I found that stuff so weird! But Turkey is pretty wonderful, at least for visitors.
-----Original Message-----
>From: Stephen Vincent <[log in to unmask]>
>Sent: Aug 7, 2012 10:51 PM
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: Snap - Vincent
>
>Thanks, Mark, but I am way home. I do miss goat milk ice cream dipped in chocolate. An elevator to both heart & soul. Mastic.
>
>--- On Tue, 8/7/12, Mark Weiss <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>From: Mark Weiss <[log in to unmask]>
>Subject: Re: Snap - Vincent
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Date: Tuesday, August 7, 2012, 6:17 PM
>
>Steve: If you like baklava etc you owe it to yourself to go to this place. http://istanbuleats.com/2009/05/karakoy-gulluoglu-still-flaky-after-all-these-years/
>
>
>-----Original Message-----
>>From: Stephen Vincent <[log in to unmask]>
>>Sent: Aug 7, 2012 7:39 PM
>>To: [log in to unmask]
>>Subject: Snap - Vincent
>>
>>p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Times; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }
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>>
>>
>>(A snap newly refined from my journal en route in Turkey)
>>
>>Monday, June 4, 2012
>>
>>
>>
>>The
>>intense presence of Istanbul as a vertiginous space – particularly so as we
>>walk &/or take the “vehicular tram” down the steep hill from the Galata
>>Tower to the Galata Bridge. The walk across the Golden Horn, the name for the
>>extended body of water between the old town- the Faith District which is full
>>of ancient churches and mosques – and the Galata neighborhood which was once
>>the home of Christians, refugee Jews, other tribes and criminals. The Bridge's wide east side pedestrian walkway is crowded; young and old,
>>fishing rods in hand, shoulder to shoulder, including a few women friends or
>>family among them, hold their rods out or prop them on the side edge of the
>>protective steel rail; occasionally they variously break to lean over the
>>walkway to prepare their hooks with fresh bait. This constant visual presence
>>of people fishing – as we discover - can strike one as almost a religious rite.
>>The waiting at what is now the darkening edge of dusk, waiting, the pulling
>>back on the poles in response to a nibble, the occasional catch of a fish,
>>their singular silver bellied dark bodies dangling through the late light,
>>lowered on to the sidewalk, then released into a white bucket. They may be
>>sardines or small bass, I don’t know. Most fascinating is, pole in hand, the
>>intense focus, and among some, the deep quiet of the waiting. A kind of
>>secular prayer. It’s as if to get a nibble or to hook an actual fish
>>is to confirm the existence, the vital living existence of one’s soul. Looking
>>here at Istanbul’s citizens, stretched out across the bridge one might imagine
>>that each was filled with an isolated interior darkness without a connection to
>>anything. The loneliness that accompanies the quest to make contact with a
>>fish, and the sense of desire that accompanies it, is practically palpable. Vertiginous.
>>
>>Stephen Vincent
>>
>>
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