Carpetblogger

Things on Which War Should be Declared: Istanbul Edition

If you follow the US news, you might be aware that war has been declared on women, contraception and, in general, common sense. If you are in Istanbul, you might know that, in addition to the usual things, war has been declared on bazaar traders who shout too much (though, as The Turkish Life correctly points out, the most casual observer can tell that's more of an urban myth than a thing that is actually happening).

Are loud bazaarcıs Istanbul's biggest offense? They aren't even really the biggest offense in bazaars, in our opinion. But, since war declaring seems to be a trend and we don't want to be left behind, there are a number of other things in Istanbul on which we suggest War Be Declared.

Street Cats: Shut up, catlovers -- here's a disgusting story that justifies our long-held position that Istanbul's street cat population is out of control. Dining in a pleasant garden in Cihangir yesterday, a nasty cat on top of a wall backs its hairy cat anus up and sprays all the tables below -- one of which we had been recently sitting at with our charming and well-dressed companions. As if the pervasive odor of cat piss in every building entryway wasn't enough, now it comes in your coffee*.

If you can't get on board with a conventional war on street cats, perhaps you can support our more moderate position in favor of population control via the introduction of natural predators. (BTW, we made that GIF ourselves, a medium which is probably going to be our primary creative outlet from now on. From CVs, to emails, to illustrating petty gossip, there really isn't a message that can't be enhanced with a GIF).

*To the waiter's credit, he did remove the wet sugar packets and salt and pepper shakers and cursorily wipe the table off after we pointed it out to him. The food service sector in Istanbul remains beyond reproach.

Scooter-borne delivery drivers: As the city's traffic becomes more intractable and more Istanbullus get money, the population of scooter drivers -- mostly young men who would be equally treacherous drivers in cars -- has exploded. It's no longer a matter of looking both ways before crossing a one-way street, it's a matter of looking both ways before stepping onto a sidewalk, or a pedestrian zone or out your front door, lest you become part of Bambi's paket servis.

Fortunately, there may be some overlap in the interests of scooter driver and street cat natural predators. Another cackle of hyenas, please!

Neighbors who Burn Coal and Pieces of Laminate in May: We know gaz is expensive. We know the draft can be lethal. But Istanbul's trademark smell of burning coal and cat piss should be confined to winter. If it gets below 60 degrees in May, instead of stuffing the soba with pieces of old furniture you found in the street, put on a goddam sweater. Your black-smoke belching chimney is directly below our balcony and you might be troubled to learn how many common (and uncommon) household items could, with good aim, be lodged in it.

The War on Outside Seating in Beyoğlu: This is a war on which war needs to be declared. COME ON! It's been a year, summer's here and sitting inside when it's 1000 degrees out is unacceptable. What kind of city bans --rather than just regulates -- outdoor seating? Rumors are flying that some outdoor seating is returning (creeping tablism has been growing on Galata Meydan for a couple months now), at a greater cost to restaurant owners, which will surely have no impact at all on already-inflated eating and drinking prices. But as of yesterday, Urban Sokak was as sad and silent as it has been for the last year.

 Maybe what Urban Sokak really needs is some hyenas.

Higher Prices for Foreigners at Orhan Pamuk's Museum of Innocence. Seriously, what kind of museum in a developed country gets away with charging foreigners more for tickets? We like Orhan Pamuk, enjoyed the book and have heard great things about the museum. But 25TL tickets for foreigners, compared to 15TL for Turks, is fucking backwards.  If we were Orhan Pamuk, we'd extract a pound of flesh from the people who wanted to throw us in jail for "insulting Turkishness," rather the people who said, "uh, y'alls ever heard of free speech?"  It costs as much for foreigners to enter the MOI as it does to visit the Hagia Sofia. The only other museum we've come across that has this pricing structure is Miniaturk. Miniaturk is cheaper, too, and has scale mini-models of OPET stations and Ataturk airport.

Would pay extra at MOI if there were hyenas.

 

 

Carpetblog Recommends: Georgian and Korean in Istanbul

Among our favorite hobbies here at Carpetblog is ranting about Istanbul's lack of ethnic restaurants. After years of listening to easily disputable claims of Istanbul being a diverse, cosmopolitan city (we've got all kinds of Anatolian emigrants!), we are pleased report that two outstanding establishments form the backbone of the very, very slim body of non-Turkish food here.

