New York'ta Bir Pazar Sabahi...

Sabah kafasinda Domates Biber Patlicaaaan, Bir anda butun dunyam karardiii cumleleriyle uyanmisti. Butun evi Baris Manco sarkilariyla yankilandirmak icin cok guclu bir istek duydu. Derhal bilgisayarina saldirdi ve Onu bu sarkiyla uyandirdiginda kendisine sicacik bir gulumsemeyle cevap veren bir adamin yaninda yatiyor oldugu icin icinden Allaha bin kere sukretti. Domates Biber Patlicaaaan dese neden bahsettigini, nasil bir sanatci, nasil bir ’88  Turkiyesi, Adam Olacak Cocuk, tum bunlarin ne anlama geldigini cok iyi bilecekti sevgilisi. Tipki kendisinin Erzincan Mandira'nin ne oldugunu bildigi gibi mesela.

Bu bilinmezlerle dolu, buyuk elli buyuk ayakli sarisin mavi gozlu devlerle orta boylu digerlerinden olusan dunyada herkesin ve en basta da kendisinin Domates Biber Patlicaaaan’I bilen birine cok ihtiyaci vardi. Bu durum aralarindaki iliskiyi diger herkesinden daha ozel kiliyor muydu peki? Sonucta Turkiye’de Erzincan Mandirayi da Baris Mancoyu da cok iyi bilip, bildiklerini birbirleriyle paylasabiliyor olmalarina ragmen hic anlasamayan bir suru cift yok muydu? Sonunda asil onemli olaninin ne kadar cok sey paylastiklari degil paylastiklarinin bir omur onlari ozel kilmaya yetip yetmeyecegi olduguna kadar verdi ve kalkip kahvaltiyi hazirlmaya basladi. Yumurtalar fokur fokur kaynayan suyun icinde katilasmayi beklerken, kendisi Domates Biber Patlicaaaaan ezgileri arka fonda domates keserken yumusacik bir pazar sabahina basliyordu.

La Grande Famiglia

As I am sitting behind my kitchen table and listening to Macy Gray song "Glad You're Here" all I can think of is my family and here is why.

It was the summer of 2007, July 2007 to be exact. We headed down to south of Italy as a family; all the way down to the tip of the heel, to beautiful Lecce. We went there because my cousin's wife was from there and they were renewing vows.

Like all big families, our most efficient and fully functional time limit together was 20 hours max; not even a full day. What followed after that was a complete circus. It was a mental -and even physical at times- war, where every side from different generations has a very valid point to make and be understood. Speaking of generations, there were 4 of them at this Lecce vacation so you do the math for level of absurdity that might rise and rise during simple conversations that start with a "Good morning" because that was enough. As the sun rose and our day began, so did the craziness.

We were always together and we each had problems of our own. I, for one, was stuck on pilates and yoga those days. I really wanted to wake up at sunrise and climb to the roof of the villa we were staying at to do yoga with the first rays of the sun. But I never could because we were always drinking gallons of wine at night and laughing like the circus monkeys we were as a family every night so I never could wake up the next morning. Big problem to have, I know...

Ali, my cousin's son of 7-months at the time had his own problems as well. Just because he was 7-months old, we didn't ignore his feelings. Feelings are important in my family, we prioritize them before anything else.

On that particularly beautiful Lecce morning, we were going to this south Italian beach about an hour drive away from us, which was supposed to have been one of the best beaches in southern Mediterranean coast. Caterina, my cousin's gorgeous wife had rented this big ass van to fit the crazy Turkish family in and the way she was driving that giant thing through and around tiny Lecce streets, where a man could barely walk through still blows my mind to this day. I think to drive that well, you have to be a little insane, aka Italian. There were about 10-15 of us in the van. My aunt Nilgun was holding Ali, who started crying so loudly and suddenly that we thought she dropped him on the bumps, which obviously was not the case. Truth was far funnier. Ali's diaper was put on too loosely that when the little creature's food came out on the other end as little pieces of brown shit, he sort of...pooped on himself and on my aunt's arms and hands and probably a little bit on her dress too. This was followed by inevitable chaos inside our van of mobile screams and laughter, which continued on with conversations such as:

My aunt looking at Ali and the brown pieces of poop all over her saying "Can somebody please give me a napkin or wet wipes or something? STOP! Stop laughing and help me" to which Ali's grandmother replies "Nilgun, wait a second! I should have something in my bag. I'm looking for it. Wait!" and throwing angry looks at her husband - Ali's grandfather- saying "Teoman, what did you do with the napkins in my beach bag??" to which innocent and clueless Teo replies "I didn't do anything with your napkins or your beach bag!? I don't even know what's happening right now!" Nilgun's husband, which makes him Ali's second degree uncle or something, I don't even know- is laughing up his sleeves at his wife, who is still covered in baby poop and meanwhile my cousin and I -not Ali's father, my other cousin, with whom I share things like age, size, looks, astrological signs, both main and rising signs- taste in food, men and chocolate as well as mindset, are only laughing and not really partaking in the collective but pretty dysfunctional efforts of helping Nilgun and Ali, all the while Ali screams louder and louder because not only is he covered in shit but now a van full of people are also laughing at him; sorry with him at the situation. Regardless, kid is more and more upset at this whole thing and the hasty grownup, who couldn't even manage to tie a diaper properly. Why oh why did he have to come to earth as part of this family!? Oh dear God! We felt for him. Like I said, we were a family, who prioritized feelings before anything else, including cleaning shit apparently.

Yes, we were La Grande Famiglia that summer, mix of crazy Turks and cool Italians and we all had different problems. We were just perfect and unbreakable. Everyone managed to contribute a piece of themselves to the chaos and also gained their share of craziness from the mix. I have been to tropical rain forests since then and been on luxury US trips on the company Amex. No vacation has ever been as refreshing and rejuvenating as the Lecce trip I had with my big family. We were an invincible team together, half Turkish half Italian, constantly making fun of each other and hugging so intimately for so long that an American would have probably sued someone for incessantly violating his/her personal space.

One of the most beautiful memories I left with from the craziness was Macy Gray...I had been listening to her captivating voice for quite some time even before this vacation but it was my cousin and other cousin's husband, who introduced me to one of her older songs. Until then, she had accompanied me on many sad nights alone and really happy days together with friends. Her voice had this weird resonance, which completely ruled over me. She was a lion trainer and I was a lion turned kitty with her voice, no joke.

Back then, I was mostly listening to The Big, her 2007 album and we didn't have Spotify yet so any efforts to discover a new artist and his/her grandiose of talent would have to come from one's own dedication to do so, which was definitely not as easy as typing up someone's name on the search box and having everything he/she had ever produced listed right in front of your eyes, chronologically or by popularity as you wish. No, we were still in the dark times then. Facebook was still not as big in Europe as it was on US soil; Napster had lost its legal battle long ago, leaving peer-to-peer sharers confused and Limewire the only reasonable source for music sharing. Therefore I wasn't quite aware of her gem of an album, On How Life Is and in that album, that song...A song that had such a staggering impact on me that I literally did not listen to any other song for about 2 months. I was obsessed. It was Do Something that did this to me. After 7 years and countless times of listening to it, I finally had the unforgettable experience of listening to it sang live by Macy Gray the Graytest herself the other week in New York, two nights in a row. It was by far the most amazing, most unforgettable, most unreal musical experience of my life of 29 years. I can only hope to get to that level of concentration and amazement in anything else I do from now on. That was my peak in life, which I will write about separately. 

Today, Macy Gray reminds me how much I love and miss my crazy Grande Famiglia. Without family love, one hardly feels like one belongs to something or somewhere. You might have learned the indescribable importance of family through an abundance of familial system of emotional support or through lack of it. Either way, you can only try to achieve it yourself when you start your own family. I consider myself very lucky to have learned that through abundance of family relationships that are unique to mine. I'm sure Macy Gray the Graytest had her own unique family history to support her through rough times and make her write songs as timeless as Do Something; lyrics wrapped inside melodies that traveled all the way from her heart to mine and made me write this up today.

Art is beautiful, isn't it?

Happy Dance for Georgia O'Keeffe

I am at de Young Museum right now. I haven't looked at the art yet, except this building itself is a work of art. I just purchased my magnets -I have to do that everywhere I go, it's my favorite travel cliche- and a notebook from the "Artistic San Francisco" series. My museum shopping spree is followed by a hunger strike and so here I am, sitting at the museum cafe trying to feed my stomach with food and my soul with a very refreshing and liberating glass of Sauvignon Blanc on this lovely San Francisco afternoon, two glasses in fact. As soon as my soul is fed, I will go exploring. 

