My Marrakesh

Istanbul: and lighting the Hagia Sophia

She was obsessed with lights, you see.  There was something about them.  Something about their power to illuminate and cheer.  Something about their way of turning energy into magic, of casting shadows, of hypnotizing. 

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Her best friend wound her way sensibly through Istanbul’s Hagia Sophia, admiring the stunning ceiling, the lovely mosaics, the ornate ironwork.  But the blogging girl just stood there, transfixed, staring…. at the lights…. 

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People passed her by and whispered.  But she didn’t care. 

Images by Maryam

P.S. Congratulations to beautiful Julie of the lovely Belle Vivir blog on her new and fabulous store, Coco Vintage Furniture.

P.P.S. Many thanks to the Rising Blogger for giving this little blog an award for this post.

Istanbul shopping: and the pleasures of gorging

Oh my.....no wonder they called it Turkish delight.  Shopping in Istanbul was downright delicious.  Chewy, delectable, and highly caloric........

Taste for yourself....

Candy colored suzanis....

Mouthwatering textiles....

Sorbet-hued fez hats.

Gumball jewels fit for a tribal queen (or you and me....)

Ethnic treats which to savor....

Carpets on which to picnic....

Lights....like sparkling bon bons.

Confronted with so much deliciousness, the blogging girl couldn't help but stuff herself.   Yum.    She waddled to the airport, leaving Istanbul many pounds heavier........in overweight luggage that is.........

Turkish Airlines: and you should be ashamed of yourselves

Turkey
Such a beautiful country.
Such lovely people.
Such stunning architecture.
Such delicious food.

A pity, really, that such an amazing, incredible place  has such a shoddy airline.  Turkey deserves so much better than Turkish Airlines.  I have traveled to 68 countries.  I have flown countless airlines.  I am not a particularly demanding person.  But how is it possible to have on one flight (TK 1127 on January 28): mishandled baggage, unacceptably rude and incompetent service (Ms. Asli Tezcan in Istanbul this means you), inedible food, faulty sound equipment, and complete chaos on the plane…..? 

I do hope, yes, I do hope, that I will be lucky enough to go back to Turkey soon.  But it will not be on Turkish Airlines, even if I have to walk….

Istanbul: and body parts still intact

I have fled the intrigue of Bishkek (an important government official recently received a human ear and finger in a gift wrapped box).  And I have hopped a flight to Istanbul for the weekend.  I am shoppıng for Peacock Pavilions wıth my best frıend, Anna, who has flown in from Geneva. 

Oh, pinch me.  Am I allowed to be this happy?

 

PS  This is my 300th post.  I am so grateful that you are still reading:-)

Kyrgyzstan: and fashion faux pas

Ah, that poor blogging girl. She meant well, you see.  So very earnest, with her borrowed black canvas down coat, with her flat, black sheepskin boots, with her practical Isotoner gloves, with her Hayden-Harnett travel bag.  Her hair tucked behind her ears, her little notebook and pencil at the ready. 

How would she have ever known?  How could she have ever known? ....that Bishkek was filled with fashionistas?  Striding gracefully through the snow in their high heeled black boots, in their snug wool trousers, in their fitted velvet jackets, with their artfully arranged scarves, with their chic and gleaming bags.  Their tasteful makeup perfectly applied, their glossy long locks immaculate under pleated wool cloches.

They gazed at her in sympathy.  She could almost hear them thinking:  Why, where ever could she be from in that frumpy clothing? Were those sledding boots she was wearing? Was there potential under those layers of fleece?  Was she here as the "before" candidate for a fashion makeover show?.....

Oh dear. 

Kyrgyzstan Fashion Week. Images by Kyrgyz blogger, Elena Skochilo.

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P.S.  Do click over to darling Lalla Lydia's blog for a touching entry on Jews in Morocco and North Africa.

Bishkek: and weather report

Bewildering.

A girl who lived in the heat of the desert

found herself in a place

where, in the warmth of the mid-day sun,

it was -17°C. 

                          Without the wind chill factor.

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Brrr....Welcome to Kyrgyzstan.

