Beth Zonderman Art

From book project Cay, Tavla, Myslenky

(Letter home from Istanbul)
...I'm homesick, but you know how the road unrolls like a red carpet, the bells ring, and the townspeople wave as we pass? Everyone needs to pretend the parade is in her honor sometimes. The Goddess called me out but never says where to find her. Trail markers are so hard to find in the city.

...The baklava is too sweet.

The hotel men drank our wine and we ate their hazelnuts. They're nice but I know Ramazan has one flat with his girlfriend, another with his wife, and spends all their money on drink. ...The tomatoes are as red and bloody as raw meat.

..For us there is no future. Each day is a new present, a stalagmite, a materialization of the past. I suppose some folks build their columns with cranes, concrete, and subcontractors, but others of us have the leisure of waiting for drops to fall from above since we know they'll come.

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Wanderers` testament When some of us go we are neither searching nor fleeing. We have heard the call to wander and and are bound to set free our anchors and submit to the tide. Fighting the panic to swim ashore or cling to floating logs, we remind ourselves that stability is not necessarily safety. We wait for the channel to open around us because it cannot be found or recognized until we are being pulled by its current. Channel markers cannot be seen from a distance. They present themselves like shiny found pennies. If we never bent for them, we would not miss the fifteen cents we may have collected, but as we stoop, danger wings past our heads only ruffling our hair. The pennies become keys to castles and maps to secret wine cellars. Each marker is in itself a destination and points to the next. This invisible channel is protective and within it we need not fear.

If this is too nebulous, I`ll give you directions: Ride the bus until you are too stiff and the hills are too green to ride any longer. Get off in the first town. When the people stare at you, smile and greet them in their language, whether they are friendly or not. Follow the pedestrian traffic- it leads someplace where everyone wants to go. Accept an invitation to tea. Your host gives you a tour of the town and shows you the places the tour buses miss. His children teach you a song and how to dance to it. In the next village you`ll be invited to a wedding. You make friends and charm everyone with your attempts to sing and dance to their music. You`ll be asked to stay and offered a job.

For those still sceptical:

Don`t hurry- each bus caught is ten missed.
Don`t allow language to be a social barrier.
Don`t hesitate, trust first impressions.
"She who dons flowers attracts the merriful graces, they turn back from a bare head." -Sappho. Wear jewellery, expect to give it away.
An unrestricted diet will take you farthest, as food is a universal language of friendship.
"God protects fools and children." Don`t be afraid to act foolish, feign innocence to not be taken as a prostitute.
Refuse not invitations, but don`t be stupid.
Play with children. It`s fun and their parents will love you.
A long line usually ends with something worth waiting for.
Listen for news of rainy seasons or terrorist activity. Faith is no excuse for ignorance.
Learn to be careful without being guarded, open without being ignorant of danger.
If it looks dodgy, don`t eat it, unless you`re dining with the cook.
Recognize the difference between the depth versus breadth of experience.
If you learn how to expect people to act, you don`t have to be suspicious all the time.
Trust the current.

owledgement: Mustafa is a sweet Kurdish boy. His earnestness and innocence saved my ass: He stood before Hazim and Hazim knew this was no mirror. Mustafa sent us off with a blessing so when we departed for Kurdistan, we were passed east across the laps of generous people.)

View images: from book project Cay, Tavla, Myslenky