... I was subject to a government ban against blogger.com.
The ban was lifted after the court, which had initially ordered the ban, decided it needed more evidence, and a prosecution and trial, before it could actually carry out a decision to ban anything.
Of course, during the days that the court was able to act unilaterally to strip freedom of speech, I didn't do much writing.
The reason for the ban is not very interesting. DigiTurk, a satellite television provider, is upset that users of blogger.com are posting footage from football matches, footage DigiTurk owns. They complained, and subsequently, a court order to block the site was issued.
What I find fascinating is their approach to copyright infringement: socialized punishment. Rather than attempt to find the perpetrators, the court simply issued a ban against the website. The expediency of totalitarian behavior is mind boggling. I wonder why we trouble ourselves with a justice system in the United States, when our ally Turkey provides such forthright examples of a state's alternatives.
For the time being, I should be able to write, pending a "legal case," to be heard in a Diyarbakir court.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
It's really a question...
of which is more embarrassing...
- Someone pointing out your mistake.
- Walking to the bus stop, standing for 15 minutes, riding the bus for 10 minutes, walking to work along a busy street, entering the school and saying hello to the security guard, talking with the woman who brings tea to my office, walking to the restroom, and discovering that my fly is unzipped.
- Someone pointing out your mistake.
- Walking to the bus stop, standing for 15 minutes, riding the bus for 10 minutes, walking to work along a busy street, entering the school and saying hello to the security guard, talking with the woman who brings tea to my office, walking to the restroom, and discovering that my fly is unzipped.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Apartment hunting...
Yesterday, my room mates and I went out searching for a new place to live. We haven't exactly cleaned up, since the party, and we decided that moving would get us away from the potato-chip-and-spilled-beer-vomit-cat smell, which presently seeps from under the refrigerator, but which we fear will migrate to the rest of the house. I'm most worried about this, because it'll come to my room first.
You'll have to forgive me, because I'm about to lay down the names of several Istanbul neighborhoods (in italics). There is a map, here, for those who would like to follow our adventure. The terminal locations are located about 5 km away from one another, close to the word Beşiktaş, in the center of your map.
We left the Rumeli Hisarüstü at about 4 in the afternoon, to see what we could see, Taksim and a bar with friends being the ultimate goal. Having listed some phone numbers, taken from a real estate website, we had a few places in mind when we started looking. Sahibinden.com is a good starting point, for those who are in the market. It translates to "from the owner", and we hoped using it would circumvent annoying real estate agent fees. I don't know how things are done in the states, because I never used a real estate agent there, but here in Istanbul, I pay someone to help me find a house.
I'll preface the peculiar afternoon with a quote from my room mate, although he didn't tell me this until the end of the day. "In Turkey, if you have no skills, you become a real estate agent."
Apartment hunting is a funny process, here, where people are so keen to sell you something you don't want, that they'll basically offer whatever crap they have and try to dress it up with words.
"Oh, don't worry, you can fit a bed in here."
"The last family just kept their refrigerator in the hallway."
"If you don't open this window, you don't have to worry about the trash falling in."
"If you want the windows to open, it won't be hard to chip off the paint."
'Lipstick on a pig', if I can use the hackneyed phrase.
The first place we wanted to see was in Mecidiyeköy, north of Şişli. After getting off the bus in the wrong place, we met the agent at a pleasant, neighborhood mosque, whence he led us on a ten minute walk to the apartment building. We never got a look at the place, however, because just as he put the key in the door, the owner of the market across the street shouted "it's sold." Without a word, the real estate agent went to talk to the man, and we slunk away, one failure in hand.
We hopped a taxi to Kurtuluş, near Osmanbey, with two other places specifically in mind.
There are three of us, grown men (-ish), looking for a place to room together. Despite that obvious fact, agents kept leading us into apartments with two, well-lit, comfortable bedrooms, and one small, dark room, which each of us would fight to not take. The first place was a bust, for that very reason, and so we called the agent for the last place on our list.
The agent led us into the belly of Kurtuluş, to a neighbohood that fits every American's image of a bombed-out Balkan city (Sarajevo, Belgrade, take your pick). After we climbed the stairs to the top floor, my meager excitement about the prospects were crushed...
The agent had the wrong key!
We trekked back down the stairs, and he offered to show us another place while he fetched the key. We must've walked for twenty minutes to his office, only to discover that the key was lost completely. No matter, he was able to show us another dirty two-and-a-half bedroom apartment, which left me feeling that real estate agents were inbred or retarded or both.
