af samme stof som stof

love me gender, love me sweet: a review of short-documentary screenings on 2012 International Women's Day

2012-03-09T15:41:00.000Z

A friend of mine who worked for CNN Turk in Washington, D.C. had told me that on one International Women's Day, she was sent to the Turkish Embassy in D.C. to report on the solidarity the Turkish women in the United States shared with one another on this special day. It turns out that this was a culinary solidarity, in which the women exchanged recipes whilst discussing the ways in which they could serve their husbands better. As tragicomic as it may be, it also made me realise how unaware I was of what sort of activities were taking place around me and around the world on this day. Yes, I had read in news, over the years, especially in Turkey, about the atrocities committed against women, even on this day, but that was unfortunately part of daily life in my home country; and in many other parts of the world. We'd also read about how people mistake this day with a 2nd chance to make up for the gifts or flowers they forgot to buy on the Valentine's Day. I would get a decent coverage how men approached the day but knew little about what kind of activities women around the world organised, other than marches, meetings, demonstrations.

So, this year I had the chance to see 4 short documentaries as part of a screening co-organised by Open City London Documentary Festival and Hub Westminster. The selection was titled: Gender, Sexuality and Documentary - International Women's Day Screenings, and it was held at Hub Westminster. A brief word about Hub Westminster and what kind of a place it is (the screenings were held there). As soon as we stepped into New Zealand House, we were surprised by the high-degree of security and the people's confusion as to why we were there and where we should go. Now, when you normally go to a cultural activity event, there is often only one or two simultaneous events taking place in the same location, at most, but you can normally find your way easily towards your desired destination. At Hub Westminster's 1st floor, there is a plethora of activities taking place at the same time in a setting that seems to have jumped out of a Michel Gondry film. The idea of Hub Westminster is to provide work space to whoever is interested, across its multiple halls. As we walked towards the screening room, I came across a friend working for an architecture/urban design company. After walking besides what looked like a greenhouse on which it said "this space is bookable", I walked past the "office space" (a long table with electric plug sockets) of a film company and seemed to recognise the faces that went past me. It felt as if I was in a dream, walking somewhere I didn't intend to or know about and random people I knew from different eras of my life were making cameos. Anyway, it was an interesting experience and I really grew fond of the space.

Hub Westminster is a curious place.

There were 4 films on the screening, and due to some technical issues, we started a little late, which only helped a few more people make it on time, so all the better. The first film was called Home for the Golden Gays, the trailer of which you can watch here. As a continuation to my dream-like sequence of introduction to the event, this film was made by a friend of the friend I just ran into on my way in. I had heard a lot about it: how the filmmakers went to the Philippines to shoot a documentary about someone who had to return to Denmark and this person had cold feet in the last moment, and they had 2 weeks (and the funding that was granted to them) to shoot something. It did not take them too long to find what they were looking for, in the form of an old gay man who has become a regular at the Golden Gays bar, a discreet location on a calm side street in the middle of busy Manila. More interestingly, as we heard from the producer who represented the film (and who is the friend of my friend), Golden Gays sits on a site which is an annex to the building it is attached to. This building is run by a prominent person in Manila, who has kept his own homosexuality discreet for long, long years; despite the fact that a flamboyant place like Golden Gays was next to where he lived. The filmmakers made a brilliant documentary by following the daily rituals of this old man, whose profession is to clean the streets and who joins his fellows in the colourful bar that could have set the setting for any bizarre Tarantino scene, after putting on his heavy make-up in the evenings. The editing of the film is superb with beautiful photography, compelling close-ups and a good, overall definition. Added to that is a good soundtrack and there you have it, a short documentary on the non-story of a few characters whose life stories could possibly make up volumes of literature. Obviously, the producers and the director used the material available to them in the best possible way they can, and the film could only become lengthier and ever more compelling when they find a story to attach to it.

Golden Gays is at the top of my list of places to visit if I ever make it to Manila

Zan (Woman) was the second film in the series. Produced & Directed by Farinaz Nikbakht, it is available in its entirety on Youtube. It tells us about the liberation from their husbands, marriages and other forms of oppression of three different Iranian women by way of quick and short interviews. It was neither an eye-opener, nor a cinematic breakthrough in my perspective but in many ways, I felt that it was the most relevant of the 4 films we saw, with respect to theme of the day, if not, to the event as intended by its curators (I will say more about this later). Even though the film is not remarkable as a whole, its slightly experemintative and figurative scenes and the background music make for a different experience than many may have had gotten accustomed to in documentaries. I, personally, loved the music but found the interviews too short, and the their outcome too little to argue for what the filmmakers (I suspect, through the Youtube description, but it may be someone else who wrote it) may think the film is showing: "Contrary to common belief, these women are not victims but fighters".

The third film, Dyketactics took us back in time to deep into the 1970s. In my opinion, and I am not sure if this description exists, it was a lesbian orgy pyschedelia. The curator of the night argued that this was one of the first films which was made by a lesbian, entirely on lesbians without any other connotations to it than the free-spirit sexuality it depicted. You can see a short clip from the film here. It certainly stood out from the rest of the pack, but, at first, I was not even sure why it was included in the selection. As revolutionary as it may have been for the history of documentary-making (if not cinema as a whole), surely there should have been a strong motivation to show a film from 1974, and especially this one in the light of the event. It is then I realised that this event had little to do with women, but with gender and sexuality as a whole. Now, obviously, at that point I did not recall the name of the event, hence my surprise; however, more significantly, despite the obvious overlaps, these discourses deserve attention in their own respects and could easily have been subjects of series of screenings in their own rights. If the latter was the intention for this night, that is OK, but it surely has very little to do with women's day, which was the thought that kept lingering in my mind, and which I set aside when I decided to wait and see the final film.

Twinset, by Amy Rose, the trailer of which you can see here was a lovely film. It is revolved around the daily life of Alan/Jennifer, a person who could possibly be described as double-gendered who (and I missed this bit whilst watching the film) either fluctuates between the two or has already completed the transformation from once being Alan, now to being full-time Jennifer. Jennifer was born to a mother who expected twins, but she was the only one that came out; but one could easily argue - and that is where the title of the films seems to come to - that Jennifer already embodies a twin set. Jennifer's routines are depicted by the camera that follows her in the streets, to her sunday masses, and at her (or her mother's home) where she and the mom have often argumentative, yet very polite, and always dark-humoured and funny conversations. In so many ways, the film depicts the problems Jennifer may have encountered in her life, withough giving us much hint about her background and how she may have overcome them, but through an image that depicts her as a self-confident, peaceful and a generous person; all of which make up for an unusually sun-washed documentary, set in Scotland (hence the double-reference to unusual sun). This, and the first film were certainly the highlights of the evening for me, and we were very lucky to have the producer of the first one and the director of the last one to have a small discussion/conversation after the screenings.

Twinset is a truly beautiful documentary about what seems to be a beautiful person.

It is rather easy and fair for me to say that I liked the films, in general and the curation, too. There was some variety in terms of geographies and stories depicted but there seemed to be a predominant theme that related to type of characters depicted in the films and that had to do with issue of gender. Some of the discussions after the film also related to this. What I did not have an easy time with was the fact that, although gender is one of the most important and challenging issues, which provides for some of the most outstanding independent and contemporary cinema works I have seen, it does not always and necessarily reflect the issues that women have had to endure, and which I thought the International Women's Day was all about, in terms of raising awareness.

In a way, this selection reaches out to a group of people who are already aware of certain issues relating to gender at an advanced stage, and the fact that there was hardly any exterme reaction to what was shown and discussed could prove this point. So, then, why was the night centred around this topic? That, I don't know, however I could not keep myself from wondering why there could not be more emphasis on films that dealt with the problems such as labour or sexual exploitation, domestic violence, segregation or exclusion that are faced on a day-to-day bases by women all around the world, even in the most advanced societies. I remembered some of the films I have seen at film festivals; examples from world cinema such as my recent favourite Choco, which certainly had its shortcomings, yet was a decent find for someone who is outside of that world, or Lilja 4-ever which provided me with great exposure to some brutal facts of life. I am not trying to say that there are easily traceable counterparts of such films in contemporary short-documentary films but I had to admit that I was slightly misled by what I felt to be the disconnect of what the recurring theme of the screenings were and what I thought was the meaning of 8th of March.

Nonetheless, thanks a lot to Open City London Documentary Festival and Hub Westminster, I felt indulged in a useful activity and there are few occasions where I would say "no" to a free cinema event, especially when quality of the films are what some of these films had in them. On the other hand, there is a lot to be though about and done with respect to the people's comprehension and dealing with the identities, roles and all the underlying connotations of women, or any other gender, ethnicity, nationality, race, and any and all representations where applicable. Someone most special to me has had huge impact on raising awareness on these issues for me and even though she may not be near me at the moment, I am sure she knows who she is. This is probably why I can understand why still so few people try to face, challenge and embrace these sensitive paradigms I tried to refer to. Yet, we all need to contribute a lot more to this debate. Every day and all the time, there is only more to consider and I'd rather we start getting there sooner.

one cocktail too many - Part II: Tyneside

2012-03-05T23:00:00.000Z

There were four songs that accompanied me during this trip: The first one was the most influential in igniting that idea to walk up North London to watch the sunrise, which I mentioned, as the initial step in what eventually ended up as this trip. It is Glósóli by Sigur Rós, and in fact the last (and the second time) I had watched them live was Alexandra Palace, the very place where I wanted to head up to watch the sunrise. Sigur Rós have been a long-running favourite band of mine, and it is little surprise they can have such dramatic effect on my psyche at times of self-conscious emotional flexibility/vulnerability. It was another favourite band's, Calexico's Roka and its warmer, Mexicana tunes that gave me the feeling that, I should rather keep going but not follow a long, cold walk but one that will take me to further places, not necessarily warm and deserty in this case, but one, during which I can transcend into a mental journey, too, which was easy to achieve while snoring my way into patched dreams while their music tingled my ears in the background. They were joined by a recent discovery, Mumford & Sons, whose The Cave and Thistle & Weeds completed the quattro. It was in this order that I repeatedly listened to them, most of which, in my sleep. Now, by providing the links, I don't expect the reader to transcend into what I may have been feeling on a cold, damp Newcastle morning where even the seagulls seemed to have abandoned, despite the fact that it was already nearing 10 AM. Neither should I expect you to mix yourselves some German wheat beer, port wine, Aztec (tequila, spices, cacao and something else) and some prohibition-era cocktails although I can assure you they make up for a good mix, if consumed over sufficient number of hours. What I can certainly assure you is not to start your next-day hangover with black coffee and that is what I precisely did whilst trying to blend into my Tyneside weekend excursion.

If there is one feature that an outsider like me would assume dominate the Newcastle area is water, and there seems to be plenty of it. River Tyne is wider than many other rivers I have encountered in the United Kingdom around which major urban agglomerations have been founded. Newcastle sits about 10-km (6 miles) inland from Tynemouth, where the River Tyne flows into the North Sea. As far as I can understand, and to my disappointment, it does not directly connect with the other major rivers or canals within England and thus is not necessarily part of the famous extensive network of waterways but the importance of the river in the history of the city is, unsurprisingly, significant. Quayside, as I mentioned in my previous entry, has bent the commercial hub of Tyneside. By Tyneside, we should understand the combination of Newcastle-upon-Tyne and Gateshead cities that sit across from one another, on the northern and southern banks of the river, respectively. History says the name "Newcastle" is owed to the construction of a castle by Robert Curthose, eldest son of William the Conqueror built a castle here on return from a raid into Scotland. Clearly, if this was a new castle, built in the Norman times, there was a settlement here from long before. And those who may know about Hadrian's Wall may also understand the significance of this part of Britain, where the Romans who had once conquered here their northernmostly part of their empire wanted to build a defensive wall against the Caledonians, the Celtic Highlanders referred to by the Romans as such. Many people still mistake Hadrian's Wall as the marking point of the borders between today's England and Scotland but that is not true. There is still more to England further north of Hadrian's Wall, but I shall not go into that now. In fact, I will not even talk any further about Hadrian's Wall, because that was an itinerary that I always wanted to do and by the time I realised it was not going to be achievable on this very trip, I decided to bury that somewhere deep in my mind and focus on what I had available in front of me: number of bridges spanning the Tyne.

Many of the seven bridges were built between the mid-19th century to the early 20th century, in the aftermath and on the heritage of the city's rise through the Industrial Revolution. Coal mining remained as one of the leading industries of the city for many years. The city went to an inevitable decline in the early to mid-20the centuries, and especially following the Great Depression, specifically due to its high reliance on exports while manufacturing played a key role in the city's economy. I had little information about the specific history of Newcastle, but anyone with some knowledge about British history and geography can have a good idea of the fate the northern English cities have suffered after the end of the industrial revolution and through the inter-war period and in its immediate aftermath. As this trip gave me the chance to reflect on these, especially under an overcast sky and in the perceived lack of people around, I remember about the story of some coal miners who took art courses and made a major contribution to the history of British art in the inter-war period, which was made into a book and is now an imprssive play which Kara went to see recently. Now I want to see the play, too, but I also wonder whether his review of the play that he had originally shared with me a couple of months ago had sub-consciously affected me in my decision to head up to Newcastle.

By the time I started to get bored of one bridge after the other, trying to decide where I should cross the river (and why), I realised that a city that kept its medieval heritage rather well, started to appear to my left. It was the mixture of the water feature, the industrial heritage, and architectural heritage of even earlier times (or remakings of them) and the varied topography (with narrow streets through unexpected hills) of this city that I was getting introduced to suddenly made me feel very attached to it. It also helped me overcome the repeating question in my mind: "what the hell am I doing here, and what am I going to do for the whole day"? Now, I have always been a big fan of waterfront cities with hills. If you have nothing else to do, just spot a few ideal places whilst walking on the waterfront (which is often where you start your city tour) and find ways to get to that top of the hill you just marked. Make sure you follow a consistent direction but try to get lost in the unexpected diversions as much as possible. And finally, voila, you find yourself with the most spectacular view of the entire city and its river/sea/lake under your feet... that is only if the weather is not shit or you have super-human skills to see through the clouds. Yet on this day I was not going to complain about the weather; if anything, the cold fresh northerly breeze was helping me recover subtly and the weather was only going to get better for the most part of the day.

Many formerly predominantly industrial cities suffered crises through the 20th century. Many cities that relied on manufacturing lost out to cheaper competitors elsewhere in the country and then further in the international market through the latter stages of the 20th century, too. Many waterfront settlements fell into decay and lost their authenticity, too. I had little idea as to what kind of transformations Newcastle went through but a city that had become the centre of printing, coal mining, glass making, locomotive manufacturing, ship building over time should be able to rub off its decay even if it was something along the lines of "...as the 20th century progressed, trade on the Newcastle and Gateshead quaysides gradually declined, until by the eighties both sides of the river were looking rather derelict. Shipping company offices had closed along with offices of firms related to shipping. There were also derelict warehouses lining the riverbank". And it looks like what may have saved Newcastle was not only its football club that marketed the city internationally but also the proactive and immediate response to the city's parents to draw up masterplans to re-develop the Quayside. And as biased as I may be, I think it worked well. A similar story is read through the waterfront re-development of Gateshead, where the city re-created its image through architecture. As much as it may seem superficial, and out-of-place in any other city I have been to, something made me feel that Gateshead's attempts were rather honest, humble and fit well with what was happening on the other side.

Gateshead decided to remove the one on the left from its skyline and replaced it with the one on the right and I think that was a good idea.

It is the The Sage Gateshead I found myself visiting, following my simple rule of trying to head up to the top of the hill to get a better view. Had it not been for the impressive graffiti I have encountered on the small alleyway leading to the entrance of The Sage and had it not been for the early Saturday passers who with their warm northerly smiles and nods drew me towards their direction, I might have given The Sage a skip. But I had other urges, too. I needed to use the bathroom, and I desperately needed some coffee!... and boy was that last one a wrong decision that I would regret...

It was before midday Saturday but The Sage was filling up with a curious crowd of young and old people. Before too long, I had ordered my black coffee and taken one of the free tables, across from what looked like a pretty comprehensive music stage. And there came the presenter up and said "welcome to you all for this BBC Music Nation Concourse Performances" and suddenly 5 young girls (aged around 16-17?) turned up on the stage and started playing their music. It all felt brilliant, these young people playing melodic tunes, high-treble, low-bass sound with an extremely loud keyboard into my dark as hell coffee and the sun started showing its face through the clouds behind the large, funky windows of the building. But, by the time the band started their second song after the rather funny introduction "if you have heard us before, you may know this one" (and so much for their confidence, well done girls), I felt like I needed to move on. I had already taken too long a part in this beautiful local setting and the rest of the crowd consisting of decent families could possibly smell my alcohol-soaked clothes from miles away and their baby kids (and I often have nice eye contact with little kids) were frighteningly drawn into my hazel-blooded eyes. I just needed more fresh air.

Across the funky Millenium Bridge and I was back in the old town of Newcastle. By now I had read that a landmark monument I wanted to see for a long time was nearby and I could take a bus from central Newcastle, which I had not yet been to (up the hill again and behind the train station). I started to climb through the narrow streets, passed the Grey Street (named after Prime Minister Early Grey, but at that moment, as far as I was concerned, it could represent the general weather or what I felt like was the colour of my stomach), passed Amen Street and had a very brief look at the surviving walls of the actual castle and rushed myself behind the walls of a nearby cathedral. And there I had my first of the day!

A painful vomit... and an innocent-looking elderly gentleman whom I have apologised to for ruining his streets and from who I got a rather cold and confused "pardon". Boy, do I love the northern accent even if all I hear is "pardon".

Before too long I got myself to Eldon Square, where I would catch my bus. I walked through the main street, the shopping mall and could already start seeing the youth of this typical English town pouring in. I knew I was going to get back here and get myself exposed to all that hype but now I had one destination to go to...

...and thus I jumped on the municipal bus number 21 for my trip to go see Angel of the North (one more episode to go...)

one cocktail too many - Part I: my own prohibition in Newcastle.

2012-03-04T12:00:00.000Z

Part II is here: http://ocavusoglu.blogspot.com/2012/03/one-cocktail-too-many-part-ii-tyneside.html

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This is where it all started. No, in fact, this is where everything ended, and re-started in a different shape. Everything new that made this story possible. Everything that happened due to events prior to it (or lack thereof).

When I left the office around 5:30 PM on Friday, with the plans to head to Christien's magazine launch within the next half hour, I thought I'd give Can the usual LSE Friday evening calls to see if he wanted to grab a beer. After an unsuccessful attempt, had he not called me back and decided to come down for a drink, none of what I am about to explain would have happened. Neither would they, had we been not joined later by Pinar, Kara, and Oya; and decided to head back to another pub because Oya felt cold and spend enough time there for me to ditch my magazine launch plans, at the expense of disappointing Adam, Christien, and Olivia who I had earlier invited to the occasion.

Had Kara and I not had long, long, long, deep, and enjoyable conversations over some white port and red wine after a huge sausage meal at Herman ze German, I would not be writing any of this at all. And if we were not in London and a place like Gordon's Wine Bar had to close down its outer space on a fine late winter/early spring's evening, we would not even have though of moving on to Freud's for some cocktails. I am still a confrontational person but my patience skills have taught me how to deal with annoying offenders and this way I could avoid a fight with two guys who were being cocky, yet showed them I was not a pushover. Maybe that helped me and Kara stay for another couple of cocktails, in stead of heading back home wearily. And that brought us to polish the night at our local speakeasy whose creative cocktail menu and the setting we just fell in love with, which you can see in the picture.

Were I not cycling the whole night, and in fact, had I not re-started working at LSE Cities; might have I not forgotten to buy myself a new set of earplugs since I lost the others two days ago and borrowed Adam's amazing earphones which I forgot to return to him; then I would not have started taking a walk after getting back home, because the music felt good, I wanted to cool-off from all the night's movement and walking my bicycle home and the patchy sky was inviting me to watch a lonely sunset. At that moment, I thought of walking all the way up to Wood Green to catch the sunrise from Alexandra Palace. It did not take too long before I realised I'd get cold and bored pretty soon and that if I really want to go further north, it should be worthy of the trip. This is when I decided to head to King's Cross. I picked up my iPhone charger and my passports, knowing that if I took the next bus to King's Cross, I would have about an hour before the trains heading north of England started the day's service. Plenty of time to start a recovery from the hangover, decide on my itinerary and find something to eat...

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It had been a while since I have done trips on my own. Obviously, Dani's presence, as well as my change in travel preferences over the years have been key reasons to enjoy my trips in the company of others; but circumstances have somewhat forced me to take matters into own hand, lately. I did a small cinema-oriented trip to Berlin (although I have friends there) two weeks ago, but this one came totally out of the blue and I enjoyed every minute of it.

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I know I wrote this before, but no harm in stating it again. When my father was taking me to Sirkeci Train Station before I took the early morning train to Thessaloniki to start my 30-day solo travel on the rail tracks across Europe at the age of 19, I had a cramp in my stomach and almost decided to ditch the trip altogether. I had second thoughts 7 days into the trip in my lonesome experience of Barcelona, and on my last day in Paris when it started raining down the sky and down my eyes for reasons that are difficult to comprehend, let alone state. But, that trip changed so many things in my life and if I had missed any day of it, it would not have been the same. Irrespective of the location or of their length, some trips are better off, not fiddled with. Yet, many will start with a funny feeling in the stomach until you actually hit the road and the sunflower-filled fields start passing through the tilted windows.

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First train up northwards that fit my desired itinerary leaves London King's Cross Station at 06:15 on a Saturday morning. As bizarre as it may be, the return ticket to York was much more expensive than that to Newcastle, which is a farther distance than York is. I had heard some interesting things about Newcastle. While I was confirming my PIN-code at the ticket machine, I was not in a position to remember whether those "interesting" things were good things, thanks to the 6-digit alcohol volume level in my blood, but alas, I was to find out, and as a saying goes in Turkish (and in many other languages I am sure); it is not the one who reads more, but the one who travels more, learns more about life.

I disagree, at large, with those who claim iPhones limit mobility in the sense that it constrains you heavily into social activity and frequent email correspondence and limits your ability to adapt into the physical setting you are in. True it may be, in some senses, if it weren't for my iPhone, I would not have had the chance to check the train times and ticket prices without actually heading to King's Cross and, unfortunately, when you don't plan your itineraries well, when traveling in London, things can get so frustrating that you give up in the 1st minute. This time, I had enough time, and just about enough consciousness to stop by home, take my iPhone charger, 6 tablets of Alka Seltzer, fill up a bottle with filtered water and head to the station. 4 Alka Seltzer pills just about had enough in them to help me endure a 3.5 hours train journey on cramped East Coast route seats, following my somewhat uncanny selection of honeyed turkey and butter sandwich. I barely remember any stops we made along the way, I certainly missed the sunrise, and I am sure it was hidden behind clouds anyway, I have no recollection of the scenery (although I took this route to Edinburgh once before) and I could barely keep myself awake before reaching Newcastle to make sure I didn't end up where I wasn't supposed to, the end station of the route.

I stepped afoot outside the train and all I knew was that there was a river with a few bridges on it, which I saw, on my way into the Central Station, on the train. The path near the river was called Quayside, and thanks to my experiences in other British cities on riversides and water streams (Liverpool, Oxford, Cambridge, Belfast, Birmingham, not least London), Quayside should take me somewhere interesting. It also looked like streets encompassing Quayside were more dense and narrower and more crooked around Quayside and that should mean an urban centre, and I knew all this thanks to the tiny city maps outside the train station and the Google Maps.

So I started my Newcastle-upon-Tyne discovery, walking down a hill that curved past a Chinese restaurant, superimposed by a dominating large, blue bridge. A couple of young lads, probably on their night's after-hours tours at 10 AM, buzzed their friend's security-gated apartment. I turned around the corner and rolled down the hill to reach the waterfront, after this first and brief human encounter. I could see the early joggers and fishermen setting the scene in what I was about to set myself into... (more to follow)

Les Misérables, Ciné Lumière and a sunday cinema double bill

2012-02-13T00:34:00.003Z

When I checked the clock, it was still very early. My eyes were unable to pick up the light outside to tell me whether the sun had already set as I woke up from a terrifying dream: a tall, blonde guy was answering all the questions correctly; with answers that I would have no idea about. He was before me in the queue, and I would be the next up. I realised I had no chance, and that is when I woke up with a cold sweat. It did not take long before I went to sleep again. When the hour finally hit 10 and I woke up to a cold and dry Sunday morning, I prayed that the actual experience would have no resemblance to what I had earlier dreamt.

It took me about 15 minutes to walk down to Barbican from my house. I had not eaten breakfast but I had no intention to get to my destination any later than I already was. I did not shave although I thought about it. I did not comb my hair, not there is much of it, but I also thought about it. I did not wear anything special, and I did not put much thought in it, anyway. By the time I got to Beech Street, I could already see the long queue, that stretched all the way from the entrance of the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, curling its way around the Barbican Centre and one of the iconic towers of the Barbican Estate. I was disappointed with myself, knowing that I should have gotten here earlier, say, at 8 AM. But to be fair to myself, I would not even have turned up for my first ever try to be an extra in a feature film, had I not met L. and Z. who told me about it yesterday; had I not gone to the cinema with M. and invited R. who ran into L. and Z. at the theatre, with whom we had lunch afterwards. By the looks of the queue, it looked as if I was not going to make it into the registration for Tom Hooper's remake of Les Misérables.

So, there were no questions or interviews in the end like those in my nightmare. But there was not much remedy in showing up a little late, neither. It was announced shortly after my arrival that already more than 2,000 people showed up and that we would have to wait up to 4 hours, with no guarantee to get inside the building. Soon after that turned into "we will issue some tickets to those of you who we believe to be unique but others will not be seen today". It was something spectacular to see such interest to be an extra for a film. To be fair, though, the production is big, its cast is ambitious and there is a £110/day to be earned over the few days of shooting that the extras would be part of. Sadly, I was not qualified as unique, and neither were L. or Z. for this film's purpose. I was less about the £110/day to be had, but more in the idea of getting a foot in a major feature film production, something that I keep on dreaming about, and looks like there will be more dreaming than reality in the foreseeable future. Ah, how I thought I would shine as an extra in one of the dreadful scenes as a prisoner or a "miserable", how I practised the day before in the company of others, only to first entertain and then annoy them, and how this would have fit perfectly next to my role at the 2012 Olympics. Well, so much for Les Misérables, we thought, as we moved on.

After a brunch with L. and Z., I decided to head to Leicester Square for a cinema double bill. It has been long time since I saw two films back to back at a cinema. In fact, it has been long since I have done it on the TV or on a computer, too, but my history with back-to-back films at the cinema go a long way. For those of you who at some point in their lives have been "festival-goers", you would know about the rituals of seeing 4 to 5 films a day with the occasional lunch, dinner, coffee breaks, hovering from one cinema theatre to another one, only to bump into celebrities, friends, and those involved with the art of cinema who are often not to be seen in social environments whatsoever for the rest of the year. I have had the privilege to experience this in Istanbul, Berlin, London (and almost in New York) over the years. Even though each city has its own characteristics, and often the events are held at different seasons (in the harsh snowy winters of Berlin to tulip-blossoming springs of Istanbul and the rain-washed autumns of London), they all have one thing in common. For the "festival-goer", the city becomes a large film set as you wonder from one scene to the another. People on the street are your own extras, and your environment is your soundtrack. These were the thoughts I had when I decided to give my lone self another go at a back-to-back cinema experience. There were two films in my list that have been at the theatres for a long time and were about to be pulled out: Hugo 3D and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Luckily on unluckily, they were both playing at the Odeon Cinema at Leicester Square and at back-to-back sessions.

I started off with Hugo 3D. It was 2 PM, I was full with a nice Sunday roast and on time to avoid the early commercials and nothing could make me less happy... than the fact that Odeon was overpriced, the hall was tiny, the screen tinier, and I was sitting at the corner of the first row. It was not the 3-D glasses I wore for 2 hours that bothered me, it was rather my neck that squeaked more than the automaton featured in the film.

It was around the halfway through the film that Isabelle, the lead girl of the film, referred to Hugo, the lead boy and the character, as Jean Valjean in a reference that I cannot remember right now. If it wasn't for T. who reminded the day before that Jean Valjean was the main character of Les Misérables, I would probably have missed that funny reference. Then, after all, could the name Hugo, of the main character, be a reference to the great Victor Hugo, the author of Les Misérables? It felt as if my day with Les Misérables was not over yet. Jean Valjean did not provide the only coincidental reference to some of the conversations we had the day before with T., L. and Z. L. works for an organisation, based at the UCL who run a documentary film festival in June called "Open City". Although I did not recall this at first, now I seem to remember that we occasionally received emails from this organisation on their monthly documentary screenings while I worked at LSE Cities. There is a round of screenings for the European Documentary Festival starting at the Ciné Lumière in London on 16th of February, Thursday and there is a screening at the UCL on the 22nd.

The fact that Hugo celebrates the cinema of the late George Mèliés and therefore touches upon the history of early cinema and the Lumière Brothers was another nice coincidence linking up today and yesterday. The extraordinary visual representation of cinema of Mèliés is one aspect of Hugo that I think may win the film the Academy Award for Best Picture. In that regard, I am sure it will touch some people's hearts rather lightly like one of its competitors The Artist does. However, what makes Hugo even more extraordinary is its use of the 3D technology. I am one of those who believe that Avatar was somewhat a joke and its use of 3D was such a gimmick. I listened to many podcasts of Kermode and Mayo on BBC Radio 5 (much recommended for film lovers) over the years and got myself indulged in thinking about where I stand with the whole 3D debate in contemporary cinema. I found it very courageous of a filmmaker like Martin Scorsese to open himself to such development. I guess that what makes him one of the most celebrated directors of all time, his ever continuing appetite for progress and boy has he been successful in genres and over decades. He talks to Kermode and Mayo about how he "wants to do all his future films in 3D from now on" in one of their programmes. There is a lot to be said about Hugo but I do not want to make a full film review out of it, here and now. I just want to say I really enjoyed it, and it was yet another joyful coincidence to see Michael Stuhlbarg take part in it, the man who plays the character of spectacular Arnold Rothstein, the early 20th century and Prohibition-era mafia in what is my current favourite TV show, Boardwalk Empire. And guess who is one of the executive producers and the director of the pilot episode of the show?! None other than Mr. Martin Scorsese, himself.

