(From August 14, 2009)
Istanbul, Turkey
I was dizzy. My surroundings confused me: modern shops near archaic mosques, shabby apartments alongside ritzy hotels. The tacky juxtaposed with the homely. Chaos in the roads with all the taxis moving around as if they were hot wheels controlled by a five year old (I got the impression that there are as much if not more taxis than cars in Istanbul). Friendly Turkish men assisting helpless tourists.
......
The morning found going for my usual run. I had no idea what surrounded our dormitory and so wished to find out. Stepping outside, the sun immediately shone on my body clad in black running shorts and a gray t-shirt. This sun felt different than Berlin. Was it hotter? Brighter? Bigger? I really had no idea other than the initial visceral feeling. Not much I can do about that—so I planted one foot in front of the other and went my merry way. Within the first 200 meters (this is Europe, after all), I realized how spoiled I was running in Germany. Berlin’s occasional divot or raised edge on the sidewalk has got nothing on Istanbul’s ubiquitous potholes, shallow snaking water troughs and piles of rubble littering the roadside. This combined with the fact that taxi drivers scream by, missing me by a millimeter while honking their horns, gave me the tricky task of constantly switching between looking down to make sure I don’t fall and looking up to make sure I don’t end up as Japanese American roadkill.
The run was well worth the effort to stay alive, however, as after about 20 minutes of running roadside, I ended up in a small park next to the Bosphorus River. Despite my skepticism when reading about it, I was impressed. The waves crashed into the cement platform, spraying water onto the pavement. The water shimmered dark blue in the sunlight. Water birds flew overhead. Ships cruised around in different directions. I could stare endlessly into this river, my thoughts lost in the undulating currents. This was beauty. Beauty within the chaos of the surrounding city. Staring at the waters, I came to accept the confusion around me. My dizziness was cured.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Time Bridge: Berlin --> Istanbul
(From August 13, 2009)
A weary travel day. Many of us stressed over having to pack. But hey, we were traveling to Istanbul. With my large hiking backpack on my back, running shoes on my feet (not fashionable but quite comfy), and my laptop bag slung to the side, I looked a seasoned traveler. I was ready for adventure. Earlier in the morning, I traveled to Ostkreuz (another part of Berlin) with John, Muhammed, Katie and Elroy to kick a soccer ball around with the Türkiyemspor soccer club. The smelly feet and dried sweat from this did not bother me. Sitting around for long periods at the airport did.
Tegel (the airport in Berlin) lacked space for those waiting around. Basically, its inside consists of a curved white corridor with many food and drink shops with little/no space to sit. What makes this a problem is that we were in Berlin. As the group learned a few days prior at a coffee shop, this means that shop owners ruthlessly obey protocol and will kick ALL non-paying customers off their tables. This time, our “family” (all of us basically are, with Julie and Shawn as parents) tried to sit at some tables next to a pretzel and drink shop. Some time later, the cashier came over and booted us out, claiming that our presence will make his boss upset. We ended up on the floor, trying to pass the time until our delayed flight. The rest of the day went by without anything noteworthy occurring—just the usual sitting in a plane. Evening found us in Istanbul, weary yet excited for the four days ahead…
A weary travel day. Many of us stressed over having to pack. But hey, we were traveling to Istanbul. With my large hiking backpack on my back, running shoes on my feet (not fashionable but quite comfy), and my laptop bag slung to the side, I looked a seasoned traveler. I was ready for adventure. Earlier in the morning, I traveled to Ostkreuz (another part of Berlin) with John, Muhammed, Katie and Elroy to kick a soccer ball around with the Türkiyemspor soccer club. The smelly feet and dried sweat from this did not bother me. Sitting around for long periods at the airport did.
Tegel (the airport in Berlin) lacked space for those waiting around. Basically, its inside consists of a curved white corridor with many food and drink shops with little/no space to sit. What makes this a problem is that we were in Berlin. As the group learned a few days prior at a coffee shop, this means that shop owners ruthlessly obey protocol and will kick ALL non-paying customers off their tables. This time, our “family” (all of us basically are, with Julie and Shawn as parents) tried to sit at some tables next to a pretzel and drink shop. Some time later, the cashier came over and booted us out, claiming that our presence will make his boss upset. We ended up on the floor, trying to pass the time until our delayed flight. The rest of the day went by without anything noteworthy occurring—just the usual sitting in a plane. Evening found us in Istanbul, weary yet excited for the four days ahead…
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Busking Practice
(From August 12, 2009)
I miss being able to devote time to practice my guitar. I miss having the luxury to spend time with technical exercises and learning new pieces—Piazzolla’s Otono Portena (youtube it—it’s a cool piece) is now on hold. I also can’t complain. In place of practicing, I learn more about this giant city known as Berlin as well as its inhabitants. I am also improving my writing.
