In Tehran there`s a park. The Noshatpark. It`s only accessible to women. Except for fridays, then men are allowed too. Women can walk around here without their headscarve, can jog here, can lie in their bikini in the summer.
In the houses surrounding the park mullahs with binoculars are said to live there. Our first reaction after hearing about the park was what a paradise. Our second what a prison. Both are true. It`s a womenparadiseprison.
For me this park is little Iran.
For me it`s the symbol for all the opposites, the inconsequences and hypocrisy in Iran.
For the latter they have a word in Farsi : tarov.
Someone who`s too friendly, hospitable,gallant is tarov. It`s a very common used word here...
But about the park. A woman CAN walk around here without the compulsory scarve or long coat. It`s allowed.
First, this park is ugly, concrete is everywhere and it`s tastelessly decorated. There are works going on and it`s next to the big road.
Second, if something is allowed somewhere it means that elsewhere it is NOT allowed. And that`s the problem. The elsewhere.
Elsewhere women should be allowed to walk around the way they like.
And here, in womenparadiseprison, here women can come hopping in their hijab if they want.
Here the police can come and arrest women when the coat isn`t covering their behind.
Here women can guiltely avoid the gaze of a man when he`s looking at her.
Here it`s not allowed to flirt or hold hands.
Here it`s not allowed to talk out loud about leaving Iran or about Ahmadinejad.
Here can`t be worn green.
But elsewhere, yes.
Let it be this way. Give the extremists their place where they can apply their rules, give them a space next to a big road, where it smells and ask for their gratitude. Even expect gratitude. Because you are showing respect for them and their needs. You understand them and want the best for them. You make sure they`re not in lack of anything here, somewhere, in Park Noshat.
It should be something like this, but it`s something else. It`s elsewhere. It`s in the whole of Iran.
Because someone has written it down and called it law.
They are so beautiful, these women with their headscarve slided as much as possible to the back of their head, with their tight coats hardly covering their behind and making their body even more attractive, feminine and mysterious.
That can`t have been Ayatollah`s intention.
What is it about then?
About power. About a woman not being able to think about her freedom because all the time she has to think about her scarve and her coat, if they`re still in the right place, if the police isn`t near, if there`s no spy near.
That`s what it`s about. And that`s how the system is intruding in the head of a woman and stays their 24 hours a day in the form of a scarve. When someone knocks on her own door, the thing has to be put on.
That the thing can go off in the park seems like a favor, but it`s a candy to keep the child silent.
When will they realize that to enforce something always has the opposite effect?
And that opposite effect, that`s what we`re seeing in the people we meet.
That`s the beauty of Iran. The kind, hospitable people. The protesting people. The little, honest people that eventually will appear to be on the right side.
But victims have to be made to reach the right side.
And that`s an endless pity.
That makes angry.
In Iran live the most hospitable people I know.
In Iran you`re being given so many things that it makes you feel uncomfortable.
In Iran you can`t drink alcohol.
In Iran I`ve been offered the most alcohol ever.
In Iran they drive like crazy, but that`s allowed.
In Iran, they don`t stop for red lights, but that`s allowed.
In Iran, you can`t dance at a concert.Dance.
Because what? Maybe because you can punch someone on his or her freshly corrected nose, because that is allowed, a nosecorrection. A woman has to wear a headscarve so that men can`t see her hair but they can look at her fresh and more beautiful nose, they can.
In Iran, they can kill people on the road, but they can`t drink in their own house.
Iran, beautiful ugly country.
Womenparadiseprison.
Thank you, Iran, thank you.
donderdag 26 november 2009
vrijdag 20 november 2009
It`s over now
Tehran.
The reality comes close. Closer than comfortable.
This is what the system is doing : on the bus to Tehran I`m wondering if I can take off my socks, if it`s allowed to show my bare feet in public, I`m wondering if I can write the names of our hosts on this blog, I can put their first names they tell me.
Mahbube and her sister Shirine with whom we are staying have been arrested 5 months ago during the protests after the elections and have spent two weeks in jail and have been hurt badly.
Mahbube tells me the story after showing me a film of Bahman Ghobadi.
A film about two young people who want to leave Iran to play a concert abroad.
Two young people who aren`t allowed to leave the country, only because they want to play a concert abroad, and thus try it illegally.
Two young people who fail to leave the country and, after a lot of despair and malchance, die.