The second film of the day was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I was looking forward to this film for a long, long while. I have to admit I was a bit confused when I first saw the trailer to and the posters of the first of the trilogy by David Fincher's adaptation of Stieg Larsson's literature. The name of the film sounded very familiar but I could not quite make out how. I did not know of Larsson's books before hand but then I realised that films with a similar name to this had just been released a couple of years ago; these were the Swedish versions of what Hollywood then re-made. This was probably one of the fastest remakes I have ever encountered. Although it may be argued that they are not remakes but just Hollywood adaptations of the novels, as against the Swedish versions, I reckon, had there been no Swedish TV-cinema production of this literature, Hollywood may have never picked it up. There were a number of reasons why I looked so much forward this film, other than its trailer being awesome.

First of all, I am a big fan of David Fincher's cinema. I am part of a generation of youngsters for whom Fight Club and its subsequent soundtrack meant something. The film was the cinematic representation of the way in which we wanted to go through our adolescence. Although other fringely mainstream films like Requiem for a Dream would be what we would like to aspire to, were we to have artistic careers (but not the types of lives depicted in it), most of us must have thought we could end up like Tyler Durden at some point in our lives. For me, Fincher was already special with Se7en and The Game (which a lot of people underestimate, I find) and Zodiac had just put him in a special place. And I think I also liked The Social Network more than many others I know. What I find so delightful in Fincher's films, apart from the great soundtracks, the audio-visual feasts, the always-right pace (often fast, sometimes delicately slow and always a good mix of both), his appetite for peculiar characters, is that he can pretty much make a film of any story you will give him. Obviously it helps if he is feeding from a text from Aaron Sorkin, or great literature, but I think he is one of the few directors that can make you watch what is practically a legal case and make a good entertainment out of it. With The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, he already had something fascinating to play with.

Another reason why I anticipated his take on the Swedish thriller was the Immigrant Song. Immigrant Song has been a top-20 in my playlist during my high-school years. I had given Led Zeppelin a good long break since high school, bar the summer when Robert Plant came into town (Istanbul) for the Jazz Festival I was working at, but hearing a raw Karen O (of Yeah Yeah Yeahs) take on a Trent Reznor cover of what was one of my long-time Led Zeppelin favourites clearly got me going. Should I also add here that Nine Inch Nails's dark The Great Below was a beyond-inspirational song during my early teens?

The film lived up to my expectations. I have to say that at times I felt Fincher compromised on the story's magnificence for the sake of some mainstream elements. It looks as if he gave into the Hollywood formula of making the film more approachable to wider audiences by making the characters a little more human than what they may normally be (I have to admit I have not read the books, though). Their relationships progress almost in a comical contrast to what we expect of their very strong, individual beings. Of course, with such successfully built-up violent rape and snuff scenes, the film is anything but a Sunday family outing, yet there is something in it that makes us realise we are watching a Fincher suspense thriller, but not a Gaspar Noé psychopathy. David Fincher seems to have followed, once again, his interest in dealing with complicated the state of affairs of individuals' dealing with some predominant social aspects of the societies in which they can (or cannot) operate (as he did so well with Se7en, Fight Club, or Zodiac). The fast-paced film makes for an easily followable and watchable two and a half hours of dark and wintry landscape. Some small details here and there also let the audience take a breather: I loved how the IT geek Lisbeth meets in the beginning of the film wears a NIN t-shirt, a reference to Trent Reznor who wrote the soundtrack. The entire theatre burst to loud laughter when Lisbeth was seen with her t-shirt reading "fuck you you fucking fuck" during her "morning after" enriched with the unexpected visit from Mikael, the journalist. And it did not take me too long to fall in love with the character of Lisbeth.

Fincher is one of the remaining great, mainstream filmmakers who has not yet adopted 3D into his cinema. I have not yet heard of him outrulr 3D from his future films, in the fashion that Christopher Nolan did. I have to say I agree with Nolan's reasoning of why he does not choose to use 3D, at least just yet, for the final part of his Batman: The Dark Knight trilogy. In this regard, as I said earlier, I hold Scorsese's pioneering decision and his use of the technology in high regard but for the moment, we can live with the IMAX, provided it comes with good stories, good acting and good directing. In that case, I don't even mind moving my neck right and left as if I am watching a tennis game (as against watching a bungee jumping event).

As my 4 hours and 45 minutes of double-bill cinema came to an end - and by its length, that could be 3 back-to-back films - I decided to re-fill my supplies with some "eat as much as you can" Chinatown goodies, reminiscing of my poor first year in London, doing my MSc. That was not the only thing that made me remember things, though. As I took a nice, 45-minute walk back home I re-visited the scenes from the day and from my own persona past. I traveled around Gare du Nord, making my way over the bridges over Seine, and across to the remote island in northern Sweden, then swimming down the Gulf of Bothnia to Gamla Stan in Stockholm, reminded of my "miserable" self cycling in the freezing cold in the dark winter nights in Denmark, or walking home from a long day of cinema through the prostitutes and stray cats on a spring evening in Istanbul. Yet again, the cities were my film set, devoid of extras on a late Sunday evening in London with deserted streets but I was happy to move from one scene to the next.

Bir Kamu-Özel İştiraki: Occupy London

2012-01-29T16:00:00.000Z

Cogito Dergisi'nin 69. sayısı (Kış 2011-2012) yayımlanan yazıma buradan ulaşabilirsiniz.

“En nihayetinde Occupy London hareketinin şekillendiği mekanın, hareketin yarattığı anlatı kapsamındaki önemi, siyaset ekonomisi ve sosyal hareketler merceğinde mekânsal olguların taşıdığı anlamı simgeler nitelikte.”

Arkadaşlarımın Stratford High Street üzerinde, son 5 ila 10 yıl arasında inşa edilmiş, güvenlik kodu girişli sayısız binalardan birinde verdiği yemek davetinden çıkmıs, eve dönüyordum. Evin balkonundan son rötuşları tamamlanmak üzere olan Olimpiyat Stadı ve Anish Kapoor’un 2012 Londra Olimpiyat Oyunları için The Orbit’e bakarken ev sahibiyle önceki akşam katıldığım Olimpiyat Oyunları Açılış ve Kapanış Seremonileri seçmeleri hakkında konuşuyorduk. Konu bir ara, yaklaşık 2 ay önce açıldığı günden itibaren Londra’nın bu bölgesinde yaşayanlar için önemli bir haber haline gelen Westfield Stratford City’ye geldi.

Avustralyalı dev yatırımcıların son şubesi olan bu AVM, içinde barındırdığı onlarca mağaza ve Vue Sinemaları'yla kısa sürede gözde bir mekan olmuştu. Stratford mahallesi, Birleşik Krallık genelinde ölçülen çoklu yoksunluk endeksinde en yoksun %13’lük dilimde yer alıyor. Olimpiyat Parkı Çevre Düzeni ve Yerel Kalkınma Planları uyarınca Westfield’da açılan mağazalarda çalışacak kişilerin çoğunun bölge halkı arasından seçilmesi gerektiği belirlenmişti. Şimdi bu mağazalarda çalışanların önemli bir bölümünün okuma-yazmayı mağazalarda çalışmaya başladıktan sonra aldıkları eğitimler sürecinde öğrenmelerine ise şaşırmamalı. Bölgede yaşamayan çalışanlarsa Stratford, Pudding Mill Lane, Stratford International gibi yeni açılan ya da genişletilen ulaşım ağına eklenen ve üst-yapıları geliştirilen istasyonları kullanıyordu. 1990’larda Canary Wharf’ta olduğu gibi, Londra 2012 Olimpiyatları’nda da, özel iştirakler yerel istihdamın artırılması, altyapı ve konut gibi kamu yatırımlarının tedariki gibi konularda yerel yönetimler ve merkezi hükümetle el ele Londra’nın yeni bir bölgesine şekil veriyordu. İngltere'de [1] geniş ölçekli kent planlamasında kamu ve özel sektör ortaklığının tercih edilmesi 1980’lerde Margaret Thatcher başbakanlığı döneminden beri yoğun olarak sürdürülmekte. Bu ortaklık sadece kent planlaması özelinde değil, toplumun genel sosyo-politik altyapısında sıklıkla rastlanan bir iş modeli olarak benimsenmiştir.

Yemekten çıkmış, gece otobüslerinden biriyle evime dönerken, evime en yakın olan duraktan birkaç durak önce Moorgate’te otobüsten indim. Tam karşımda, Occupy London hareketi çerçevesinde, St. Paul's Katedrali Avlusu’ndan sonra kendilerine ikinci kamp yeri olarak belirledikleri Finsbury Meydanı’nda konuşlanmış protestocular ve çadırları, City of London'ın (City) çeşitli iş merkezlerinin ofis odalarından yayılan ışıkların altında yeni bir geceye hazırlanıyorlardı. Karşılarında Bloomberg, biraz arkalarında Deutsche Bank ve UBS, yan sokaklarında JP Morgan ve diğerleri. Ana kamp olan St. Paul's Katedrali Avlusu'na yaklaşık 15 dakika yürüme mesafesinde, aralarında Londra’nın 150 metre yüksekliği aşan 11 binasından 4 tanesinin berisindeki fikirdaşları ile aynı amacı paylaştıkları söylemiyle...

Konuşlandıkları mekanı ilginç kılan noktalardan biri de, St. Paul’s Katedrali Avlusu’nun (ve buraya yerleşmeden önce esas olarak işgal etmek istedikleri yer olan Londra Borsası’nın bulunduğu Paternoster Meydanı’nın) aksine, Finsbury Meydanı’nın City’nin hemen dışında kalıyor olması. City, nam-ı diğer Mil Kare (bu ismi yaklaşık 1 mil karelik bir alana yayılmış olmasından dolayı alır), Londra’nın 33 yerel yönetim biriminden biri olmasıyla birlikte, diğer 32'sinden de farklı bir tarihe ve yapılanmaya sahip. City, tanım olarak, bu bölgeye konut, eğitim, çöp toplama, sosyal hizmetler, kent planlaması gibi belediye hizmetleri sağlayan City of London [2] (kısaca Şirket) yerine kullanılsa da, aynı zamanda birbiriyle ilintili ama tam olarak örtüşmeyen coğrafi, tarihi, kültürel ve politik tanımları da barındırmakta. Şirket’in üstlendiği en önemli görevlerden biri burayı tüm Britanya coğrafyasının en önemli finans ve ticaret merkezi yaparak, bu alanlarda dünyanın diğer merkezleri ile rekabetçi bir konumda kalmasını sağlamaktır. Karmaşık tarihinin yanı sıra, kendinden menkul bu tür bir ulusal (veya Birleşik Krallık’ı oluşturan İngiltere ve diğer ulusların da ötesinde bir uluslararası) iddia ve göreve sahip bir yapılanmanın Britanya’nın sosyo-politik ve ekonomik kültürüne bir nebze de olsa ayna tuttuğunu göz önünde bulundurmakta fayda var. Öyle ki, ülkedeki diğer tüm siyasi yapılanmalardan farklı olarak, City’nin Lord Belediye Başkanı [3], sadece bir yıllığına bu göreve gelmekte ve herhangi bir siyasi partiyle bağlantılı olmaksızın seçilmektedir. Bu veriler göz önüne alındığında, Occupy London hareketinin diğer şehirlerindeki muadillerinden, mekânsal olarak söylenebilir.

15 Ekim 2011 günü, dünyanın birçok kentinde eş zamanlı olarak düzenlenen işgal hareketleriyle birlikte Occupy London hareketi de, Londra Borsası’nın bulunduğu Paternoster Meydanı’nda kamp yapmak isteyen protestocuların öğle saatlerinde St. Paul’s metro istasyonunda toplanmasıyla başladı. Protestoya karşı önceden hazırlığını yapan Mitsubishi Emlak Grubu, mal sahibi olduğu meydanı kamu erişimine kapatmak için yüksek mahkemeden izin almıştı. City Polisi de meydana açılan tüm girişlerin önüne “yeterli” sayıda görevli yerleştirince, yaklaşık bir saatlik ve yoğun olmayan bir temastan sonra protestocular St. Paul’s Katedrali’nin önünde toplanarak basın açıklaması yaptılar. Julian Assange’ın da, şartlı tahliye altında olmasına rağmen, konuk katılımcı olarak bir konuşma verdiği etkinlik, protestocuların çadırlarını çıkarıp, katedralin önündeki avluya kamp kurmalarıyla son şeklini aldı. Protestonun başlamasıyla birlikte Paternoster Meydanı’nın mal sahipleri de, meydanın kamu erişimine kapandığını, yalnızca orada çalışanların, güvenlik birimlerine kimlik göstererek alana giriş yapabileceklerini bildiren bir yazı koydular. Bu arada ilerleyen günlerde, benzer bir “protesto belası” ile karşılaşmak istemeyen Canary Wharf’taki mal sahipleri de benzer bir erişim kısıtlaması için yüksek mahkemeden izinlerini almışlardı. Aslında neden böyle bir şeye ihtiyaç duydukları da sorulabilir. Zira 19. Yüzyılda Londra’nın en önemli liman bölgesi olan Isle of Dogs’un önemli bir kısmının özelleştirilmesinden sonra burayı mesken edinen mal sahipleri, birçok binaya koydukları “üzerinde bulunduğunuz alanda erişim ve geçiş hakları kamuya ait değildir” uyarıları ile, zaten gerekli gördükleri takdirde hukuksal yollardan sizi oradan kovdurabileceklerini ima etmektedirler. Bu ve buna benzer mekanlar, çoğunlukla kentin merkezi bölgelerinde olup, oraya herhangi bir metro, otobüs ya da benzeri bir toplu taşıma aracı ile farketmeden dahi gelmiş olabilirsiniz. Peki, o halde nasıl oluyor da, dördüncü haftasına girilen Occupy London hareketinde, işgal ettikleri alan Şirket’e ait olan protestocular bulundukları yerden kaldırılmıyorlar?

Yukarıda da bahsettiğimiz gibi, Şirket, ismen her ne kadar özel bir iştirakı anımsatsa ve her ne kadar özel iş sektörlerinin gelişimi ve rekabetçiliğini koruma amacı güden bir kurum olsa da, aynı zamanda, kamu adına hareket eden yarı-özel bir yerel yönetim birimi. Esasında özerkliği öylesine önemli ki, sembolik olarak da olsa, Birleşik Krallık Hanedanı, City’yi ziyaretinde, mutlak iktidara sahip olmakla birlikte, bu hakkını temsili ve geçici olarak Lord Mayor’a vermektedir. Pratikteyse, özellikle Birleşik Krallık’ın finans hizmetleri ile ilgili düzenleyeceği yeni yürütme ve yasama kararları ile ilgili, çoğunlukla City’nin özel görüşüne başvurmaktadır. Turistler City'nin sınırları içerisinde yer alan Londra Kalesi, St. Paul’s Katedrali gibi mekanları gezerken, City’nin ofislerinde günde $1.9 trilyonluk (global piyasanın %37’si) döviz işlemleri yürütülmekte. City, her ne kadar kendi bünyesinde sadece iki tane sosyal toplu konut bulundursa da, Londra’da 6 farklı belediyede konut hizmetleri yürütmekte. Esasında, City, tam anlamıyla bir kamu-özel ortak iştirakının bir yerel yönetim ölçeğine uyarlanmış halini temsil etmekte.

İşgal hareketinin ilk akşamından itibaren, St. Paul’s Katedrali’nin rahipleri, barışçıl gösteri hakkını kullanan protestocuların bulundukları yerde kalmalarında bir sakınca olmadığını belirttiler. Her ne kadar yangın anında acil güvenlik uygulamalarının aksayabileceği endişesi ile, 2. Dünya Savaşı’ndan beri ilk defa Kilise’yi bir kaç günlüğüne kapatmak durumunda kalmış olsalar da, ve aynı zamanda muhafazakar medya ve polis güçlerinin baskılarına ve kendi içlerinde fikir ayrılıklarına düşmüş de olmalarına rağmen, kilise yönetimi protestoculara karşı yasal işlem başlatılmasından yana olmadıklarını 3. haftanın sonunda yineledi. Bu hususta, toplumsal bir amaca hizmet ettikleri iddiasında olan ve işgal ettikleri yer açısından kamusal-dini-özel tanımlarının ortasında bir yerde bulunan protestocular şimdilik, kendilerine verilen “yeni yıla kadar kalma” izniyle, pasif eylemlerine devam edecek gibi görünüyor. Her ne kadar nihai emellerine ulaşmak için önerdikleri somut adımlar pek belirgin görünmese, ve dolayısıyla toplumun belirli bir kısmı tarafından bir “sokak tiyatrosu” hareketinden öteye evrilmeyen bir hareket haline geldiği iddia edilse de, Occupy London hareketi, Londra’nın göbeğinde, konumlandığı mekan açısından tartışma yaratmaya ve yüzyıllardır süregelen bir geleneğin karşısında ilgi odağı olmaya devam ediyor. Bu süreç içerisinde birçok insanı da Londra’nın kamusal alanları, bu alanları düzenleyen yasal yapılanma, asayiş ve güvenlik tedariki, pasif direniş hareketleri ve ruhani-ideolojik-materyalist diskurlar üzerinde düşünmeye itiyor. Kim bilir, belki de hareket ilk gününde amaçladığı gibi Paternoster Meydanı’nı işgal edebilse ve spontan bir karar ile Katedral’in önüne çekilmek durumunda kalmasaydı, en kötü ihtimalle şu ana kadar çoktan kaba kuvvet kullanımı ile dağıtılmış, en hayalperest ihtimalle de kısa süre içerisinde bazı köklü değişikliklerin olmasına sebebiyet vermiş olabilirdi. En nihayetinde hareketin şekillendiği mekanın, hareketin yarattığı anlatı kapsamındaki önemi, siyaset ekonomisi ve sosyal hareketler merceğinde mekânsal olguların taşıdığı anlamı simgeler nitelikte.

^[1] Birleşik Krallık’ta planlama, Birleşik Krallık’ı oluşturan 4 ülkenin her birinde, o ülkeye özgün kurumlar tarafından yürütülmektedir. Dolayısıyla İngiltere’deki planlama faaliyetleri İngiliz Planlama Hukuku’nu esas alır, İngiltere’de yürütme her ne kadar bir Birleşik Krallik Bakanlığı olan “Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government”a bağli olsa da, kurallar bütünü Ingiliz Planlamasi olarak adlandirilir. Benzer şekilde Galler, İskoçya ve Kuzey İrlanda’nın da kendi planlama mevzuatları mevcuttur.
^[2] İng. City of London Corporation
^[3] İng. Lord Mayor of City of London

Freedom of Information Request made to the UK Border Agency

2011-12-25T19:56:00.003Z

To Whom It May Concern:

I would like to issue the following request with regards to the Freedom of Information Act:

I had been enrolled at the IRIS Scheme under my leave to remain granted as a Tier 1 (Post-Study) Work Visa. Upon switching my Visa to Tier 1 (Highly Skilled Migrant) Work visa on [disguised], my enrollment had expired and I was asked to re-register at an IRIS Registration office. Since this date, I have been trying to access an IRIS Registration office but have failed to do so in four to five attempts. I have followed the guidelines on the UKBA website, at the following link (http://www.ukba.homeoffice.gov.uk/customs-travel/Enteringtheuk/usingiris/registeriris/whereregisteriris/), and finally decided to buy my latest flight to Munich for a flight departing on [disguised] from Heathrow Terminal 5.

I was at the Heathrow Terminal 5 IRIS Registration Office around 4:30 PM on [disguised]. The office was closed and I was told by security personnel that the office had been closed for over 2 months due to relocation of staff members. Even though the website does include a disclaimer that reads "Please note that the IRIS enrolment rooms listed in our 'IRIS scheme definition document' have been superseded. Only the list below is accurate and up to date." I have found the information to be inaccurate for Heathrow Terminal 5.

Could you tell me why this information has been inaccurate for what seems to be at least a period of two months according to the security personnel at Heathrow Terminal 5, Southern Security Gates?

I have also heard from UKBA staff members at the UK Borders, at various airports, that the IRIS scheme was planned to be "phased out"? Is that correct, and if so, why has there been no announcement on any UKBA website, or through other publicly available information sources?

Furthermore, non-EU and non-EEA border control queues at UK airports are often very long. Although, this may be a subjective observation, this has been a subject of public debate as discussed by relevant ministers and the public. In this regard, has the UK Border Agency considered establishing a separate queue for non-EU and non-EEA citizens who are UK-residents? Unfortunately, the time lost at UK Borders by non-EU and non-EEA citizens who are UK-residents and who travel frequently, especially for business purposes, are very valuable. Has the UK Border Agency done any studies on this, and drawn up respective policy proposals?

Finally, is the UK Border Agency aware of the fact that re-registration to IRIS scheme is effectively almost impossible? Why would a UK-resident, who has switched visas have to re-register on the IRIS scheme whilst their biometric information have remained the same? Is there no co-operation between the respective bodies of the UK Border Agency who could integrate the changes in circumstances of residents with their respective registration information, such as that of IRIS registration?

Kind regards.

Name:
Omer Cavusoglu

Address:
[disguised]

Phone:
[disguised]

Besiktas Kulubu'ne Mektup

2011-09-26T18:53:00.003+01:00

Asagidaki yazi, ileriki blog yazilarimda daha detayli olarak deginecegim bir olay uzerine, tarafimdan, 26 Eylul 2011 gunu Besiktas Kulubu'ne gonderildi. Yazi, son bir kac gundur yasanan bir bilet skandali ile ilgilidir.

Yazidan da anlasilacagi gibi 29 Eylul 2011 tarihinde oynanacak olan Stoke City FC - Besiktas JK macinin, Besiktas taraftarlarina satilacak biletlerinin bir kismi, Londra Dalston'da bulunan Istanbul Travel tarafindan ustlenilmistir. Istanbul Travel, Besiktas Kulubu'ne, biletleri, uzerinde yazan bedel olan £15'dan satacagini taahhut etmesine ragmen, farkli yontemlerle farkli kar amaclari gutmus, ve, hukuksal ifadelerle "karaborsacilik" olarak tabir edilebilecek hareketlerde bulunmustur.

Birkac kisinin yaptigi uyari ve benim de yaptigim telefon gorusmeleri ve email tarfiginden sonra, Besiktas Kulubu'nden bugun aldigim bir telefona gore, Kulup Yonetim Kurulu'ndan biri, konu ile ilgili detayli bilgi almak icin benimle Londra'da gorusmek istedigini iletmis. Bu hususta, Besiktas Kulubu'nun konuyu takip altina almasini olumlu karsiliyor, ve konu ve bu durumdan zarar goren musterilerle ilgili atilacak adimlari umutla takip etmeye devam ediyorum.

------

The post below (in Turkish) is an email I have sent to the Besiktas Football Club, following the ticketing scandal raised by a travel agency named Istanbul Travel, based in Dalston, London, who had agreed with Besiktas FC to sell tickets to Besiktas (away) fans for the Stoke City FC - Besiktas JK game on 29 September 2011 on behalf of the club. The travel agency, who bought the tickets at face-value (unless other agreements were made, unknown to me) from the club at £15, pledged to sell them at the face-value. Naturally so, trying to conserve their own financial benefit, Istanbul Travel, started selling these tickets as part of a "tour package" that includes a return journey to and fro Stoke-on-Trent and the ticket itself, all conveniently priced at £60, which means a £22 profit per ticket (this will be explained and analysed in future blog entries on the subject). Furthermore, the agency tried to sell tickets to those individuals who did not want to buy the tour package - those who had means to travel on their own - at the price of £30.

A few people have raised the issue with Besiktas FC, who have had to deal with the situation in ad hoc fashion. After a few follow-ups and my latest email to the club, a club representative called back to let me know that a member of the board of directors from Besiktas who is coming to the game and staying in London on Wednesday would like to talk to me to get a better idea of the story.

I welcome and appreciate the efforts by Besiktas FC, my childhood favourite team, and look forward to the steps they will take in order to combat this misconduct.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Konu: Karaborsacilik Ihbari ve Bilgiye Erisim Talebi

Sayin Yetkili'nin Dikkatine,

Bildginiz uzere, 29 Eylul 2011 Persembe aksami oynanacak olan Stoke City FC - Besiktas JK macinin biletleri, Ingiltere'deki taraftarlara, Londra Dalston'da bulunan Istanbul Travel adli firma tarafindan satilmakta.

Firma, £15'luk biletleri, gidis-donus seyahat turu da ayarlamak kaydiyla, "paket organizasyon" adi verdigi turlarla £60'a satmakta. Taraftarlarin onemli bir cogunlugu da, herhangi bir piyasa ya da denetleme kosullari gozetmeksizin, firma tarafindan belirlenen bu fiyata razi oldugu icin, bu tur paketlerini almaktadir.

Fakat, biletleri, tur paketi olmadan almaya calisan taraftarlara, "bu biletler £30'a satilacaktir" denilmekte, ve konu ile ilgili sorulan sorulara "Fiyati biz belirleriz. Besiktas Kulubu bizi baglamaz. Biz kendi karliligimizi gozetmek durumundayiz" seklinde yanitlar verilmektedir. Bu konu ile ilgili bircok kisi gecen haftadan itibaren Besiktas Kulubu'ne sikayette bulunmus, sikayetlerin dogrulugu, kulup gorevlisi Sn. Oguz Han Karaoglu tarafindan da onaylanmistir.

Bugun itibariyle, sahsim adina 3. kez yaptigim muracatta, Istanbul Travel yetkilisi Metin bey (soyismini bilmiyorum), once "sadece tur biletlerimiz var" dedikten sonra, kendisine iletilen "tur biletleri ile normal biletin arasinda nasil bir fark olabilir? bilet her zaman aynidir, ve musteriye talebi karsisinda tedarik edilir" yanitina "beni baglamaz, ben tura satmak istiyorsam tura satarim, sana satmak zorunda degilim" seklinde yanit vermistir. Kendisine "kulubun talimatlari var" dendiginde ise "kulubu karistirma, kulup de olaylarin farkinda" seklinde yanit vermektedir.

Bu hususta, sizden, IMKB'de islem goren bir sirket olarak, Besiktas AS'nin Istanbul Travel ile yaptigi bilet satim anlasmasi ile ilgili bilgi talep etmekteyim.

Buna ilave olarak, kulubunuzce resmi olarak onaylanan sikayetler konusunda ne yapildigi, ve kulup Yonetim Kurulu'nun bu konu hakkinda nasil bir takip baslatildigi konusunda bilgi talep etmekteyim.

Karaborsacilik yapmaya calistigi alenen belirlenen bir firma ile calistigi anlasilan Besiktas AS'nin, taraftarlarinin ve sermayedarlarinin haklarini gozetmek dogrultusunda, bu firmaya karsi ne gibi yasal yaptirimlar uygulama karari aldigini ogrenmek istiyorum.

Bilginize arz eder, ilgilendiginiz icin tesekkur ederim.

Saygilarimla,
Besiktas Taraftari
Omer Cavusoglu
[email adresi]
[telefon numarasi]

geographies don't lie

2011-09-25T21:19:00.011+01:00

When you descend into Maçahel (or Mach'akheli in its native Georgian) from the Maçahel Pass at 1,800 metres, you start to wonder why this is not already part of Georgia. At 600 metres elevation, Maçahel is an area that is home to some 18 villages, split between Turkey and Georgia, with 6 of them on the Turkish side, and the remaining 12 on the latter. The valley formed by the River Macahela (or Machakhlistskali) is surrounded by mountains on all sides at varying elevations, starting from 2,000 metres high and slowly decreasing to sea level as the river flows into the Black Sea near the Georgian town of Batumi, the capital of the Adjara Autonomous Republic.

The area had long been home to Georgian communities as part of the Georgian Kingdom until it surrendered to the Ottoman Empire at one of Mehmed “the Conqueror”’s eastern campaigns during the 16^th century. Quite surprisingly, however, it was not until the 18^th century that a number of the communities of the region started to convert to Islam. That being said, this conversion was not much different than those practiced by the neighbouring Armenian or Laz communities who, until today, keep a special part of their ethnic identity intact and in some unique harmony with their religion, in a way not much pronounced as one finds in other parts of the country. As such, the customs, as well as the native Georgian language remained dominant for all communities across the Maçahel region.

Through the decline of the Ottoman Empire and following the Russian advance through the Southern Caucasus, mass migrations outside the area have started to take place. However, it was in 1921, when the Turkish-Soviet border was drawn, that the remaining communities on either side of the border would fall into what could be seen as an eternal division. 6 villages have decided to remain within the confines of the newly founded Turkish Republic after a popular vote, leaving not only some of their relatives behind, but also valuable minerals like salt and natural resources, whilst opting to settle in a country that embraced their religious beliefs.

One can still come across the "nazar boncuğu", the evil eye bead amulet, to keep from bad luck during the construction of new timber buildings across the valley.

In the earlier days of the Cold War, relatives and friends from both sides were able to pay rare visits to one another as we learn through oral history. However, following the end of the World War II and the joining of Turkey into NATO, the area has become a sensitive frontier for the Soviet Republic. Many of the villages were emptied around Mach'akheli and populations have migrated to other parts of the country. The Soviet-Turkish border issue was so sensitive that dynamites were installed on a bridge spanning over the River Çoruh (or Ch'orokhiin Georgian) in the nearby district of Borçka, so that if the Soviets were ever to come through to attack the town, their efforts could be damaged by exploding the bridge. Fortunately, the occasion never arised, meaning that an unlucky one of the two soldiers guarding the eastern side of the bridge did not have to swim over the river for his life. Already by this era of the Cold War, the earlier generations of relatives from the divided communities started to pass away and the centuries-long bonds have started to vanish. This did not imply a total breakdown of communication, though, as legends have it, folk songs were sung in harmony over the mountains from each side so that the communities remaining in Turkey would not forget about their language and history.