Instead of scales or Sor arpeggio studies, I type daily blogs and focus on writing improvement. Bach’s polyphonic fugues are replaced by sentence length exercises. That’s not to say that I no longer play the guitar. I do—but first, lunch.
……
Lunchtime found me eating a döner kebab (my fifth one in Berlin!) without having to spend a dime of my own money. The seasoned meat and vegetables harmonized into sonorous chords on my taste buds. Orange juice sipped between my giant bites kept my senses alert and precluded hiccups. But wait: how did I not spend a dime? I haven’t gotten to know any of the döner shop owners particularly well. People don’t owe me money. But I do play classical guitar.
......
Earlier this cloudy morning, I got off the S7 train onto the Hackescher Markt station. Down the stairs and outside the station lies a raised platform with chairs. A breeze swayed the small trees planted by the city. Although I can’t practice, it was from this location I sounded the notes written by Bach, Aguado, Mertz, and Barrios. I entered the other world as described in Orhan Pamuk’s Istanbul. In this other place, the day ahead didn’t matter. Visiting a Turkish soccer club, touring a mosque, eating dinner as a group—all of these were on the schedule but none of them crossed my mind. Despite my technique and ability not improving, it was nice to escape reality for even a mere thirty minutes.
My guitar’s sound carried only a short distance, so my playing remained largely ignored. Asian tourists walked by, businessmen passed with a brisk pace. A few got closer and listened—they liked the Bach (smiling and clapping with the final g-minor cadence) and left 3€ in my case. Lunch money and a sense of acceptance (and .50€ left to give to a busker later on). The clouds began releasing their contents but it didn’t matter. The rest of the day would be quite good.
I miss being able to devote time to practice my guitar. I miss having the luxury to spend time with technical exercises and learning new pieces—Piazzolla’s Otono Portena (youtube it—it’s a cool piece) is now on hold. I also can’t complain. In place of practicing, I learn more about this giant city known as Berlin as well as its inhabitants. I am also improving my writing.
Instead of scales or Sor arpeggio studies, I type daily blogs and focus on writing improvement. Bach’s polyphonic fugues are replaced by sentence length exercises. That’s not to say that I no longer play the guitar. I do—but first, lunch.
……
Lunchtime found me eating a döner kebab (my fifth one in Berlin!) without having to spend a dime of my own money. The seasoned meat and vegetables harmonized into sonorous chords on my taste buds. Orange juice sipped between my giant bites kept my senses alert and precluded hiccups. But wait: how did I not spend a dime? I haven’t gotten to know any of the döner shop owners particularly well. People don’t owe me money. But I do play classical guitar.
......
Earlier this cloudy morning, I got off the S7 train onto the Hackescher Markt station. Down the stairs and outside the station lies a raised platform with chairs. A breeze swayed the small trees planted by the city. Although I can’t practice, it was from this location I sounded the notes written by Bach, Aguado, Mertz, and Barrios. I entered the other world as described in Orhan Pamuk’s Istanbul. In this other place, the day ahead didn’t matter. Visiting a Turkish soccer club, touring a mosque, eating dinner as a group—all of these were on the schedule but none of them crossed my mind. Despite my technique and ability not improving, it was nice to escape reality for even a mere thirty minutes.
My guitar’s sound carried only a short distance, so my playing remained largely ignored. Asian tourists walked by, businessmen passed with a brisk pace. A few got closer and listened—they liked the Bach (smiling and clapping with the final g-minor cadence) and left 3€ in my case. Lunch money and a sense of acceptance (and .50€ left to give to a busker later on). The clouds began releasing their contents but it didn’t matter. The rest of the day would be quite good.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
My Home Away from Home Away from Home
(From August 11, 2009)
I’m finally settling in. The section in Kreuzberg where my apartment lies, an area I’m getting to know through my morning runs. This is my second home. I now possess a spatial representation of many of the stores, from the döner shop across from the subway station to the artificial pond with turtles and birds swimming in it. This is my hood.
Two subway stops away lies Alexanderplatz, an open square. The area is my new home. More accurately, it is my home away from home (Kreuzberg apartments) away from home (Seattle). Any anxiety I feel from traveling to foreign places melt away when the train pulls into this station.
I can find almost anything here. Food, clothes, you name it. Things here also make me smile. Today, it was buskers who put a grin on my face—first an Italian guitarist who strummed and sang near the department store. Lots of foot traffic passed through the area. Thus, this venue was a loud location requiring a loud busker. The musician kindly let me ask him a few questions. I gave him 2,00€ as I walked off.
Later, I heard a band called Jammin’ Johnny & the Diskofuckers; think popular music singing accompanied by brass (2 alto saxophones, 1 coronet, a singer/guitarist, and a percussion-box player—literally a box he sat on and drummed). My stress and worries melted away as I listened. They even let me ask a few questions as they began packing up. Apparently, they ride the train to a location, play their set repertoire (about 30 minutes worth), pack up, and repeat. I gave 2,00€ for their time.