A film based on a true story.
The president causes more drama than he thinks.
The director of the film who is a friend of Mahbube has fled Iran 4 months ago and his wife has spent 21 days in prison.
Only films about the war between Iraq and Iran are allowed to be made here and more specifically about the martyrs who have died for Iran.
In Farhad`s passport holes have been made so he can`t leave the country. Why? Because he`s pro-Mousavi.
In a bookstore you have to talk silently about certain subjects because it`s a popular place for spies.
Farhad wasn`t allowed to work for four months because he`s pro-Mousavi.
When someone knocks on the door, the women put on their headscarve before they open the door.
Alcohol is bought on the black market and served out of plastic bottles.
The red wine is undrinkable but who cares, what`s forbidden tastes good anyway.
Mahbube and Shirine tell us their story about prison.
They see my face and start to laugh. They are laughing.
Mahbube tells me Don`t think. It`s over now.
I am being comforted...
We have been welcomed by Mahbube, Shirine and their youngest sister Fahime as two new sisters.
Everything is so normal, we laughed from the first minute, talked via the books Farsi on a trip and English on a trip, we talked mostly with our hands.
Mahbube takes us to the productionhouse of the film that she worked on until last week.
We sat at the editingtable. No problem.
They gave us lunch. We`ve spent the whole day there. We`ve been invited in three different households already. It`ll be busy in Tehran.
The people surprise me. Their hospitality is so normal to them. We sleep in Shirine`s bed, the three sisters sleep on the floor in the livingroom. No discussion.
We have a moneyproblem, you can not get money in Iran with your visacard. At the border we were told that we could and we believed.
No problem. There`s a bank in the heart of your friends, tells Mehdi us, director of the movie they`re editing now.
We put on our headscarves in the Iranian way, so that the half of our hair is uncovered, put on our long coat and drive to Shirine`s house, where she`s making dinner for us.
These are the women of Tehran.
Three so beautiful women of Tehran.
A beautyspecialist, an assistant art-director and an athlete.
Three so strong women of Tehran.
I arrange my headscarve again and wonder what I would do if I was being pulled up with chains on my feet to the ceiling for five hours in total.
I wonder.
My back would ache, I would hate the president, would maybe smoke and drink a lot like Mahbube.
That`s what I think.
And also that I am very lucky.
And all the rest I don`t know and I don`t think. It`s over now.
The reality comes close. Closer than comfortable.
This is what the system is doing : on the bus to Tehran I`m wondering if I can take off my socks, if it`s allowed to show my bare feet in public, I`m wondering if I can write the names of our hosts on this blog, I can put their first names they tell me.
Mahbube and her sister Shirine with whom we are staying have been arrested 5 months ago during the protests after the elections and have spent two weeks in jail and have been hurt badly.
Mahbube tells me the story after showing me a film of Bahman Ghobadi.
A film about two young people who want to leave Iran to play a concert abroad.
Two young people who aren`t allowed to leave the country, only because they want to play a concert abroad, and thus try it illegally.
Two young people who fail to leave the country and, after a lot of despair and malchance, die.
A film based on a true story.
The president causes more drama than he thinks.
The director of the film who is a friend of Mahbube has fled Iran 4 months ago and his wife has spent 21 days in prison.
Only films about the war between Iraq and Iran are allowed to be made here and more specifically about the martyrs who have died for Iran.
In Farhad`s passport holes have been made so he can`t leave the country. Why? Because he`s pro-Mousavi.
In a bookstore you have to talk silently about certain subjects because it`s a popular place for spies.
Farhad wasn`t allowed to work for four months because he`s pro-Mousavi.
When someone knocks on the door, the women put on their headscarve before they open the door.
Alcohol is bought on the black market and served out of plastic bottles.
The red wine is undrinkable but who cares, what`s forbidden tastes good anyway.
Mahbube and Shirine tell us their story about prison.
They see my face and start to laugh. They are laughing.
Mahbube tells me Don`t think. It`s over now.
I am being comforted...
We have been welcomed by Mahbube, Shirine and their youngest sister Fahime as two new sisters.
Everything is so normal, we laughed from the first minute, talked via the books Farsi on a trip and English on a trip, we talked mostly with our hands.
Mahbube takes us to the productionhouse of the film that she worked on until last week.
We sat at the editingtable. No problem.