Both are well off the traditional Lebanese/Indian/Mexican/Pakistani/Thai/Chinese axis* taken for granted in any North American or European city with a population of more than 100,000. Istanbul still has none in that category that can serve a passibly authentic meal at a reasonable price (or at any price, really).

NEWS FLASH: CAFE EURO IS CLOSED NOW! :(   The first is Cafe Euro, a bus station Georgian hole-in-the-wall in Aksaray which has already been praised on these pages and others and most recently, here.  That this place has been around for six years and we only discovered it last summer is one of our biggest failings as an expat. The excellence of its khingali as well as the authenticity of its post-Soviet atmosphere have since been verified by multiple Bakuvitsi. Ingredients are delivered from Kutaisi weekly, but unlike other writers, we're not going to blabber away about what day that happens. You should go on Saturday.

They've got homemade chacha, and, if the planets are aligned, tarkhun (don't let them talk you into trying that other florescent green liquid instead -- it's vile). The other big failing of the Eurasia review is that the reporter failed to inquire about deliveries of the forbidden meat. He has since been sent to a re-education camp.

The menu is neither extensive nor available in written form and it helps a lot if you speak Russian (or Georgian), but this is the real thing. It's cheap, cheap too; we have been told you can sit there all afternoon drinking and eating for about 30TL. Go there, preferably with someone who knows Georgian food and how to wield a knife. You'll make new friends who will share village wine from a jug and you'll leave smelling like a post-Soviet bus station. The owner's money quote from the Eurasianet review: "not all my customers are like you.”

Cafe Euro is at the entrance of a giant bus station in Aksaray. You didn't know there was one? Well, there is. It's called Emniyet Garaji and it's on Küçuk Langa Cad. Google it. You can walk there from the Aksaray or Yusufpaşa tram stops.

The second winner is Gaya Korean restaurant. It, too, has been around for awhile but has recently experienced an inexplicable surge in popularity among Carpetblogger's contemporaries. Indeed, of the only two really delicious meals we have eaten lately that were not served in a bus station, both were at Gaya.

Of all major Asian cuisines, we're least familiar with Korean so we don't really know the names of things. But, based on the noodles that look like glassy eels and the fuzzy spicy pickled leaves, we're going to guess the ingredients are imported from the motherland and prepared with love by a Korean mother for her only son. Most importantly, there's pork, cooked right there on the table in front of you (Is this the only non-pizza restaurant in Istanbul where you can order the forbidden meat? Discuss). We will go back there often, specifically to eat the spicy tofu. 

Most of the other diners in its rather sterile and empty space are either Korean businessmen or post-Soviet prostitutes, which we view as vote of confidence. It's not particularly cheap (60-70TL for a giant set meal, including pork and maybe an Efes or two) but it's more than you can eat and it's delicious. The service is friendly but not exactly attentive. Don't be in a hurry.

Gaya is near Taksim, on Abdulhak Hamit Caddesi, No. 50, in the Green Park Hotel.

 *Please, spare yourself the indignity of arguing there is a credible example of any of these cuisines in Istanbul. We know them all.

Ask Carpetblogger: Should I bring Turkish wine to a party?

First question! It's a very important one.

Dear Carpetblogger:

Booze is so expensive in Turkey! I know I should be polite and bring something to drink to dinner and parties but I am a young freelancer and have no money. Is it ever ok to bring Turkish wine or will I be shunned like a slutty Amish girl?

Potential Pariah

 

Dear Pariah:

This is possibly the most vexing etiquette dilemma facing party-goers in Istanbul today. Since Istanbul Eats has slogged into the Turkish wine debate with a new column that should be called OK, This One's Not That Bad, your question is more timely than ever.  It's wise to seek guidance.

Carpetblogger has long held that Turkish wine is the best of the Black Sea region, if you don't count Georgian and Bulgarian, and, some have argued -- but we don't necessarily agree -- Moldovan. We also believe that, while Muslims excel in many things, including hair removal and cooking meat on a stick, making liquor is not one of them.

