Every week or so I hope that Colwyn writes another Turkish take.. His tales amongst the bears in sheds kept me viewing this forum.. Anything for 2018 as a treat Colwyn?
I'm sorry Mercury but my tales, however fanciful they might sound, are quarried from real events - I don't just make them up. But today, thinking about something entirely different, I was reminded of this Istanbul event. It is rather different, I think, observing something about class and status in Turkey - or it might just be the black pit of my soul.
A Visit to A University
The Rector’s building of Marmara University lies next to the Blue Mosque in Sutanahmet, central Istanbul. A tremendous building in a gorgeous setting. [Rector is the Turkish equivalent of Vice Chancellor in UK: i.e. a university CEO]. A colleague, who had graduated from the university insisted on showing me around. We arrived at a double door, 8 foot high and made of solid heavy dark wood. My colleague, undeterred, hammered on the door with his fist - making that wonderfully satisfactory deep echoing sound.Eventually the University Porter arrived. (I would love to give a word sketch of a bent and twisted old retainer; but he was boringly middle aged and normal build). A small dispute arose, was resolved and eventually we were allowed into the building. I asked what had been going on. What follows is a free-and-easy translation of what I was told in the style of TV's Lewis or Midsummer Murders treatment of the English gentry/elite and which fits the body language.
“We are closed”“Now look here my good man. I am a graduate of this University, my father is a very close personal friend of the Rector, and I wish to show my esteemed colleague around our ancient establishment. Open up immediately”.“Oh well, alright, but don’t be too long.”The interior was just as lush as the outside. A vast curving staircase up to the first floor, wood-panelled walled, and a giant crystal chandelier leading you up to a broad veranda from where the entrance vestibule could be surveyed (or speeches made). We left with another
“Thank you my good man”.As I was able to note a number of times there was hardly a limit to my colleague’s grand Ottoman style. My favourite was when I said how much I enjoyed Turkish bread:
“Oh, my family doesn’t eat bread. Sniff”.