At the end of the Soviet-era, those who have come back to the villages around Mach'akheli would barely recognise anyone, were they to be taken to the Turkish villages. Even the village names would now be beyond recognition, all renamed in the republican era, the central one now being called Camili (meaning the one with the mosque). Today, the new generations of Camili still speak Georgian with their grandparents, however, unlike their parents, many of them learned Turkish before they started primary school. Majority study or work in the major cities across Turkey and often come back for a summer retreat, a harvest or to help with their relatives, many of whom now include Maçahel as part of their “Black Sea and Northeast Anatolia” trekking and historical tours.

Geographies do not lie. It has always been a curious indicator of many myths and reminder to those who once forgot the stories that lay behind it. Up until 1963, the only way to access Maçahel was via foot. This was at a time when trekking in the region was not yet a popular activity but the only means to reach this mountain-locked area. The beginning of the construction of the dirt road on that year had granted relative access to trucks who helped with exporting some of the goods produced in the region; now famous for its beekeping and honey. It was also not until the mid 1980s that the villages around Camili were wired with electricity. Asphalt pavement on the initial dirt road is still taking place at different times of the year. It is, due to this lack of access to and fro Maçahel that the contemporary Turkish residents of Camili have started to enjoy a limited journey through the land that was once united with their villages.

The road leading up to Macahel Pass transforms from finely-paved asphalt to a pebbly dirt road. Flocks utilise the road, sharing with the few vehicles that pass by, at times at a fog reducing visibility to a few metres. That is bad for driving but good if you don't like to see hundreds-metres deep exposed cliffs on the side of the road.

Because there is still no official border crossing between Turkey and Georgia at this location (the actual border, being a hypothetical line that runs through bushes over the mountain and its exact details known only to locals, the high authorities and the Turkish and Georgian gendarmeries, conveniently located on either side of it), when the roads are closed due to heavy snow – in some years, for up to 6 months – the only way a Camili resident can reach the provincial capital of Artvin is through a rare international journey that does not require a passport or a visa: we were told that a few times throughout the winter, groups of Camili residents would walk to the gendarmerie at the border and would be handed over to the Georgian authorities, who would then drive them with their shuttle buses, down the river path into Batumi and then to Sarpi, where one of the only two border crossings between Turkey and Georgia is located. The Turkish authorities would then pick them up and let them pass back into Turkey so that they can take another one-hour bus ride back to Artvin to complete an almost full-circle. All the more a reason to believe Camili is, by nature, a part of the Georgian Republic. Or, another way to say, that the political boundaries may know no geographical boundaries, but will always succumb to the common will.

The border between Turkey and Georgia was drawn along, what is recognisable to a careful eye, a dried stream bed. It makes a funny loop where it meets the Camili village. This was because, an elderly lady did not want to give up three households that were adjacent to the village to the Russians and had the border loop around it.

Midsummer in Camili and nearby villages is a time when the explosion of all shades of green has come to its full-bodied maturity. The early spring’s blossoms have slowly faded and the valleys and the mountains have given full exposure to green leaves of pine, chestnut and linden trees. Youngsters helping their parents build new timber houses, cool their sweat in the fresh and cold waters of the stream as the communities gather their harvest, only a small portion of which can be exported outside the city in time to keep fresh, while the rest will be stored in serenders, large timber storerooms elevated by long legs to keep the rats away, as the villagers will prepare for the long months of winter.

be careful, what you say here may become public domain

2011-06-23T11:00:00.003+01:00

I've asked Google: "How many contracts does a person go into during their lifetime?" I've got a link on "soul contract" and a Wikipedia article on "work-life balance" at the top of my search results. Of course, these results may have been different if someone else did the same search on Google or if I did the search on a different computer. Because, it is argued that Google feeds from the caches, cookies (and all other sorts of tasty-sounding technical terms) that hold fingerprint information on whatever you have done with your computer on the world wide web. You should try this same Google search and let me know what you actually come across.

World wide web, in its form that we understand today, has been around since late 1980's, early 1990's. As can be understood from its name, it is a global network of information that users across through the Internet. It is supposed to be world-wide and it is supposed to be accessible.

We were sat in a nice terrace bar of a hotel watching the Bosphorus as M., D., I. and R. started debating about touch-screen technology, Apple's software manufacturing, Facebook's privacy settings, etc... They all seemed to have complained about the facts that Apple would only release products compatible with (at that point of the discussion, a not so well defined) a range of Apple or Apple-supported-only hardwares and interfaces; and that Facebook's new auto-tagging technology was creepy and that one's permissions should be sought before they were tagged on a photo. All seemed to be relevant for those concerned with their personal privacies and the fact of life of consumerism. But what privacy are we talking about here? And in what kind of commercial business environment?

A few months ago, I had visited D. and G. at their house. D. was telling me about working on new technologies to set up a web-based platform whereby he could introduce the concept of micro-voting in Turkey. It was around the time of the controversial 12 September, 2010 Referendum on amendments to some of the articles of the Turkish Constitution. It was controversial because all of the changes were voted as part of one package although some of them were quite progressive changes, and others regressive when looked at a certain point of view. Many people had requested that certain articles should have been voted separately (like Italy did with the recent referendum on water, nuclear power and political immunity issues). What D. wanted to achieve was to be able to get people's opinions on each of the articles proposed to be changed in the referendum. This could help understand which of the proposed changes were more popular than others, as compared to the simple "Yes" or "No" we got after a referendum that covered it all. Obviously, there are polling companies who provide such services and newspaper articles are abundant with such analyses, but D.'s compelling idea was to make this share of information publicly available and accessible not only as a source of information but also a platform of interaction.

It was also D. who thought privacy settings on Facebook were rubbish.
"Can you imagine? We leave so much footprint with all the junk: texts, photos, notes, messages we share on the Web. That, some day, someone can just compile all of these and make a biopic (a biographical film) about anyone and everyone." One can even run a feature film on an anonymous person at their funeral, although of course you may not like that idea too much. Well, let's say, a wedding then...

So, what is, of this privacy that we are so much concerned with? That we've been tagged unexpectedly on an image that makes us look uglier than our social norms permit us? Or that a future employer will find out about a pot-smoking image and we'll lose our chance to get that amazing job we were after? Well, then why are you on Facebook? Why have you agreed to the terms that were set out right before you, which you probably have not read? There is a somewhat funny South Park episode on this subject worth watching for the fun of it.

Of course, you'll come back to me and start talking about all the international regulations that should protect people's privacies. Well, I am not an expert in them, so I'd rather skip that. The point of discussion here is merely on a grander scheme of things. The problem is, we often forget to think like those who we go into contractual agreements with. Of course, Apple will seek its benefit to give us an iTunes update that won't download unless you've upgraded your MacOS software (for which you'd have to pay even if you bought an original Mac at some point). And of course if you haven't updated iTunes because of that, you won't be able to upgrade the iOS of your iPhone neither. I mean, iTunes is after all a media player software, how up-to-date does it really have to be? Technically speaking...? Neither will Mark Zuckerberg care about asking for your permission before you are tagged on a photo? As long as he's tangentially legal... And, well, the regulators will bend themselves 360 whilst their happiest (read the wealthiest) customers are making big money.

When AKP (the Justice and Development Party of Turkey) came to power back in 2002, we all said "ohhh, they will even put a headscarf over men". Well, they haven't. Neither has Turkey turned into Malaysia. But, it is fast turning into China! A regional power in the making with an aggressive export-led economic development model within the framework of a semi-autocratic political system that knows no boundaries on the limitation of liberal rights. We've looked the wrong way to find our enemy, and a lot of us have agreed, whether you like it or not, to this agreement, as we feared from a worse outcome that was never to come.

A person goes into a contract with their nation-state at birth. Their passport (if they retrieve one) does not belong to them but to their State. Their name belongs to their family and all the social package that is to come with throughout their lives. Their identity belongs to a range of people, not least their family, with whom they go into another contract. A person goes into a contract with their society, their friends, their schools and school teachers. Then, come the consumer products, brands, more identities, lifestyles, and commercial consumerist agreements. Salaried or contracted employment, pension funds, favourite football teams and their hooligans, marriages and death certificates. Google has not given me any clear links as to my question on how many contractual agreements does a person get into? Jean-Jacques Rousseau had long thought and written about the idea of the Social Contract borrowing from his liberal godfathers John Locke and Thomas Hobbes. I don't know if he has ever come up with a number.

I have consciously agreed Google to publish this premature piece on its Blogger servers. I don't know what they will benefit from it, but at least I've got my ranting out of the way (not so aggressively, though, as I had enjoyed last night, albeit the frustration during that late conversation). I know that it will be a piece of a long long string, out there on the web, but that's fine. The more information, the merrier. As long as we know how to filter. And as long as we know what we are agreeing to. Well, for that, we've got to read the terms more carefully, don't we? And probably, just relax a bit and enjoy the ride. After all, best things in life come unexpected, just like a random tag on a photo.

waving the black flag

2011-04-04T10:10:00.000+01:00

Through the timber window frames and the countless books on the oak-tree shelves of the library, I could see Fortnum & Mason. Two days ago members of an anarchist initiative occupied the building during the marches against spending cuts and I was standing in front of the very windows that I now looked through. Back home, long time ago, old friend S. had been a member of an anarchist-communist initiative. He wrote for the short-lived Mülksüzler (carefully chosen name, with a slight inspiration from Ursula K. Le Guin's The Dispossessed), and to Kara Kızıl Notlar (Turkey's admittedly first theory-based anarchist journal). He co-ordinated a group of us translate parts of a manifesto. These had followed our days of occupation and boycott of the university's privately-run cafeteria in their very naive but sincere and well-organised attempts to get the lunch meal prices down. Long gone were the days of action and quasi-autonomus movements now... But two days ago I wondered if I would run into S. during the marches as I now remembered him for a moment whilst gazing out onto Piccadilly.

...

We had just attended a session titled Preservation / Destruction as part of the Royal Academy: Future Forum series, held at the Geological Society. Ippolito Pestellini and James Westcott of OMA discussed the provocations and implications of preservation, exploring how “our obsession with heritage is creating an artificial re-engineered version of our memory…” The presentation was an extension of their project titled Cronocaos which was exhibited at the 2010 Venice Biennale. It was in a way, as they described it, an explanation of what they exhibited at the Biennale, which was not fully understood by the audience. The idea of Cronocaos was initially to focus on 26 projects that have not been presented before as a body of work concerned with time and history. However, there was also a secondary meaning attached to it, as described in their words: "2010 is the perfect intersection of two tendencies that will have so-far untheorised implications for architecture: the ambition of the global taskforce of ‘preservation’ to rescue larger and larger territories of the planet, and the – corresponding? – global rage to eliminate the evidence of the postwar period of architecture as a social project".

As OMA claim, "while 12% of the world's surface is listed as heritage site (only a small proportion, 1.8% being built-up environment, whereas the rest include natural environments); there is an ongoing destruction of some other sort of heritage that is mainly driven by certain ideologies". This destruction was mainly carried out on postwar socialist architecture, the likes of which include many housing estates, including Robin Hood Gardens or Woodberry Down Estate in London (LSE Cities recently held an informal screening event for a documentary film titled Utopia London that also touches on this issue). Such examples are abundant throughout Europe, not limited only to the discourse of postwar socialism, but to a wider range of issues to do with the language of modernist architecture, be that a building for residents or for cultural or political enterprises . In Istanbul, the debate around demolition of Ataturk Kultur Merkezi and Istanbul Manifaturacilar Carsisi, prime examples of modernist architecture, can be recognised as part of this phenomenon, especially at a time, when an entire neighbourhood occupied by Roma people, next to the Theodisian Walls, was razed to pave way to construction of neo-Ottomanesque rows of villas, a government-led action that was a product of a semi-romantic ideology that rejects any heritage it the style of internationalist movements. OMA describes this phenomenon in the following terms: "There is now a global consensus that postwar architecture – and the optimism it embodied about architecture’s ability to organise the social world – was an aesthetic and ideological debacle". Although the aesthetics of this debate does play a crucial role, as much as the long-term incapability in supplying the necessary social infrastructure for its users, further crippled by the policies that followed after the periods of modernist movements in architecture; this is far from a unique occurrence in the history of built environment. OMA also touches upon that: "Our resignation is expressed in the flamboyant architecture of the market economy, which has its own built-in commercial expiration date". Expiration date does in deed matter, and there seems to be a random function has determined the extension of expiration dates of certain architectural heritage.

After all, there is significance in what we decide not to preserve (hence destruct, or allow for decay and destruct), and what we decide to. The presentation touched upon this through quite various and clever examples (including that of a project held in Venice and a house that was listed within the month it was constructed). The underlying message was that it is difficult to play with and evolve a preserved, or rather, a listed building or a site. Of course they did not fall short of establishing the fact that "preservation" was introduced within the Western culture and has primarily been a preoccupation of this very culture. Introduction of their "Project Japan" tried to support this theory albeit failing to do to appreciate the complexity of the diverse anthropological meanings of the term "preservation" in different contexts. "Mass preservation" may only be a relatively recent Western construct (which helps boost tourism revenues for countries with listed sites, and establishes for them an additional cultural benefit), one can actually go as far back as the ancient civilizations to trace the origins of this idea of "designing buildings that would be listed even before they are built". After all, the notion of "building to last forever" was arguably an ancient, and one that was always embedded in part of the Western understanding.

On the other hand, much was not discussed in this forum about the very different understanding of aesthetics and progression in the Eastern cultures. Japanese do "preserve" some of the ancient traditions, as was rightly noted, and in deed sometimes destruct and re-construct them. This was displayed with an example of a temple that was re-built 14 times. But the Japanese have also embedded a unique form of modernity through constant progress that frequently means demolition of the idle in masses, without necessarily re-constructing the same form (I am trying not to go into the unavoidable forms of total erasure through natural disasters such as earthquakes, here). A history of Meiji restoration, which went chronologically and culturally parallel to the late Ottoman and the subsequent early Turkish modernisation, helps us understand the nuance in the approach to "preservation". But of course, the time and the scope of the session would not suffice to go into these debate. Although they may not have had the time for it during the presentation, Ippolito Pestellini did actually appreciate a comment from the audience during the Q&A session, that suggested that the current "stasis" in Europe's cultural and political dominance, as well as the decline in its rate of progress could help us understand the roots of the establishment of these heritage codes that were being criticised. One may argue that the recent notion of heritage management is an attempt to re-establish the cultural superiority of the Western ideals in a frontier in which the post-colonial discourse still seems to hold relevance.

In their final analysis, OMA's presentation did also hint to a clever provocation of re-thinking "preservation", and with it, the notion of "destruction", for which they had adopted the Unesco's Heritage document and re-written an "agenda for progressive destruction". The floor was then given to three respondents, followed by a very well chaired panel discussion and Q&A by Christopher Woodward.

The first respondent, Simon Thurley, Chief Executive of English Heritage, started his response by stressing that listing buildings and sites for heritage are not acts of "preservation", but of "conservation". He defined preservation as "an attempt to keep the qualities of a building in its original form" almost in a stage of stasis whereas conservation meant "protecting a building by improving its conditions, and managing its already available resources while keeping loyal to its original qualities". Making the obvious comparison between the passive and active qualities of the two actions, well known by architects and planners, he claimed that English Heritage sought to conserve buildings that were significant to the built-up environment of English architecture. That said, with a hint of criticism of OMA's presentation, Thurley did go on to approve of their idea that a fetishist approach to listing heritage sites created problems for progress in the business of conservation. However, he also claimed that, according to the studies they carried out, the public in England felt that more buildings than currently listed should be included as part of the English Heritage. Of course, conservation is not a very cheap business and much of the debate around what should and should not be conserved revolves around the issues of values and revenues protected and created by the act of conservation. It was interesting within this context, that a question from the floor by a gentleman at the Q&A session, who had worked long ago at the respective offices of local communities, regarding whether any calculations were made by English Heritage to estimate a threshold (relating to a monetary value of costs to keep maintain the building and run its conservation management) beyond which the costs of conservation would be regarded too high to decide to going ahead conserving the building would not be viable. His experience, as he has shared it, was that decisions on preservation were taken somewhat randomly and these were mainly either a "yes" or a "no" decisions, without much thinking done into the long-term future of the conservation project. He did not observe any such calculations to be made whilst these decisions were taken. The audience was unfortunately not given a very clear answer by Thurley on this question neither.

...

Following the end of the forum, we moved to library of the Geological Society where people had gathered for drinks. We went on debating the different values of conservation, the obvious social and political implications of preservation/destruction on not only the buildings themselves but also the people who use, live, love, and care about these buildings. We also tried to generate hypothetical urban planning scenarios that dealt with densification, which is a major part of K.'s research. It was then that I realised that the ethical, the cultural, the historical and the aesthetic rationales of conservation seemed to matter less for me than the pure economic benefits of a carefully constructed scenario of non-conservation (destruction, or replacement) that could ensure both short-term and long-term revenues. I did find it myself difficult to construct such strong scenarios, but I was nevertheless surprised to find myself less interested in the conservation of the ornamental ironwork of Fortnum and Mason and the significant history laid in the architecture of the building it occupied. A few years back, I would be fetishisising the knowledge of which architectural era and type I was observing during my history courses in university. Although still far from being anarchistic, I felt this new approach was still a much more progressive line of thought. It could easily lead me to come up wia brutally authoritarian and aesthetically mundane scenario or to a well market-oriented neo-liberal solution were the Fortnum and Mason building to be "destroyed" in this hypothetical scenario.

I then had a final long gaze at the building across the road, behind the timber frames. K. made a quick move to fixed her hair with a not-much-needed attempt to "preserve" its shape. I watched the windows of Fortnum and Mason reflect the traffic signals and cab headlights in absolute calm. A small merry go round was revolving in the underexposed background where the fluorescent blurred onto its shiny surface.

great directors and their great films

2011-04-03T19:59:00.007+01:00

What makes a director, a great director? Box office, awards, charisma, endurance, diversity, establishment, anti-establishment, independence... There can be as many variables as there are movies and directors themselves and many of them we repeatedly hear, do in fact, refer to formative meanings, rather than to describe the "greatness" of the subject. After all, "great" is a difficult to term to begin with. For Angela Ismailos it is a group of filmmakers, whose films she says she has been deeply inspired by (it is more likely that it is a group of directors to whom she had easy access to). She has interviewed them and made a documentary titled Great Directors. It is her very personal "journey" with a narrative that does not always connect very easily. In fact, the reviews of the film are usually anything but good, criticising the lack of coherence through the feature as well as of Ismailos' incapability to get more out of the directors she has interviewed. Furthermore, her own appearances in scenes where she has portrayed herself as a very serious filmmaker, what feels like an attempt to mark her introduction to the film industry (this is her debut film) already at a league of "great directors" end up as a caricature. Rightly so, many reviews criticised the selection of the directors and her editing style that falls short of convincing the viewer to believe there is an overall story to tell. However, the appearances of Ken Loach, David Lynch, Agnes Varda, Todd Haynes, Bernardo Bertolucci among others is enough to make this film a worthwhile watch. If anything, one wants to visit, re-visit the truly great works of cinema these directors have made and that seems to be a point many reviews have missed. And it is an important in its own right.

Bernardo Bertolucci introduces himself through his encounter with Pier Paolo Pasolini, which, obviously was a definjng moment for the former's career due to the role he was offered by the latter. At this eraly scene of the documentary, we are drawn back in time to 1960s which is probably the era Ismailos started appreciating cinema. What seems to be set at a chronological narrative, thanks to introduction of Ken Loach, Agnes Varda and their films from the 60s and 70s, the documentary often jumps through eras, whilst attempting to bridge the directors through more abstract themes such as "struggle to define a new identity in his art" or "use of form in his/her narrative". Many of these connections are made somewhat poorly and the transition scenes often include a harsh-beat symphonic music with appearances of Ismailos herself walking along collonnades in Vatican or cruising by industrial docklands, shot from ground-level angled up towards her face, with a hint of magnitude with her very serious looking posture.

And then suddenly, we are back at Varda's garden where she is talking about her purple dyed hair and getting old while two cats play with flowers in the background, and walls carved with her name during the time spent here for more than 30 years. Another zoom into Lynch's shaking hand, scenes from Eraserhead and Mulholland Dr. and back again into the heavy drum beats. But it is precisely this cheesy play between the pure and simple emotions of the diverse range of filmmakers and their films that Ismailos attempts to fill her camera with. It is the tangibility of the directors she has interviewed, as opposed to their real-life attitude, grandeur, pompousness, or humility, which is what audience can associate with and which is what makes this documentary ever so graspable and digestable. Ironically enough, there is almost no greatness in any of the interviews and despite the fact that some of the directors interviewed may not even know another or approve of one another, they all seem to be part of this "family" that exclusively belongs to Ismailos' imaginary to which we are invited to for an hour and a half. This casual interplay does not always work though. It is easy to understand how frustrated reviewers of this film were to see Fassbinder used as a tool to enhance the film with his only real association tothe film being the mutual admiration of Ismailos and Todd Haynes, but then again, many reviewers may have been pissed off not to have had the chance to sit down with many great directors to make a documentary like this.

Not everyone does get the chance to spend a sunny English afternoon with Ken Loach who ends his interviee by saying "I've just been given a bus pass, so I guees I now have started the second half". Long-time Communist Party member Bertolucci may have suffered an identity crisis in the last couple of decades of neo-liberalism, but Loach has never lost his wit to enlighten the masses with the stories that mattered the most but exposed the least. If anything, his sharp cinematographic edge was recently highlighted with The Wind That Shakes the Barley. What "Great Directors" does great is to stimulate such discussion for the audience whilst browsing through a library of films that not only include those of the directors included in the documentary but also of people like Francis Ford Coppola or Martin Scorsese.

Greatness may only be a facade of this film. At best, a naive attempt to catch the attention of the audience, at worst, a farcical self-indulgence. It is no less than a "100 films you have to see" list, and more often than not, is it a lot more inspiring than that. Take it with a pinch of salt, if you will, but we've got to listen to the director, whose attempt it was to uncover a mystery she did not even know where would lead to, following the inspiration of these people. A very self-motivated journey it is, it is a pleasure to be part of it whilst reading into, what may only be momentary excerpts from (after all, these interviews only last a good couple of hours, at maximum) minds and eyes that saw through their lenses to bring the imagery on the big screens.

cirkin sehir

2010-09-14T00:14:00.005+01:00

The strong breeze smelled of Istanbul, the air that I missed as it swept the leaves of some palm trees (yes there are those, too). S. was delivering some paperwork to the consulate, to do with the military service as I was taking pictures of some new residential towers across from the hill I stood on. One of many thousand hills of the city. I walked back to the car, watched some men finish their lunch meal break, and heard two other young ones talk about the basketball game last night. Partly cloudy, but bright blue sky and that feel on my hair (the remaining bit, at least) that fills me with love for my beautiful city, yet again. Oh, how I miss it when I am away!

A lovely 6-year old girl is pulled by her grandma as she takes a giant step to walk on to the pavement. I hear her say:

"...ama cok cirkin bu sehir yaaaa.."

down the line

2010-09-06T21:46:00.000+01:00

Just darkness.. Some darkness, as much as of it you can find in southeast of England where every little town is next to one another around London. Yet as the train rolls past, what I cannot see in the dark of the night but feel, the long fields of countryside, I smell the autumn rain and the the wet earth. The orange fluorezcent lights of the sidewalks blink one after the another, marching through a street that winds up and turns away. 3 rail tracks illuminate the evening with red glare as we speed through a train station. We won't stop because this is the express train. On another cool, wet and silent night, red glares will illuminate the grey British skies, chanting masses will storm down the streets and a huge bonfire will warn the souls in Lewes in a few months time. D.'s plane will soon touch the ground bringing fresh smells of Bavarian countryside and meld into wet Sussex earth. The couple sippingg their wine will take the next flight to somewhere warmer and sunnie in the south. When the gentle, awakening touch of English late summer rubs my ear, a family a little east of me will gather for their dinner, at some unknown place to me, in Kent. The southeastern countryside will fall asleep when D. lays her head on my shoulder on the journey back to London on the train. She will fall asleep too as I look through the dark of the night. Jose Gonzales will whisper hymns from the lakes of Sweden and the Andes kf faraway countries...

Dylan didn't care

2010-07-05T22:11:00.005+01:00

I looked at Due Sardi from the back seat of the cab I was comfortably sat and the pizzeria was open, business as usual. When I say 'I looked', we've got to make sure we understand how that look was. There are different types of how you look at things from the back seat of an English cab.

You can be a completely lost tourist in Tokyo and you'd just be bending over to kiss the window with your cheeks to be able to see the top of the tall buildings and the details between the millions of people crossing the street, amazed and looking stupid from outside. If your body type is short, you're in for a good laugh even.

You might be cool and indifferent. You'd be looking but you ain't be seeing. You've just thrown a couple of dead blue eyes into the setting dark.

Or you'd be looking with a purpose to see what you know is there, or is not there. That's the one I just had then.

Take a walk down the Strand and then on towards Fleet Street on a nice summer's evening. You'll appreciate the calm of the narrow streets and can tell the difference between a steel-and-glass and a Victorian. You can even appreciate the depth and the width of the sky, and you won't be seeing much of that throughout the year anyway.

I realised I had to pee. Take a piss soon. Otherwise I was determined to walk all the way home. That's when I decided to take a cab. If I hadn't, I would have gotten away by spending another ௨௩ on top of my 2 pints of cider if I had just taken the bus but instead I ended up वसा pounds by taking the cab. And you know people in London are always so worried about saving another quid or more. That's precisely why you just got to bite the bullet and take the freaking cab. You can't piss in your pants and this is important.

I realised I had exactly Xx.Yy change in my pocket and for a reason I don't know (and I never know this) I felt it would be rude to give the cabbie the exact amount I owed him. So, I told him to pull aside before the bridge, although I lived on the other side of the bridge. He was happy I tipped him the marginal amount. But the bloody driver wouldn't just leave and it would be stupid if I crossed the bridge to go home after having told him to drop me off before the bridge. You understand my concern, right? I tipped the guy and I am ashamed if I have to walk further than he dropped me off. So, I felt obliged to go to my local crazy Turkish shop. I ended up buying 2 bananas and condensed (Greek style) yoghurt.

That was a bit foolish and expensive, but I was home and the cabbie had driven away. Most importantly, I avoided pissing in my pants, and if I took a bus, god knows what would have happened. I was listening to Bob Dylan and I think he would just do the same I did. He wouldn't even care. If he did, I couldn't care less.

London to Copenhagen

2010-06-29T22:43:00.002+01:00

A beautiful summer's evening in London. After a pub's affair for World Cup with S., I cycle back home through the usual route with Billie Holiday in my ears. Usual yet unusual... High Holborn's there the same way, so is the City, but something isn't or rather ought not be. Yet, still there, that's the Foundry at the edge of Great Eastern Street and Old Street. The haven for many who passed through here, now a subject of complete demolition to make way to a new fancy hotel the neighbourhood community don't want. Maybe the international agency of leather suit travelers want it. Since Monday, locals have been sitting-in in front of the building to avoid destruction. So far, a 48 hours of success. And tonight, as I pass by, on a nice summer's evening, they've put up a torn up clothing against the wall as a screen and are screening a documentary on Ungarnshuset in Copenhagen.

A familiar language on the screen. The frozen and the warm streets of Scandinavia over the short time of life I spent there. As I stop by to watch, more and more do so and we add up. It was a warm summer's day I left Denmark 4 years ago. There was the smell of warmth and friendship in the air and the World Cup fever around the corner...

donus mektubu

2010-05-03T14:31:00.000+01:00

Kadim dostum,

Bugun 3 Mayis 2010, Mayis ayinin ilk Pazartesi'si ve dolayisiyla Ingiltere'de resmi tatil gunu. 2-3 haftalik guzel havalardan sonra, soguk, yagisli ve bogucu bir haftasonu gecirdik, bugun de yari-kasvetli bir sabaha uyanarak. Ingilizler'in pagan geleneklerinden uyarlidiklari, tarih boyunca onemli hadiselere de denk gelmis ve bugunlerde Isci Bayrami ile de es anlamli olarak kullanilan 1 Mayis'i takip eden ilk Pazartesi, cok uzun yillardir oldugu gibi, bu sene de resmi tatil gunu. Ve belki de, isminin yarattigi sembolik degere de atifta bulunulmak gerekirse, son yillardaki en acikli Mayis basi.

Secimlere 3 gun kaldi ve goruntu hic de ic acici degil artik. Muhafazakar Parti'nin son hafta icerisinde, secim anketlerindeki tekrar yukselisini belki farketmissindir bile. Bircoguna gore ise, halen tek baslarina iktidari saglayacak cogunlugu elde edemeyecekler ama ben ayni goruste degilim. %35 civarinda bir oy oranina sahip olacaklari tahmi edilmekte, ben bunun %37-38'lere cikabilecegini dusunuyorum. Liberaller gercekten de %28'i tutturabilirler belki ama Isci Partisi'nin de %30'u gececegini sanmiyorum. Kaldi ki, oy orani degil secimin kaderini belirleyen; 15-20 tane secmen bolgesinde belirlenecek ulkenin kaderi. Partisine en sadik secmen Muhafazakarlar'a ait ve 13 yillik bir bekleyisten sonra, buyuk bir azimle gideceklerdir oy kullanmaya bu Persembe. Aynisini, kendini yenileyemeyen bir Isci Partisi'nin taraftarlarindan beklemek zor olacak belki de. Liberaller ise garip bir kisir dongunun parcasi: Eger bu secimde iktidar ortagi olabilirlerse, secim yasasini degistirmeye calisacak, gelecek secimler icin onlerini acacaklar; eger bu secimde de yeterli sandalyeyi alamazlarsa, kendilerini engelleyen bu sistemin kurbani olarak, bu sistemi degistirebilecek iktidara da sahip olamadan, bir baska baharda gene ayni kadere teslim olacaklar.

Belki de bunlarin fazla bir onemi yok bile. Son gunlerde pek cok kez degindigin ve bugun de bir haber sayfasinda okudugum uzere, buradaki secimler politika uzerine. Bizdeki secimler baska denge unsurlarini ihtiva ediyor ve politika neredeyse hic konusulmuyor bile. Gercekten de, son secimlerde AKP'nin vergi ve emeklilik yasalari ile ilgili vaatlerini hatirlayan, veya hatirlatan var mi? Ama buradaki partiler arasi farkliliklar, o kadar da buyuk degil aslinda. 2 buyuk parti de savas yanlisi ne de olsa. Benim icin daha da onemlisi, simdiki hukumet 3 hafta once gocmen yasalarini degistirip, vize almami zorlastirdi bile. O adamin televizyona cikip soyledigi yalanlar, secmeninin gozunu boyayabilir zira, onun politikalarindan nasibini alanlar biz yabancilar daha iyi biliyoruz belki de onun soylediklerini ya da soyleyemediklerini.