Even we are willing to admit that Turkish wine is better than it used to be. It is possible to find a reasonably priced bottle that won't make you sick (if you do find one, buy it by the case). Some people may vociferously object to the following advice, but we here at Ask Carpetblogger are pragmatists and sympathize with the poor prole drinker. The short answer, is "sure, go ahead, bring Turkish wine but proceed with caution."

Our caveats:

• Because of taxes and other Muslim what-nots, wine is stupid expensive in Turkey. Plus, there's the "if it's expensive it must be good" developing world elitny surcharge. Just because a bottle of Turkish wine is expensive, doesn't mean it's any good. It may, at the high end, be drinkable but it's still probably a terrible value. There are an increasing number of decent wines being produced by vintners on some of the Aegean Islands, and we would look them up and tell you what they are but you have google too. If you really, really, really want to try Turkish wine, go to one of these places. They'll let you sample different varietals and explain which goes best with beyaz peynir and sucuk. Still, if you're going to drop some cash on a bottle that you're hoping will get you some action, do not buy Turkish. 

• Do not bring any bottle of Turkish wine that costs less than 10 TL. It is wine-colored poison. You will be judged, harshly and publicly.

• Buy the best bottle of imported you can afford. You'll probably have to go to a wine shop, since supermarket/tekel supplies can be limited. Most wine shops usually have some off-brand French or Italian plonk for 20TL or less. It's still a ridiculous price for crap wine, but will be better than a Turkish label at the same price, guaranteed.

• Think of how much more popular you'll be if you bring something imported and unusual, even if it's cheap. Spanish? Sure. Italian? Great. Even Bulgarian gets an A for effort. Greek, if you must. Stuffing your baggage and maxing out at duty free is part of the social contract. Do your part.

• Do not, under any circumstances, bring local and drink imported. Some hostesses are implementing a colored wristband system at parties as a mechanism to publicly shame those who bring Buzbağ and drink Bordeaux. Some of those people are impossible to shame, however. They know who they are.

Before you go and say "Carpetblogger, why are you such a fucking snob?" (uh, why water is wet?), let us be clear that we do not discriminate against cheap wine. We LOVE cheap wine. We just hate shitty wine in general and expensive shitty wine in particular. Maybe someday Turkish wine will be as good as Greek wine and we'll have to find a new target.

In the meantime, if you're invited to a sangria or mulled wine party chez Carpetblogger you know that there's an oversupply of Angora, Buzbağ and Deluca. The next day will be rough. We call it payback.

 

 

 

Carpetblog Weighs in: Georgian Food in Istanbul at Cafe Euro

You've heard the old saying about dining in Istanbul -- "There's all kinds of cuisine here as long as it's Turkish." Perhaps you've argued that Istanbul is the biggest city in the world without a real Pakistani restaurant. People come to Istanbul for a lot of reasons -- many of them good -- but not for its selection of international food.

So, when we read a FB post by the writer of the lovely Delicious Istanbul blog about Cafe Euro's Georgian food, we got our hopes up, just a little. She appears to be of some FSU provenance -- not sure which, don't want to offend! -- so we viewed her as credible. And, that the restaurant is located in Aksaray -- which is known locally as Devushkastan --suggested that there is a built-in clientele who knows their satsivi from their tkemali.

Georgians are sort of like Soviet Mexicans. They moved around and set up restaurants all over the Soviet Union to serve their hungry workers needing a taste of home. Every FSU resident we've ever met craves the occasional Georgian meal, even if they've never been to Tbilisi. Georgian food, like Georgia, is unlike anything found anywhere else in the world. We have long moaned about the lack of the real thing in Istanbul. Georgia is so close! Why can't you get a Borjomi and a decent khingali here?

After reading DI's post, we put on our devushka boots and gathered up the famous but also charming Rutherford/Tomasetti Partners and plotted a route into the dark heart of Aksaray. Did you know there is a giant bus station right there in the middle of it that serves exclusively the Caucasus, Russia, Romania and Moldova? We had no idea. There must be a lot of workers coming to Turkey from those countries! What sort of work they do here do you think? Globalization is awesome.