They gave us lunch. We`ve spent the whole day there. We`ve been invited in three different households already. It`ll be busy in Tehran.
The people surprise me. Their hospitality is so normal to them. We sleep in Shirine`s bed, the three sisters sleep on the floor in the livingroom. No discussion.
We have a moneyproblem, you can not get money in Iran with your visacard. At the border we were told that we could and we believed.
No problem. There`s a bank in the heart of your friends, tells Mehdi us, director of the movie they`re editing now.
We put on our headscarves in the Iranian way, so that the half of our hair is uncovered, put on our long coat and drive to Shirine`s house, where she`s making dinner for us.
These are the women of Tehran.
Three so beautiful women of Tehran.
A beautyspecialist, an assistant art-director and an athlete.
Three so strong women of Tehran.
I arrange my headscarve again and wonder what I would do if I was being pulled up with chains on my feet to the ceiling for five hours in total.
I wonder.
My back would ache, I would hate the president, would maybe smoke and drink a lot like Mahbube.
That`s what I think.
And also that I am very lucky.
And all the rest I don`t know and I don`t think. It`s over now.
De grens : de Koerden en hun feest
We zijn in iran!
Wat voorafging :
De grens
Dogubayazit, grensplaats, non-plaats, doorgangsoord, ontmoetingsplek, nomadenwoonplaats, Koerden.
Vier mannen lopen op een open plek, twee ervan ontmoeten elkaar even, gaan dan elk hun eigen weg
De moskee echoot door de heuvels
De zon brandt, om vier uur is ze onder, dan is het ijskoud
Het moet hard zijn hier te leven
Nomaden hebben hun plekje gemaakt tussen de ruines van wat kan het iemand eigenlijk schelen, stenen zijn stenen
Een troep soldaten steekt de straat over
Ze lijken meer op schooluitstapjongetjes aan het begin van hun pubertijd
Dat komt ervan met die verplichte legerdienst zegt Laura
In Camping Murat waar we slapen, aan de voet van het onwaarschijnlijk indrukwekkende en goed bewaarde Ishak Pasha paleis, is er een feest, een koerdenfeest
We komen binnen
Een man achter de synthesizer, een zingende man ernaast
De versterker op overmaximum
Ogen en longen passen zich aan aan de rook
Murat zelve komt meteen naar ons toe en geeft ons een plek aan een tafel
Ik tel 1 vrouw in de neonverlichte tapijtzaal en een veertigtal mannen
Het blijkt een feest voor haar verjaardag
De mannen lachen hard drinken hard roken hard
De vrouw ziet er niet zo gelukkig uit stelt laura vast
Een man gaat naast lau zitten, een tweede man schuift aan
Murat vraagt om whiskey en krijgt meteen de hele halfvolle fles van een helper
De versterker van de zingende man en de synthesizer werkt nog steeds heel goed
Een bord met fruit en een brandende zakdoek wordt op onze tafel gesmeten, ook chocolade
De man naast lau wil ons onafgebroken banaan op een vork voeren
De whiskey wordt onafgebroken aangevuld
Het kersensap ook
It`s my job to make people drunk, but I not
vertrouwt Murat me al roepend toe en valt ondertussen bijna van zijn stoel
Hij houdt van het leven zegt hij
Ok, zeggen wij
De man die nu bijna op Lau`s schoot zit zegt I love Belgium
Dat nemen we aan ja
Belgium good for Kurdish people, PKK, you know PKK?
Yes, we know PKK
Do you have friends in Belgium vraag ik
Now I have two yes is het antwoord
We eten de chocolade en het fruit en houden ondertussen de afstand die nodig is om juist geen Koerd op onze schoot te krijgen
All my friends roept Murat wijzend naar de veertig mannen
Ik knik
De vrouw is er niet meer
Ik vraag iets in de stijl van what do you do?
Importexport. 90 percent of people here. importexport
Wat doet een mens hier anders?
I take everything as long as it`s good money
Ik begrijp
Er worden servietten gegooid van tafel naar tafel. Feest. Koerdisch feest. Mijn eerste Koerdisch feest.
You are my sisters zegt Murat die niet Murat blijkt te heten maar Saim en ook niet Murat blijkt te zijn maar zijn broer.
I will pray to my Jesus for you. My Jesus is good.
