Good Bye Washington

I am leaving within a few days for Istanbul. I am planning to stay for as long as I have to, lots of things to do. I would like to say goodbye for a short while with the following excerpt by Sara Veglahn:

I think you are gone perhaps. Going, yes, but you never left, never left often enough, never disappeared from here, never departed, you have gone away, ran off, I am going, I am leaving, I am going away, you could stay here, keep on here, continue, wait, stop.

Of Scenic Routes, and Holly Techniques.

Today's blog is about Kotmish, aka Tursu as in picles, aka Levent - who besides other things also happens to be my boyfriend, well, technically hubby, but I find the official title a little too formal. Yes I still live in the 90s, in that dove white rambler in Rumelihisarustu. What I really wanted to say is that he transformed himself from the ugly ducklet into quite a handsome...well...biker. I initially watched his flirting with his second hand Honda bike with my female pride and ignorant admiration. He takes me on road trips via panoramis routes in Washington DC, like the George Washington Parkway, which overlooks Georgetown and the Potomac - it is even called the "scenic route", DC is so green it looks like a jungle. I was indeed happy to drive every morning through thick woods, curvy highways - I once even ended up in a restricted zone, realized it is the Pentagon, had to back with panic, another friend of mine ended up in the CIA compound in the same way, and was gently told to back up her car. These small ordeals notwithstanding, I always feel my spirit is uplifted as I enjoy the riverside, grand historic mansions, monuments and bridges on my way. Now, using or discovering similar scenic routes, we ride together to Georgetown, have a quick cup of latte, and ride back home. Well, here is where the fairy tale becomes a cabbage tale: my enthusiasm has been curbed slowly as Levent found fast and furious biker friends. Now they go to race tracks, or ride to perfect what Levent calls the "technique", and what I call "the holly technique", because he seems so taken by his passion to perfect this technique. He tells me about it after every weekend ride with his biker friends. On top of that, now he has two other bikes, and I am afraid my relevance as a non-biker girl has made me a non-participant of those more "technical" rides. I think I picked the wrong hobby. I should have learned how to ride a bike, not how to sculpt Benjamin Franklin's head!

For the last two days I have been immersed into an unlikely topic: Reading Puccini's life and how each of his operas came into life -- each took 10 years on an average(some 13!), he was a deeply unhappy, melancholic but gentle soul, I think I liked his person much more than his music! Well, I have never been an opera fan, so I am probably one of the last people to apreciate the beauty or hideousness of Tosca, Madame Butterfly, The Girl from The West, Turandot, La Boheme, and his other achievements. I was deeply moved by the utter misery he had to live through until he was 30, when he finally started earning some money to make a living - he was so poor that when he finally bought a bike, he wrote a letter to his boss and publisher, requesting the Publishing House to pay for the bike in installments, and at that time he was well over thirty, had a wife (mistress who abandoned her husband to live with him, to be more accurate), and a kid! His letters are beautiful and the most sorrowful things I have read - he always talks about how lonely and utterly misunderstood he is. The most touching anecdotes in the biography are the result of his down-to-earth character. He was not unapproachable like Verdi, no aristocrat, lived among peasants, communicated with them, and until much later, had no idea how popular he was. In his forties, he had gained world recognitiion, even in America he was announced as the most accomplished and highly paid composer of his time all over the world, all theatres were sold out for astronomical prices, and he had to sign autographs for fans! He was, in short, a celebrity, Giacomo Puccini. Yet when he went to France and met Emile Zola and a few other poets, he was so excited that in his letter to his friend he said--You can't believe what just happened, I met celebrities like Zola and they treated me as their equal. Now, would you expect that from a peasant and a third rate organ player like myself, eh?".

Spring came at last - it is raining outside, soft breeze is gently ruffling my hair as I type, flowers and cherries blossom. Spring was here last weekend. We went to the Cherry Blossom Festival. We saw Washington DC at its most crowded, young dads and moms carrying on their shoulders the cutest babies I have seen, lovers walking hand in hand, unskilled but extremely handsome artists trying to paint the cherry trees. The city owes this international festival to the Japanese, who a long time ago planted several hundreds of cherry trees alongside the Potomac, transforming this city, which is already reminiscent of ancient Rome, into a rosy, aromatic, even exotic place. All those university students enjoying the scene on the grass, and the cheerful youthful crowd surrounding them reminded me of the Bogazici University reunions, they were also in spring time, we had erguvans - the bright pink blossoms of trees in the campus, and we had the Bosphorus panorama - well, its wasn't ours, but it was free to enjoy. While the scene, and maybe even the reuinon itself is somewhat of a cliche, it brings back memories of tuna sandwich sessions at the Sosyete Kantin (what a funny name), finals, and surprizes.

Misha's Cafe - I frequent that place so often that I almost started feeling an aversion to it! This is a picture of me reading the daily newspaper after breakfast on a late Saturday morning.