Soguk ve kasvetli bir havaya girdik dostum ve benim umidim zayif. Ama bilirsin, heyecanli biri olarak, beklentilerimi alcaltmayi severim, olur da bir surpriz yasanirsa sevinecek bir bahane bulayim diye.

Eminim sen de takip edeceksindir ama kotu haberleri iletmek zorunda kalirsam haftanin sonunda, acima ortak olacagini umit ederim. Korktugum basimiza gelirse, yakindir bu topraklardan da gonderilmemiz. O zaman belki de, bekledigimizden de yakin bir zamanda gorusmek dilegiyle,

Sevgili dostun,

Cevat Kelle.

HE* said 'one minute' but he didn't mean it that way

2010-05-01T22:40:00.003+01:00

Addendum, May 3rd, 2010:

Following a message from my father, I have now read 3 articles from centre-left leaning journalists on the lecture by Ahmet Davutoglu, a minister under the liberal-conservative AKP Party, and to my mild surprise, all of the articles compete with one another in praising him. Is this a reflection of their hotel and other expenditure bills for the weekend in London and Oxford paid by the Turkish taxpayers?
http://www.sabah.com.tr/Yazarlar/kahraman/2010/05/03/oxfordda_dis_politika
http://www.radikal.com.tr/Radikal.aspx?aType=RadikalYazarYazisi&Date=&ArticleID=994923
http://www.candundar.com.tr/index.php?Did=12442

Original text:

When I received an email from my undergraduate university, Sabanci University, about a conference on Turkish Foreign Policy, organised in co-ordination with Oxford University and taking place in one of the colleges of the latter, I said to myself "what a great chance to visit another English town that I haven't been to before". What a fool I was, that I realised as soon as I stepped outside the Oxford Rail Station only to be amuse myself once again: As an outsider, a Londoner, I confused Oxford and Cambridge again and realised that I was actually here almost exactly a year ago. Be that Cambridge may remain as an undiscovered city for me, my 2nd trip to Oxford was nonetheless a delightful one.

The conference was organised by the partnership of Sabanci University with the South East European Studies at Oxford (SEESOX) to investigate Turkey's foreign policy in a changing world: Old alignments and new neighbourhoods. By all means, it felt as if the stress was rather on the new neighbourhoods than the old alignments, at least for the Saturday sessions of the 3-day conference that span from Friday to Monday, 30 April - 2 May. One of the main reasons to be at the conference was to watch Kara (Karabekir Akkoyunlu) give his excellent presentation on Iran - Turkey relations, a spin-off from his PhD. research at the LSE. Not only that he delivered his speech in exact 15 minutes with a very clear tone, posture and flow, but also enlightened the audience with certain recent developments on the Iranian front of Turkish borders and reminded all to re-situate the current exchange between the two old states into one of a centuries-old political relationship and develop a political framework for Turkish-Iranian and wider politics in the region within this context. His speech was part of Significant regional relations II: The Middle East session (the other 2 of the 3 significant relations are those with Russia and the Caucasus and South East Europe).

Kara's fellow lecturers in the session talked about the relations between Turkey and the Arab World, Israel and Kurds, respectively. The speech on the Arab World challenged the perceptions of the Turkish audience on the perceptions of Arabs over Turkey. After all, some sections among the various Arab societies may not regard Turkey as highly as we are being told in our home territory by our ministers Reem Abou-El Fadl reminded us, a notion that we tend to overlook, as we often forget to see the heterogeneity in the definition of the Arab World. The speech on Israeli relations one of a pragmatic-critical one as was expected but also elaborated clearly by Soli Ozel, although at times, I've caught a bit of a depreciation of Arabs by the presenter: This was one of my criticisms about the conference, the over-confidence of some of the Turkish presenters and the audience, alongside the overrepresentation of male population over females, and I guess these two do in fact go hand-in-hand. The last of the session's presentation was on the so-called 'Kurdish problem' (a term I repeatedly to refuse to accept) but unfortunately the speaker's delivery was so weak, I do not have any clear notes on what he tried to say.

This was the 2nd session we attended on Saturday, the 1st of which was a morning session on the Russian and Caucasian regional relations. Presentations on Armenia, Georgia, Azerbaijan and Russia sparked up some interesting discussion, obviously and expectedly mainly focused on the Turkish - Armenian relations but I have to say, I did not hear a convincingly strong argument, nor felt a heated debate (which I always believe, if done in a well-mannered way is a strength for an organisation as such). The best part of the morning and early afternoon was in deed non-related to the conference: Running away from the rain and the cold in London to be greeted by sun in Oxford in the morning and taking a long lunch break after our morning session to rejoice at the infamous Turf Tavern pub with Pimm's and lunch.

The highlight of the day came after the session with Kara (as described above). Ahmet Davutoglu, the Turkish Minister of Foreign of Affairs was to give a keynote lecture on Turkish Vision of Regional and Global Order: Theoretical Background and Practical Implementation. He arrived at St. Antony's College, Oxford University around 5 PM with an entourage of academics and journalists, amongst which I could count Can Dundar, Cetin Altan, Cengiz Candar, Hasan Bulent Kahraman and others. A set of photos were taken in the gardens of the college, while I was re-uniting with former classmates and teachers from Sabanci University who all came around here for this event.

Prof. Davutoglu (and I shall refer to him with this title as explained here) made clear to the press that this lecture was going to be that of an academic one, possibly a wrap-up of his academic background of years, his theories that are now well-known amongst many Turks, also spiced up with some of his recent political adventures. In a rather strange coincidence, the day also marked the 1st anniversary at his Foreign Ministerial post as he assumed this role on the 1st of May 2009 after having served as the Chief Advisor to the Ministry for a number of years under the AKP rule. I have to say, I was somewhat impressed by his lecture for a number of reasons: To begin with, I guess I had rather lower expectations from a Turkish high-rank politician to deliver a clear speech. Despite the fact that I knew about his professorship, having studied at Sabanci University provided me with a very high-level of knowledge and presentation skills in political sciences. Yet, Davutoglu was good. Furthermore, his calm and friendly manner appealed to the audience. Yes, I know very well that a politician with such sweet and mild charm could be one of the most dangerous of all, but it did feel rather sincere for this occasion. I was impressed by his attempts to respond to all the questions from the floor (and of course a question from the floor at a minister means, it is from a member of the press and one question entails 6 others). His adventures from the past year as he conveyed us through his stories amused the lecture theatre a lot (amongst which, the one where he had to abandon a conference to embar upon an emergency trip which includes driving to Konya, borrowing the special jet plane reserved for the Ministry of Transport, picking up the Prime Minister from his holidays in Bodrum and travel to Russia with other high-ranked ministers whilst everyone was on a summer holiday, right after AKP survived a constitutional decision on party closure and Georgia and Russia were on the brink of the war that followed after, was the one that everyone listened to with much enthusiasm, and to me it sounded like a Turkish rip-off of Ocean's 14 or 'come on Tayyip, we've gathered the old team for a special football game in Moscow, get on board').

The day was a long venture. After Ahmet Davutoglu's lecture, a heavy rain started. As a group of 6, we made our way towards the rail station for the 3 of us to take back the train to London. We managed to have a very efficient, extremely delicious and a rather inexpensive cheap meal of tapas in 45 minutes and over a large jug of sangria on the way. The sun had just set and weekend trippers were making their way back to London as we embarked upon the train. An hour later, we were back in London Paddington Station.

*HE is capitalised for its double referential meaning: both as a third-person singular pronoun and also to the British abbreviation for His Excellency, an honorfic style used for high-ranking members of certain states or kingdoms, in this case for the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Turkish Republic.

The title refers to a moment in Prof. Davutoglu's presentation where he made a 'one minute' remark with reference to Prime Minister Erdogan's Davos remark, which he used in a different and unexpected context, to which he and the rest of the lecture theatre laughed hard at.

bir topağacı-kabataş yürüyüşü antolojisi

2010-04-01T17:49:00.003+01:00

bugün saat 11:15 ila 11:40 arasında gerçekleşen ama hayatımın farklı dönemlerini tekrar tekrar yaşadığım kısa yürüyüşten seçkiler, şehrim İstanbul'dan bir kesit:

- her mevsimde, havada, yaşta, sıcakta, soğukta, yürüyerek, koşarak, zıplayarak inip çıktığım merdivenlerden aşağı indim. hava güneşli, saat 11'i biraz geçiyor.

- lise 2 ve 3'te dershaneye giderken hep tercih etmekte zorlandığım ayrıma geldikten sonra şair nedim caddesi'ne doğru girdim.

- tek başıma veya başka bir şehirde yaşamaya başladıktan sonra daha çok ilgimi çeken çamaşırhane'nin yanından geçtim.

- sağda, o hep çok sevdiğim, tepesinde minik bir kasrımsı ev olan dar ve küçük sokağa baktım.

- 4 yıl önce, S.'nin kan testi yaptırdığı, camiinin yanındaki, köhne sağlık ocağına baktım. yanından birlikte geçerken, 'burda yaptırmıştım kan testini' dediği soğuk kış gününün gri gökyüzünü ve sağlık ocağının mutsuz görüntüsünü anımsadım. gökyüzündeki güneşe bakıp, gülümsedim. o günü ve o sağlık ocağını sevmiştim.

- W Hotel'e geldim. geçen sene konferans hazırlığı sürecinde orada akşam yemeği yediğimiz günü anımsadım, ve R.'nin Akaretler hakkında 'burası Disneyland olmuş dediği anı'. sağlık ocağından çok farklı bir atmosferdi.

- o sırada kavşakta karşıdan karşıya geçerken önümden bir taksi geçti. çavuşoğlu taksi...

- akaretler'den aşağı yürüdüm. lise son'da E. ile çıkarken, kavga edip geçici ayrılık yaşadığımız bir dönem bir çocukla öpüştüğünü anlattığı bir bahar akşamı onun evinden dönüşte caddebostan

- taksim dolmuşundan inip, akaretler'den yukarıya yürüyüp, teşvikiye üzerinden eve gittiğim anı anımsadım. (sonra, yıllarca, A. olan ilişkim dışındaki ilişkilerde tam sadakati benimseyemememin nedenini E. olan ilişkimde yaşadığım travmalara bağlamışımdır).

- dolmabahçe'ye doğru döndüm. orta okulda bir yılbaşı akşamı. H ile Taksim'den Kuruçeşme'ye yürümüş, Kuruçeşme'den aldığımız bir muz likörü (ben) ve şarap (H.) ile yağmur altında bu cadde üzerinden geri Taksim'e yürümüştük. o gece ilk defa sarhoş halimi görmüştü ailem, 2 gün konuşmamıştı babam benimle.

- karşı kaldırımda ise, bu seneki yılbaşına yakın bir akşam F. ile beklenmedik bir yürüyüş yaptığımız geceyi anımsadım, beni sürekli yola doğru itip durduğu.

- orta okul mezuniyet balomuzun yapıldığı swissotel'e bir bakış attım sağ tarafımda, tepede.

- babamın omuzlarında, küçük bir çocuk olarak, eski açık'tan ilk canlı futbol maçımı izlediğim İnönü Stadı... (normal yaşam süremden 2 yıl eksiltecek olan kanser teşhisine yapacak doktorun bilmesi gereken bir gerçek olabilir erken yaşta Beşiktaş taraftarı olmuş olmam)

- solda, yolun karşısında dolmabahçe camii. küçük yaşlarımda babam, amcam ve amca oğlu kuzenimle birlikte sabahın çok erken saatlerinde uyandırılıp abdest aldıktan sonra saatlerce dizlerimin üzerine oturtulmak üzere vaaz dinlemek ve bayram namazı kılmak üzere yollandığımız camii (ileriki yıllarda, daha geçerli ve mantıklı nedenlerle dinden uzaklaşmamda etkisi olduğunu düşündüğüm, ama önemli bir deneyim olarak anımsadığım bir olgu olduğunu düşünmüşümdür bunun yıllarca)

- ve hemen dibinde kabataş iskelesi: elimdeki boğaz manzaralı yeni açık bjk-gs maç biletini yırtıp atmamla sonuçlanan beklenmedik bir mart akşamı, meltem, ve iskelenin yanından A. ile yürüyüşümüz. üzerinden 3 yıl geçmiş. saat 12:00'de kendisi ile buluşmam gerekiyor, geç kalmasam iyi ederim.

ve kabataş'tan tramvaya bindim, saat tam 12:00'de olmam gereken yerdeydim. 45 dakikada parçalı hayatlarımı (parçalı bulutlu değil, tamamen güneşli bir havada) tekrar yaşayarak... güzel bir güne güzel bir başlangıç oldu. biraz olsun beni ben yapan anılarla, biraz beni ben yapan şehirde, bir kez daha...

hepimiz gececegiz bu kopruden

2010-03-31T00:21:00.006+01:00

50 kurus

basbakan'in 'ucarak belirledigi' iddia edilen 3. kopru guzergahi

kopru gecis ucreti

Thanks: Ulas Akin

do your homework

2010-03-18T10:45:00.001Z

I just received the following email from the Human Resources Department of the office I work at:

Dear MR CAVUSOGLU,

Following an update to the Prevention of Illegal Working: Immigration, Asylum and Nationality Act 2008 that came in to force on 29th February 2008, we are now required to carry out repeat checks of your documents showing your entitlement to work in the UK every twelve months.

Our records show that you commenced employment on 01 July 2008.

Please bring evidence of your entitlement to work in the UK into the HR Reception, Room W100, First Floor, Tower Three, by 12^th of April 2010 for us to make the annual check.

Please see our website for detailed information on why it is important that we retain a copy of documents proving your entitlement to work in the UK:

http://www2.lse.ac.uk/humanResources/pay/preventionOfIllegalWorking/preventionOfIllegalWorking.aspx

If you do not produce documents to establish your ongoing entitlement to work in the UK, your contract with the School and your salary payments may be affected.

Please note that if these documents are not produced we may also contact the UK Border Agency Employer Checking Service to verify your continued entitlement to work in the UK.

Here is my response:

I will bring the passport over, but don’t you already have a copy of my Work visa? That should clearly state the validity of my work permit. I’d be happy to hear why non-EU residents have to go through such practices when all their records are kept at the respective authorities? This should be a co-ordination work between the HR of the relevant organization and the Home Office. I’d be happy to hear how this system is not able to maintain itself.

Why the hell, do we then have to go through interrogations every time we enter this country, every time we want to receive services that we are entitled to? Are you so confused because you've created so many different layers of mental panopticons? If this is the system you've decided to come up with and entangle yourselves, please do your homework before asking others to tidy up behind yourselves.

i was thrown into the sea

2010-03-11T00:01:00.002Z

I asked:
- So what is Danae the goddess of?
She replied:
- I was the lover of Zeus.

That was not really the answer I was after, but I was not as surprised about the fact that she referred to the source of her name as an "I" as I was surprised by the fact that 'we do not learn Greek mythology until 2nd year of high school, all other cultures do, this is stupid!'. She was in London for a few days for a dance seminar. She said she is from lower-classes of the society, she works in different towns, teaching all ages between 3 and 50, body movements for the former, salsa for the latter and any other advanced dance courses for whatever in between...

I moved to my new house finally about a week ago. It was a bliss waking up to sunshine and the noises of the ducks for the first week. After a temporary 9-day accommodation at R.'s kind offer and using the storage room in my office as my own, I finally started moving into my new home. Y. gave me a helping hand on Monday to move the final bits from the office to the house. She had never walked by the canal over the last half a year she lived in London, so I thought it would be a good idea to introduce her to this one of the most underrated features of London, despite the cold and the lonesome evening. After an just-over-half-an-hour walk to Angel, accompanied by mind puzzles (i.e. you tell the end of a story and the other has to guess the story and the only way to information is by asking the narrator 'yes' or 'no' questions), she took a bus home from Angel.

It was cold and I could not be bothered to walk back. I walked to a convenient bus stop where I could take the 349 for the first time ever: an easy 20-minute bus ride back home.

She had a bag of heavy books and she said she likes to learn more and more about dancing. She said she hasn't seen any of London although this was her 3rd time in the UK. "I come and attend the seminar, then I have to go back and continue working". She also said:
- The only thing I remember about that park is that huge writing about some "city farm". That's where I need to go, that's where my hotel is.

349 did not look as if it wanted to arrive. A Turkish girl made about 5 different phone calls in the meanwhile. "I came to London, it was not an easy decision, but I go on with my life now, I don't have to have a new one, I made this decision", she was saying in one of them. In the latter, she was telling N. Teyze not to worry, the bus was late, and she could walk if it hadn't arrived in the next 5 minutes.

Danae was confused and wanted to know whether 349 would take her to 'the park where the hotel' was. Another lady at the bus stop was complaining about the failing London Buses. I personally never trusted them! She said she will 'hit at the driver about this!' We told Danae that 349 was the only single-vehicle-route for her to get closest to where she needed to go. When asked 'how long do I need to walk?' and then said 'I don't want to walk in that area', we both said 'it is safe, don't worry'.

She exclaimed:
- The crisis is bad. But, it affects the poor much worse. The poor is even poorer now. You know, when we have a crisis in Greece, we all go for a coffee, if things go bad, we need some Greek coffee.
(I did not have any intention to go into the debate of the 'real name' of that type of coffee...)

349 arrived. Apparently the Turkish girl only needed 3-4 stops, if I were her, I would have already walked that distance! Well, maybe this was the only chance to make 4 phone calls without having to respond to N. Teyze whilst being kept away legitimately by the London Bus system.

We got off where I thought the 349 would divert from the main road with Danae. The short walk became a 12-minute one through the cold. I helped her carry the bag of books as she rolled me a cigarette. She said she spent the whole day in Old Street at the seminar and decided to have coffee with a friend in Angel. She did not eat anything in London since she came.

- What do you eat here? It's expensive and the food outside is really bad. I don't eat... or, hehe, I eat coffees, 3 cups of coffees, every day.

When I first assumed she was from Spain, I should have known from her accent that she was Greek. I asked what Danae meant. That was after when I accepted to have a beer at her hotel bar before I left for home. In fact, I was craving to go home, finish the rest of the tortellini and have a 'michelada' style of beer.

- I was the lover of Zeus.
- How many did he have? Lovers, I mean?
- Hahahaha, he had so many!!
- So what happened to Danae? I'm sure Hera wasn't happy about all this.
- Hera threw me into the sea, and I died.
- That's a shame. Didn't Poseidon or someone help?
- No.

She said she did not know much about London. I gave her the advice to walk around the canal, she said she did not even have time. I left after the round of beer she offered me. I learned more about Greece, dancing, Danae's fate, what Greek people do in a financial crisis, 3 new town names in Greece (which I now forgot), see the shiny eyes of a 'fallen goddess'. It was even colder outside, I was hungry and had to pee soon, so I took a cab back home. The cab driver said he grew up with Turks in Stoke Newington. I told him a bit about the similarities and differences between Turks and Kurds. He said 'yarrak' and 'pezevenk' as I left the cab. I told him he learned the 'correct words'. He was actually a joyful man who seemed to have a big heart. The cab was warm and I got off of the bridge. I looked over the canal and thought how underestimated some things are.

why and why not

2010-03-07T00:11:00.003Z

Unexpectedly and cheerfully, I woke up for the 4th morning in a row to sunlight and the noises of the ducks from the canal. A couple of video calls with my parents and they were happy to see my new surroundings. So was I. I didn't mind that it took me a couple of hours to get up, take a shower, have breakfast, read some news, organise and leave the flat. I cycled by the canal, bought myself a nail clipper, a suede shoe protector spray and headed up north towards where I lived a couple of years ago for a few months. Back there, when I had first moved in, it also felt right, and there was a lot of sunlight. What followed thereafter had impacts on where I am now.

I thought for a moment that I saw an image of London that didn't resemble anything of the sort I have ever seen here before. A row of new developments, but taller than they usually are (a mini-scale of Manhattan tall residences), in Dutch-like bright shades of yellow and red, lined up in a crooked street, resembling that of an ancient Roman city, bending towards the right as an inclining railroad tracks disappear into the linear perspective, at the end of which my eyes all but could miss the glamorous Emirates Stadium of the Arsenal Football Club. I was heading my way up to the Market Estate Project, a collaboration of 60-some artists who displayed their interpretation of the last remnants of a 1960's modern housing-estate that is going to be demolished in the next few weeks. But before I made it to the exhibition, I was drawn but what I had just seen. I cycled into what I then realised was a dead-end street, only to realise that, there was yet another one architectural feature, a house reminiscent of a Western European rural architectural features in the midst of a row of Victorian houses with a secured gate and a cobblestone pavement entrance with a wild garden on the back of it. Astonished as I was, I made my way towards that street where the colourful new developments led the way to the stadium (and, to my disappointment, they were nothing other than another fancy new development): It was 3 PM, I was cycling slowly through a crowd of Arsenal fans, it smelled of meatball grill mixed with ongoing chants for an industry that drags millions behind itself, and yet there I was, wheeling slowly but resolute towards a childhood memory. I was an Arsenal fan for that moment.

The Market Estate Project was the first highlight of the day. As the sun started hiding behind the clouds and the gloom settled in and out, I realised this was the estate, at a flat of which I had dinner with my friends O. and F. last July on an unexpected invitation last year. It was an apalling summer's evening with around 10 C of cold and heavy rain which got me soaking wet. Now, I was sitting in the courtyard with O. and the sun had shown itself again and before seeing the actual displays of the project, we were catching up with the recent developments in our lives. That was the first time in the day when I said "this is why..."... We've filled ourselves with some cakes and brownies, and warmed up with tea while one of the live bands was playing one of D.'s favourite songs that she had shared with me some time ago. Market Estate Project was a memoir, but looked determinately towards the future as memories from my recent history were coming right at me. I enjoyed it.

After about 3 hours later, I beat the cold of the dying day with a cup of tea and a fast ride through the northern suburbs towards Stoke Newington. Another one of those evenings and I did not mind having some Turkish food on my own on a restaurant that I never tried before. As I gazed through the other tables filled up by couples and groups, I felt the uneasy comfort of biding my time at a place where I could almost feel familiar. The familiarity was what T. was looking for when she called me and said she had arrived at the pub where everyone going to A.'s house was eventually going to meet. Soon after, me, T., M., N. and D2 were waiting for the signal to move to A.'s. Boy, was he surprised and he seemed to enjoy every bit of the unexpected fright.

Some things just started not feeling quite right. The last time I was there, I also felt a bit alienated, probably mostly by the fact that I did not mind being in my own corner and yet felt at ease. It was not particularly the same this time. Somehow, the feeling that I did not have a corner of my own, and if I happened to try and have one, it would mean that I was being antisocial started kicking in. Although I felt like the contrary and, as opposed to the last time, did not even want to have my own corner, it just grew more and more uncomfortable that I somehow could not fit in. Realising this was the first step to feeling that it was a selfish thought process. D2 reminded me of AC K. Added to the fact that I dreamt about him, amongst my other best friends in a weird dream the other night, and that I also dribbled and took a few shots with a basketball for the first time since god knows how long (and boy, did I love to play basketball in high school!) and that we'd frequently play with AC K; D2 did in deed seem to embody some of the characters AC K had, in what feels like a finely balanced introvertedness that can come out rather sharp but at times very entertaining to those alert. That did not necessarily provide any comfort to my own surrounding.

In the end, A. looked happy for all that matters. I was happy to be part of this. And this was the peak of my self-interested thought process. Maybe I cannot help but shape my behaviour mainly around such thinking and that does not necessarily mean I'm only selfish. I just realised that it is more frequent around here that I am confronted with this and where I look to find the immediate support from people that I would like to consider as friends, I just see walls between myself and them. "Who put them up?" is not the main question here. This is when I first said "this is why not..."...

I'm looking forward to the football tomorrow. I want to run as much as I can, provide my teammates and myself with the most I can and score some goals and let it out. Does trying to be part of a team also sound like a self-motivated action? I don't know the answer to this, but I know that "it is why..." that I can end a nice weekend with all that I did today and football tomorrow and "it is why not..." that I do not even know if those around me tonight and tomorrow alike will judge me for who I am and that I am not even sure whether they would ever bother considering me close to them.

colour-coded cars and airport car-parks

2010-03-01T12:09:00.010Z

When I was a kid, my father told me why we had a black car. He said the colour black for your car shows your strong and serious character. White for a car's colour is too insignificant and the car gets dirty rather easily. Or at least, it shows easily. When I took over my sister's car when he moved outside Istanbul, it happened to be black and I liked it. Throughout the time, I gained a lot of awareness on different price tags for same car brands of different colours, different meanings of what colours meant for what type of cars from the perspectives of consumers, sellers, traffic police officers. I also realised that my favourite colour for my car would probably be a dark-red, burgundy. Maybe there are articles out there that study the relationship between certain communities and their choices of car brands and colours with the environment and culture in which they live in.

Look at these satellite images of the JFK Airport in New York and the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport in Atlanta I cropped for you and compare the distribution of black, white and red coloured-cars in both. You'll be fascinated with the density of cars at Atlanta compared to JFK (please click on thumbnails to see larger images):

JFK:

ATL:

I do not yet know if one can come to any conclusions from this, but I will keep my investigation going.

You are a Londoner if:

2010-02-05T22:31:00.003Z

1. You smell the fresh smell of burning coal whilst cycling through the detached neighbourhoods of South London and remember the fresh smell of burning coal you smelled when you travelled for hundreds of miles across the cities in your home country (and especially if you use 'miles' in stead of 'kilometers' in this sentence).

2. You know where and what St. Helen's is and why the bankers go there after the financial crisis.

3. You know not to state your ethnicity when the police is taking down a record because you know that it will be used to generate criminological intelligence which they will use against certain ethnicities to discriminate them.

4. You leave the stinky smell of the attractive East and cycle all the way through the City on a fine Sunday afternoon to play football in Chelsea with all-investment-banker squad of your friends who live in West London in between the smells of lavender and 5 cm. upper-hand of high heels.

5. You feel you are in your childhood memories' Mediterranean/Middle Eastern summer resort where the small edge between the cobblestone pavement and the sidewalk is bent at a lower spherical level than the rest of the road.

6. You go home at the end of a long work and drink-out day and still feel lonely and still find the excuse to blame it on the grey weather.

7. You can appreciate all deep fried bacon, sausage, beans, fried bread and others for breakfast.

There is a lot more, but already for the better or worse, I feel like I am almost one.

and now time for a little bit of dignity...

2010-01-13T09:55:00.003Z

At the very end of the "UK News" section of the BBC News is the story of a European Courts of Human Right (ECHR) ruling the "stop-and-search powers" illegal in the UK. I have long criticised the uncontrolled use of the police of the "Terrorism Act 2000" by which the police could randomly stop and start interrogating people anywhere on the street or, as was recently the case for me, at your departure gate at a UK airport. The new ruling by the ECHR seems to bring some dignity into the "abuse of democracy" that has been haunting the hereabouts of Europe increasingly over the last decade. It leaves me little to wonder why BBC only put this piece of news in the bottom of a sub-section of its main website, as the national broadcaster is admittedly too much with the Labour politics which reflect itself in the Home Secretary Alan Johnson's surprise and appeal at the ruling of the ECHR.

Fortunately, not everyone is as insane and hawkish as Mr. Johnson in this country. Alan Johnson may be trying to find support by the working and the middle classes sections of the society that Labour has lost its influence over during their government in the last 12 years, who are now trying to fight for a final push before the 2010 general elections. The extreme abuse of policing powers is well documented in the statistical increase of the use of stop-and-search powers; a steady incline from 10,200 stops in the year 2000 to a 250,000 stops in 2008 (that is 700 people being stopped every day). The Guardian published the news on its frontpage next to the headline and welcomed the ruling by the ECHR:

The decision by the European court of human rights to find against the use of section 44 stop and search powers because they lack proper safeguards against abuse is of immense importance for civil liberties in Britain. Not only is the specific practice of random search rendered illegal by the court but its judgment focuses attention on the increasing abuse of measures brought in by the Terrorism Act 2000, and the resentment of the public.

The news brings to light a somewhat scary alliance between the ve and executive powers in this democratic country. Apparently, the "Policing and Security Minister David Hanson said he was disappointed at the decision given that the government had won all previous challenges in the UK courts". Either the judges in the UK have lost all sense of humanity or that there is not a clear separation of powers in the British democracy anymore, a notion that even "quasi-democratic" Turks like us are proud of its (thin) existence in our own country.

The Independent decided to publish the news from the perspective of the Conservatives, with whom they are more aligned with and possibly bidding to win the next elections (and they may be right). Almost ironically, Conservatives attack the Labour goverment for letting the police abuse their powers and promise to change the law to cut use of stop-and-search. One does not need to think too hard to come to the conclusion that this is potentially pure bullshit and a lame populist propoganda by the Conservatives to win the hearts of those (someone potentially like me, were I able to vote) extremely disappointed by the Labour's self-denial policies.

The ruling by the EHCR seems to bring some dignity and applause back to the European consideration of human rights. It is not the EHCR is making a bold decision, in deed, we have seen many and clear examples of this institution holding somewhat a valid set of ideals despite many consistencies and clashes in some of rulings they have had on similar cases (Turkish readers and students of law or sociology will remember the famous examples on different rulings cases brought to the attention of EHCR about the subject of veiled women). However, it remains to be seen how much the "awkward European" of Europe, that is Britain, as she likes to see herself, will respect this ruling. Already the "Chief Constable Craig Mackey of the Association of Chief Police Officers said officers would continue to use stop and search powers" while the appeal made by the government against the EHCR decision is pending. It looks as if intimidation and violation of human rights with respect to privacy and implicit alieanation and scare-away tactics against the "unwanted" subjects of this society will continue for a while, and I shall fear that Britain will have to hire a very good shrink or a brain surgeon to deal with its increasing paranoia problems.