Dan zegt hij nog iets van een gezicht en een raam en erdoor kijken maar dat kan ik niet zo goed verstaan
Hij blijkbaar ook niet want hij voegt er zelfbewust aan toe maybe I`m a little drunk
De Koerden. Ze zijn waarschijnlijk niet over 1 kam te scheren. Zoals niemand.
Ze houden van luide synthesizermuziek, van Belgie en de vrouwen van Belgie, sommigen hebben een eigen Jezus, anderen zijn communist, drinken geen alcohol, houden van de PKK en doen - hier althans- aan importexport. Dat is wat ik weet. Meer niet.
We besluiten dat het tijd is wat meer afstand te nemen, danken voor de gastvrijheid en gaan naar onze kamer. Dat van dat raam en dat gezicht wil ik liever misbegrepen hebben, maar ik neem het zekere voor het onzekere en bedek de ramen nog met een laken-matrasconstructie
Morgen Iran
Turkije was goed voor ons, toch voor het grootste deel
Semra en Zekeriya zullen onze laatste herinnering aan Turkije zijn en dat is heel heel goed
We slapen goed, zonder Koerdisch gezicht voor het raam
De volgende ochtend stappen we de zeven kilometer naar het centrum waar de dolmush (busje) ons naar de grens voert
Aan de grens wordt ons aan zowel Turkse als Iraanse kant gevraagd wat we in Iran gaan doen
Tourist zeggen we en zetten onze doek op ons hoofd
Een vrouw in hijab (hijab in het farsi betekent letterlijk tent) kijkt ons aan en stopt daar niet mee
Na een tijdje glimlach ik en zeg ik salam
Dat helpt , nu glimlacht ze tenminste terwijl ze ons blijft aankijken
Wat zullen we tegenkomen aan de andere kant?
Heel veel gastvrijheid, nieuwe vrienden, geldproblemen en intens gemengde gevoelens zo blijkt.
Wat voorafging :
De grens
Dogubayazit, grensplaats, non-plaats, doorgangsoord, ontmoetingsplek, nomadenwoonplaats, Koerden.
Vier mannen lopen op een open plek, twee ervan ontmoeten elkaar even, gaan dan elk hun eigen weg
De moskee echoot door de heuvels
De zon brandt, om vier uur is ze onder, dan is het ijskoud
Het moet hard zijn hier te leven
Nomaden hebben hun plekje gemaakt tussen de ruines van wat kan het iemand eigenlijk schelen, stenen zijn stenen
Een troep soldaten steekt de straat over
Ze lijken meer op schooluitstapjongetjes aan het begin van hun pubertijd
Dat komt ervan met die verplichte legerdienst zegt Laura
In Camping Murat waar we slapen, aan de voet van het onwaarschijnlijk indrukwekkende en goed bewaarde Ishak Pasha paleis, is er een feest, een koerdenfeest
We komen binnen
Een man achter de synthesizer, een zingende man ernaast
De versterker op overmaximum
Ogen en longen passen zich aan aan de rook
Murat zelve komt meteen naar ons toe en geeft ons een plek aan een tafel
Ik tel 1 vrouw in de neonverlichte tapijtzaal en een veertigtal mannen
Het blijkt een feest voor haar verjaardag
De mannen lachen hard drinken hard roken hard
De vrouw ziet er niet zo gelukkig uit stelt laura vast
Een man gaat naast lau zitten, een tweede man schuift aan
Murat vraagt om whiskey en krijgt meteen de hele halfvolle fles van een helper
De versterker van de zingende man en de synthesizer werkt nog steeds heel goed
Een bord met fruit en een brandende zakdoek wordt op onze tafel gesmeten, ook chocolade
De man naast lau wil ons onafgebroken banaan op een vork voeren
De whiskey wordt onafgebroken aangevuld
Het kersensap ook
It`s my job to make people drunk, but I not
vertrouwt Murat me al roepend toe en valt ondertussen bijna van zijn stoel
Hij houdt van het leven zegt hij
Ok, zeggen wij
De man die nu bijna op Lau`s schoot zit zegt I love Belgium
Dat nemen we aan ja
Belgium good for Kurdish people, PKK, you know PKK?
Yes, we know PKK
Do you have friends in Belgium vraag ik
Now I have two yes is het antwoord
We eten de chocolade en het fruit en houden ondertussen de afstand die nodig is om juist geen Koerd op onze schoot te krijgen
All my friends roept Murat wijzend naar de veertig mannen
Ik knik
De vrouw is er niet meer
Ik vraag iets in de stijl van what do you do?
