plan to visit soon and I invite anyone to come along with me ( bigots,anti-semites and anyone who calls muslims 'towel heads' need not apply.


Road to India
In a nutshell, I flew to Zurich, freaked out when my bag wasn't to be found in the baggage claim area..I filed a report, surprised myself with how calm I was under the circumstances, bag was found- I was one of the lucky two out of a few hundred people who's bags came out half an hour late...I went and cuddled up on a starbucks couch,tried to sleep as terrible diva pop music blared over the speakers..got on the plane to Mumbai,saw two people enter the plane who I desperately wanted to sit next to me as they made their way down the aisle towards me, and I just knew that they would... Two fully dressed Tibetan Buddhist Monks...
Any feeling I had of being overcome in such presence of an 'enlightened' one was appeased when I glanced sideways to see one of them giggling like a school girl at the home entertainment of his choice-Ice Age 3.We chatted away, I wanted to ask about the Tibet and the China situation,but didn't know how to begin eg;.. "Soooo, how about that Chinese government..." I wondered if he knew something about the destiny of the plane when I heard him chanting prayers ;turns out he was just practicing for his lessons that he was going to be teaching to his little future monks in south India. I bid him good luck at the baggage claims area, I realised too late how stupid of a farewell that was...like a Buddhist monk needs or believes in good luck.
So, there I was in India...walking straight through the doors, out into what I like to now call; the beauty and the beast of the world.

The beast greeted me first when I passed through those doors, right into a scam.........Yup, this is India.

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