And there it was, Cafe Euro, with Georgia's UFO-script and photos of khingali on the outside walls, conferring a legitimacy that could not be faked. We were so excited. We stepped down into its dark bowels and felt like we had stepped into a bus station in Batumi. Cheap cafe decor in Turkey is white molded plastic chairs. In Georgia, and Cafe Euro, it's rickety metal-backed chairs with pleather seats. It's also bleached hair, cigarettes and drunken dancing to Russian pop at 7 pm. We were home.

We have found that the only time we can speak Turkish is when we want to speak another language in which we know 50 words, like Russian. The waitress, who was Georgian, got excited by our efforts and, in violation of traditional food service norms in her homeland, became super friendly and helpful. Sadly, 7 pm is not the hour to go if you want lobio or khinghali. The only things available were khachapuri (yay!) and kebab (less yay). We speculate that if you want access to the full menu (keeping in mind there is no menu), you need to come when the buses are arriving or departing.

We ordered up some Adjarian (the kind with an egg, and not our favorite, but it will do if a Minghrelian is not available). It was fine but we really wanted khingali, particularly since we had talked it up to the RT Partners, who had never had Georgian before. And there was Efes, not Kazbegi. A real Russian speaker might have been able to rustle up some homemade wine or even some chacha, according to Istanbul Eats (which, consume at your own risk).

Our review: Hopes still high, we're going to go back at a different time. Georgian in Istanbul deserves all the support we can give it.

Cafe Euro is at the entrance to the heretofore unknown to Carpetblog giant bus station in Aksaray, on Kucuk Langa Cad.

 

 

Ask Carpetblogger: How do I Buy a Carpet in Istanbul?

Short answer: Don't.*

*Obviously, this advice is targeted at the casual carpetbuyer. Of course, if you know something about carpets and you are wealthy, you know where to go.  There are plenty of reputable dealers in Istanbul who carry lovely and very expensive antique and new pieces. We're talking to people who visit Istanbul, who are not rich, don't know much about carpets and want a nice souvenir of their visit.

Go ahead, keep whining.

I want to buy a carpet when I visit Istanbul and don't want to get ripped off. Help meeeee.

Sigh.

OK, do it if you must, but there are some things to keep in mind.

You need to know what you're not buying. Very, very little that you will see in the Eighth Circle of Hell (known locally as the Grand Bazaar) is actually made in Turkey (the same goes for practically everything else in the GB). Labor is simply too expensive here to mass produce cheap carpets and kilims, so most of them come from Pakistan (nearly all cheap carpets are Baloch), Iran and, it may surprise you, China.

A dealer in Islamabad recently explained this China angle to us and a Turkish kilim designer confirmed it.  The only thing Turkish about those carpets are the design. The wool comes from New Zealand or Australia and the dyes are probably some combination of melamine and spit. Apparently they are made in huge factories on looms lined up side-by-side with a foreman who calls out rhythmic weaving instructions, like the master on a slave ship (that is the analogy he used!). We would like to go to China to see this.

Mossmaniac and Carpetblogger spent the better part of the last two days in the Grand Bazaar (Carpet College!), in the belly of the beast as it were, trying to understand where all this crap comes from and how to identify it. We were lucky to find a dealer who was so clueless about his own stock and our poorly concealed mocking of it to not notice we were only looking at it so we could understand the nature of the odd colors and strange patterns that don't typically appear in Anatolian weaving and scritchy textures that feel like astroturf. China!

The rest of his stuff was cheap crap that's produced by the ton in Pakistan, with which we have more than a passing familiarity. That information had to be drug out of him. This experience discouraged us and made us hate the Grand Bazaar more than usual. Ask if the carpet you like is made in Pakistan or China or Iran. If you like it, you shoudn't care. But!

How can I tell if a carpetseller is lying? His lips are moving.

Do you have a dealer in Istanbul you recomnend? No.* Contrary to everything written above, it is possible to find older genuinely Turkish carpets or kilims in the greater Grand Bazaar area, if that's your bag. We suggest finding an older guy sitting in his shop drinking tea (most young touts have no idea what they're selling) and ask him to show you "something special." He'll take you into a back room, or open up a cupboard and you will feel like you found the Holy Grail. Your heart will beat faster, and you will feel faint. You will feel that the last six hours of hazing -- of listening to some maganda tell you that if the fringe is braided, it means a virigin wove the carpet and that cremesicle orange is a natural dye --  were simply the price of admission to carpet heaven. You will believe again in the zen of harmonious colors, tribal patterns and handspun wool.