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Bishkek: and leaps of faith

It was 3:15 am.  Inside the Bishkek airport, their breath could be seen in big white puffs; outside it was 11 degrees below zero.  Their tired, huddled masses were in front of the airport visa office.  The line was long.  They inched forward.

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The blogging girl was known to start conversation with virtual strangers.  She was interested in people, you see.  What had brought them to this place?  Why were they there?  She turned to the man in front of her, his hair clipped short, his hands in his pockets, his blue eyes missing nothing.  He told her that he was in transit at the US military base nearby.  In transit where? He looked at her and replied with one word: Afghanistan.  Oh, she said.  I see, she said.  She was quiet then but he kept talking.  Since September 11th, he had seen his children -- a 5 year old and a 7 year old -- for a total of 6 months.  In the strange intimacy born of conversations with strangers in the middle of the night, she asked if he was scared... of going to Afghanistan.  He shrugged, looked down, and shook his head in a way that said, I don't know.  And then it was his turn at the counter with the visa man. 

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She smiled brightly at the couple behind her, both blond, both corn-fed, both wearing practical shoes.  On holiday?  she asked. They told her that they were in Bishkek to pick up their daughter, a process that involved a Christian adoption agency and a tiny Krygyz girl just over 16 months old.  The soon-to-be-mother told her that they had not met the little girl before.  They had been waiting for a Russian child when this baby had become available - a gift from God.  They had bought clothing for her in two sizes because they just weren't sure.... of her size.  The blogging girl would have asked more but the visa man was now waiting for her.  She grasped the woman's hands suddenly in her own, whispering, Good luck.  Then she moved forward and pushed her passport through the little window.

 

Image by Kristin Elsby of Lake Issyk-Kul in Kyrgyzstan

Bishkek: and diary of a real conversation

Her:  Do you have a lover? 

Me:  What?

Her:  I said .... Do you have a lover?

Me: Of course not.  What makes you ask that?

Her: Because you honestly don't expect me to believe this "I'm flying off to Bishkek" thing.  I have never even heard of Bishkek.  It sounds imaginary to me.  I think you're flying to the South of France to meet a lover.

Me: (Bursts out laughing.)

Her:  Where's your suitcase?

Me:  Right over there.

Her:  Mmhmm, I bet it's stuffed with La Perla lingerie.

Her:  (Marches over to suitcase and flips open the top.  Stares dolefully at the black sheepskin boots and Isotoner gloves with their tags still on.) 

Her: No, I mean, where's your real suitcase?  Not this pretend one. 

Me:  (More laughter)

Her:  (Sinks wearily into a chair).  Listen, if you are planning on using me as an alibi, you are going to have to give me a few more details about this supposed Bishkek place.  I am not known for my vivid imagination --  I can't just be expected to make this stuff up on the spot when your husband calls me. 

Beautiful images of Kyrgyzstan by DRawlinson

The voyage of a Marrakech girl to a faraway place

The news is in:  I board a plane next week.  I am heading for a place that seems very special.  That seems one of a kind.   

I wish....I wish....that you could come, too.   

The Bamako shopping adventures of a Marrakech girl

I have been back from Bamako for a week now.  What did I buy, you ask.....? 

Hmmmm.....yards of hand loomed and hand printed textiles..... Miles of African trade beads, some vintage, some hundreds of years old.....

A medley of black and white - two colors that are always right. The rugs made up of sewn together strips, the cloth woven on narrow looms.

Slick, graphic coils of record beads - oh hundreds, oh thousands of vintage discs . A graphic point of focus when displayed.

Meters of  Bogolan cloth the color of the earth, some new, some vintage.

Strands and strands of antique glass trade beads, so luminous, and so very old.

Hand dyed indigo and lustrous bazen cloth. How I wish I had bought more.

Strand after strand of muted blue glass trade beads. Nearly 200 years old. A dealer from Holland almost cried when she saw that I had bought the lot of 20 for display on two stands. I gave her two strands, just to be nice.

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And there's more..... But a girl can't reveal all her secrets, now can she..............