Dinner table lay-out

2010-01-12T01:13:00.004Z

This is not about the lay-out or design of a dinner table. This is about some dinner, and some lay-out or form of some streets in London, or in my thoughts.

A.k. does not eat meat. Whether out of politeness or sincere appreciation of the smell, he seemed to have been impressed by the lamb. R.s. did make all the food as well as preparing the dinner table. S. had a long trip earlier and seemed to be quite tired. She was on her usual go during the dinner conversation, though. We were to discuss possible collaboration opportunities between our 'centre' and an institute at the NYU that earned a new grant. Everyone was going to bring in ideas about their current occupation and where they see themselves in a few years time and how this could all contribute to a potential work that would come out from the collective work (or a merger of their individual works) of the people.

I knew I did not have much to say when it would be my turn. I did learn a lot of what others were doing, though, as well as getting more detailed information on what my colleagues have been working on. At some instances, I was working hard on grabbing a fruit out of my fruit salad with my spoon without making too much noise not to interrupt anyone. I only had to deal with what was on my plate, the wine was being poured down somehow.

At one point I was looking at the shape of a piece of lamb meat and thinking of continuity and randomness in shape and form of things. If they had asked me at that moment of what I was thinking I could have easily come up with the following, which I developed on my way back home after the dinner:

"I am thinking of the about how the mystery behind street lay-outs of this city differs for me than those of in Istanbul. As I walk even around in the avenues which I walked before in London, I always see streets that I have never walked into. They may be completely new, or I may have seen them before. However, I've never discovered them. I now understand why: In Istanbul, I would walk into almost any street I pass by. The reason is that there is a bigger curiosity in every street. Because I can never see the 'end' of the street, regardless of how you define an 'end'. For me, it means where my point of view, that is aligned with the road on the street, whether be it paved or unpaved, a dirt road or an asphalt-road, gets interrupted. There may be a building that intervenes into my vista, or the street may be turning to right or left, or there may be a hill going up or down, so my view would always be cut before I reach my natural limit of my sight. Then, because of that curiosity, I would go in and discover that street. This is due to the topographical diversity of Istanbul as well as its historical and architectural heritage.

In London, it is not the same, thanks to the fact that many of the streets are created in a grid-pattern where you can see how the street stretches to the extent of your sight. It just goes straight ahead, except for the minority of the streets in the historical parts of the city shaped by Roman architecture and city-planning. The rest is just flat. Added to it is the usual gray and misty weather so your vista is even more limited and you already know what the rest of the street is like. Therefore you don't walk into it. But at that moment, another curiosity kicks in. In fact, there is a funny dilemma, or a dichotomy. The sheer fact that the streets in Istanbul are more crooked and interesting make the city overall a more mysterious place, but because I have discovered much of that mystery, there is few left for me. However, in London, because I don't tend to go into every street because of their similar patterns, there remains a greater amount of mystery for me. And at that point, I start to go into smaller-scale details that I might have not done otherwise:

I look at the differences of elements and how they are aligned in different streets. The size of a park and whether it is on the right or the left hand-side, and how many residential places it would correspond proportionally to its size in the street it is located. What are the proportions of social-housing to a detached housing in this street? Where do the older type of terraced or detached housing stop and social housing begin on the same street? And even if these are streets in the same neighbourhood with similar typologies, then I would start to zoom even more to start thinking about what sort of stories are taking place in the households on a particular street. To be fair, I would do the same in Istanbul, but not out of necessity, but out of already established curiosity. However, here in London, that curiosity could be my only tool of differentiating between different locations even within the same neighbourhood..."

Maybe, this could have been my answer, but my response was actually much shorter and straightforward:
"I have not really been focused on academic research for over a year now and I do not know where I see myself in 5 years". I did talk about recent interests in migration policies and socio-political implications of different spatial configuration of different migrant groups but that did not evolve into a discussion that other people brought up into the table. Well, I wasn't intending to lie or make up a story anyways.

My whole existence there, as well as what was going around was a big story in itself. I guess at this point, it may even be relevant to reveal that R and S are damn world-famous sociologists. And the dinner was delicious and wine was good.

Close-up

2010-01-10T21:19:00.003Z

I've just gotten to know a BBC Series 'Close-Up' which "focuses on aspects of life in countries and cities around the world. What may seem ordinary and familiar to the people who live there, can be surprising to those who do not". Here are some takes for the day from different continents around the world:

Escalators in Hong Kong as a means of transport, urban regeneration and community space:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/8441626.stm

Berlin's obsession with currywurst:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/8408716.stm

The mystery behind the sneakers hanging on from electric wires in Brooklyn, New York:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/8334137.stm

...and here is how Britain looked like a few days ago:

hypocrisy

2009-12-01T20:43:00.008Z

Sometimes it is almost agonisingly fun to watch the continental Europe suffocate in the extreme conservatism it is headed, from this very island that I stand on. As the colours of parliaments all across the continent started turning black throughout the last decade, some argued that this will only bring about a new wave of reaction to conservative politics in the public opinion, sooner or later. It seems as if the sooner has not happened yet. In deed, the widespread seizure of European politics by its conservative politicians have meant, in the least and in its earliest, stronger tools of manipulation and scare politics. We are now increasingly talking about a Europe that is, once again, betraying its very own 'fundamentals' on issues of human rights, 'democracy', openness and tolerance.

I was driving through the Swiss mountains into Geneva on Sunday night as the results of the referendum on banning construction of new minarets in the country were being released. As it turns out, a double majority (majority of total votes and majority of cantons) voted for the ban. Geneva, along with Neuchatel, Vaud and Basel are the only cantons voted against the ban, with the first 3 all being French speaking cantons. Sadly, Bern had a clear majority for the ban, too. The capital of this very country seems to be living back in the mid-20th century, or shall we say, this is the new century already and we are living in some ancient times now? Us being those who have a problem with the outcome of this referendum.

There is a lot to be discussed about Swiss politics that will go beyond my knowledge, Swiss intellect and will but a double-majority system seems to be highly controversial given cantons like Innen- and Ausser-hoden both count as separate cantons with mere populations of 52654 and 15471 respectively and yet the former has highest rate of ban supporters, the latter seem to have a less clear majority on approval of the ban, and they contribute 2 out of the 23 cantonal votes (although Switzerland has 26 cantons, 6 of them are 'half-cantons' and their votes are counted half-votes).

It is then a good idea to look at what other people have had to say about this whole issue. During the build-up to the referendum, Ulrich Schlüer, a member of the rightwing Swiss People's party and one of the leading promoters of the anti-minaret initiative is reported to have said:
"The Islamic religion is intolerant, but we do not want to limit freedom of religion, we want to outlaw the political symbol"
In the same news article, as you scroll down to the comments, you read the following two comments from a Swiss user in Switzerland, and a Pakistani from the US, respectively:

:
I wonder if these people that are so upset about the outcome of the vote ever experienced how it is like to be a woman in a Muslim country. Have you ever considered, e.g., Pakistani women freedom? That freedom for which many are willing to leave behind friends and family and start a new life abroad. They are trying to escape the mentality of the country, which unfortunately is imposed by religion. What do you want to offer them, the same cage in a different scenery? This is about mentality. I admire Swiss people for having the courage to keep their country theirs, with the freedom they have fought for and gain over centuries.

:
I am a Pakistani woman who has lived her entire life with freedom. The claim in one of the comments below about Pakistani women wanting to escape their country in search of freedom is an outright lie - you know NOTHING about our lives! And to clarify, I attended a Christian school despite being a Muslim - that is how tolerant we are in Pakistan about other religions. My parents did not have a problem with me attending a school which had a beautiful church in itself - today, a Swiss would never allow his/her kid to attend a Muslim school! And another fact: Pakistan, a Muslim country, is FULL of CHURCHES! Hindu temples exist everywhere too! AND the white color in our flag REPRESENTS CHRISTIANITY IN PAKISTAN so if you don't know the facts, please refrain from making idiotic, untrue comments. Clearly, my point proves that other Muslim countries welcome and respect other religions. Switzerland is an exception who has now proven to the world that almost 60% of its citizens are intolerant and completely uneducated about Islam and Muslim cultures. Maybe it's time for you to pick up a book and read about it so the next time you open your mouth to attack someone, you know what the hell you're talking about.

As expected, the results of the referendum incited huge criticism from the right and the left of politics across Europe and elsewhere. Some were in the form of criticising the way in which Swiss politics work. I do not necessarily agree with those coming from this point of view. Those who claim referenda have no space in true democracies because the public opinion can be manipulated easily is nothing but fear of public opinion. It is a call for greater legitimisation of representational politics and considering those who support this idea are those who also support high turnout in election polls and believe every single vote should count as one regardless of what social, educational or economical background the voter comes from; it sounds like a hypocritical idea to oppose popular referenda. I do agree though in Switzerland, when you have tens of referenda every year, it is difficult to get a pleasing turnout that represents the opinion of the whole country and it is even more difficult to convince those in larger cities to vote each time despite their voting ballots are mailed to their homes. What is the ideal way, I do not yet know, and have not heard any convincing proposals.

Much criticism came naturally from the Muslim world. 'The 2009 Davos Hero', Turkish Prime Minister Erdogan called the vote a "sign of an increasing racist and fascist stance in Europe". He is joined by the Iran's Al-Vefagh and Jordan's Al-Dustur newspapers in terms of his tone, but those like the Egyptian Al-Akhbar and Palestinan Al-Hayat Al-Jadidah raise a different issue that is usually overlooked by those in row of harsh criticism towards the west. That is precisely what I usually think is the biggest and the most cynical mistake that is being made: Implementing and understanding on the 'other' through a discourse that barely does justice in your own territory. That is euro-centricism/occidentalism on the orient and more. European conservatism has long been headed this way.

Swiss Justice Minister Eveline Widmer-Schlumpf "sought to reassure Swiss Muslims, saying the decision was 'not a rejection of the Muslim community, religion or culture'". This is only short of what some other people in other European countries have been bold enough to say: "We do not want you, and if you are not happy, go home":

A recent incident at the Austrian Parliament may have not caught the attention of international press widely but a Turkish news portal published the story of Alev Kortun, an Austrian MP from Turkish origin, in English while Ms. Kortun was interviewed on the NTV News Channel's broadcast, raising concerns over growing racism in the country.

In an October session of the famous BBC broadcast, Question Time, the head of the British National Party, Nick Griffin claimed that all non-white-English-origin should leave the country. When confronted by a Pakistani-origin British citizen who has lived all his life in Britain about whether he should leave the country he loves, Griffin somehow decided that he could stay.
Not surprisingly, a big go-home sayer, the leader of the Party for Freedom in the Netherlands, Geert Wilders, has welcomed the ban and called for suit in his home country concerns over the arrival of the racist politician. before taking off for a controversial diplomatic visit to Turkey that has already raised

Denmark joined the generous host countries that are paying its immigrants to go back home. The coalition partners, Danish People's Party secured an agreement to pay 'anti-social' foreigners 100,000 Danish Kroners in bonus if they accept to leave Denmark. I remember my Danish Politics course during my exchange year in Aarhus and how proud the Scandinavians were (maybe Swedes more so) in setting an example of how well their immigrants are integrated and they did not have to go through the troubles the Germans have been going through in the last couple of decades.

Is it then all about the money? Are the Swiss more and more worried about sharing their welfare with 'those Muslims' who do not belong in this isolated land mass? Daniel Cohn-Bendit from the Green Group at the European Parliament suggests the wealthy Muslim stakeholders to withdraw their money from Switzerland. Fed up with the lack of co-operation by the Swiss Cohn-Bendit blames the egotism of the Swiss who 'turned down those who fled the Nazis from their own borders during the 2nd World War', and who would 'only understand the consequences of their guilt only if they see the economic sanctions brought with it'. A good one to put us back into perspective, those who enjoy rather lax migration policies here on the island:

The UK has had a long tradition of imperialism and built its wealth on trading end-products cheaply produced with the cheap raw materials accumulated from its colonies. Post-imperial Britain relied on the cheap and qualified labour force brought into the island with open-door immigration policies, who would then supply the necessary infrastructure for its service-based economy. Are we about to see the major shifts taking place in continental Europe to find its way here as well?

Later on in the debate at the Question Time (mentioned earlier), the Justice Secretary, Jack Straw almost succumbed to the pressure by other guests and the audience on the immigration policies of the Labour Party in the last decade and the rising concern over an Islamic take-over of many neighbourhoods across Britain. He tried to get away by claiming that the Labour Party's immigration policies were right, at best, somewhat miscalculated, and that they would not even think of applying a cap limit to the number of immigrants allowed into the country each year. This was not welcome by many in the audience there. With the general elections in the UK fast approaching, it may as well not be so much more fun to sit here and watch the new episodes unravel on immigration policies as well as to see how Europe cope with what it once built its great pride on. After all, one wonders how much are each of these 'values' worth?

iyi.. kötü..

2009-10-30T02:04:00.002Z

bu gece tam 4 kere denkleştik kendileriyle.

1.sinde, "buraya bırakamazsın" diye başladı, altı üstü büfeye uğrayıp bir şey alacaktım. sonra "tamam, çabuk ol diye buyurdu" hazretleri.

2.sinde gerekli belgelere baktıktan sonra "buyrun, devam edin dedi"

3.sünde ehliyetime 6 ay el koydu, arabayı da kenara çekti. toplam 600 tl ceza ödemem gerek. hayatımın en önemli dönüm noktalarından biri bu, ama buna odaklanmayacağım bile.

sonrasında eve geldim. arabayı geri almaya gidemem, çünkü araba üzerime değil, babama kaldı. borcum neyse ödeyeceğim kendisine ama o nakit için atm'ye gidip para çekmem lazım. sokağa çıktım, köşedeki atm'den para çekeceğim. işte o sırada 4.sü yaklaştı

"beyefendi bakar mısın? kimlik lütfen"

"ne var, niye soruyorsunuz?" dedim. diğeri de pişik: "sizin iyiliğiniz için" dedi.

"bugün yeteri kadar sizinle uğraştım, al bak bakalım, bir şey görecek misin" dedim.

diğeri de "ne iş yapıyorsunuz, nerede çalışıyorsunuz diye" arkadaşça yaklaşıyor. hani olsa olsa o "iyi" olanı.

"kötü" olanı konuştu gene: "nerede oturuyorsun".

içimden konuşuyorum biraz: "...... ......, senin kendini bildiğin süreden beridir ben bu mahallede yaşıyorum, daha dün gelmişim geri memlekete"

buna mı anlatacaksın derdini. 20 dakika önce ehliyetimi vermişim 6 aylığına, anca beni tanıyanlar bilir bunun bendeki acısını.

gelmiş öbürü de ukalalık yapıyor. bir tanesi de "iyi" gibi.

4 tanesine rastladım bu gece. hepsi "bizim yararımız"a çalışıyor ya.

"ecdadını ........... ...... ." bayrağına küfrettiresiciler. iyisi, kötüsü mü olur bunun, alayına ....... .

...... ......... . siz kendinizi iyi biliyorsunuz. nitekim yıllarca bu ...... ............ üzerine eğitildiniz, kendini eğittiniz. al yanaklı suratına ....... o al alevle yanan kızılı.

neydim degil ne olacagim demeli... 6 / die frage ist nicht was man geworden ist, sondern was man sein wird 6

2009-09-28T11:52:00.006+01:00

completely freaked out

2009-09-21T19:55:00.004+01:00

Someone sent me an email today with his CV, he would like to work for the post-conference research (if there will ever be one) of the Urban Age Conference that I am working for...

We were born on the same year, went to same high school, went to the same university, did the same undergraduate course, went to the same university in Denmark for exchange, did the same programme there (only he is 2 years after me in University), worked for the same NGO in Istanbul... We both speak the same 4 languages, natively, fluently, intermediate and beginner level, respectively... and play the same musical instrument (if you can count me ever playing that)

He probably is reading this, too...

Damn, it is difficult to confront one's alter ego so abruptly! I am not kidding... I am rarely scared, but now I am completely freaked out.

2009-09-19T23:26:00.005+01:00

And tonight she's my guide as I go on alone

With the music up above

queen anne winked at me...

2009-09-09T23:51:00.002+01:00

or so I thought. but it did not matter. then i turned left, walked through the square, and in between the modern bricked animated building on the left, and the modern glass and steel building on the right, the dome of the st. paul's shone through the moon light. the clouds waned away. then i walked through an alley way. england pushed forward down the left flank, the croatian defense struggled. they were the first people in the last 15 minutes, voices of whom i could not hear, figures of which i could not choose. the blue light disappeared and i was gresham street. king street met guildhall and there stood noone but a beautiful silence of the City in a breezy autumn right. coleman street leads to Great Swan Alley, only if you can follow your feet. the wind will fill your light red jacket, a row of desktop computers in well-lit, empty office buildings will keep you warm, because you are away from their cold. he looked puzzled in front of the 2 Copthall Avenue, the fluorescent moonlight blue did enough to draw him near and i was bemused by the building behind. abundance of redeveloped office space, a masoleum of ivory loneliness. turned right on the end of the street to greet tower 42. moorgate runs a few late evening cabs, a guaranteed same day delivery of bonds and equities to their studio homes up in the north. they are all going home, but i have just arrived to one. swerve through austin friars and in through pinnar's passage. let them go their way, the suits on the x axis, and the tower spines on the y axis. just take a lonely walk, an unexpected one, through the City, on any evening or a dull Sunday. sit on the stairs of the cathedral, love London, and send my regards to queen anne.

aimee und jaguar

2009-08-31T14:42:00.002+01:00

A few days ago, I was cycling back home from work, at a rather unusually slow pace and in a much missed feeling of appreciating my surrounding. It was a warm summer evening. I cycled through small streets and alleyways opening up to main roads passing by families and strollers looking at them from a slightly elevated view. It was then I realised I missed traveling across the city on an overground train observing the life on the streets from the perspectives of buildings.

Then I missed taking the S-bahn in Hamburg between Sternschanze and Altona or in Berlin cutting all the way from the east all the way to the west. Observing the people in the train, reading their newspaper, talking to their friends, thinking about getting back to their homes. At the same time, I could see people walking when we approached stations, taking a left turn into the small street with that man, or taking my child into my lap like that woman. Contrary to what many people think, I never lived in Germany, maybe for that reason, I always attached myself into those stories that I could so easily observe or create. I have rarely taken an overground train in London, especially in the evening. Only when I lived for a few months in Streatham Hill, last winter, I would take a train from Farringdon, swim through the endless estates of South London, gaze upon the misty Brockwell park through a winter evening's fog. A few days ago, I felt I missed cruising over the city, watching my fellow citizens...

...

On another evening, I came upon a film called Aimee and Jaguar at the Prince Charles Cinema, a central-London favourite. I went home and downloaded it, to go back to it this morning. It is years 1943-1944, Berlin. Aimee married a Wehrmacht soldier at the age of 20, and has 4 kids from him. Her husband is away at the Eastern front, trying to keep hold of Berlin against the Soviets. Aimee seeks re-vitalisation in her life and enjoys small gifts from a flirt with another army general.

Jaguar is a Jew and she is working under disguise at a Nazi sympathetic newspaper assistant editorial. She is in love with words and poetry, and an adventurous, almost a carefree lady who is bitterly sarcastic at the unfairness of life, yet tries to secure an escape for herself and her close friends from Germany at the height of the Jew hunt by the Gestapo and the SS.

Ilse is Jaguar's girlfriend and she provides shelter for Jaguar until one evening when Ilse's communist father decides he will not be able to help a Jew hide in his house when he realises that Jaguar is a lesbian and that his daughter Ilse is in love with her.

Jaguar seduces Aimee, who is at first skeptic but is in search for a 'new feeling' after having been deprived of love that was never there through her marriage with Günther. Aimee seeks new friendships with Jaguar and her company, Ilse is more and more frustrated at losing Jaguar to Aimee and is worried that Jaguar will throw away her chance to escape Berlin, incapable of leaving Aimee behind.

The love between the two women grow when Jaguar finally reveals to Aimee that she is a Jew, and Aimee, in whom a deep insecurity has been embedded, draws closer to Jaguar, possibly succumbing under the responsibility of being the wife of a Nazist soldier, added to her tender emotions to Jaguar and the emerging chance of 'taking care of someone' she loves.

...

Berlin, 1943-1944, the city is rapidly being destroyed. Once the dreamland of Germania, the city is under constant mist, smoke, smell of burned flesh, blood, mortar and explosives. Everyone is dressed in brown, even the most exclusive hotel gatherings have a darker shade of grey overcasting the golden glamour. The city looks fatally beautiful even in its destruction. A beauty under depression, or the beauty of the depression. Ones who created the metropolis are now causing its total destruction. None stranger than Deutsche Bank (the funders of the research project I am working for) have sold the golds of the Jews to traders to 'neutral' countries, none stranger than my home country, Turkey, to provide more funding to the fascist regime and its army, the Wehrmacht. Those, who made, destroyed and re-made Germany.

A romantic ideology, suppressed by contemporary Germans for decades, one that created the 'fatherland's soul, its philosophy and its rich cultural heritage; that has recently been borough back to drama by films such as Aimee und Jaguar and many others. Aimee und Jaguar is an impressive, touching film about a real story that took place during one of the most cruelsome events of the recent past, is being told by a cast and crew that is dominating the contemporary German cinema industry with its familiar directors, producers and actors. Juliane Kohler (Aimee) was Eva Braun in der Untergang, in which also Ulrich Mattes was cast in a much more significant role as Goebbels (the SS who arrested Jaguar in Aimee und Jaguar, a 1999 production). Johanne Wokalek (Ilse) is Gudrun Elssin in the recent der Baader Meinhof Komplex, in which Martina Gedeck (Ulrike Meinhof) made worthy of her performance previously in das Leben der Anderen

Familiar faces, and familiar feelings. A warm Sunday morning brought back memories that I had just recently been missing of places that I associated with. Stories that once were, long forgotten, now re-lived. Traumas re-visited, coldness re-shivered for. I felt like I did the anticipated city-gazing over the rail tracks, following Aimme and Jaguar's love that was a fable, glimpse of a possibility in the impossible.

-----
24-31 August 2009, London.

Kartal

2009-08-13T10:31:00.000+01:00

As Niyazi watched the sun set over the Princes’ Islands, the sea of multiple storey concrete apartments merged into the perspective. With no formal planning or architectural education, the Kartal representative of the Platform for Istanbul’s Neighbourhood Associations was now speaking a language that could bargain in the negotiations with the Kartal and Istanbul Metropolitan Municipalities, as well as the landowners and a UK-based architectural office on behalves of his 10,000 fellow residents of Hürriyet neighbourhood, located on the hills behind Kartal. He knew most of the residents, who settled through mass migration in the 1970’s, fought hard to obtain “amnesty registry” for their illegally constructed houses, started off as single-storey houses, now turned into multi-storey extended family and relatives living spaces[i]. Now, he was part of the negotiations during the development of the famous Kartal redevelopment project. Soon, Niyazi’s perspective could alter completely, overlooking a wavy sketch of glass and steel towers with a luxurious yacht marina on its tail.

Kartal lies in the southeast of Istanbul, stretching from the Marmara Sea in its south, with an elevation up to 500 metres towards its water and green reservoirs surrounded by the TEM highway to its the north. The district encompasses over 68 km2; decades of growth rates near 50% saw the population reach 427,156[ii] that consists of white-collar workers, small-scale tradesmen and industrialists. Like many other peripheral districts in Istanbul, it has grown immensely since the 1950’s with incoming migration into its heavily industrialised areas; and lack of implementation of development plans saw 85% of the housing stock made up of poor concrete material, many of which is illegal, and 25% of the population still live in gecekondus[iii].

It is connected to the rest of the city and beyond via the E-5 and TEM motorways, the suburban railway and the municipal and inter-city ferries from the Kartal pier. The planned Kadıköy – Kartal metro extension and the completion of Marmaray and upgrade on the suburban rail are aimed to make Kartal a major transport hub. With its close proximity to Sabiha Gökçen Airport and attraction areas such as the Istanbul Formula 1 track, the newly developing Pendik ‘silicon valley’, and Sabancı University, Kartal has become a natural candidate to be designated as a new sub-centre, a major tool of Istanbul’s de-centralisation policies. Creating a new CBD in Kartal aims to alleviate the pressure from the city-centre and its northern axis, whilst creating 100,000 new employment and affecting a grand population of 2 million in the region[iv]

Around 550 hectares of the derelict industrial area was part of an urban design competition, won by Zaha Hadid Architects in 2006. This regeneration plan, consistent with the city’s ambitions of bringing in signature architects, sits alongside one of the more ambitious projects in Europe, scale of which resembles the likes of HafenCity in Hamburg.

Kartal redevelopment project is championed by many as the first large-scale redevelopment project in Istanbul that involves all the necessary actors during its realisation: the respective municipalities, the landowners/developers, the master planners and architects; as well as the local residents. Initiated by the IMP, it has created its own landowners’ association, formed by some 26 main landowners who pursue negotiation via a designated urban negotiator whose job is to maintain the communication between the actors involved. The larger scale masterplan was approved by Kartal municipality, governed by an AKP Mayor prior to 2009 local elections, but the construction could not have started before 1/1000 scale, local development plans came into place.

In the meanwhile, Kartal, a district traditionally voting social-democrat, re-elected a Mayor from the Republican People’s Party (CHP) in March 2009, ending the short spell with the AKP. This halted the ongoing process for the preparation of 1/1000 local development plans for the regeneration project until the lead actors have convinced the new mayor Dr. Altınok Öz. As of July 2009, the IMP representatives were hopeful to get the plans approved and the construction to begin by next year[v]. As the financial gloom has yet to dissolve, main landowner developers such as the Eczacıbaşı Holding is yet to confirm the start of the construction[vi]. It will take at least another few years of bargaining before the Kartal skyline changes, but what will remain will mark its signature as a new way of urban redevelopment in Istanbul. Until then, who will be the residents in Kartal in due time to see these effects, shall remain as a mystery.

[i] Interview with Niyazi Şahin, Kartal representative for the Platform for Istanbul Neighbourhoods Association, August 2008.

[ii] Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality

[iii] Kartal District Mayorship (http://www.kartal.gov.tr/?Mod=2&icerikID=131)

[iv] Zaha Hadid Architects, Kartal Masterplan Design Brief Document, 2006.

[v] E-mail correspondence with Mr. Özdemir Sönmez at the IMP, July 2009.

[vi] Interview with Mr. Mehmet İmre, the head of Eczacıbaşı Construction, July 2009.

2 wheels on 3D

2009-08-10T23:17:00.004+01:00

Regent's Canal. For some reason, I tend to believe, is one of the more underrated features of London. It is beautiful to walk along it, even more so to cycle alongside it. You can see the changing city-scape of London from one end to the another whilst being close to the water at all times, a feature you will always miss if you are from a city like Istanbul.

Another summer's evening... A fine one, maybe a rare one in London's sake, as you rarely get 3 dry days in a row. This time, on my own. Just practicing the usual: rolling down the hills, taking care of the narrow pavement when a pedestrian comes across, bowing my head when a low arch happens to be own my way, and whistling for attention (because my bike bell is broken) each time I cycle through an overhead or a bridge that overshadows the canal. The scenery is as pretty as it can be. A Monday evening, by far the calmest evening on a London day, with a few passers by and lovers strolling down the canal, with virtually the rest of the way left for wanderers like me to take the most out of.

Housing estates of multiple storeys rise and sink on my left as the new developments by the canalside show their timber framing in elegance on the right hand side. Some textile workshops and abandoned factories go on a window-display, as I pay attention to roll down on my 2 wheels, a little tipsy, and shooting up to the stars.

Feeling joyful and happy, a rare notion for a London evening, recalling the last call of the pints at the bar with the pub quiz, of which I was only able to guess a few Oasis songs that made #1, that was the Question number 8. As my Danes stroll onto their usual 7th round of drinks in their Scandanivian style, I head home, passing by shiny road workers down through City Road, confronted by numerous churches, whose existence I only appreciate, and send a salute to their mid 2nd millenia glamour, and as soon as I find the Regent's Canal connection on my way, I make my way down into it.

K. had crashed my bike into a wall here severly injuring herself, only to fix the broken parts of my bike to make it even better than what it was when I gave it to her last year. As she is now ordering a new pint for herself with A., S., T., A2. and R. around, I think of sweet D. with whom I was just meandering through the same routes last night, making a short stop at a lovely pub for a burger and a beer before heading home.

The canal, presenting its unique opportunity to experience a different perspective of London, is a strong feature that reminds of the a lot that you can take out of this city... Well, only if it's not raining again as it usually does. And for rest, likes of D. and others make it an experience that one rarely appreciates, but should give its worthwhile justice.

HH oder...

2009-06-28T23:51:00.008+01:00

Hamburg Flughagen-the new S1 extension-Schlump-Schanzenturm-ex-Kafe X-tapas and sangria-Rote Flora-Kicker-Altona, Rathaus-H.&S.-Elbterasse-I.&F.-B.-Ferries an der Elbe-Speicherstadt-Kees Christianse-Hafen City-Elbphilarmonie-Herzog & de Meuron-Landungsbrücken-Rathaus-St. Nikolai Kirche-75.38 M.-S31-Taverna Sotiris-ouzo & souvlaki-Fabrik-Övelgönne-watching the ships get loaded across the harbour at 2 AM's silence-S.'s model ship-Strand Perle-Elbe Promenade-Altona-Ottenser Hauptstrasse-Zeisen Kino-Sabah Avrupa, Yogitee, nouss-nougat croissant-back to Sternschanze-Hamburger Berg-Reeperbahn-St. Pauli Theater-Gerhardstrasse-Herbertstrasse-meat-market (prostitutes) and window display-mexicana, tequila, b52-hardcore, heavy metal, minimal-Altona, fish market (literally)-fish breakfast at 5 AM in the morning-bei der Apostelkirche-Lange Reihe-Alster-A.&F.-a 9-month late delayed trip-and, all the way through, with D.

Es war super geil, wieder in Hamburg für ein paar Tage.

acting dumb can make you look smart, at times when you least want it

2009-06-25T07:58:00.003+01:00

I missed my flight to Hamburg. I was supposed to be at the airport at 5:30 AM, therefore having to wake up really early. I thought of not going to sleep at all, but then fell asleep eventually around 2 AM. By the time I woke up the clock was showing a sinister 6:05 AM. No way to make it.