Importexport. 90 percent of people here. importexport
Wat doet een mens hier anders?
I take everything as long as it`s good money
Ik begrijp
Er worden servietten gegooid van tafel naar tafel. Feest. Koerdisch feest. Mijn eerste Koerdisch feest.
You are my sisters zegt Murat die niet Murat blijkt te heten maar Saim en ook niet Murat blijkt te zijn maar zijn broer.
I will pray to my Jesus for you. My Jesus is good.
Dan zegt hij nog iets van een gezicht en een raam en erdoor kijken maar dat kan ik niet zo goed verstaan
Hij blijkbaar ook niet want hij voegt er zelfbewust aan toe maybe I`m a little drunk
De Koerden. Ze zijn waarschijnlijk niet over 1 kam te scheren. Zoals niemand.
Ze houden van luide synthesizermuziek, van Belgie en de vrouwen van Belgie, sommigen hebben een eigen Jezus, anderen zijn communist, drinken geen alcohol, houden van de PKK en doen - hier althans- aan importexport. Dat is wat ik weet. Meer niet.
We besluiten dat het tijd is wat meer afstand te nemen, danken voor de gastvrijheid en gaan naar onze kamer. Dat van dat raam en dat gezicht wil ik liever misbegrepen hebben, maar ik neem het zekere voor het onzekere en bedek de ramen nog met een laken-matrasconstructie
Morgen Iran
Turkije was goed voor ons, toch voor het grootste deel
Semra en Zekeriya zullen onze laatste herinnering aan Turkije zijn en dat is heel heel goed
We slapen goed, zonder Koerdisch gezicht voor het raam
De volgende ochtend stappen we de zeven kilometer naar het centrum waar de dolmush (busje) ons naar de grens voert
Aan de grens wordt ons aan zowel Turkse als Iraanse kant gevraagd wat we in Iran gaan doen
Tourist zeggen we en zetten onze doek op ons hoofd
Een vrouw in hijab (hijab in het farsi betekent letterlijk tent) kijkt ons aan en stopt daar niet mee
Na een tijdje glimlach ik en zeg ik salam
Dat helpt , nu glimlacht ze tenminste terwijl ze ons blijft aankijken
Wat zullen we tegenkomen aan de andere kant?
Heel veel gastvrijheid, nieuwe vrienden, geldproblemen en intens gemengde gevoelens zo blijkt.
donderdag 19 november 2009
quotes
Worrying is the same as chewing chewinggum to solve an algebraproblem.
English Nic with her old ambulance
Afscheid nemen is alsof de conducteur een gaatje in je ticket prikt.
Susan na het afscheid met El en mama.
From now, very up.
Thanos op de Olympos, een uur voor de top.
The feet walk alone.
Thanos tijdens razendsnelle afdaling van de Olympos
Only when we lose what we have do we value it truly.
M.Mazower in Salonica
Never trust the women or the weather of Istanbul.
Serdar, onze eerste couchsurfhost
I don`t like it that they want women to close their everywhere, that only the eyes are open.
Ahmed, bontverkoper en paraglider, over de conservatieve moslims
Blijf beslissen zonder beslist te worden.
uit mail van papa
I read in a book that a more proper name for earth would be water.
Marcus, Australian traveller
Maybe he has the wrong address.
Hakan over orkaan die maar niet komt in Antalya
Clean shoes, lady?
Schoenenpoetser in Antalya. Ik draag sandalen.
To know if someone is really a good person you have to travel with him, do business with him and see him in a high position.
The prophet Mohammed
-Moge je lang leven
-Moge jij zien dat ik lang leef
Turkse uitspraak na niezen
There are different ways to reach one goal, but I believe that mine is best.
Zekeriya about his belief
Don`t kill the day.
Murat`s brother of Camping Murat advises us to go walking while the sun is still shining
Why you go to Iran?
verbaasde Turkse politie aan de grens met Iran
Why you come to Iran?
verbaasde Iraanse man in de rij aan de Iraanse kant van de grens
I will pray to my Jesus for you.
Murat`s brother who considers us as his sisters
That must be Ahmadinejad giving a speech.
F. in de Alborzberg in Tehran na het horen van het balken van een ezel
English Nic with her old ambulance
Afscheid nemen is alsof de conducteur een gaatje in je ticket prikt.