I spent a total of 4,00€ talking to street musicians today. Not bad for the information I gained, but I’m not sure I can afford to spend such money for every busker I talk with. Then, I thought about the money collection boxes placed in front of the musicians. I recalled lots of 1 and 2 € coins. Epiphany. I’m going to busk (part of my original plan) and use the proceeds to fund my encounters with other buskers. Alright—I’m ready for tomorrow!
I’m finally settling in. The section in Kreuzberg where my apartment lies, an area I’m getting to know through my morning runs. This is my second home. I now possess a spatial representation of many of the stores, from the döner shop across from the subway station to the artificial pond with turtles and birds swimming in it. This is my hood.
Two subway stops away lies Alexanderplatz, an open square. The area is my new home. More accurately, it is my home away from home (Kreuzberg apartments) away from home (Seattle). Any anxiety I feel from traveling to foreign places melt away when the train pulls into this station.
I can find almost anything here. Food, clothes, you name it. Things here also make me smile. Today, it was buskers who put a grin on my face—first an Italian guitarist who strummed and sang near the department store. Lots of foot traffic passed through the area. Thus, this venue was a loud location requiring a loud busker. The musician kindly let me ask him a few questions. I gave him 2,00€ as I walked off.
Later, I heard a band called Jammin’ Johnny & the Diskofuckers; think popular music singing accompanied by brass (2 alto saxophones, 1 coronet, a singer/guitarist, and a percussion-box player—literally a box he sat on and drummed). My stress and worries melted away as I listened. They even let me ask a few questions as they began packing up. Apparently, they ride the train to a location, play their set repertoire (about 30 minutes worth), pack up, and repeat. I gave 2,00€ for their time.
I spent a total of 4,00€ talking to street musicians today. Not bad for the information I gained, but I’m not sure I can afford to spend such money for every busker I talk with. Then, I thought about the money collection boxes placed in front of the musicians. I recalled lots of 1 and 2 € coins. Epiphany. I’m going to busk (part of my original plan) and use the proceeds to fund my encounters with other buskers. Alright—I’m ready for tomorrow!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Döner Kebab
By Daniel T. Kashima—food fan
(Postcard replacement for August 9, 2009--no reflections, just describing food)
One of the world’s largest Turkish populations outside of Istanbul lies in Berlin. It shows in the price and quality of the city’s Döner Kebabs.
Those of you who never heard of these delectable food items are probably scratching your heads at the moment. Allow me to explain.
Meat. Lots of it. A mountain of lamb or beef piled high, skewered, and shaped into a giant cone with various spices. This cone rotates in front of a heating lamp/grill such that the outer meat layers retain a cooked crispiness. The vendor skillfully slices thin strips with a sharpened knife, the meat falling like winter snow onto the metal table. This by itself makes the mouth water; it turns the ordinary human into one of Pavlov’s dogs.
A pannini heated to perfection on a grill. Garlic sauce spread on the inside. The strips of meat packed between the bread like a Japanese subway train. The quantity of meat compares to the amount of corned beef in a Reuben sandwich bought in a Jewish deli. Onions, red cabbage, lettuce and tomatoes added on top.
2.20€.
Hungry? So am I. I’ve already eaten these for 4 meals in the week I’ve been in Berlin. I’m going to miss these treats when I return to the states. Just talking about my love for food. No further reflections here…
(Postcard replacement for August 9, 2009--no reflections, just describing food)
One of the world’s largest Turkish populations outside of Istanbul lies in Berlin. It shows in the price and quality of the city’s Döner Kebabs.
Those of you who never heard of these delectable food items are probably scratching your heads at the moment. Allow me to explain.
Meat. Lots of it. A mountain of lamb or beef piled high, skewered, and shaped into a giant cone with various spices. This cone rotates in front of a heating lamp/grill such that the outer meat layers retain a cooked crispiness. The vendor skillfully slices thin strips with a sharpened knife, the meat falling like winter snow onto the metal table. This by itself makes the mouth water; it turns the ordinary human into one of Pavlov’s dogs.
A pannini heated to perfection on a grill. Garlic sauce spread on the inside. The strips of meat packed between the bread like a Japanese subway train. The quantity of meat compares to the amount of corned beef in a Reuben sandwich bought in a Jewish deli. Onions, red cabbage, lettuce and tomatoes added on top.
2.20€.
Hungry? So am I. I’ve already eaten these for 4 meals in the week I’ve been in Berlin. I’m going to miss these treats when I return to the states. Just talking about my love for food. No further reflections here…
Rote Grütze mit Vanillesauce
By Daniel T. Kashima—pseudo-food critic
(Postcard replacement for August 8, 2009--no reflections, just describing food)
Tart and sweet. Need I say more? Read-on.