Today I am hoping to meet Georgia O'Keeffe up close and personal for the first time. I'm frenetic. First time I've ever heard of her name was when the heroin addict tattoo artist girl mentioned it to her lover on Breaking Bad. I might have heard of it before but this must have been the first time the name hit the right corner in my brain that I never really forgot after that. I made a little mental note somewhere in there and now universe brought her right in front of me. I become a very happy person when such coincidences occur. It might even be the only time I become truly happy, like deep inside happy, and reach my husband's usual level of cheerfulness. He is happy and cheerful at heart and at all times. I, on the other hand need my small miracles in life to stay focused on Zen-level happiness like that. Today is my miracle day. 

I had actually made up my mind the night before. I was trying to make a decision between going to the de Young Museum or vintage shopping. A decision made easy once I thought "Stop breathing in and out Vintage Shopping and start using some of that oxygen in the air." I am addicted to shopping anything vintage because it's always an adventure in itself and I feel like I own a part of world history. Problem is I like art more. So I found myself at the museum, which opens at 9.30am. 

I planned to wake up with my husband at 7am; have breakfast with him and send him off to work like a good housewife, just so I can take an early trip to modern art museum, breaking all rules of being a housewife like a bad anarchist. After the museum, I was going to skip vintage shopping; come back to the hotel, grab my in-cabin luggage -thanks Delta for pushing me to travel light- and hit the road to come back home to New York. I was so smart, I had it all figured out. Only problem was I was dumb enough to forget yet again that life is a schizophrenic monster who only does whatever the heck it pleases while you make plans. Life cancelled my flight. 

With a new flight scheduled for the next day and really strong vocal cords, I did only what any sane woman with plans for the day would do, I did my own version of happy dance on the bed, which involved some jumping up and down and obviously screaming songs of joy at the top of my lungs. Sorry next door neighbors and front desk staff, whom might have gotten angry calls from my next door neighbors about my screaming. I don't know. I had one full day for fun all to myself and absolutely no time to waste; I left.

I walked to the museum, which took me two hours. During these two hours, I sent 129 photos and a few videos to a very old and good friend in Ankara all the while walking as if she was walking right next to me. A normal person would probably be very bored at first and furious by the end, probably would have turned their phone off too. Luckly, she is not a normal person; she's my friend. Once we arrived at de Young together, she dropped me off and went back home. 

As I'm sipping my last drop of wine, I think I have satisfied my soul's hunger. Well, until dinner that is...The museum cafe is crowded and San Francisco is flawless. Georgia O'Keeffe? She must be all eyes and ears, waiting for me, wondering which painting I will start my tour at. Museum curator probably thinks her layout makes all the sense in the world and that all visitors must follow her sequence if they want to make this a fun experience. Me? I avoid systematic approach to art at all costs. Walking up and down aimlessly from one corner of a museum to the next is my approach. I like surprises, not rules; not when it comes to art.

Right now, I am in a rule-free zone, where I have become one with my own thoughts in my head, hearing the voices of the crowd like background noise from afar. Moments of perfect solitude within a crowd. Or maybe just two glasses of wine, who knows... I do want to get up and start exploring one corridor after another, walls full of timeless human soul but I have a problem. I am too obsessed with documenting  and sharing present moments with loved ones that my phone reaches the danger zone of 1% battery before noon. I must find a way to recharge because though I enjoy moments alone, I am not a lonely woman. I have people who care about me and who wonder what I do. I have a partner in crime, who will commit life with me until the end and I have a friend for life, who will commit crimes with me forever. I need to keep them both informed of my whereabouts because you know, life without crime would be boring and crime without a partner would be worthless.

Thank you God/Allah/Buddha and all the rest, for art, wine and cancelled flights.

San Francisco: Europe lost in the States

To visit a new city for the first time and to connect with it, to really find a piece of yourself in it is magical without doubt. That is even why men travel, come to think of it...To satisfy the hunger for discovery and connection. 