Susan na het afscheid met El en mama.
From now, very up.
Thanos op de Olympos, een uur voor de top.
The feet walk alone.
Thanos tijdens razendsnelle afdaling van de Olympos
Only when we lose what we have do we value it truly.
M.Mazower in Salonica
Never trust the women or the weather of Istanbul.
Serdar, onze eerste couchsurfhost
I don`t like it that they want women to close their everywhere, that only the eyes are open.
Ahmed, bontverkoper en paraglider, over de conservatieve moslims
Blijf beslissen zonder beslist te worden.
uit mail van papa
I read in a book that a more proper name for earth would be water.
Marcus, Australian traveller
Maybe he has the wrong address.
Hakan over orkaan die maar niet komt in Antalya
Clean shoes, lady?
Schoenenpoetser in Antalya. Ik draag sandalen.
To know if someone is really a good person you have to travel with him, do business with him and see him in a high position.
The prophet Mohammed
-Moge je lang leven
-Moge jij zien dat ik lang leef
Turkse uitspraak na niezen
There are different ways to reach one goal, but I believe that mine is best.
Zekeriya about his belief
Don`t kill the day.
Murat`s brother of Camping Murat advises us to go walking while the sun is still shining
Why you go to Iran?
verbaasde Turkse politie aan de grens met Iran
Why you come to Iran?
verbaasde Iraanse man in de rij aan de Iraanse kant van de grens
I will pray to my Jesus for you.
Murat`s brother who considers us as his sisters
That must be Ahmadinejad giving a speech.
F. in de Alborzberg in Tehran na het horen van het balken van een ezel
dinsdag 10 november 2009
Sponges we stumble upon
I will remember Antalya as the town where we looked for a good place to eat, the town where a hurricane was expected to pass through but eventually he must have had the wrong address told us Hakan, the archeologystudent who showed us the non-touristic part of the town and a good good restaurant. The town where we found the good nightrest to be able to carry on to the east. A town where we passed through.
The next day Nihad the gentle medicineseller gave us a lift all the way to Konya, in the middle of Turkey. It's the first place where we're real strangers. In Istanbul,with some imagination, we could've been one of them. Not in Konya we can. We see only women with hijabs on the street. I discover a certain feeling of unease sitting on the bus, holding my house, wearing a headscarve just for the beauty of it. On that bus I wish we could be hosted once by a Muslim family. To get rid of my unease and ignorance. To understand. A woman with the kindest eyes ever steps on. Even without smiling or looking at me I could feel the friendliness of that woman. It made me feel more comfortable on the bus in the conservative muslimtown.
From Konya we take the bus to Cappadocia, to Göreme, a town where you don't want to be in the season seeing all the guided tours,rafting,horseriding,hotels,the quads,bikes,cars to rent. Now the town looks empty and the people unhappy. We have a walk in the spectacular spongey landscape, spongey due to the eruptions of the volcano's surrounding the area. While walking I realise that this is not something we planned to see, we just happened to stumble upon it, like all the other things and people we meet. I realise I didn't know anything about Turkey,Atatürk,the Ottoman empire,the so many different nationalitybackgrounds of the Turks. I realise this is why we're making this journey. To meet and greet whatever comes and to learn from it. I decide to write about this, about the why and the how of this journey, something to grab on to if we would ever forget, a little support that could be useful some time, maybe. You can read the result on this blog under the title why and how.
We're skipping the hitchhiking for a while and decide to go on by bus and train or only with people we've known for a while. One not so kind, very sad and lonely man showed us that not everybody has the right intensions. But for the record, we're ok and we're very happy that we are where we are now. In Erzurum. The East. It's cold and the sun is under at 4:30pm but we couldn't have been in a better place than we are. We're staying with Semra and Zekeriya and their two chidren Betül and Lokman. A muslimfamily. It's what I had wished for on that Konyabus. The generosity that is so normal to them surprises us so. We were one of the family from the second we entered the house. We can wash our clothes, eat the incredible food of Semra and in the evening we're all together in the sofa for reading hour. We decide not to rush and stay here for a few days. In fact we decide not to rush at all anymore on this journey. Like this, things can come in their own pace and we're greatfully following that rythm and slowly forgetting about the Belgian one.