I bought a new ticket for 3 PM. Cost a bit on my wallet... Then decided to go to work to make up for some of that money and get some work done before leaving the city to the airport in the afternoon. Never been as early as this to work before.

My bag was packed from last night, and the nice shirt and the trousers and the shoes of my suit were hanging on the wall. I wanted to wear them for the flight even though the wedding is tomorrow, so that they won't get creased even worse.

The outcome: I have repeatedly claimed that I will not be dressing smart, heading to work really early and look like one of those irritating businesspeople. Here I am at the office at 7:30, looking at my emails with a nice bordeaux shirt, a slick pair of black trousers and shoes while the Hispanic-origin cleaners are still cleaning the floor where the office is located. Life always gives you a good fix, whether you want it or not.

at the gates

2009-06-22T08:59:00.003+01:00

- The city I live in.
- The city I grew up in.

- The city I live in.
- The city I love.

- The city I earn in.
- The city I yearn for.

- The city I am going back to.
- The city I will eventually go back to.

- The city that feeds me.
- The city I want to feed-back.

- The city I am fed up with.
- The city that has fed me.

This morning at 6.30, I was sitting on the corner of Switzerland, France and Germany. Across me was the gate to the flight bound to the airport that was actually called "The City" airport of London. Besides me was a longer queue of people waiting to get on board on a budget-airline flight to Istanbul. Rows of people passed by me, almost all holding a blue passport with golden logos and writings on them, in two languages. The first of one which the language that belongs to my hometown. The other one that comes from my residency.

Istanbul flight should have already left at 6:30 but the boarding had not even started yet. People with multiple hand luggages were probably trying to convince the EasyJet operators or were ripped off due to extra hand luggage, a policy which budget airlines rely their profits heavily on. I was among others who each held red passports, were extremely calm and had small bags or suitcases with them, mainly in suits or some sort of well-looked-after shirt and trouser combinations.

"Come here, otherwise I will leave you and go on my own, and you will be stuck here", the mother said in Turkish. The boy started crying. I looked into his eyes. He saw me. The mother also saw me.
"Look, the man is looking at you, don't cry!" she ordered.
I smiled at the kid.
"You cheeky little bastard. What the fuck are you crying for, spoiled kid?" I thought, in a rather friendly way.

Ahmet was his name, and he was a blonde little kid. He looked more Swiss or European than many others in the queue for the London flight. He was curious about these other blonde man, too, and wanted to go through the gate with them.

The day was just dawning. I was just driven by 2 friends from Zurich to Basel around 5 in the morning, through a beautiful Swiss landscape under the dimmest of lights that hardly dinstinguished the shades of green of the trees nearby and the magnificient river Rhine.

I slowly got up and walked through a few people, with whom I shared the same humiliation at the border control, of being questioned where I live and where I am going for what purpose. They were trying to go home. I was trying to go somewhere where more interrogation was waiting for me.*

I made my way into the airplane with the red-passport people. The lady at the gate with the red Swiss Air suite checked my boarding pass and passport and said "you need a visa, uhhh, here it is, OK, thanks" and smiled back at me. I just realised I hadn't said a word since about an hour. I walked into the airplane and had a final look behind. Ahmet and others were waiting. The boarding had not yet started and there were waiting in yet another long queue, instead of sitting down on the benches around them and wathcing the sky.

* Here, I am referring to the UK Border Control customs that are usually extremely annoying. This time, however, I have to admit I was being checked by a really friendly officer whom I had a chance to have a chat with (rather than being asked only to "answer" and "not talk back"). This does not improve the general unfriendliness and human-rights violation of non-EU and non-UK citizens at UK Border controls.

Urban Age Award Istanbul 2009

2009-06-03T01:12:00.002+01:00

Here are a couple of links where you can find information on the $100,000 worth Urban Age Award that will be given to an architectural project realised recently in Turkey that had significant effect to its surrounding environment and population with respects to improving the quality of life and the physical form whilst engaging the community in decision-making in their cities.

http://urbanageawardistanbul.wordpress.com/

http://www.alfred-herrhausen-society.org/en/uaa_istanbul.html

http://www.alfred-herrhausen-society.org/en/1083.html (Turkce)

grumpy reality

2009-05-29T01:47:00.002+01:00

I said "yes, if I had lived in the 60's, I might have been as grumpy as him". I guess I thought I would be as expressive or explicit as him, or anyone of that era. Then I was told "yeah, that's what you always think about older times"... Dylan looks so sharp that he knows he is not a lost soul. If he ever were one, would he have lived until his balls came licking the ground and still tour around the world as the grumpiest and most boring live musician? One thing is certain that he kicked ass in his time, and he did not give too much a damn. He cared about himself, though... We all know the picture, where he is almost patiently waiting for the ship to come. He was patient with the rest of the world, that is why he is still alive. But he has never been patient wih himself, as grumpy and as in-your-goddamn-face as he can be. And yes, whatever others may think, I think "I'm Not There" is one of the coolest films out there...

And then we strolled down the long, thin corridors where Tante Marianne was waiting for us with her distorted reality, crooked looks and with the tainted love from the child on her lap... She was with Renate, in a proper 60's version of a Jim Jarmusch scene. Probably Dylan was holding his stomach not to throw up a disgusting fish soup he had in a British town on his live tour. The beautiful children of Liverpool and the plastic smile of Betty.

We looked through the mirror and saw no clean brush strokes or a slight distortion and artistic escape from reality. With my growing weight, I looked as ugly and as real as I could be. It was a nice short, evening visit to the National Portrait Gallery...

Mark was looking down...

2009-05-27T01:27:00.002+01:00

Mark was sitting awkwardly on his usual spot. Today he had a bit of a crumble on his fair hair. He was looking down more often than he usually does. He seemed uneasy to look up to the eyes of people passing by. He did not even say "hi', nor did he give the comforting feeling of "I'll look after your bike, don't worry". He was indifferent. It was fair. People were usually indifferent to Mark.

The Afr0-Caribbean guy walked in through the door as I was trying to pick up the mozzarella I had dropped on the floor. Hunger was getting to me and I was a bit dizzy by then. By the time I was at the mushrooms basket on the veggie shelves, the Afro-Caribbean went back on the street to collect some more rubbish. He did not look quite happy neither. Was it the weather?

It was a warm spring's night. Overcast as usual but warm, not as good as it was on the weekend. Possibly the strong headwind had them bow their heads? The guys in the local shop were on verbal abuse towards a drunken or a natural-born-tipsy lady. They were usually accommodating towards Mark and the Afro-Caribbean, though. Mark had a shelter under the tree from which he watched the knee-level cruelty.

I don't know the real name of Mark. I just made it up. I probably call him Mark now, because he clearly marks the spot where you can pass by him everyday. He does not ask for much, he is usually taken care of in one way or another. If anything, Mark has his place in this world. I didn't want to call the Afro-Caribbean guy anything, this has got nothing to do with any racial prejudice. He was a ruthless wanderer. Him and Mark were only a couple from the ruthless face of London, and of the warm ruthlesness that mixed so well with the warm spring breeze that touched my legs as Mark looked down once more. At knee-level.

A Londoner moment

2009-05-23T02:46:00.002+01:00

I have repeatedly been claiming that London is not one of the cities I feel myself completely attached to, like I do with Istanbul, Berlin or New York even, recently. However, today, I felt once again that I have somewhat become a Londoner in the last 2 years. It was not an instant of someone asking me directions and I could say it right away, no, I've been having them quite often. It was a much unexpected situation.

I was riding my bicycle from the LSE, where I work, towards Bermondsey, to attend the screening of the docu-drama "The Age of Stupid" held on a boat near a wharf, one of these converted agglomerations by the beautiful Thames riverside, where used to stand large warehouses and shipping facilities. D. had invited me to this event, held by the new ecomonics foundation. I am hoping to write on another entry about my complicated feelings and thoughts over the whole 'green' issue as well as issues of reformation and revolution... However, let me go back to my mini-story here.

I decided to cycle from the north side of the river and take the atmospheric Tower Bridge to cross over the river. It is always a joy to walk over Tower Bridge, but cycling on it is another experience. Thanks to the nice weather and long summer days, I was to have a really nice view passing over it, too. Only a few minutes before I would turn into the bridge 2 cabs almost crashed into each other in front of me, making one maneuver right in front of me, causing me a full stop, followed by a huge truck that could not anticipate my stop and passed my unprotected vehicle and self right at my ear level. After recovering from the shock, I noticed the huge queue of cars before the bridge.

As I switftly rode past the cars, I realised that the bridge was open to allow possibly for a ship to pass and people, cars, and bicycles alike have all stacked on each side of the open bridge. Just by when I got to the bridge the platform closed, the barrier between them lifted and cyclists, in front of all the cars, started pedalling through the bridge. The cars, ever impatient, started taking over some cycles, pedestrians walking on and running away from all vehicles, and tourists taking picture of all of this mess.... And there I was, in the middle of it, cycling through it as this happens every day. I saw so many tourists being so excited about this. Polish tourists (or residents alike) who never dreamt of setting a foot in London years and years ago, Italian kids as they pop up from everywhere, an Indian descent or a south American wanderer. Everyone was taking pictures of what looked like a Tour de France, or a mayhem of cars-cycles, or a mass protest, rolling down Tower Bridge, whilst the sun was setting in the west, over London Bridge, and dying beams of it reflected through the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf in the east.

Unfortunately I do not have any pictures, as I was being taken pictures of. But at that moment, in the middle of all this excitement, I was milly enjoying being observed, keeping my cool and perfect timing of getting on the bridge and trying to make it to my desired place on time. I was like a proper Londoner for that instance, and I have to admit, I liked it.

Find the 7 bombs in the pictures

2009-05-12T00:38:00.006+01:00

New York, New York... I cannot be any humble on this, as at last, after years of anticipation I got to spend 9 beautiful days with my friends in this amazing city. Not even the bad weather, a mix of crazy humidity, a lot of rain and freak thunderstorms could ruin it. All in all, I could easily say I felt at ease most times with the New Yorkers and had a smooth time with the officials alike. However, there is one incident, maybe the only negative story I'll share in here among many good ones, that I'd like to scribble down before I do the honours later with other blog posts.

On Saturday, 9 May, I woke up to a beautiful morning around Williamsburg in Brooklyn. Before heading to some parks in DUMBO and walking over into Manhattan through Brooklyn Bridge, we were having brunch with D., J. and C. talking about the fine lines between use of public and private spaces and issues of infiltrating into people's private realms through photography. Only 2 days before, on 7 May, I remember taking a picture of a large housing block, of which there was only one window open where a veiled lady was looking down onto the W 57th Street. As I took her picture (or rather the picture of the building) she drew back immediately. At the brunch table on Saturday, C. and J. were saying that you can make a picture of someone at their window and it is their responsibility to draw the curtains to avoid being exposed to the voyeurist's lens. The discussion went further on with gaining access to shooting films and photography on sets and getting the consent of locals, and etc...

In the afternoon, I decided to pay a visit to the Grand Central Station on my own. I've always been fascinated with train stations, as a railroad-commute-lover and the useles wandering arounds, or running into catching trains, or stopping by to catch some breath in train stations have always been part of my interests. For that matter, Sirkeci Train Station in Istanbul also holds an important place in my heart.

As I walked into the Grand Central for the first time and got easily fascinated by the overwhelming non-human scale of the whole "thing" I started to taking pictures of the interiors and the peope alike. I made may way into the train platforms, hoping to catch some more movement. A few poor shots and I walked back into the main concourse. I bought a bunch of cupcakes and made my way into the balconies with the fancy restaurants to have a final elevated view of the space...

At that moment I was approached from behind by a couple of cops with whom we have exchanged the following bizarre conversation:

"Sir, could you please stop?"
I stop.

"There have been complaints from staff that you were taking pictures of the train platforms, can we have a look at the pictures"?
I show them some of the pictures I took as I don't feel the need to end up an interrogation room for losing my calm for nonsense discussion.

"Why have you taken these pictures of the walls and lights, but not the main area or people? These are not pictures that normal tourists would take. Can I please see your ID? Where are you staying, what are you here for, how long are you going to be in New York"...

The rest was the similar treatment that I have gotten experienced to at the 2 stop and search incidents I had in London (2nd of which was accusation of stealing my own bicycle). The sheer differences were that in New York when they wrote down some of my ID details, they did it on a random piece of paper and did not tell me what they would to with them, whereas in London it was on a standard print-paper, a receipt of which I was handed afterwards, clearly stating all my rights (I keep one pink slip of that).

In general, in the States it has felt as if they have more experience in being suspicious but also handling situations. I would rather not mess with the American cops, as in Europe and especially in the UK, there is much greater sense of regulation. However I also have to admit that I despise the hypocritical royal attitude of the officials in the UK, whereby they take every step to make life miserable to people that are not from certain backgrounds (ethnically, or citizenship-wise (eg non-EU, non-US)).

So, after having had this small interrogation, I remembered the morning discussion over public space and asked the cops the following:
"Is there any regulation of taking pictures in here? This is a public space, right?"

I learn that the issue with the train platforms are different, that they are grey zones, that the lawas that once helped shelter the homeless are much tighter now and that they followed me because of taking pictures in the platforms. Well, one of the remarkable quotes they've used in this conversation was:
"The world has changed since the 1980's, right?"

What can I say? I was astonished by the retrospective. What a valid, self-reflective, intellectual criticism of the 1980's neo-liberal led conservative policies. Wish all cops had this edge!

In the meanwhile, can you spot the 7 hidden Usames in the following pictures I took at the station?!

How do we debate urban design today?

2009-04-23T13:17:00.003+01:00

A while ago, M. sent me an article from the New York Times: Rethinking Postwar Design in London. Reflected through the Robin Hood Gardens (1), a post-war social housing estate built in the early 1970's, the article analyses the successes and failures (but rather failures) of post-war design in the rush to build amidst a housing crisis. It then tries to bring contemporary solutions, by means of various design interventions, to tackle the issue without hurting too much an important part of a London identity created around the plethora of this new typology (the post-war housing) and taking into consideration sustainability and environmental issues: "Construction is one of the largest single producers of carbon dioxide. In the age of global warming, deciding to tear down and rebuild rather than think through whether a project can be salvaged has obvious ethical implications".

F. is working on her final project at Central Saint Martins College of Art & Design and has taken a large social housing estate in the northeastern part of London, near Manor House: Woodberry Down Estate (2). The estate is beautifully located aroud the East and West Reservoir water basins but the fate of the estate has never been so poor. The area has an interesting story of becoming from one of the wealthier neighbourhoods of the area occupied by Jewish families, and then being compulsorily purchased by the London County Council for this quite large post-war housing development, completed in 1962. I have once been to the estate, now going through major regeneration led by Hackney Homes association. Some of the larger white houses to the south of the estate are in appalling conditions, some flats with no proper windows and the walls and the doors falling apart, revealing the interiors of the houses, probably freezing in the cold harsh winter breeze.

Yesterday afternoon we had a team meeting over a new study we wish to carry out in the office. Without going into too much detail, I can say that it is mainly to do with energy efficiency and building typologies. During consideration of what samples to examine from London's architectural heritage, we came to speak about post-war typology as a prominent one, discussing the failures of poor design and construction methods, that fail to satisfy neither the quality of life the tenants deserve today, nor the visual attractiveness the city deserves. However, in their own senses, social housing estates are realities of today's London. Living in one of them, I could not be closer to this reality than any other.

We usually make comparisons of different surroundings in big cities like London. They help us compare and contrast various projects in terms of urban form, city identity, connectivity, social assets, visual appeal, standards of living and more. The street layouts of Georgian housing communities may be greener, and more sustainable in the long-term but definitely appeal to a more individualistic and wealthier lifestyle that cease to exist in a city of today's deep global crisis, in which is now embedded are the hundreds of communities of different social backgrounds. A housing block behind a major road can give you the convenience of sociability and easy access to communal amenities but they usually are located in the impoverished and distant areas of towns.

One particular point I come across that we sometimes fail to realise in our discussions is to make fair judgments of developments in the recent urban heritage in their respective contemporary environments. A high-school friend, E., was here last summer for a few months to do an internship with a design-led sustainable small enterprise, through which he published some writings and presented a witty presentation that included a critic of single-dimension state-led design in the immediate post-war Britain (in Turkish). One of the points he eventually touched upon that relates to my point here was the desperation of the state in a financial wreck, trying to overcome a major housing shortage in a very short time. However, are we giving a fair account of the deals when looking at the appaling states of some of the day's housing solutions given the necessities of its time? Or, rather, is there a good range of discussion carried out over both the good and the bad (and eventually the ugly) examples of what was built in the post-war era, to understand whether some of the solutions did actually work its way until today?

One of today's major discussion points is the 'green' future. We have recently seen that some of the recent ambitious proposals by today's construction and developers pioneers have gone to the waste. A year has passed since Arup had to leak the news that the Dongtan project was to be halted, and today it seems like it is lost forever. Coincidentially, states are in line to boost their 'green' ambitions in the wake of the global financial crisis. However, here in Britain, there is a new urban 'crisis' that seems to set a new discussion has gone the wrong way again.

Analysing different qualities of different forms built over centuries, without taking into account the span of time and different motives behind each era is the biggest tyranny of an urban historian. Studying an historical era, I believe the historian's main to be to understand the all dynamics of the day in order to syringe out which strategies were carried out to come up with the best solution for the existing circumstances of the day. Only, this way, can we reflect on today's problems and propose potentially succesful interventions.

Robin Hood Gardens

2.

Woodberry Down Estate

Small intervention for the street sign on St. Antoine Church, Taksim

2009-04-11T20:01:00.000+01:00

The street sign of Istiklal Caddesi stands overwhelmingly imposing with its shiny red backgorund over the sign depicting the name of this St. Antoine Church in Taksim. Whether this has got anything to do with ideology or not is another question but in the meanwhile, can we not think of a simple solution to this urban problem?

Instead of occupying one of the 2 columns at the gate of this beautiful and famous Catholic church in Taksim area, and overwhelming the placard depicting the name of the church....

Can we not think of putting that street sign (in a slightly smaller size) to the other column nearby which is vacant?

And in doing so, come from this:

to this:

Mr. Yellowrose, did you forget to take your rubbish with you?

2009-04-01T23:31:00.003+01:00

Mustafa Sarigul (last name translates: Yellow Rose) had knocked on the door of my family house for the first time quite a long while ago (about 10 years). He was touring the whole district of Sisli with various colours of roses in his hand, introducing himself as the new, young candidate for the District Municipal Mayor in the 1999 local elections. Ever since he has been elected 3 times in a row, switching from the Democratic Left Party (DSP) to the Republican People's Party (CHP), and back to the DSP for the recent elections.

He won over 50% of the votes once again and remains to be a popular figure in Sisli. He is welcome both by the liberal rich due to his impressive investment in entertainment features on special occasions, investment in high-end retail development, as well as among the urban poor where he spends public money into improving schools and creating new facilities for the elderly.

However, he is also majorly criticised for paving the way for monopolisation of development in the district as well as allowing for rent-seeking policies that may end up in corruption claims.

Just 3 days after his re-election, I happened to walk by what is depicted in the pictures below. Please be reminded that the rubbish here lies just across the new, posh shopping mall "City's" and by another high-end hotel. It is also very close to the childhood home of Orhan Pamuk. Well, there may be more than one reason for why that rubbish lay so peacefully and stinky thereabouts...

"It stinks of my Mayoral election candidates here..." - Mr. Yellowrose

Greenaway's True Cinema Definition?

2009-03-24T13:58:00.006Z

Back in February 2007, on a visit to Berlin, I had come across a public talk given by the British filmmaker Peter Greenaway. A Turkish blog entry for the event is available at the following link.
For the non-Turkish speakers, the following summary should suffice for the purpose of this entry:

Greenaway gave a lecture to a full house at the Audimax of the Humboldt University in Berlin on 9 February 2007. He was surprised to see a big auditorium packed as that fine, cold Friday evening was also the opening night for Berlinale 2007. He delivered a speech he has been delivering for a while around the world, about why he thinks 'cinema has died' and there was need for a new definition for cinema. He summarised the 4 major "betrayal" characters of cinema that resulted in the 'death of it' as such:

1. Betrayal of the text
2. Betrayal of the frame (the spatial dimension)
3. Betrayal of the actor
4. Betrayal of the camera angles.

Basically, he was saying that, cinema was too much constrained by the inflexibility of the written text, the limitations of the frame, the inability of the actors to convey a potrait independent of their real-life personalities, and the limitations of capturing wide perspectives due to quasi-static attributes of camera angles.

The way forward for the cinema's new definition was in interactivity. The Tulse Luper Suitcases series he has produced in the last few years was his own way of trying this interactivity. I have to admit I could never get what he meant, maybe due to watching only bits of the T.L. Suitcases series, but I leave that up to film experts. In conclusion, a Renaissance painterly-art fetishist Greenaway has believed that there has never been a filmmaker who ever did 'real cinema', only those like Eisenstein came close to it.

I would like to divert the attention here now to an event held by the Future Cinema, a creative group who "creates large scale cinematic experiences, fusing feature film with music, theatre and live performance". One of these events is called Secret Cinema, where the audience is sent SMS/email alerts a day prior to a film screening event that is to be held at a secret location in the UK.

Future Cinema has recently held a special screening of Watchmen by the SE1 club under the railway arches of London Bridge. I was not lucky enough to get myself a ticket, but you can watch the reviews, some videos and pictures of the event at the following links provided...

Could this be the new definiton of the cinematic experience Greenaway was talking about a few years ago? Maybe little wonder it comes from the UK...

BBC 2 Video on the Event

Photos from the Event

Some Press Releases

neydim degil ne olacagim demeli... 5

2009-03-10T15:00:00.003Z

cyclicus orgasmus

2009-03-07T00:45:00.002Z

OK, I've said enough times already but, London does have the capability of giving you an orgasmic-phantasmic cycling trips (trip, by every meanings of it) on a fine day or on a fine evening, or basically by any fine weather accompanied.

Leave your work office on a Friday evening, cycle up to Regent's Park, go around it and pray for whatever god, karma, or etc.. you believe in that you can inhale some 'green' air with such a serene panorama at your sight, with the park on your left, the canal on your right and some random runners, nice mansion houses and a few flashlights of nearby cabs...

Go up towards Swiss Cottage and you're already overwhelmed with the hardcore aristocarcy of London... Now, OK, I have to admit I always felt there are things achieveable in life even for my super-ego from the worst end to some higher up, but the bloody palaces up on the Avenue Road in NW3, NW5 Camden are fucking devastating. You're considered lucky cycling with a £50 3rd hand bicycle if not hit by a passing-by Porsche or a similarly low-bottom end car cruising past you...

No, what's so great about this goddamn city is that as soon as some of these palace-replicas end (and there actually is a building on this avenue that resembles a medieval castle, a cheesy one rather) you already see the low-income housing estate blocks of Camden at your vista, a mile or two ahead... And then you think to yourself... what a mish-mash...

You come to an incredible complex of social amenities by Swiss Cottage, including the 50-year running progressive theatre hall of Hampstead Theatre. Designed as a sphere within a very classic late-modern building, you feel as if you're entering a hi-tech, contemporary IMax movie theatre, rounded-shape giving every single of the audience a good view of the theatre hall. Then you watch a brilliant tense story of an Irish Intelligence Service in the WWII stationed in Berlin.

Think about all the bare cruelties a WWII Berlin play can bring to you and leave the theatre with these feelings on a brilliant 7-degree Celsius clear-skies night to cycle from North London into the East End, where the buildings get higher and higher in terms of building height and lower and lower in terms of income per household. Think about the gentrifier young populations of newer East Londoners as they are abundant on the street screaming at each other with a 2.5 pints of beer down the throat on a fine Friday night and look deeper into the flats to see the struggles of generations, wealth of which has been ripped off by imperial armies that are dying in the deserts of far-away lands these days with democracy sold in Great Bullocks Pounds, a currency that is shrinking by each passing second.

Cycle over the canal, get home and pour some Polish vodka into your Shandy Brass and just think about how diverse a city can get, and cry all the German words you have learned from your mid 1980's VHS German porn films... Because, my friend, this city can give you a proper orgasm.

cezve ve saat

2009-02-17T16:13:00.003Z

malum yogun bir calisma programi icerisindeyim bir kac gundur. yarindan itibaren de stresli bir 4 gun gecirecegim. bir akademik, bir lojistik organizasyonla ugrasirken, biraz yorgun dustum, az once yedigim yemegin uzerine bayginlik cokmesin diye kahve icmeye karar verdim. evde de kimse yok, hemen mutfaga yonlendim. bir iki findikli kahve falan tadinda farkli bir sey aradim ama nafile. bir anda karsima ufak, turuncumsu bir pakette dr. oetker'den cikolatte diye bir sey cikti. 4 dakikada hazir cikolatali icecek...

dolapta sut var. gene annemin aldigi light sutlerden. insan ailesinin evine 'misafir' olunca umdugu degil buldugu sutu kullanmali. bir de minnacik, sirin mi sirin bir cezve buldum. sonra cezve cok kucuk geldi emin olamadim. cezve cahilligimden de olabilir, belki tum cezveler standard boydur ama bu bana epey kucuk geldi. bakindim daha buyuk bir sey var mi diye yok. tam bu bakinma aninda mutfaktaki o derin yalnizligimi yuzume tokat gibi carpan hadise gerceklesti. mutfak dolaplarindan birinin icine bakmak icin egilirken o korkunc sesi duydum. o karsi konulmaz, atsan atilmaz, satsan satilmaz, benligimin taa derinlerine yer etmis, sikintili dakikalarin, ozenle kuru temizlemecide temizlenmis hali kokularinin ve ucu kacmis coraplarimdan utanip sikilmalarimin o dayailmaz sesi!

basimi kaldirdim ve o minik saati gordum. tik, tok, tik, tok... dede ziyaretlerinde, dede otoritesinin altinda akip gitmeyen zamani kafam demir cubuklarla vurur gibi, minik minik gozlerle ve nefret ve merakla baktigim duvar saatindekinden daha kalin, eksi evlerde sabah ezanina uyanmaya calisan babaannelerin basucu saatindeki alarm zilinden daha derin, bu minik kutudan nasil ciktigi anlasilamayan o hipnotik tik tok... dede evinin kutuphanesindeki devasa meydan larousse'lar zamana ve artik eve gidip uyumak isteyen toruna meydan okurken o duvardaki ihtisami ile, deprem bile olsa en son yikilacakmis gibi duran duvar saati hep boyle benligime yer etmistir iste.

neyse daha buyuk bir cezvede bulamadim ama 2 bardak sut ile paketteki toz bu cezveye yetince basladim kaynatmaya cikolatteyi. yanlis mi yaptim bilmiyorum ama tahta kasikla da iyiden iyiye karistiriyorum toz parcaciklarini, obek obek hallerinin, sutun icinde parcalanmalarini izleyerek. ve tam o anda tahta kasigin ucu bakir cezvenin dibine degiyor. iste o keyif ani! tahta kasik ile cezvenin bulusmasindan gelen o 'hovka', 'hovka' efekti. ben 4 dakikalik pisirme aninda hovka hovka'larimla saatin tik tok'unu ekarte ederken muthis bir doygunluk ile sutun kararip tam cikolata kivamina gelmesini izliyorum.

neyse, sonunda kahve yerine bu garip seyi ictim, iyi de oldu, enerji verdi. "zihin acikligi" da. mutfagin isigini kapadim saati de biraktim tik tok'uyla bas basa. hakkini da yememek lazim, o olmasaydi 4 dakikanin gectigini falan anlamaz, muhtemelen cikolatte'nin dibini tutturur ya da cezveyi hirpalardim.

Besiktas - Berlin

2009-02-12T21:49:00.001Z

Cok hizli ve uzun bir hafta oldu.

3 Subat Sali aksami F. ile kisaca gorustukten sonra, Sabiha Gokcen Havalimani’nin yolunu tuttum. Yolda durup, Kurtkoy civarinda bir pideciden pideyi kapip, otoban ruzgarinda soguttugum pideyi yerken onumdeki uzun (9 gunluk) bir haftanin programi sekillenmisti.

Sali gecesi Londra’ya vardigimda, sehir 2 gunluk kar firtinasindan (1 Subat - 2 Subat) yeni yeni uyaniyordu. Rotarli, bol aktarmali yolculugum, Istanbul’daki evimden, Londra’da D.’nin evine kadar toplam 10 saatlik bir maceraya donustu.

Carsamba sabahi 6 saatlik bir uykuyla solugu Londra Alman Elciligi’nde aldim, Schengen Basvurusu icin. Henuz 6 haftalik bir Ingiltere Vizesi macerasini yeni noktalamistim ama Almanlarin 6 aylik bir turist vizesi icin cok sorun cikartmayacagini biliyordum.

Ertesi sabah Persembe saat 10’da tekrar Elcilik’e gittigimde, Schengen vizesi hazir, LSE’de Urban Age Ofisi’nde beni beklemeye devam eden isler de aynen duruyordu. Carsamba gecesi Turk yemegi gecesi yapmis, bol bol raki ve uzerine mangolu Malibu ictikten sonra, soguk Londra havasi Persembe sabahi zihnimi tekrar acmisti. Persembe tum gunu ve Cuma gununun onemli bir kismini yogun bir calisma temposu altinda Urban Age ofisinde gecirdim.

Cuma gunu ogleden sonra saat 4 civarlarinda Liverpool Street Station’da, Stansted Havalimani’na gidecek treni beklerken, ‘kotu hava kosullari’ndan oturu binmeyi planladigim trenlerden birinin iptal oldugunu gordum. Neyse ki, ucusta bir aksama olmadi ve 6 Subat Cuma gecesi saat 11 civarlarinda Salzburg’daki hostele sag salim vardik.

2 saatlik bir yuruyus; birkac ilginc shot (aralarinda muz likoru, Kahlua ve Vodka karisimi “Monkey Fucker” da bulunan) ve peynirli bir sosisli sandvic (Käse Kreiner) ile Salzburg’u hemence gezip gece biraz uyku icin hostele dondum. 5-6 saatlik bir uykunun ardindan Cumartesi erkenden kalkip Zell am See’nin yolunu tuttuk.

