merel van beeren

(a taste of the city)

After a slightly fuzzy first night – clarity of mind and traveling do not mix in my experience – I woke up early the next morning. The spacious room still looked fine, but I realized that it wasn’t as spacious the rest of the year. Two beds, two desks, and two closets suggested two inhabitants – I was lucky to have it all to myself for four weeks. (Over the next week, my room would quickly turn into the go-to place for a few other members of the program, turning it into “the press room” and making painfully clear how much of a nerd the average journalist actually is.)

Our Saturday morning was spent in one of the many Turkcell telecommunication stores in Beşiktaş – four weeks of reporting in a city requires a working cell phone, and obtaining one is a considerable feat. When you spend no more than two weeks on Turkish territory, an international phone plan usually works, as do most European sim cards. If you stay longer, however, you’ll find yourself disconnected. The Turkish government demands registration of all cell phones in use, supposedly as part of anti-terrorism measures. As a foreigner wishing to remain within Turkish borders, then, you are required to either register your foreign phone, or to purchase a new one (which will, of course, be registered as well). Taking into account that none of the program’s members spoke any Turkish (yet) and we had only one interpreter, the process of registering each and every one of us as well as buying a few new phones and several sims took all morning.

The afternoon took those of us who had just arrived to the Eminönü neighborhood, to Istanbul’s famous spice market. Quickly loosing track of the rest of the group, perhaps on purpose, I wandered through the tiny little streets that make up the market. Spices and herbs, Turkish delight, and countless of tea sets lined the horizon. That, and the most fascinating variety of faces. Armed with my camera and lovely new lense, I gave in to one of my favorite pastimes: taking people’s portraits (from a slight distance, and this, I admit, is because I fear dirty looks and possible punches in the face). Grabbing a headscarf from a little bin conveniently placed just outside the entrance of the Blue Mosque just to the left of the market, and carrying my shoes around in a little plastic bag, I got my first taste of Turkey’s religious architecture.

Dressing up for our official welcome dinner, the group headed over to the roof of Bahçeşehir’s main building. Consisting of fourteen girls (eleven students and three interns, and most of them 21 and under, which of course meant that 27-year old me, and two others – 24 and 33 respectively – dubbed ourselves “the old ladies” right from the start), our little walk over to dinner drew somewhat of a crowd. The university’s rooftop café turned out to be double-booked, leading us to crash a Turkish wedding. Though, really, they were crashing our welcome dinner. Unapologetically gazing at the elaborately dressed wedding guests, we enjoyed our lovely meal under an extensive awning, looking on in amusement when it started to rain and the wedding party hurried inside. Fireworks ended the night, and a fascinating second day.