Rote Grütze: a mélange of berries suspended in a thick, viscous syrup. The various berries mixed together create a tingling sensation atop the tongue while leaving seeds stuck between the teeth. Strawberries? Raspberries? Blueberries? This mixture looks a dark, opaque red in color. Although I can’t discern the individual components, I can say that it tastes quite tart if ingested alone.
Enter vanillasauce. Creamy and sweet; like melted ice cream except less viscous and more yellow.
Neither the Rote Grütze nor vanillasauce are special on their own. However, mix them together and you get a product whose whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Emergent complexity—a dance of taste molecules creating a beautiful fugue on my tongue. The vanillasauce cuts down the berries’ tartness just enough while adding a hint of vanilla flavoring. Although the two begin as separate layers, a little action with the spoon created a reddish-pink dessert that took every bit of willpower not to wolf down. Needless to say, I went back for seconds.
(Postcard replacement for August 8, 2009--no reflections, just describing food)
Tart and sweet. Need I say more? Read-on.
Rote Grütze: a mélange of berries suspended in a thick, viscous syrup. The various berries mixed together create a tingling sensation atop the tongue while leaving seeds stuck between the teeth. Strawberries? Raspberries? Blueberries? This mixture looks a dark, opaque red in color. Although I can’t discern the individual components, I can say that it tastes quite tart if ingested alone.
Enter vanillasauce. Creamy and sweet; like melted ice cream except less viscous and more yellow.
Neither the Rote Grütze nor vanillasauce are special on their own. However, mix them together and you get a product whose whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Emergent complexity—a dance of taste molecules creating a beautiful fugue on my tongue. The vanillasauce cuts down the berries’ tartness just enough while adding a hint of vanilla flavoring. Although the two begin as separate layers, a little action with the spoon created a reddish-pink dessert that took every bit of willpower not to wolf down. Needless to say, I went back for seconds.
Artificial Lake
Writing Etude: Varying sentence length (also doubling as a daily blog post)
The number of words in a given sentence is to be decided before each sentence is written.
(8, 12, 7, 4, 6, 7, 10, 5, 9, 14, 7, 10, 6, 12, 5, 10, 7, 13, 4, 14, 6)
(Events from August 10, 2009)
No camera today
I need new tools for my writing toolkit. The day leading up to now involved many train rides and tours. I sit on a bench near water.
Fountains spurt liquid upwards. Gravity pulls it all back down. The lake appears brown; only ducks swim. The sky cloudy overhead, I ponder the events experienced today. What do I write about?
The fountains here remind me of the Reichstag entrance. Powerful sprinklers watered narrow stripes of grass interspersed with straight lines of gray concrete. Beer cups and napkins littered the area. At first, I did not think much about it. Later on, it returned to me.
Inside, we learned about German right-wing extremism and its surrounding politics. Basically, its existence is recognized. Combating and preventing hate crimes plays a visible role in local politics. This differs from the U.S..
The sprinklers and litter out front returns to me. A metaphor for present-day Berlin. Despite all cleaning efforts, unpleasant ideals continue to resurface after every night. Swastikas, violence, people fearing night. Legislation passes in response, yet the violence continues to increase. Is this one face of Berlin’s identity? Like a deep cut, the city’s reunification was not without an ugly scar. A reminder of history.
Clean up the litter every day, water the grass, and hope for the best. What else can the government do?
The number of words in a given sentence is to be decided before each sentence is written.
(8, 12, 7, 4, 6, 7, 10, 5, 9, 14, 7, 10, 6, 12, 5, 10, 7, 13, 4, 14, 6)
(Events from August 10, 2009)
No camera today
I need new tools for my writing toolkit. The day leading up to now involved many train rides and tours. I sit on a bench near water.
Fountains spurt liquid upwards. Gravity pulls it all back down. The lake appears brown; only ducks swim. The sky cloudy overhead, I ponder the events experienced today. What do I write about?
The fountains here remind me of the Reichstag entrance. Powerful sprinklers watered narrow stripes of grass interspersed with straight lines of gray concrete. Beer cups and napkins littered the area. At first, I did not think much about it. Later on, it returned to me.
Inside, we learned about German right-wing extremism and its surrounding politics. Basically, its existence is recognized. Combating and preventing hate crimes plays a visible role in local politics. This differs from the U.S..
The sprinklers and litter out front returns to me. A metaphor for present-day Berlin. Despite all cleaning efforts, unpleasant ideals continue to resurface after every night. Swastikas, violence, people fearing night. Legislation passes in response, yet the violence continues to increase. Is this one face of Berlin’s identity? Like a deep cut, the city’s reunification was not without an ugly scar. A reminder of history.
Clean up the litter every day, water the grass, and hope for the best. What else can the government do?
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