2.5 gunluk bu kayak tatili, taa Aralik ayinda planlanmis, ucak biletleri ona gore alinmisti. Aralik-Ocak aylarindaki Ingiltere Vizesi sikintisi hesaba katilmamisti. Dolayisiyla yeniden planlama cok pahali olacagi icin solugu Londra’da alir almaz Schengen vizesine basvurmus, boyle sikisik bir programin ortasinda kendimi Zell am See’de bulmustum.

Zell am See, Avusturya’nin batisinda, Salzburg’a yaklasik 1.5 saat mesafede, genis bir vadiye yayilmis, buzlarla kapli bir golun etrafindaki daglara konuslanmis bir kayak merkezi. Hava guzel oldugunda pistlerden Zeller See golunu izleyerek kayabiliyorsunuz. Cumartesi oglene dogru hostele vardiktan sonra, snowboard kiralama, skipass alma teferruatlarini atlatip saat 1 gibi pistlerdeydik. Havanin cok guzel olmasi cok buyuk bir sansti.

Uzun haftanin ilk yarisi sona ererken vucudum artik iflas etmek uzereydi. Cumartesi aksamustu saat 9’da uyuyup, ertesi sabah 8’de uyanarak 11 saatlik bir uyku festivali yasadim. Aralarda 6-7 kere uyanmama regmenm vucudum yataktan disari adim atacak mecali hic bulamadi. Sabah 8’de yataktan kalktiimda susuzluk ve asiri uykunun verdigi yorgunlukla kendimi hemen kahvalti salonuna attim.

Pazar hava cok kotuydu, ama Zell am See kayak merkezinin yamaclarindan biri, tepedeki ruzgarlara gore korunakli ve daha az kullanan kirmizi pistlere ev sahipligi yaptigi icin, Pazar gununu burada kayarak gecirdik. Pazar aksami klasik Avusturya yemekleri ve kesinlkle ugruna siirler yazilacak guzellikte irkci bir isme sahip Moor im Hemd ile tatli sonlandi.

Pazartesi Zell am See’nin hemen yanindaki, Kaprun isimli, genis buzul vadisi ile biraz daha soguk ama kayak icin de daha fazla alternatif sunan merkeze hareket ettik. Merkezin ortasindaki tamami kar ve buzdan yapilmis Ice Bar kompleksinin icinde birkac fotograf cekip, bir seyler yiyip ictikten sonra, ogleden sonra saat 3 gibi boardlari teslim etmek, esyalari almak, ve Zell am See’den ayrilmak uzere tekrar asagi dogru yollandik.

Schengen vizemi bu kadar acele icinde cikartmamin bir iyi yani daha olmustu. Pazartesi aksami D. ile yollarimiz Salzburg Tren Istasyonu’nda ayrildi. Saat 19:30 treni ile Viyana’nin yolunu tuttum. Avusturya’nin sagladigi yuksek hayat standardlarindan birini de, bos trende tamamen kendime ayirdigim 6 kisilik bir kompartmanda dinlenerek, uyuyarak ve film seyrederek yasadim. Saat 22:24 civarinda F. beni Viyana Westbahnhof’da karsiladiginda, bu guzel sehre kisa bir sureliginde olsa tekrar donus yaptigim icin mutludum.

Viyana’da topu topu gecirecegim 7 saatim vardi. Plan belliydi. Esyalari F.’nin evine birakip, O. ve E. ile bulusup sabahin erken saatlerine kadar muhabbet edip, esyalari tekrar aldiktan sonra Viyana Sudbahnhof’un yolunu tutmak... Gece yarisini biraz gece basladigimiz muhabbet sabahin erken saatlerine dogru bira bardaklarini devirmece, mekanin ortaklarindan Avusturyali Turk gocmeni genc Yusuf (sanirim) ile tanismaca, onun yardimlari ile neredeyse O. ve E.’yi spontan bir sekilde yolculugun devamia katilmaya ikna etmece ile evrildi. “Spontan” benim pek asina oldugum bir kavram olmakla birlikte, gecenin onemli masa muhabbetlerinden de biri oldu.

Saat 04:30’a dogru evlere hareket edilirken, icimden bir ses, esyalarini toparlamaya giden O. ve E.’nin her an yan cizebilecegini soyluyordu. Nitekim saat 05:00 civarlarinda O.’nun klasik bezginligi agir basti, ve 05:56’da Sudbahnhof’dan hareket eden trende yerlerini almadilar.

10 saatlik bir yolculukta karli manzaralar komur siyahindan beton beyazina, endustriyel mimari kir evlerine yerini birakirken, Cek Cumhuriyeti’ni boydan boya katedip saat 16:00 civarlarinda Berlin Hauptbahnhof’a yanasti tren. Uzun haftanin son duragi, artik okuyanlarin ve duyanlarin sikildigini tahmin ettigim betimlememle ‘en sevdigim sehir’ Berlin’di.

Uykusuz Viyana cikartmasina ve ceyrek uykulu Berlin tren macerasina eslik eden onemli telefon ve Internet haberlesmeleri olmustu. 10 Subat Sali gunu saat 17:00 civarinda Potsdamer Platz’da Berlinale merkezinde emaillerimi kontrol ederken, Urban Age’den Philipp Rode bir yandan telefonla taciz ediyor, ben de o sirada Pazartesi ve Sali biriken, ‘is hayatimin’ en yogun trafigine neden olan 35-40 emaili teker teker anlamaya calisiyordum.

Hic beklemedigim bir sekilde 1.5 gunluk Berlin gezisi bir anda en az 9-10 saat calismam gereken bir “is kampi”na donusmustu. Buna mukabil kafami toparlayabilmek ve rahat calisabilmek adina daha once sozlestigim Y. ve G.’yi aramayarak, 5. Berlin gezimde ilk defa olmak uzere parali bir konaklama opsiyonu ugruna Rosa-Luxemburg Platz dolaylarindaki hostellere yollandik.

Berlinale’de film gorme planlarim tamamen yalan olmak uzereydi ve 10 Subat Sali aksaminin onemli bir kismini hostelde laptopumla calisarak gecirmistim ki, saat gece 11:30’a dogru daha fazla kendimi sikmamaya karar vererek, Tacheles’in yolunu tutup F., S. (Dn.), Y. ve A. ile bulustum. Gece gene saat 04:30a dogru sonlanirken ertesi sabah 07:30 da kalkip hostelin barina kahvalti esliginde mail-telefon trafigine baslayacagim fikri hic hosuma gitmiyordu.

11 Subat Carsamba gunu hafif bir kirilganlik ile uyandim. 2.5 saatlik var ile yok arasi bir uykuyu 3 bardak portakal suyu ve 2 kahve ile bertaraf etmeye calisip sabah seansi calismami yaptiktan sonra, Berlinale kapsaminda Talent Campus programinda soylesiye katilan Reha Erdem ve Yesim Ustaoglu’nu dinlemek uzere HAU 1’in yolunu tuttum.

Urban Age’deki isim uzerinden, tesadufen daha 1 hafta once Londra’da (5 Ocak Persembe gunu) bir email trafigi ile tanistigim D.2 bu etkinlik icin davetiye hazirlamisti. Zira bu soylesi ayni zamanda Urban Age’in de finansoru olan Deutsche Bank’in Alfred Herrhausen Society’si tarafindan organize ediliyordu. Bu sayede soylesiyi biraz dinledikten sonra HAU 1’in fuayesinde Londra’dan gelecek is telefonunu beklerken, Alfred Herrhausen’dan D.2, Jessica Barthel, ve Ute Weiland ile tanisma sansina da eristim.

Bu sirada soylesinin cikisinda liseden arkadasim C.’ye ve universiteden arkadasim S.’ye rastladim. S., C.’nin kiz arkadasi, ve iki kiz daha Berlinale Talent Campus tarafindan, filmcilik alanindaki ustun yeteneklerinden oturu yaptiklari basvuru sonucunda Berlinale’ye davet edilmis, 5 gunluk bir atolye calismasinin son gununde Reha Erdem ve Yesim Ustaoglu’nu dinleyerek etkinligi destekleyemeye gelmislerdi. Isin ilginc yani, yaklasik 2-3 senedir kendisini gormedigim C.’ye bundan sadece 2 hafta once bir gece yarisi Besiktas Ihlamurdere’de rastlamis olmamdi. Ben komsum-arkadasim F.2 ile yaptigim kisa bir yuruyusun ardindan eve donerken, C. de Fulya’da yaptigi bir hali saha macinin ardindan evine dogru gidiyordu. Dunya hep kucuk ya, en cok da Berlin’de karsilasilan bu tesadufler beni epey bagliyor bu sehre galiba.

Potsdamer Platz’da bir cafe’de emailleri kontrol ettikten sonra D.2’nin daveti uzerine Unter den Linden’daki Deutsche Bank ofisine gittim. Kendisi ile verimli bir gorusme yaptik. Su anda Urban Age Direktoru icin ayarlamaya calistigim 18-21 Subat Istanbul toplantilari icin bana fikir verip yardimlarda bulunurken, biraz da dedikoducu ve ilgili tavri sayesinde oradan buradan muhabbetlerle epey ilginc haberler aldim.

Carsamba aksamina dogru atesim cikmaya, hastaligim iyice belirginlesmeye baslamisti. Burada fazla detaya girmeyecegim bir hadise uzerine de, daha once gerceklesmesini planladigim ve eski kiz arkadasim A.’nin da dahil oldugu bir 3luyu gorusmeye katilmamama A. ile birlikte karar verdik. Cok acikmistim ve cok sevdigim bir yerde bir aksam yemegi programi idi bu (Tiergarten S Bahn duraginin altindaki Alman pub’i) ama onun yerine acligimi Alexanderplatz istasyonundaki bir Cin bufesinden devasa bir noodle box ile kapatmaya karar verdim.

Saat aksam 6 civarinda hostele dondugumde uzun haftanin yorgunlugu, hastalik ile birlesmis agirligini iyiden iyiye hissetiriyordu. Fotografini birkac hafta once Istanbul Modern’de bir muzede de gordugum dogu Berlin’in unlu sinemalarindan Babylon’la ayni koseyi paylasan sokaktaki hostelimde yaptigim 2 saatlik is calismasindan sonra odaya donerek Berlinale programina son bir kez goz gezdirdim.

Saat 9’daki filme bilet bulamadik ama saat 10’da Potsdamer Platz’daki kisa filmlere gidebildik. Film gosteriminin yuzdek 80’ini uyuyarak gecirdigim icin, 1 kisa film disinda digerlerinin cogundan cok az sey anlayabildim. Gene detaylarina girmeyecegim bir aksamustu hikayesi olarak, keyif ve temp dozu dusuk gece saat 12’ye dogru agir bir hastalik uykusuna yolculukla sona erdi.

Sabah 8 gibi kalktim. Dune gore daha iyi hissederek. Bogazimda beklentilerimin cok altinda bir agri var ve belki de yarina kadar bir seyim kalmaz. Saat 10:30’a dogru Tegel Havalimani’na vardim. Ilk defa Urban Age ucus biletlerimi almisti. Zira Istanbul’a, Urban Age ile ilgili bir is icin donuyorum. 2 hafta daha Istanbul’dayim ve sonrasi Londra’da yeni bir hayat mucadelesine donusecek.

Besiktas’tan Berlin’e, uzun, yorucu, karmasik, genelde soguk, buzlu, karli ve gene hayatin inanilmaz temposuna girdiginizde sizi asla birakmayan o muthis enerjinin verdigi anlatilamaz hislerle eve dogru gidiyorum. Uzuuuunn ve guzel bir haftanin ardindan. Fotograflarina bakip yamaclarina gittigim mekanlarla, farkli cografyalarda hikayelerine birlikte baslayip birlikte bitirdigim guzel insanlarla ve bohcamda Y.’ye alip hediye edemedigim bir paket Mozartkugeln ve bircok bircok aniyla gene eve dogru donuyorum. Her defasinda yeni bir gozle bakmayi ogrendigim essiz guzellik ve essiz cirkinlikteki Istanbulumun silueti yagmur bulutlarinin arasinda hayal meyal secilen yeni gokdelenleri ve yigin yigin uzanan kirmizi damlari ile, sonsuz ceperlerini zorlayarak etrafindaki batakliklara yayilirken, son bir kez hemen altimizda enginlige uzanan, goz alabildigine masmavi Karadeniz’e son bir bakis atiyorum.

neydim degil ne olacagim demeli... 4 / one should not observe what one was, rather what one will become... 4

2009-01-30T09:11:00.007Z

2007

2009

neydim degil ne olacagim demeli... 3

2009-01-30T08:38:00.008Z

2004-------------------------------------------------2008

neydim degil ne olacagim demeli... 2 / man muss nicht sagen was ich geworden bin sondern was ich sein werde 2

2009-01-28T17:34:00.000Z

http://www.schwarzwaelder-bote.de/wm?catId=79040&artId=13525854&offset=7

neydim degil ne olacagim demeli... 1 / man muss nicht sagen was ich geworden bin sondern was ich sein werde 1

2009-01-28T17:05:00.000Z

2005 2007 2008

2009

2020?

Stories of a Visa Application - Part VIII: Conclusion

2009-01-28T11:03:00.000Z

For the time being, this chapter closes with the following:

I hope that anyone who has been going through the same stages will get what they wanted. I hope that there will be less suffering due to heavy limitations of freedom of movement, I will continue to hope for less borders and for people to have more peaceful and calm mindsets, not overwhelmed with security freaks. I will not only hope for this, but I will also work for this as long as I am the guy whose stories of one visa application hereby terminates with this chapter...

Stories of a Visa Application - Part VII: Change!

2009-01-27T15:35:00.006Z

At last, everything will be revealed tomorrow...

Stories of a Visa Application - New Information

2009-01-21T22:05:00.004Z

I have probably become the 'biggest fan' of the World Bridge Visa Information Services website which is the agency that forwards my visa application to the UK Consulate.

Today I found out that they have put a link to a new 'guide to visa processing times' published by the UK Home Office for all applications all around the world. It can be found at this link.

Before this guide came out I had always been told it takes around 3 weeks (or 20 working days). Now, according to this data, there were only 3 applications to the visa I have applied for from Istanbul in December 2008.

0% of the 3 applications were decided neither within 5 or 15 working days.
100% of the 3 applications were decided within 30 working days.

So, it is 15-30 working days. That is a 15 working days of ambiguity between the two numbers. That is 3 weeks of your precious time whereby you can't make further short-term plans about your life.

Today was my 18th working day since I sent my documents to World Bridge, and probably 17th working day since they forwarded them to the UK Consulate.

Who knows how long it will take? Who knows what were the decisions for those 3 applications, and what will it be for mine?

Oh, maybe Obama knows this, too?

In any way, let me hope for the best and hope for better for those who have suffered much worse from restrictions such as these, countable not only by weeks, but months, years or even lifetimes...

BoltArt -- Guncel, gorsel sanatlar tanitma ve tartisma platformu

2009-01-19T22:36:00.002Z

Again, one for the Turkish readers...

Kasim ayinin ortasi itibariyle acilan ve giderek genisleyip gelisen BoltArt'i tekrar huzurlarinizda tanitmak istedim. New York'tan Merve Unsal, Guney Cuceloglu ve Ozge Ersoy'un baslattigi bir blog sitesi olan BoltArt, aylik olarak guncellenen yazilar ve siklikla guncellenen ufak haberlerle, bunyesinde sergi yazıları, proje tanıtımları, denemeler, röportajlar ve fotoğraf projelerine yer vermeyi amaclayan site, kurucularinin tabiriyle "görsel sanatlar, performans sanatları, tasarım, mimari ve sanat felsefesine duyduğumuz tutkumuzu Türkçe olarak paylaşabileceğimiz online bir platform".

Benim yazdigim yazi bahane, sitede cok siki yazilar var. http://www.boltart.net i ziyaret etmeyi unutmayin...

No real chance of incentive for Obama in the Middle East, for the time being

2009-01-18T15:57:00.002Z

I was arguing recently that the Israeli offensive over Palestine would stop a day or two before Obama's first day at the White House. Today, a ceasefire has been announced and whether this holds for a mid to long term or not is unclear, it leaves Obama without a clear chance to voice his opinions over the issue. This is, I believe, what he and the Israelis could agree the most easily on. I actually believe this is a move by Israel, to relieve pressure on Obama.

Now that the offensive is over for the time being, Obama will not be asked the following question:
"What action will you consider concerning the war in Palestine?"

The Jewish lobby may or may not have a superior influence over Obama, just yet. If Obama were to be asked this question, he would either have to give away from the global support he receives and the hopes of those wishing for peace and stability in the Middle East. The other option would be to denounce the Israeli politics, which Obama would not necessarily like to do, or not even have the incentive to do so.

In this case, one can imagine a mid-term ceasfire whereby Obama will be allowed to elaborate on his prior issues such as the global financial crisis. In the meanwhile, Israel will hold its national elections and probably seek to calm the waters until the next time when they can have a more soumd (or silenced, shall I say?) support from Obama for their next move.

Discussions will follow over the course of the next few days, and I am not expecting another offensive for Israel at the moment, despite what their population is feeling. In the end, does anyone really have the incentive to do anything about what the subjects of the offenders, and the sluaughtered have been feeling?

Stories of a Visa Application - Part VI: Detained

2009-01-15T17:45:00.001Z

A sunny day it was today, where the high peak reached 16 Degrees Celsius.

Of a very unlikely nature for Istanbul, the night temperature will be around 4 Degrees, a sharp drop from the day.

My feelings fluctuated during the day quite dramatically, too. I had booked my return flight to London today, for 15 January.

Eagerly refreshing visa application webpage and submitting the long application code (csc-tr-....) that could be anything from the registry code of a machinery in an abandoned ex-Soviet power plant somewhere in the midsts of a cold Russian town to the barcode on a piece of garbage of a sweet chocolate bar you have just thrown away... I submit the code and all I get is the same message.

"Documents arrived at the Visa Section".

My flight has just left and I am still looking at the island on the map.

Or... maybe it doesn't even exist there on the map anymore... as was the case with the controversial art piece this Czech artist created for the official launch of Czech Presidency of the EU. The EU or the UK... Seem like distant trails on some maps coloured a sinister red, by some sinister ministers.

Italian shoes with no laces

2009-01-14T11:39:00.001Z

Frost/Nixon was premièred for London audience at the London Film Festival in November 2008. I missed it. Richard Nixon has been of great interest to me. I had written a 20-page article about the foreign policies of the US during Richard Nixon's presidency between 1969-1974. The controversial Watergate brought Nixon down from the presidency, but the interviews held with Nixon after his presidency had caught little attention from me. Frost/Nixon is a brilliant film, set around the interview attempt of an English journalist David Frost with Richard Nixon in the spring of 1977.

Richard Nixon was an ambitious lawyer who was brought up under hardships. He was Eisenhower's Vice-President but when he ran for his own presidential campaign in 1960, he had JFK up against him. The first-ever broadcast presidential debate in the US TV history brought the bright young JFK against and old, experienced but uncharming Nixon. Nixon would try his chance again only in 1968 after having lost to JFK in 1960 but he would forever keep the depression of his uncharming personality. He would, in stead, build a self-confidence, that of an army man, made of steel but fragile with regards to its foundations.

David Frost was an ambitious journalist who is portrayed as a young, charming, not-so-intellectual but a successful talk-show host in the film. After discovering Nixon was pardoned by his successor, President Gerald Ford, Frost decides to challenge Nixon on a TV interview. Also fuelled by one of his researchers he hires for the job, and against the lack of financial support for his project, Frost is determined to put Nixon down to his knees in front of the TV audience and snatch a 'public apology' from him. Ford wanted Nixon to feel as challenged and overwhelmed as JFK made him feel back in the early 1960's. The tensions between the two, the portrayal of the ambitions of the two men, the representation of the 1970's USA are cleverly displayed in this film.

A small but remarkable detail of the film is Nixon's obsession with the Italian style shoes without laces that Frost is wearing. Although Nixon is comforted by his personal adviser that Italian shoes without laces are very effeminate and that they would not suit Nixon, the audience is kept on their nerves with the symbolism of Nixon's insecurity over his own appearance with the shoe detail...

Today I met a friend from high school, M. and her mother at the Mimar Sinan Fine Arts University for a lovely lunch that inspired a lot about issues dealing with urban policies. As the usual case with earlier generations advicing on the younger ones, the conversation came to a point where young ones like us are being looked upon to bring important change to the current discussions. At some point M. reminded that there is way too many people these days who claim they 'want to be Prime Ministers or some other important people'. She gave the example of a friend of hers to conclude:

"Huh! You think he can make a Prime Minister... with those Italian shoes of his?!"

I dedicate this text to M., and advice her to watch Frost/Nixon as soon as possible! =)

Story of Hamburg and Altona in Istanbul (English) -- Istanbul'daki Hamburg ve Altona'nin Hikayeleri (Turkce)

2009-01-12T16:43:00.007Z

This entry is bilingual.
Bu yazi hem Ingilizce, hem Turkce'dir. Turkce metin icin asagi satirlara bakiniz.

-----

The German High School of Istanbul (Deutsche Schule Istanbul) lies in a very central location, around the Tunel-Galata neighbourhoods of Beyoglu District. This area (referred to as 'Pera' in the Ottoman times) is full of history as it has been the 'modern' central district of Istanbul, being homes to many Jewish, Armenian and other non-Muslim communities, whereas the historical peninsula, consisting of Eminonu and Fatih regions are the 'traditional' central districts. Beyoglu district hosts many churches, most of which are Christian Orthodox but a few Catholic ones can also be found, as well as other historical institutional landmarks and some of the prettiest architectural sites. The German influence in the area is much less compared to that of the Armenian, Greek, Jewish, or the more contemporary French influences. However, apart from the German High School, there are two other landmarks that I have been curious about in the last few years. Today I found out about 2 stories, that are to do with the names of these 2 places: Altona Bufe, and Hamburg Kiraathanesi (also called "Hamburg Cafe").

When you walk towards the Galata Tower from the Tunel Square, on the left is the Altona Bufe, a small shop that sells chicken doner for 1 Turkish Lira (equivalent of 0.5 Euros) and some rice to go with it. It was initially a 'pilavci' (a rice-shop) and was turned into a full-catering doner-pilav shop over the last few years. When I approached the guy behind the doner to enquire about where the name comes from, he gave me the following answer:

- There is this guy, that comes and eats from us once in a while. 2 years ago, he told me he is from Hamburg Altona. You know, it's a place name. In Altona, he has a 'pilavci' (rice shop) just like mine, and he is also from Sivas, just like me. He doesn't speak Turkish anymore but he told me 'why don't you have a name for your shop? why don't you call it Altona?'. That's where the name comes from.

This was rather different than what I expected. I was expecting at least to hear some crazy story about the owner of the shop being from Altona and missing the Turkish community in that Hamburg neighbourhood, or a story in which the shopkeeper was a fan of Fatih Akin (who is also from Altona) or has met him there (that would actually be my story if I opened a shop and called it Altona)... In fact, this was rather a dull story which I had to walk away with.

However, the second story is a bit more interesting:

When you walk up towards Tunel from Tophane along the famous Kumbaraci Yokusu, on your left-hand side you will notice a well-preserved, remarkable church. It is the Crimea Memorial Church (see the link for a nice image). When you walk into the street where the church is, you will come to the "Hamburg Kiraathanesi" (also named Hamburg Cafe, recently for foreign visitors) at the end of the street. Over the last few years the dilapidated looking 'kiraathane' tried to transform itself into something more appealing. Now it has a wooden exterior that fits better into a countryside concept, but what mattered to me was where the name "Hamburg Kiraathanesi" came from. I found out today:

As I took a picture of the 'kiraathane', the teaman of the kiraathane walked out. I thought "oh, OK, he'll tell me to leave, I'm busted". He actually looked quite cute, a small, chubby Turkish teaman. So I approached him and asked him:

-Hello, can I ask you why this place is called Hamburg Cafe?

His reply was a bit surprising to my liking. He giggled and smiled whilst saying:

- Hehe.. You know.. There is this place called Hamburg... down the road.. (pointing towards the sea). We would not be allowed there we were young (he's about mid 30's to 40's looking). So, we named this place with regards to that. Now we have our own Hamburg, hehe!

This statement, this confession, this admission was so sweet, just like the guy himself, I just could not do anything but smile to my ears.

Of course, down the road, where he pointed towards the sea... are the famous brothels of Karakoy, and god knows who have made their way in through Hamburg of Istanbul...

------

Alman Lisesi, Beyoglu'nda, Tunel ile Galata mahalleleri arasinda, merkezi bir yerde konuslanmistir. Tarihle dolu Istanbul'un bu 'modern' merkezi eskiden Yahudi, Ermeni, ve diger gayri-Muslimlere ev sahipligi yaparken, sehrin 'geleneksel' merkezi ise tarihi yarimadada, Eminonu ve Fatih ilcelerini kapsayan bolgedeydi. Beyoglu'nda, cogunlugu Ortodoks, az bir kismi da Katolik olan kiliseler disinda, baska tarihsel binalar ve sehrin guzel mimari ornekleri gorebilecegimiz binalar bulunmaktadir. Bolgedeki Ermeni, Rum, Yahudi ve daha modern donemlerdeki Fransiz etkisine oranla bakarsak, Alman etkisi cok dusuk bir seviyededir. Fakat bolgede Alman Lisesi disinda, benim dikkatimi son yillarda ceken ve isimlerinin hikayelerini merak ettigim 2 yer daha vardi: Altona Bufe ve Hamburg Kiraathanesi ('Hamburg Cafe' de deniyor).

Tunel Meydani'ndan Galata Kulesi'ne yururken, solunuzda Altona Bufe'yi goreceksiniz. Eskiden sadece pilavci olan mekan son bir kac yildir 1 TL'ye tavuk doner de satmakta. Donerciye, bufenin isminin nereden geldigini sormak icin yaklastigimda, bana su cevabi verdi:

- Bir adam vardi, gelip boyle bizden yiyordu bir suredir. 2 yil once falan koyduk ismi. Bana Altona'dan oldugunu soyledi, oyle bir yer var. Altona'da onun da bir pilavci dukkani varmis, zaten o da benim gibi Sivasli'ymis. Turkcesi de pek iyi degil artik, dedi ki bu bir gun 'neden isim koymuyorsun dukkana? Altona yapsana ismini?'. Isim buradan geldi iste.

Bu, bekledigimden daha farkli bir cevapti. En azindan daha cilgin bir hikaye taharrur etmistim ismin arkasinda. Mesela dukkan sahibi Altonali olup 'memleket'ini ozlemis olabilirdi, ya da dukkan sahibi bir gun Altona'ya gidip Fatih Akin'la (o da Altonali) falan tanismis olabilirdi (gerci bu daha cok bana uygun bir hikaye olurdu)... Esasen, bekledigimden daha soluk bir hikayeyle uzaklastim oradan.

Fakat, ikinci yerin hikayesi biraz daha ilginc:

Tophane'den Tunel'e dogru, Kumbaraci Yokusu'ndan cikarken, solda iyi korunmus, etkileyici bir kilise goreceksiniz: "Kirim Kilisesi" (resim icin link'e tiklayin). Kilisenin oldugu sokaga girerseniz, sokagin sonunda, sag tarafta Hamburg Kiraathanesi'ne varabilirsiniz (ayni zamanda "Hamburg Cafe" ismi de eklenmis buraya). Son birkac yilda, dokuntu bir kulube seklinde gorunen kiraathaneyi, daha alimli bir goruntuye sahip olmasi icin yenilemisler. Gerci simdi de, ahsap cephesi yuzunden kirsal mekanlara daha uygun bir gorunume sahip olmus. Her neyse, benim derdim ismin nereden geldigi idi:

Kiraathanenin fotografini ceker cekmez, kiraathanenin caycisi disari cikti. "hah tamam simdi bana dellencek" diye dusunuyordum ki, adamin tifil, tombul, cok seker bir tipik Turk caycisi oldugunu farkettim. Yaklasip sordum kendisine:

- Merhaba, bu Hamburg isminin nereden geldigini sorabilir miyim?

Cevabi biraz sasirticiydi. Kikirdadi ve cevabi yapistirdi:

- Hehe.. Biliyorsun... Hamburg diye bir yer var... asagida... (denize dogru olan yonu gosteriyor). Gencken oraya almazlardi bizi (kendisi de 30 sonlari, 40li yaslarda belki). Biz de onun acisini cikarmak icin buraya bu adi verdik. Simdi kendi Hamburgumuz var!

Bu aciklama, bu itiraf o kadar tatliydi ki, ayni adam gibi, yuzumun esneyebildigi kadar, agzimin kulaklarima vardigi derecede gulumsedim.

Tabii ki, o 'asagida', denizi gosterdigi yerde... o unlu Karakoy kerhaneleri vardi, ve kim bilir kimler tutmustu Istanbul'daki Hamburg'un yolunu...

Stories of a Visa Application - Addendum: Dreams

2009-01-11T19:16:00.002Z

My documents have been at the British Consulate Istanbul for the last 2 weeks, and these last 2 weeks have been entertaining and relaxing after the stress of preparing the application. However, this does not go without saying that everyday I check for the updated status of the application and my unconscious sometimes does prevail at nights over what I try not to think too much during the day.

Last week, I had 3 consecutive nights of dreams about the outcome of the application:

The first day I dreamt that I could not get the visa and I was quite depressed when I woke up. Trying hard not to devastate myself with this, I think I even forgot about the dream during the day (correct me those of you if I told you about this dream that day).

On the second day, I dreamt that I got the visa. This time I told a bunch of people I dreamt these two opposing scenarios back to back in 2 nights.

The third day's dream summed up my mindset:

In the dream I was being entertained on a ferry wheel that reminded me much of the London Eye (good sign 1!). I was talking to my parents and a few friends, also on the ferry wheel but it also felt a bit uncomfortable as the seats we sat on were open on all sides, there was a lot of wind, we were revolving over some huge water and it all felt as if we could fall any time. Anyways, I had 2 passports in my hand. As I was going to find out later, apparently I had 3 passports on me at that moment in the dream. The 2 passports I had in my hand revealed were both brand new, with the blue jacket of the passport and the golden ink on it still fresh. Inside the first one I had a UK Visa, a Schengen visa and even a few stamps from some German passport control gates. This felt as if I was already dreaming of a future with a good-ending. On the second passport, I had nothing. All pages were blank.