Then the guy tells you that beautiful 70 year old yahyali is $6000 and you will laugh. You will say, "I heart Pakistan."

*But a Carpetblog recommendation be bought. Have you met us?

This is why Carpetblogger does not carpetshop in Istanbul. Cheap carpets are crappy and nice carpets are stupid expensive. We prefer to buy both in Islamabad these days.

"But Carpetblogger!" you plea, "I want to buy a carpet in Istanbul, not Islamabad." Ok, fine. What do we know about you and your taste? Don't listen to us. Do it. Buy something you like that reminds you of your nice visit here and makes you happy when you look at it on your bedroom floor. Don't believe one word you're told about its origin or quality, unless you're told "it was made by a Chinese slave in Guangzhou using spit and melamine dye," because that would be awesome and probably true. Don't pay a lot of money for it and bargain like, uh, a person who doesn't like to be ripped off by skeezy carpetdealers in the Grand Bazaar (you probably won't get better than 20% off, though). Be happy with your new carpetfriend and don't worry that you got ripped off because you totally did.

Coming soon! The Metaphysics of Textile Purchases: A Carpetblog Manifesto.

 

Carpetblogger's Line of Lifestyle Products Inspired by "Istanbul Streets"

MoMA, you might have heard, is selling a line of "lifestyle design" products called "Destination: Istanbul" that have been inspired by Istanbul's streets. That Carpetblogger was not asked to contribute to the project seems like an oversight, but not having been asked for our input on something has never stopped us from providing it.

Here are some different lifestyle products, broadly defined, inspired by our own experiences on Istanbul's streets.

Concrete Box Incubator: Walk down any Istanbul street and you will conclude, as we have, that Turks are artists in the medium of concrete (holy crap, we worry we're mixing up concrete and cement somehow and our ancestor is going to post a harshly worded rebuke). If they're not creating concrete boxes, they are using drills to force the concrete to comply with their artistic vision or jackhammers to destroy them, in place of which will grow another concrete box. Kit includes concrete, drills and jackhammers, so you can grow your own box, drill some holes in it, then destroy it and create a new one. Which, you know, circle of life.

Cat Pee Diffuser: Bring the summertime aroma of Istanbul's street into your home with our unique cat pee diffuser. Comes in concrete only, cat pee not included.

Anne Amplifier: Every Turkish male loves his mother so very, very much. In fact, the Turkish male child playing in the sokak frequently demands the attention of his mother five stories above by shrieking "ann-EEEEE," rather than, you know, ringing the bell (indeed, we have heard adult males call to their mothers from the street using the same shriek, perfected as a five year old). This Anne Amplifier captures the aural essence of the Call/Response of the Palaska Sokak Cow Kız and her inbred offspring, Rufat: "ann-EEEEE" "RUUUUU-faaat!"

Front Door Electrifier: Maybe eau de cat pee isn't your bag and you become annoyed when it follows you in from the Istanbul Street every time you open your metal front door, which has been used as target practice by every tom in the neighborhood. This unique product combines the conductive powers of liquid and steel into a practical and entertaining cat repellent.

Maganda Hat Pin: This product may already exist, actually. It's the perfect accessory for the Unaccompanied Lady who finds herself forced to walk on Istiklal.  Feel the unsolicited yet familiar grope aimed at your private parts? Fight back against Magandas with a quick stick with your hat pin. Who cares if you get the wrong guy? He probably deserved it for something else.

These are all limited edition products -- çok elitny -- so place your orders soon. They all receive the Carpetblog seal of approval.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Carpetblogger Recommends: Avoid Mixed Gender Hamams

We are big hamam fans. We like the ghetto hamam in Çukurcuma, the hot spring hamams in Bursa and the touristy ones in Sultanahmet a great deal. All these hamams vary in size, luxury and committment to cleanliness but they all have one thıng in common: They're all single-sex.