As it got dark, we wandered into one last agent's office. The office was big, double and triple the size of the others. There was an aquarium in the corner, carpets on the floor, big and comfy leather chairs, and two large desks. The office inspired confidence. The agent wasn't there, when we arrived, so we called the number on the door and he came in a few minutes. He ordered us tea, we chatted about what we do for work, we basically performed the ritual that begins all serious business in Turkey, and it led me to believe we would find something nice.
Before we started talking details, the agent told us he had the perfect place. One minute from the metro, top floor, 500 square feet, nice balcony, the place where three young bachelors want to live.
The only problem was a landlord, who was insistent that no single men would be living in the house.
So, strike three, and we are about to leave, when the agent suggested one last place, that was in the direction we were heading anyway. He dispatched a second agent, who had just shown up, to lead us, and we went together.
On our way, we passed the first agent's office, who politely inquired of our current leader, where we were heading. They spoke breifly, and in doing so established that we had already been shown the house we were about to visit, by the first agent.
We gave up, went to a restaurant in Şişli, and ate kebap and drank rakı and generally forgot about the crappiness of the afternoon. After that we headed to a gathering at a friend's home near Taksim. When we arrived, our hostess mentioned that two of the apartments in the building were available, and she even had the keys.
I had told my room mate, Emrah, that I would only really get interested in moving if we were moving to an interesting place. I wanted to be excited about the new apartment. In fact, the exact word I used were:
I'll post pictures when we get serious about moving there.
You'll have to forgive me, because I'm about to lay down the names of several Istanbul neighborhoods (in italics). There is a map, here, for those who would like to follow our adventure. The terminal locations are located about 5 km away from one another, close to the word Beşiktaş, in the center of your map.
We left the Rumeli Hisarüstü at about 4 in the afternoon, to see what we could see, Taksim and a bar with friends being the ultimate goal. Having listed some phone numbers, taken from a real estate website, we had a few places in mind when we started looking. Sahibinden.com is a good starting point, for those who are in the market. It translates to "from the owner", and we hoped using it would circumvent annoying real estate agent fees. I don't know how things are done in the states, because I never used a real estate agent there, but here in Istanbul, I pay someone to help me find a house.
I'll preface the peculiar afternoon with a quote from my room mate, although he didn't tell me this until the end of the day. "In Turkey, if you have no skills, you become a real estate agent."
Apartment hunting is a funny process, here, where people are so keen to sell you something you don't want, that they'll basically offer whatever crap they have and try to dress it up with words.
"Oh, don't worry, you can fit a bed in here."
"The last family just kept their refrigerator in the hallway."
"If you don't open this window, you don't have to worry about the trash falling in."
"If you want the windows to open, it won't be hard to chip off the paint."
'Lipstick on a pig', if I can use the hackneyed phrase.
The first place we wanted to see was in Mecidiyeköy, north of Şişli. After getting off the bus in the wrong place, we met the agent at a pleasant, neighborhood mosque, whence he led us on a ten minute walk to the apartment building. We never got a look at the place, however, because just as he put the key in the door, the owner of the market across the street shouted "it's sold." Without a word, the real estate agent went to talk to the man, and we slunk away, one failure in hand.
We hopped a taxi to Kurtuluş, near Osmanbey, with two other places specifically in mind.
There are three of us, grown men (-ish), looking for a place to room together. Despite that obvious fact, agents kept leading us into apartments with two, well-lit, comfortable bedrooms, and one small, dark room, which each of us would fight to not take. The first place was a bust, for that very reason, and so we called the agent for the last place on our list.
The agent led us into the belly of Kurtuluş, to a neighbohood that fits every American's image of a bombed-out Balkan city (Sarajevo, Belgrade, take your pick). After we climbed the stairs to the top floor, my meager excitement about the prospects were crushed...
The agent had the wrong key!
We trekked back down the stairs, and he offered to show us another place while he fetched the key. We must've walked for twenty minutes to his office, only to discover that the key was lost completely. No matter, he was able to show us another dirty two-and-a-half bedroom apartment, which left me feeling that real estate agents were inbred or retarded or both.