When I woke up and thought about the dream, I only took it as a positive one for the sake of that 1 passport with 2 visas in it. I also thought the other new passport was something extra, something that I could probably use if the 1st one was lost or something.

Then... Then I realized later during the day, that, in fact the 2 passports just symbolized the 2 possible outcomes. I had dreamt of each outcome in the preceding 2 nights consecutively, and now on the 3rd night I was dreaming of them both. A combined mind-confuser!!

I think this sums up quite nicely, what my prospects may be and what my approach to the whole thing is. "Up in the air", just the way I was, up in the air, in the dream on that London Eye-like ferry wheel...

A great desire

2009-01-07T21:00:00.004Z

There are things in life that I have never been able to perform well at. Among these numerous activities, painting is one. Actually, I cannot even draw a proper line. My mother sent me to drawing courses when I was a small child, only to be told that I could not use my fingers properly because I was hyperactive or something. I was never able to write properly neither. I guess it is something one develops with patience. Therefore, I was never a big enthusiast in applied physics neither (although I loved mathematics). I could never dream of becoming an architect, without even developing a proper mindset of thinking beyond double dimensions.

If I could paint, however, I would like to paint the description in the following sentence:

"Acquaintances described Weaver as "basically a loner" who went every day to the counter of a hotel restaurant to eat a sandwich for lunch by himself".

A proud black man with his black suit, white shirt and striped tie, in his mid 50's, gained some weight over the years added to his proud career between the humble liberal idealism and indifferent bureaucratic conformism. He unwraps the package of his egg-mayonnaise sandwich and the gentle wrinkles of his face reflect from the plastic packaging of the sandwich (were there plastic back then, I'm not sure?). A Hopperesque depiction of the decaying loneliness of a key man, the first ever black PhD Economist of the nation...

This quote comes out of an article written about Robert Clifton Weaver, a prominent Afro-American economist of the 20th century who has done important work for non-segregated housing. Thanks to Lara for providing me this article.

Scandinavian Skyline, our handicapped minds and beautiful Sigur Ros

2008-12-28T05:39:00.000Z

Around 1 AM, I was craving for a hot dog or something of that sort. I was a bit weary, I had long and curly hair back then and the next morning I was going to develop a migraine attack because of some bad wine that waited under direct sunlight for 4 days. Before heading back to the tent, I raised my head and looked up into the sky. I looked around into the thousands walking, jumping, falling around. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. All faces merged into each other and the clouds were barely moving above my head. One side of the sky was navy blue; whilst the other was getting only dark. Within a couple of hours sun would have already started from one of the sides. The air was pure fresh. L. was not bothered with my whining attitude:

"But there are also good things about the north. The sky is always so huge, isn't it?"

She was right. Skies mattered to me. Especially when I let my soul tear my body apart and go on orbital journeys into far away lands where friends and family lived, knocking on their plywood doors, slowly creeping on their mahogany floors, having a cup of tea with honey and coming back.

and there was at least the next best thing of the north... Sigur Ros... the shadows of tall Scandinavians and hybernating fiddlesticks... Those were the most amazing moments of early summer days in Scandinavia. The recent Sigur Ros performance in Alexandra Palace, London was as good enough to bring back the endless shades of sky-blue and elvish chanting melodies.

Credit crunch and empty airport terminals

2008-12-27T11:23:00.004Z

I had a share of extensive travel during September and October earlier this year. It was interesting to see empty airport terminals during some of these travels. A claim could be that the credit crunch has had a decisive affect on the decrease on number of travellers. It could also be the case that these terminals were not serving full capacity on the bizarre days and times I used them, or that the people have become more environmentally conscious, but I think the reasoning behind credit crunch is somewhat realistic and even so more dramatic when one is exposed to such sights as the following:

Amsterdam Schiphol Airport

Or these pictures from a terminal at the Geneva Airport

Stories of a Visa Application - Part V: The Old and Watery Eyes at the Armenian Cemetery

2008-12-24T11:48:00.003Z

As you celebrate Christmas, Istanbul's having its first snow (sleet) of the year. I leave the application centre and seek solace at the Armenian Cemetery across the road. They do not let me in, claiming that it is forbidden. The guard probably thinks I'm one of the millions of ultra-natoinalists. After all, the 'leaders' of the state managed to divide this country.

I am neither optimistic nor pessimistic. It will probably take a month's time before I get the results. I had a last glance at the pictures on the wall of the application centre before I left: Tower Bridge, Houses of Parliament, London Eye, the Gherkin, the Vauxhall Junction and a picture from Scotland. All those places I know by heart, where I was a week ago, that we drove around, cycled through, wrote each other postcards beneath...

I made a mistake: I did not obey the manifestation on my immigration limitations. I came back to my family and friends and to my beloved country when I was told to stay there and proceed with my re-application. I risked my future residence, leaving behind a bunch of loved ones in that city. All else is some buildings, mountains and rivers that one can find anywhere.

Now I am at the hands of the politics of one of the greatest world empires that died long ago. I am also at the hands of their 2nd hand diplomacy in Istanbul, and at the hands of the sick bureaucracy of my very own country. Everything is ambigous as has always been the case on this land. The land of ambiguity. This is what people of here have long been feeding upon.

That was the reasoning of the guard at the Armenian Cemetery when he arbitrarily decided it's forbidden for me to enter. What he is repeatedly failing to see in his old and watery eyes of colour of burning black coal is that... that it is time to move on...

Stories of a Visa Application - Part IV: Right Back on Track?

2008-12-23T23:05:00.003Z

Come Monday.

Morning: Hardly wake up to my mother's insisting wake up call. Go to the bank. Put through the request. Go back home.

Noon: Call from the bank:

- It is settled, you can come and collect the letter.

I go, collect the letter. It is only in Turkish, so I request an English one to be written, too.

I download the application form once again, fill it, and start making my application envelope.

In the meanwhile, D. is alert. There is no great news from that part of the world, but as far as bank account is concerned, I might not even need it. She's mailed me the laptop charger, though. That's also good news.

Evening: I feel like it is happenning. No more hard thoughts. Have a nice evening, meet a bunch of people, go see a gig, get a nice message.

Come Tuesday.

Morning: I am lazy and up late. So, skip here to the afternoon.

Afternoon: I go collect the English letter from the bank. At that very instance I realise that both the Turkish and the English letter and the bank account name look very ambigous, rather insecure to me. I have a funny feeling. I will not yet reveal here what it says, but it just doesn't feel right. It does not really state what is up with the account but it is rather a mixture of some names. Is this what the bank is trying in order to help me?

Feel shit. Meet a bunch of friends and share the pain with them... Sad thoughts of having to leave here so soon, yet again. Not much energy left to change plans...

Evening: I wanted to cross-examine this bank account and how much it belongs to me by going into a random branch and try to carry a transaction. It is too late, the banks were closed. So, after a fine evening, I go on the Internet and find out that the joint account shows up in my list of other bank accounts. Good relief. I can't try a transaction because it is past 23:00. Gotta wait for the morning.

2 tasks before I feel secure tomorrow:

1. Try a transaction with this account

2. Get another letter stating what transactions I can carry individually on this account.

All else sort of dealt with.

The rest is to show up at the appointment, get a feeling of whether my application looks strong here. I do not want to risk my future in the UK tomorrow with a weak attempt once again. A fucked up situation, a worst-case scenario of going back to London earlier than expected should be a priority over leaving a life there behind.

Moral of the story so far:
In times of hardness and scarcity, the one who will suffer the most will always be the one who has already been suffering. One whose rights of travel, work or live abroad was limited will have even more limited opportunities. There are many those are much worse than me, and the least I can do now is to be reminded over and over again that they are suffering even worse at what they are trying to get to. What we can do the least is to remind ourselves that each and every one of us are responsible of what the others are going through, and those with more power are those who are potentially more responsible. And those who seek power shall always keep in mind that it is just another element that changes hand with every passing moment and we are just intertwined with the complexity of mutual and multi-dimensional dependencies that are all bunches of limitless variables and some "randomish" probabilities.

Let's see what tomorrow literally brings...

Stories of a Visa Application - Part III: R:112, G:66, B:43

2008-12-23T22:30:00.000Z

I had arranged according to my schedule for the 2nd trial for the visa application back home:

Get home Thursday night, go to the bank first thing Friday morning, enquire about the joint account between me and my mother, get a letter from the bank. If any problems arise, settle them by Monday, prepare all other documents and go for the visa application that I already scheduled for Tuesday 10:00 AM.

Nothing went the way planned...

Turkey was not far behind than the UK in changing its laws, especially in the banking system. Never mind what the Prime Minister and the other ministers have been saying about how the global credit crunch did not affect Turkey much, despite the truth that Turkey has also been hit hard. What is happening is that Turkey may feel the depression a little later than countries like the US or the UK, and that is the time Erdogan is trying to win until the local elections, to be held at the end of March 2009, in order to keep his party's popularity.

Thus, the banking regulations have been ever more tightened in Turkey, giving me a huge pain early on Friday morning, 19.12.2008, to finalise the transaction for the joint account between my mother and me. Remember that I have to show I have had £2,800 in a "personal bank account" for the last 3 months now.

I call a few friends to ask them once again what procedures they went through. Over and over I hear that the regulations have changed. Bummer! It changed in the UK just before I left it. Apparently it changed here again just as I came back.

From Noon till around 3 PM, I sit in the living room, completely devastated. I do not want to go back to the UK right away to make my second application from there before my visa runs out, 05.01.2009. I have to make quick decisions. Instead, I start writing down my story. It keeps my mind fresh...

I call the Home Office in the UK and ask them a bizarre question:

- Can I send my visa application to you from a UK Post Office but physically be somewhere outside the UK?

- No, you have to remain in the country while your application is in process.

My idea of sending my passport there and apply as a UK application, avoiding the £2,800 deal does not work.

Then, I start enquiring my chances of going through with the bank account deal via a bank outside Turkey. My sister's account in UAE? D.'s account in A. or G.? A few more phone calls, some more motivation messages but nothing in concrete.

I left my laptop charger back in London, I am running out of money in my cell phone, I am spending the Friday going through hell...

I call the Visa Application Centre in Istanbul and get some more puzzling messages. Then I send them an email and head back to the bank. Now at around 5:10 PM, they tell me they can arrange it on Monday. Maybe...

I go to the nearby Vodafone and find out that I can switch my phone line to them and keep my same number and even get some free call minutes and SMS. I go buy some necessary stuff and make a few phone calls. I take out some money and start planning for the evening. It feels like there is some progress.

Finally at around 7 PM, I decide to end the day's debates and leave it for Monday. I re-schedule my visa application appointment to Wednesday, 24 December, at noon time.

I go out, meet a bunch of friends, stay out long withouth having to think where it would be open at 3 AM because it is a 24-hour city. I leave the shitty day behind. I am tempted to call it an almost "Black Friday" but the small hopes of progress in the evening make it a bit more brownish:

A shitty brown-day. Red: 112, Green: 66, Blue: 43 coded.

Quote of the day - Günün Sözü (iki lisanlı bir yazı; a bilingual entry)

2008-12-20T15:04:00.004Z

Vize hikayelerine küçük bir ara.

Biraz önce Time Out Istanbul'un Kasım sayısında, Istanbul 2010 Avrupa Kültür Başkenti Projesi'nin Yürütme Kurulu Başkanı Nuri Çolakoğlu ile yapılan söyleşiden bir şey okudum:

"2010 Avrupa Kültür Başkenti ünvanına layık olmaya çalışan AKB Ajansı ve Nuri Çolakoğlu, kente kalıcı güzellikler bırakma peşinde...

NÇ: Gençlerin asla hatırlamadığı bir çağdan beri Ayasofya'nın ortasında duran iskele kalkıyor. 16 senedir o iskele orada. İskele kalktığı gün gidip Ayasofya'da yere yatacağım, şöyle 15 dakika kubbeye bakacağım. Çünkü unuttuk kubbesini."

En son kimleyi hatırlamıyorum ama, gerçekten de bizim çağlarımızdan olanların aralarında veya turistlerle yaptığı muhabbetlerde bu iskelenin varlığından söz edilir ve Ayasofya'yı iskelesiz görmüş olan veya bir göreni tanıyan pek zor bulunur.

Bu makaleye, dün gece yaşadığım ufak ama büyük bir değişikliğin farkına vardıktan sonra rastlamış oldum. Şehrimizdeki tek modern metro hattına 7. ve yeni bir durak olan Şişhane durağı eklenmiş. En azından metro haritasına. Her ne kadar metro gene alışılmış son durak olan Taksim'de yolculuğuna son verdiyse de, bu beyaz arkaplan üzerine yeşil tonla eklenmiş Şişhane istasyonu ifadesi yüzümü güldürdü. Metronun ilk açıldığı, orta okul, lise günlerimizde Levent'ten metroya binip Taksim'e gelerek Cuma akşamları sinemaya ve çıkmaya gittiğimiz günler aklıma geldi.

"Londra'dayken buraları fazla düşünme, İstanbul hep aynı" diyenlerin aksine, İstanbul başka çok şehirde göremeyeceğimiz bir hızla değişiyor. Ya da en azından arada bir dışarıdan bakan bir göze böyle görünüyor. Ve umarım bu değişiklikler İstanbul'un ebedi güzelliğine gem vurmaz...

------

A small break to my Visa Application Stories.

I just read on the November issue of Time Out Istanbul, from the interview with Nuri Colakoglu, the Chairman of the Executive Committee for the Istanbul 2010, European Capital of Culture Project:

"I am more concerned with the changes we can make to have permanently good effects on Istanbul... Removing the scaffolding that has been standing from ancient times that young people cannot even remember in the middle of Hagia Sophia. Been there for 16 years. The day it is removed, I will lie down in the middle of Hagia Sophia and watch the dome for 15 minutes. We fogot about the dome already!"

I don't remember who it was most recently, but it has always been a funny remark of discussion between many young Istanbul locals and among tourists that there is hardly anyone among our generations that has seen or known anyone to have seen the Hagia Sophia without that gigantic scaffolding in the middle.

I just ran into this article after finding out another small yet big change in Istanbul last night. On our one and only modern metro line, a new station, Sishane, has been added to the metro map as the 7h station on the line. Although the train terminated at its usual Taksim Station, it nonetheless put a smile on my face to see this first extension with a green font on white background, remembering the high school days and the first days of taking the metro from Levent to Taksim after leaving school on Friday to head for movies and on...

Despite all who claim "don't worry about Istanbul in London, it's all the same here", this city is changing with a speed not seen in many other places. Hope it stays as one of the most beautiful places...

Stories of a Visa Application - Part II: Rejection

2008-12-19T19:13:00.000Z

On 25 November 2008, I received a letter from the Home Office. Here is what it said:

"In view of the fact that you have claimed 75 points under Appendix A of the Immigration Rules, but the letter you have provided from the London School of Economics and Political Science does not confirm that you have been awarded your MSc degree, the Secretary of State is not satisfied that you have provided the specific documents as required under Appendix A of the Immigration Rules... Therefore you do not satisfy the requirements of the Immigration Rules for this category and it has been decided to refuse your application..."

What a blow! But how expected it was. My premature application was rejected and I felt disgusted at the Home Office, then reconsidered my thoughts, then got disgusted at the LSE not being able to provide me a proper document and also at myself as having gotten a rejection by applying a bit too early.

The same letter advised that I could not appeal to this decision as I still had a valid Student Visa until 5 January 2009 and that I should re-apply within the United Kingdom before 5 January 2009 once I got my University Degree.

After being depressed for an evening, I stood up against the shitty weather of London and the shitty circumstances and decided I would re-apply. I sent a few emails to the LSE Registry who were the correspondence for getting me a proper letter for the application but did not hear anything useful from them. I went as far as to send an email to the Director of the school about the inconveniences I had to face and how I though the Students Service (where Registry is located) has an effect in it. I actually got an official reply from the Head of the Students Service on 15.12.2007 saying that they apologize for how they misled me and confused me with the emails we have exchanged back in October when I asked help for them. Well, too little too late for me, I had already made up my mind to go for a second application.

The shittiest thing about this second application was going to be the fact that when I applied in December, I would be stuck in the UK for all of December (see previous chapters for a similar potential problem I was trying to avoid by applying in October in the first place). I started to get used to the idea that I would spend the Christmas and New Year's in the UK. F. was going to come for a 10-day tourism trip to London, S. said she would come down around the New Year's to entertain herself and I started to believe that maybe I could get through this depression with a different New Year's agenda, in London.

In the meanwhile I had been working quite heavy at my research work at the Urban Age, helping a compile a document for an urban design briefing competition held by the Paris Municipality. On 3 December 2008, a week after my Degree was officially announced, I printed out the Application Form once again whilst working on a late night shift for the deadline of the document.

!!! Vıtally significant note: As I started filling in the Application Form for the 2nd time, I immediately noticed some changes from the 1st one. At the "How would you like to pay the Appliation Fee?" section, there was a missing part: The words writing "If you are exempt from Fees please proceed to section A21" was missing !!!

Some research on the Home Office website revealed that there has been change of laws on 27 November 2008, and the dual state of the UK had removed the exemption from application fee for some citizens of some nations, includıng Turkey (please refer to this exemption note from an earlier chapter). This changed the rules of the game and the circumstances under Sub-Heading 5 of the Applicaton Procedure and now I would have to pay £400 for my application within the UK or £205 for an application made from Turkey.

Considering I did not want to spend Christmas and New Year's in London, that I would save £200 in application and more by not renting a room for December and living for cheaper in Istanbul in the meantime, I decided to go back to Istanbul to make my 2nd application.

There were some things to consider with this new idea:

1. Exemption Fee: Now I would pay a £205 application fee compared to £0 before, but at least I wouldn't pay £400

2. Proof of Funds (Maintenance): This would be the tricky part. Now I would have the 3-month backtrack of a bank account with my name in it instead of the earlier 1-month deal before the 31 October. And what is more important is that, applying within the UK I would have to show £800 in my bank account, but a huge £2800 when applied in Istanbul would be waiting for me. I've had the £800 in my English bank account already but I would only have the chance of submitting a joint-account (with my Mother) to show a £2800 in Turkey. This proves vital for the rest of the story.

After a few telephone calls around 3-4 December, I decided I could do the application in Turkey with my University degree papers in hand, and a joint bank-account provided with my Mother. After getting used to the idea of spending New Year's in London, I booked a one-way ticket to Istanbul and re-started getting used to the idea of spending some nice time with my friends in Istanbul.

I would be back home on 18 December 2008, and having completed the online application, I would attend my Visa Appointment on 22 December in Istanbul and hope for a succesful visa application, to be finalised some time around mid-January.

I took the British Airways 16:05 flight from the impressive Terminal 5 at Heathrow Airport on a very mild (11 Degrees C.) London evening. As we passed through the clouds into the upper sky, the orange lights of the setting sun in the far west shone into S.'s eyes as I started dreaming about the night lights of Istanbul...

Stories of a Visa Application - Part I: First Attempt

2008-12-19T16:47:00.000Z

I sent my Post-Study Work Visa Application to the Home Office on 31 October 2008 around 17:20, on the day of the deadline for 1-month of proof of evidence for funds (Maintenance) (please refer to the previous chapter). Not only I have sent the post 10 minutes before the Post-Office closed, implying another 'last-minute Turkish strike' attempt, but furthermore, I had to send in a premature application. This means I had a 'weak application' regarding some of the documents I sent in. Let me reveal how this has happened so:

I decided to make use of the 31 October 2008 deadline because it meant I only had to show my bank details for 1 month. I had to show I had £800 (refer to Maintenance and how it relates to where I apply from in the previous chapter) for at least a month. After returning to London on 2 September 2008 after my summer holidays and Thesis research in Istanbul, I put money into my personal UK bank account, and therefore had enough money for the last 1.5 month or so.

Otherwise, if I missed the 31 October deadline, I would have had to show sufficient funds (£800 when applied within the UK) for 3-months. This would mean I would have to wait until December 2008 to complete the 3-month period. Here is another important note:

!! My current visa (as explained under 'Visa Application Procedure') runs out on 5 January 2009. It means that I can stay in the UK and apply for this visa before 05.01.2009 or I go back to Turkey and apply for the visa before 21 November 2009, which is the end of 1-year after I get my Award degree. !!

Waiting until December to apply had 2 problems for me:

1. It is too close to the end of my current visa,

2. It means I have to stay in the UK for all of December as the application process takes at least 3 to 6 weeks.

So, providing my Maintenance proof, the Application Form and all other application documents, I had 2 other boxes to fill: The UK University Degree; and the Application Fee.

Let us learn a bit more about the Application Fee:
Again, depending on where and how you apply, there are various different fees:

1. If you apply within the UK you have two options:

A. Send your application via post and pay £400 as an application fee.
B. Get an appointment at the Visa Application Centre, apply in person and pay £600.

2. If you apply from Turkey, you can fill in an online application form and get an appopintment at the Visa Application Centre and apply there in person with the £205 fee.

!!! Another important note: There was one sweet rule eligible for citizens of some nations such as Turkey, Croatia, Armenia, etc.. who have ratified the European Social Charter. The rule is that the citizens of these countries did not have to pay application fees.

These countries are obviously far from random. This is, basically countries who are not part of the EU but are somewhat attached to Europe by means of social and economical rights. Do not think that this is a privilege that these countries have been given by Europe. It obviosuly comes with many responsibilities as well, one of which is manifested and known well by Turkish citizens; the abiding rules of the European Court of Human Rights over the Turkish Legislation with regards to cases dealing with social issues.

However, on 27 Novebmer 2008, the dualist state of the United Kingdom decided that they lift this exemption and make a note of this please, because this is an essential information that will be referred back to in the next chapter !!!

The other thing I had to deal was the UK-University Degree. This is where it got all tricky. I completed my program at the LSE on 2 September 2008. That was the date I handed in my Thesis. Apart from the Thesis, I had completed all my exams and other duties back in June 2008. So, as a decent human being I would expect to get my grades by some time in September or October. Of course, the awkward English (or LSE) system decided that I would get my results only in November. So, this is a problem when you want to apply by 31 October.

At this moment I happened to come across a web page on the LSE website where they said they could give me a letter that helps me with my application. A letter not confirming my degree but telling the Home Office that I will get my degree.

This letter never came about. Through extensive e-mailing I was only told that I could not get this letter before November. I fought and fought and fought to get a decent letter in the end on 30 October and so were all my documents ready with the exception that my Degree document was a bit weak.

I was confident at the Post Office on the evening of 31 October 2008 at 17:20. I made a big application concerning my life and sent away my passport for an indefinite time. I walked out of the Post Office into the dark and chilled evening of Brixton. I called D., told her that my application was sent on time and we started discussing about the night plans for the Halloween Party.

The wait had begun...

Stories of a Visa Application - Context

2008-12-19T12:55:00.001Z

This story mainly takes place in the countries of United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland; and Turkey. It is the story of Omer Cavusoglu's (born 03.08.1985, Istanbul) application for the UK Post-Study Work Visa and spans through the period of October 2008 and onwards.

The Visa: The Points Based System Tier 1 (Post-Study Work) (INF 25); in short, the Post-Study Work Visa, was introduced in the UK in 2008. It is somewhat the updated version of a previously similar scheme, that was called the International Graduate Scheme (IGS). It allows for non-British and non-EU immigrants who have completed a University Degree (Undergraduate, Master's, PhD.) in the UK to earn a 2-year long work and residence permit. As far as I know, this is one of the greatest advantages of studying in the UK as in many other countries your chances of extending your stay depends solely on finding a sponsor through finding a job, whereas the Post-Study Work Visa is intended to give you up to 2-years of permission to find this job after completing studies

The application process: There are two ways to apply for this visa:

1. Apply within the UK: You can apply for this visa whilst you are still in the UK, before your current visa runs out. In my case, this means I can apply for this visa within the UK before 05.01.2009.

2. Apply from outside the UK: You can apply for this visa from the country of your home residence. In my case this means I can apply for this visa from Turkey.

In either case, the applicants are eligible to apply for the Post-Study Work visa within 1-year from when they receive their UK-University Degree.

I have received this degree on 21 November 2008. Therefore, regardless of where I apply, I have until 21 November 2009 to do so, in order to obtain this type of Visa.

The application pack: This consist mainly of the following:

1. The Application Form: For applicants within the UK, this is a 47-page document, a lot of which consists of answering 'No' to questions like 'Have you ever tried to assault the Queen of the UK?', 'Have you ever thought about becoming a terrorist?' which the British formalise as 'any deeds that would suggest that you are not a decent citizen'. Apart from these funny bits and all other regular visa application information, the Form is quite straightforward and easy.

2. The UK-Degree: This is the Degree you obtaion from your University or Institution that states What you studied from When till When, in Which city and country and How were you awarded this qualification. Obviously, the Who question is also answered as your name proudly stands scattered around this Degree paper:

Omer Cavusoglu obtained his MSc. in City Design and Social Science from the London School of Economics and Political Science on 21 November 2008. He has completed his course requirements, commencing on 1 October 2007 and ending on 1 October 2008. Bla bla bla bla....

3. Proof of evidence for your funds (Maintenance): The most tricky, cruel, blasphemical, troublemaking part of the application. The qualities of this Sub-Heading is directly related or affected by the decisions you make (or you are forced to make) for where you make your applicaton. The procedure is as follows:

You have to prove you have (and have had) sufficient funds in a bank account that clearly states your name. The general rule is that, on the day of application, you have to prove you have had the sufficient funds for at least 3 months. This means that if you are applying on 15 December 2008, your proof of evidence must consist of a Bank Letter OR your Account Movements OR Account Pass Books stating you have had sufficient funds on every single day between 15 September 2008 and 15 December 2008.

!! However, because Post-Study Work Visa was only introduced recently, the Home Office allowed until 31 October 2008, that those apply before 31 October had to show only a 1-month of sufficient funds. This was a special clause but a very important one. Keep this small note in your minds as it is essential for the story and I will refer back to this quite often. !!

The Amount of the Funds: Depending on where you apply, the amount of funds you have to prove for this 3-month period varies:

A. If you apply within the UK, you are obliged to show you have had £800 in your bank account for 3 months.

B. If you apply from outside the UK, you are obliged to show you have had £2,800 in your bank account for 3 months.

This section B is also extremely vital and I will refer back to it quite a lot of times, too.

4. Rest of the Documents: The generic documents you have to include for almost all applications such as Photos

5. Application Fee: Yet another very essential element of the story. This will be discussed in detail within the story. The basic information you have to bear in mind is that this is just one of those regular Application Fees you have to submit with your application and is non-refundable whatever the result of your application is.

From here on, I may pass on to the Story.

Stories of a Visa Application - Introduction

2008-12-19T12:48:00.001Z

There are many things I have been looking forward to share in this space.

My recent experiences at the Manu Chao concert in Kentish Town(16.12.2008); some useful information on reports I have written about Istanbul and Haydarpaşa for my research work (17.12.2008); the Twisted Christmas event at the Barbican Centre (11.12.2008); a visit to Liverpool, the European Capital of Culture City for 2008 (07.12.2008) and some insight into the 'Digital Cities' exhibition at the New London Architecture; and there have been many commitments (eg. BoltArt December issue) I have been postponing due to some ambiguities in my Visa Application process for a new work and residence visa in the UK.

Having just arrived back in Istanbul to try a different route to get this visa, I have been confronted with more bad news in the last few hours.

Therefore, I have decided to dedicate this space, for the time being, to write about what I have so far been through in this visa application process. This will both help me keep track of what has happened (which may be useful if I ever decide to sue the State of UK), and help whoever is interested to learn about this process in detail. I hope it is also useful for people to become aware of some practical details of what sort of pain many people go through, confronted with visa regulations, rights of travel, and any other circumstance regarding immigration.

There will be new text each time I get an update on an essential input.

2008-12-18T03:31:00.002Z

Life is when you look down the drain at N+2 years of age at the bathroom of your girlfriend's flatshare (which is a fragile bathroom of a 4-girl flatshare I remind you), and think "I never thought I would even end up in this X city of this Y country of the world, and have a girlfriend of a completely 'opposite' but yet so affiliated culture when I was only N years of age"...

So, the calculation is:

2 years down the road, and you end up in a completely random sewereage entrance point that you didn't imagine of, and you're happy with your 0.5 alcohol concentration in the blood and the friends in the 5 m2 British kitchen modern design 2m. away from where you are, having a happy conversation surrounded by architecture put initially up for an Southeastern Asian household.

In essence... It's all about beauty of life.

aus Berlin

2008-12-14T02:37:00.001Z

Warschauer Strasse'de bir gecenin ardindan, 22.10.2008 - saat 03:00 sulari, Frankfurter Tor civarlarinda bir yerlerde, ne ictigimi hatirlayamadigim minik bir barda doldurdugum bindunya kafa'yla yazilmis bir seyler...

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Hayat inanilmaz bir sey. Sag gozunun ucunda Fernsehturm'un diyagonal isiklari. Karsinda Sovyetik bir blok, neoklasiksel facade ile. 6gen cizgili sokak lambasinin arkasinda, 8 katli bir bina, 35 metre eninde, neredeyse butun Karl-Marx Allee ve kesinlikle Strasse der Pariser Kommune hakim. Ufak balkonlari ortasinda, Viyana'nin palasina benzer ideolojik ve estetik kaygisiyla. Mini mini komik cumbalari var 20 yil once Dogu Berlinlilerin ucuz dikis makinalariyla nakis islerken pencere kenarinda cekirdek citlettikleri cunku DDR sosyalizmi hic bir zaman cinsiyetleri denklestirme derdinde degildi 5-yillik devlet iktisadi planlama programlarinda. Komik minik bulutlar parca parca uzaklasirken gecenin karanliginda, der Himmel uber Berlin'e bakarak aldim ilhamimi...

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Some bullshit I've scribbled down my some 0.20 Blood alcohol concentration in the middle of the night in east Berlin. Sorry, it's only in Turkish for the time being...