And you know what? We like them that way. It's always awkward being naked in public when you don't speak the language, so even all-women hamams can be traumatic. For example, you never know if you're supposed to be completely naked or not. (Carpetblogger's Rule of Thumb for Hamam Nudity: Men, never, unless it's one of "those" hamams. However, it's our understanding that most non-tourist hamams are "those" hamams, so you may want to verify this information before heading to, say, Firuzağa Hamam. You know what? To be on the safe side, just use your pestemel and forget we brought the whole issue up. We have no idea what we're talking about. Women: Tourist hamam, underwear on. Non-tourist hamam, underwear optional. If in doubt, do what what the enormous Turkish tazes (aunties) are doing. YOU'RE WELCOME.)

We visited Termal, a small resort village near Yalova for some badly needed R&R. The whole region is known for its hot springs so there are all kinds of little (and big) resorts between Yalova and Bursa. There are trees, also, which are always nice. Birds, too. The one we visited was a newish-built shrine to Turkish secularism, with a Ataturk Museum on the grounds and a nightly floor show. Upper middle-class retirees soaked in the hot pools to cure their eczema or their rheumatism or their drop down stones. They were friendly!

Termal is famous for having won the coveted "World's Most Healing Water" contest in 1911. It is deserved! We swam in the hot pools and won at cards and drank tea and felt quite healed after. We ought to have left the healing at that.

We admit to pre-existing hesitation when we heard about the mixed-gender wet hamam on the grounds of the resort. We know these things exist, but usually only in resorts or tourist areas of Istanbul. Who goes to these? The whole idea seems contrary to the traditional purpose of a hamam. Furthermore, we do not want to electively look at potbellied Turkish men naked. Therefore, our general rule has always been "avoid mixed gender hamans because they are too weird."

We violated this rule. Entering the haman with great caution, one plastic flipflop at a time, we ("we" being Carpetblogger and Mademoiselle Istanbul) left plenty of opportunity for one of the idle men to shout, "Abla, wait! That's the men's side!" No one did.

In fact, quite the opposite. The old guy at the desk told us to buyurun ourselves right in the door. Unhelpful Taras Bulba served as the worst advance team ever, going in ahead of us and returning with the assurance that there were "lots" in there.

By "lots" he meant lots of men floating in the hot pools, splayed on the marble göbek like hairy sea lions and panting in the super hot sauna. We fled in horror to the "family room" which is typically a room in small town restaurants to which unaccompanied women and families are led to protect them from the prying eyes of single men. Two men mid-scrub in the family room gave us a friendly wave.  Yavaş, yavaş, we backed out.

At this point, it is worth pointing out that none of these men in the hamam were nekkid (nor, to be clear, were we, OK?). Had they been, writing this blog post would be impossible because OH MY GOD MY EYES! 

It was bad enough that Taras Bulba made us sit for five minutes with him, and five other men, in the incredibly hot steam room, which could not have been more uncomfortable for anyone if we had been on fire. Actually, it could have been more uncomfortable: if, instead of Turks, the men had been the Saudis we had seen milling around the resort (Termal is huge among Saudis, but we were told they're mostly gay. We can't decide if that makes things better or worse). Also, if Taras Bulba had said at the outset, "O, yah, there are a lot of women in there and they're naked, so feel free" that would have been worse, too.

So, while Carpetblogger can recommend goofy Termal for a brief excursion, we strongly advise you avoid the mixed gender hamam there. We live to serve as an example to others.

Carpetblog Consumes: Turkish Mobile Phone Contracts

Your needs are simple: You need a mobile phone contract because you travel a lot to awful places and your Istanbul friends sometimes send you witty SMS's which demand a response, at 1.5 TL each which uses all your konturs up. You have wanted a contract for years but the Turkish mobile companies have made it nearly impossible for foreigners to get one. Then, a rumor started that Vodafone has made it easier, requiring only a residence permit. You are all over this idea.

After wasting dozens of mental and actual hours that could have been better spent generating income or watching YoutTube, you have learned that this is not true if any of the following are also true:

1. Your foreign phone is not registered in your name. You cannot get it moved to your name without a notarized document (in Turkish) from the person in whose name it is registered, even if that person is your ex-father in-law and doesn't live in Turkey.