As it got dark, we wandered into one last agent's office. The office was big, double and triple the size of the others. There was an aquarium in the corner, carpets on the floor, big and comfy leather chairs, and two large desks. The office inspired confidence. The agent wasn't there, when we arrived, so we called the number on the door and he came in a few minutes. He ordered us tea, we chatted about what we do for work, we basically performed the ritual that begins all serious business in Turkey, and it led me to believe we would find something nice.
Before we started talking details, the agent told us he had the perfect place. One minute from the metro, top floor, 500 square feet, nice balcony, the place where three young bachelors want to live.
The only problem was a landlord, who was insistent that no single men would be living in the house.
So, strike three, and we are about to leave, when the agent suggested one last place, that was in the direction we were heading anyway. He dispatched a second agent, who had just shown up, to lead us, and we went together.
On our way, we passed the first agent's office, who politely inquired of our current leader, where we were heading. They spoke breifly, and in doing so established that we had already been shown the house we were about to visit, by the first agent.
We gave up, went to a restaurant in Şişli, and ate kebap and drank rakı and generally forgot about the crappiness of the afternoon. After that we headed to a gathering at a friend's home near Taksim. When we arrived, our hostess mentioned that two of the apartments in the building were available, and she even had the keys.
I had told my room mate, Emrah, that I would only really get interested in moving if we were moving to an interesting place. I wanted to be excited about the new apartment. In fact, the exact word I used were:
Emrah, I want to live in an apartment that gives me a hard-on every time I come home, that gives a girl a hard-on when she visits, that gives all of my friends hard-ons when we are sitting around the TV playing Mortal Kombat.This was that place, and I had a hard-on for it.
I'll post pictures when we get serious about moving there.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Hauz Parti!
I've written, quite a bit, on the woefully absurd elements of my experience in Turkey.
So, I decided post a story about the cheerfully absurd ones.
House parties are rare, in Turkey.
Let me rephrase that... house parties seem rare, in Turkey. It only just occurred to me that, perhaps, Turks simply do not invite me to their homes for parties. In any event, we hosted one last weekend, and things got out of hand (as they do).
There was alcohol...
There was food...
There was dancing...
There was a room mate, who didn't know about the party until he got home...
There was romance...
I don't know how to explain this, but it was there, too...
He is calm as a coma about the chips in his lap.
Stats for the night:
People - 25
Annoyed Neighbors - 1
Broken Bottles of Beer - 3
Trashed rooms - 2 (my room and the kitchen)
Vomits cleaned up by the hosts - 2 (one in our small bathroom, another on a car beneath our balcony)
So, I decided post a story about the cheerfully absurd ones.
House parties are rare, in Turkey.
Let me rephrase that... house parties seem rare, in Turkey. It only just occurred to me that, perhaps, Turks simply do not invite me to their homes for parties. In any event, we hosted one last weekend, and things got out of hand (as they do).
There was alcohol...
There was food...
There was dancing...
There was a room mate, who didn't know about the party until he got home...
There was romance...
I don't know how to explain this, but it was there, too...
He is calm as a coma about the chips in his lap.
Stats for the night:
People - 25
Annoyed Neighbors - 1
Broken Bottles of Beer - 3
Trashed rooms - 2 (my room and the kitchen)
Vomits cleaned up by the hosts - 2 (one in our small bathroom, another on a car beneath our balcony)
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Road Trip!
We had the week off from work, to spend celebrating the end of Ramadan... or to do something cool, like traveling. In the last two weeks, I considered no less than six destinations: Athens, Belgrade, Chicago, Mardın, Marseilles, and New York.
We went to Edirne!
Just three hours north of Istanbul, getting to Edirne was as easy as swiping a Turkish room mate's car (he was out of town with family), rousing the riffraff, and hitting the long, empty highway.
My friends, Kristen and Henry, had business to attend to (renewing their tourist visas by passing into Greece, and then coming back), so Gregg and I dropped them off and made arrangements for a place to drink and another to stay.
Here are some pictures, courtesy of Gregg:
Henry and I enjoy Turkish börek, starchy potatoes wrapped in greasy, flaky pastry.
Kristen reacts to something Gregg said....
Turkish 4-wheeled people carrier.
Gregg and the Prophet, Muhammad (peace be upon him).
This image is here for no other reason than to satisfy Orientalists.
It was really great to travel, though Edirne can only be described as "quaint". Despite my fascination (or lack thereof) with the city, I still realize that there is something therapeutic about such mindless doffing about as we experienced in Edirne.
Destinations be damned, I need movement to really be happy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)