That first touch, first kiss with a city is what I get excited about when I travel and San Francisco was no exception to the rule. I was very, very excited to be going there. I had read all the cool city guides, and made an extensive list of all the restaurants I wanted to eat at and cocktails I wanted to drink. Even independent coffee and cigar shops had their own columns in my list. Locals' favorites mattered as well as all the typical touristic stuff. After 20 something years of active traveling, I finally have a pretty good idea of how I want to approach my discovery when I see new places. I believe that everybody has their own way of shaking hands with a new place. Some might prefer heavy listing and scheduling while others won't even book a hotel room before they set foot in the city. That's all very personal and personal is great. One thing I have personally learned about traveling is one can never really know what to expect from a new city until one is actually in it. Of all the things New York had thought me - and probably still is teaching- no expectations was the one single lesson I carry with me everywhere I go.

Other people's stories, movies or songs don't really matter. All you can expect from a new place will unveil itself as soon as you actually hear the unique buzz of the city. You know...sum of all the sounds that are very specific to a place. And the smells of course. Every city smells very differently. Only when you unite the smells and sounds of a city with photos you've seen or movies you've watched will they start to make sense. Only then a new place will become unforgettable in so many different ways.

So "Have no expectations and just go to San Francisco" was precisely what I did three years ago and boy did that work!..I fell in love with it. Absolute, unconditional love that brought me back here today. My second visit was just as amazing as the first one, if not more personal this time. On its many long and steep slopes that resembled the ones in Ankara, where I was born and lived until I was 24, I went back to my childhood streets and thought "Well, this feels homey". If you were used to living in a flat city though, you would probably feel like a space shuttle slowly reaching the peak to be launched into outer space. Needless to say my husband didn't fall in love with its slopes but he did love the sea and the seagulls and the sea lions at Pier 39 or anything that had something to do with the sea. Because that was his childhood connection San Francisco presented him. Even when we walked side by side, and stayed in the same room, ate the same food, took the same photos, our San Francisco experiences were still different. That's why discovery is beautiful and could be enjoyed alone just as much as with loved ones. 

One thing everyone seems to agree on about this city is definitely how it makes you feel like you are somewhere in Europe. It's not necessarily European per say, in the way it looks but there's definitely something about it that feels very European. I didn't try to pinpoint why, just enjoyed it. I walked alone on its streets for hours, not feeling tired, only more and more excited as the hours passed. When my feet said stop, I stopped but kept teasing my mind and my heart, sitting at a local coffee shop, trying to name all the smells and listening to its buzz, tasting its coffee; just taking it all in. Ten years from now, if I ever smell that coffee again, I will remember and think of my moments in San Francisco and say to myself, "Damn I miss that city."

A city can also leave a trace in your heart through its people. I will never forget the beautiful and unique houses in San Francisco, maybe because I took 2 million photos of them. But I will most certainly never forget its people and their conversations. Like when I was sitting in that coffee shop, a woman, who looked to be in her late twenties, met with a guy, who wore a beanie and really cool jewelry. Listening to their conversation for the fist few minutes, I thought he was a designer of some sort and was there to be interviewed for a designing gig. They certainly didn't know each other and she was asking all sorts of questions to change that. Turns out they had met on match.com and this was their first date. Their conversation and the connection they were trying to make, made San Francisco only more interesting for me. I made another connection with the city through them, not because I'm on match.com but because I, too try to touch other people's lives all the time and want people in my life who can make a difference for me. I try hard to change and to connect every day in New York so yes, I will most certainly sympathize with two people trying to do the same in a coffee shop in San Francisco. 

This city and I, we became very close friends. The kind of friends you share laughs with, not tears, fears or secrets; not the dark kind anyway. San Francisco has become what New York isn't. It's that good friend, who doesn't yet know me better than I know myself. We never had to go through difficult times together, only fun ones. Nothing but amazing food, great wine and truly unforgettable art, architecture, history...Have I mentioned good food?

Despite similarities -yes, rent is very high in San Francisco too- this city has or will never be like New York for me, my one and only. But it's not so bad either. It's my Europe lost in the States, my connection to a fun past full of good memories and who knows maybe even a future waiting to become my present. Whether I live in it some day or not, one thing is for sure: I will be back to connect with it a little more and yes, to have some more of its wines. San Francisco, you are beautiful in every way. See you next time.