The next day Nihad the gentle medicineseller gave us a lift all the way to Konya, in the middle of Turkey. It's the first place where we're real strangers. In Istanbul,with some imagination, we could've been one of them. Not in Konya we can. We see only women with hijabs on the street. I discover a certain feeling of unease sitting on the bus, holding my house, wearing a headscarve just for the beauty of it. On that bus I wish we could be hosted once by a Muslim family. To get rid of my unease and ignorance. To understand. A woman with the kindest eyes ever steps on. Even without smiling or looking at me I could feel the friendliness of that woman. It made me feel more comfortable on the bus in the conservative muslimtown.
From Konya we take the bus to Cappadocia, to Göreme, a town where you don't want to be in the season seeing all the guided tours,rafting,horseriding,hotels,the quads,bikes,cars to rent. Now the town looks empty and the people unhappy. We have a walk in the spectacular spongey landscape, spongey due to the eruptions of the volcano's surrounding the area. While walking I realise that this is not something we planned to see, we just happened to stumble upon it, like all the other things and people we meet. I realise I didn't know anything about Turkey,Atatürk,the Ottoman empire,the so many different nationalitybackgrounds of the Turks. I realise this is why we're making this journey. To meet and greet whatever comes and to learn from it. I decide to write about this, about the why and the how of this journey, something to grab on to if we would ever forget, a little support that could be useful some time, maybe. You can read the result on this blog under the title why and how.
We're skipping the hitchhiking for a while and decide to go on by bus and train or only with people we've known for a while. One not so kind, very sad and lonely man showed us that not everybody has the right intensions. But for the record, we're ok and we're very happy that we are where we are now. In Erzurum. The East. It's cold and the sun is under at 4:30pm but we couldn't have been in a better place than we are. We're staying with Semra and Zekeriya and their two chidren Betül and Lokman. A muslimfamily. It's what I had wished for on that Konyabus. The generosity that is so normal to them surprises us so. We were one of the family from the second we entered the house. We can wash our clothes, eat the incredible food of Semra and in the evening we're all together in the sofa for reading hour. We decide not to rush and stay here for a few days. In fact we decide not to rush at all anymore on this journey. Like this, things can come in their own pace and we're greatfully following that rythm and slowly forgetting about the Belgian one.
woensdag 4 november 2009
All is good
people
The time has come to speak some english. Most of the people we met don't speak the dutch language and would like to follow our journey. Hi welcome and thanks. So where were we.
We left Istanbul on the 28th of october and headed to Ölüdeniz,on Turkey's Mediterranean coast. No better place to test the ebaytent for the first time than the 'paradisish' beach of Ölüdeniz.
No better place to celebrate Laura's 27th birthday than the paradisish beach of Ölüdeniz.
While paragliders are flying above us I keep on thinking of when we went flying a few days ago. I think about how strangely normal it felt to be up there. Think about the complete confidence I had in Yurdaer,our magnificent co-flyer and fantastic pilot-friend. I think about how nice it is to be able to trust people you don't know for a long time and to be trusted by them. It happens to us all the time and it seems that by doing so we attract the right ones...
Kaş
We're staying in Kaş with Necmi, a friend of Memet,our couchsurfinghost from Istanbul. I'm on his terrace. There's storm. Lightning. Thinking that everything is fine like it is. That this travel won't turn me into someone else,like I must have been thinking sometimes,that everything's just fine like it is. I think about home and how being away affects the homestayers. Hearing the thunder. Think about the bellydancer of last night that went lying on her back and the enthousiasm with which she asked the old man and his son to drink raki out of her bellybutton. Think about how it will be when I'll be back. Not much different than before I imagine. There's electricity in the air. The moon's almost full again. Thinking that my thoughts are perfectly fine like they are.
Çıralı
Ali and Zeyneb give us our first lift. From Kaş to Çıralı. There we meet Günay who proposes us to put our tent in his garden if we want. He sais : "Turks everywhere. You go Alaska,you see Turks."
Where do all these nice people we meet come from? Turkey apparently.
We walk to Chimaera, the flames that are formed out of gas from the earth that comes in contact with the air. We stay here for a while, it darkens, the moon's there again and we are ordinarily greatfully normally happy.
Every morning we do yoga and every day someone asks us if he/she can join. Nice to leave a yogatrace behind.
We'll see
We're in Antalya now. The next thing will be Capadoccia. Probably we'll go there with Nic and her van.
Soon you'll hear more about that.
Insjallah and everything's fine like it is.
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