2. You do not have a Turkish credit card.

3. It is a day that ends in "Y."

So, let's say that you decide you will get rid of your perfectly fine phone -- because it's not registered in your name and you are a mindless slave to marketing and peer pressure  -- and buy an expensive and pointless Turkish I-phone because then you can finally get a contract, can get the phone cheaper than normal with the contract and don't need to get it registered in anyone's name (though you aren't positive you can move your number because it is registered in your ex-father in law's name, but you'd consider getting a new phone number even though it would be a huge pain, but that's the outsized and distorted role this issue has taken in your life. MUST.GET.CONTRACT)

You go to Vodafone with your Turkish friend who has a Turkish credit card and is willing to support the first 6 mos of payments on the contract - because you were told the last time you went to the same Vodafone shop you could do this -- only to be told that the Turkish credit card must be in your name. Also, there are ten other reasons why you can't have a contract but you stopped listening because you have a Turkish bank account, an American bank account, a residence permit and a wallet full of American credit cards that work everywhere in the world for every imaginable product and service, but not, apparently, a contract for a Turkish mobile phone at Vodafone. 

You want be a obedient consumer and buy expensive things you don't really need and give a lot of money each month to a mobile phone company without complaining (very much) yet you are thwarted at every turn. What message does this send? Vodafone! Please take my money!

A Historic Carpetblog Post on when to Panic in Istanbul

Here.  Why go to Kabul when you can have the suicide bomber experience while lying on your couch?

Neighborhood Blotter: Urban Poultry Edition

A pedestrian thoroughfare blocked to traffic, Carpetblog Sokak (alley) has served as stage for many award-winning local productions, including, most famously, the Deli Komşu (Crazy Neighbor) knifing incident, the vicious attack on the carpetdogs by a feral cat, a fire (several actually, but only one documented), civil society development projects and suspected Jihads. The presence of the Köy (village) Komşuler, with their inbred children and baroque domestic disputes, ensures that we get to enjoy a slice of rural Anatolia in urbane Cihangir.

So this is why, while standing in the Sokak chatting with a friend on a hot day last week, seeing a baby chick running free didn't register (that much) surprise. (In fact, twice recently we've seen a ferret in the Sokak late at night but no one seems to believe us)

"We need to catch it," he said. "Or the cats will get it." Of course we do. 

A series of unasked and unanswered questions rapidly followed.

Our friend, who happens to be Welsh, grabbed it. "It looks thirsty. We should get it some water," he suggested, turning toward our front door. Wait a second there. Indoor poultry was more common in the Carpetblogger ancestral home than we'd like to admit. "Uh, is there an exit strategy?" we thought, but, not wanting to seem anti-urban poultry in a moment of crisis, didn't ask.

"Did you know you can make chickens pass out by rubbing beneath their eyes?" Seconds later, the scrambling chick had passed out in the Welshman's hand, motionless. "What are you, the Chicken whisperer?*" That question was asked.

Now that Ben-10 has left Istanbul, we had sort of assumed the role of primary source of trivia relating to livestock, but this was an open, and unexpected, challenge. It really made us wonder what else they teach in Welsh schools.

Then, shrieking from the fifth floor above us. "Ağabey! Ağabey!" shouted one of the resident urchins. All upper-floor Istanbul residents have a basket attached to a long rope that facilitates deliveries from street-level vegetable vendors and bakkalcıs. His mother, who has a voice like a cow's, tossed her pink plastic basket down to us in the Sokak. 

The Welshman placed the since-revived chick in the basket. The Cow Kız hauled it up five stories and disappeared behind the curtains.

Why the Köy Komşuler keep chickens in their fifth floor apartment isn't a huge mystery, but it does make us curious about how many others are up there and how long it will be before they make their presence known in the way chickens know best. And it does sort of explain why a rusty butcher knife was the closest weapon at hand when Deli Komşu knifing incident escalated.

But other questions remain unresolved. How did the chick get from the fifth floor to the Sokak? Why do chickens pass out when you rub beneath their eyes? Who discovered that and under what circumstances?

Istanbul may be a city of 20 million people, but it's really just a big village.

*Or, the Cihangir Chicken Tickler