Some things are beyond explaining the feeling with words or a photo or a painting or a poem or music. Sometimes the only real explanation is the simplest. Being human. So it is that I often dont have the photographs I wish because at those special moments in transit I want a memory. A memory of a image and feeling that can with time and experience grow, evolve...become what it was meant to be.
In Istanbul we stayed a 3 minute walk west of the Aya Sophia in a very tiny Hotel. Across the small ally were a few Social Clubs were men met to drink coffee and thumb prayer beads and talk. A fish market. The Turkish bathes that daunted and called to me daily with the mystery and history of 300 year old bathes. Imagine an ally a marble steam room a singular cobblestone at your feet that is older than anything you have known before.
A 3 minute walk to the Cistern which is across the street from two of the largest mosques in the world. Sitting outside the Cistern looking at the Blue Mosque through the lines of People. Behind us the Egyptian Oblique given to Constantine by The Romans. We drank hand squeezed fresh pomegranate juice to refresh Ourselves not because We wanted or needed it But because the 13 year old black haired child selling it bade Us to...So we did.
To the North west of the Square was the Sultans Topkapi Palace and accompanying gardens. But beside them along the Tram filled street that bends around the Gardens and runs south to turn again near The Blue Mosque's a street filled with pilgrims and tourists from everywhere .During Ramadan 3 Mosques the Palace The Square The Cistern. The Crowds within crowds shuffling through by the 10s of thousands. An infinite shuffle.
Before I continue there is a thing that needs to be understood. With all these people there are a thousand restaurants. And in Istanbul it is a great matter of pride to draw customers in by showing the magnificence of Your Chefs Lavash. Its advertising these great huge fluffy pillow sized unleavened breads. So venues have waiters holding them up some places have them in the windows enticing one in for shawarma or kofta .Streets are lined with dais holding glass cages filled with a singular air filled bread. This once understood, isn't a boast or prideful display this is an encouragement to show The quality of workmanship.
So I didnt take a photo of this Turkish Muslim woman who in a small window behind the Aya Sophia next to the Palace and Gardens of Mehmed II The Conqueror (who was raised as a brother to Vlad Dracula the Impaler) I stood back almost dangerously close to the speeding clanking yellow trams as they twisted around the corner. Surrounded by Imperial watch towers and walled city. All these great and historical things surround us while we look past the tourists and see the small restaurant. We point and smile and approach the window. What is that? What's going on? What is She doing?
as the crowd swam around Us the entire window came into view. a Muslim woman sat cross legged on the raised floor in off white linens that draped away from her down a stair to her right. In front of her a 6 foot round surface that appeared to be like a potters wheel .In her hands a Lavash bread in great draping folds as She placed it to the wheel it unfolded from her arms. The wheel spun pulling the bread onto itself in a gigantic circle of dough. As it hit the hot wheel if travelled around the circuit cooking, fluffing, growing. By the time it spun back to her right arm it was baked and she tucked it fold after fold .a movement She has done for who knows how long but her. A dance of culture, work ,history and life. One arm gathered and dropped while simultaneously the other gathered and stored. A movement well practiced by mankind different than sowing a field or harvesting rice a fluid movement of ageless work
She may have looked up and smiled only slightly. And it would have been an almost humble smile of knowledge. I believe I had raised my camera half way then decided no, no this may be too important a moment for a photograph and lowered it. She may have looked amused or relived as I thought no this isn't a performance to take a picture of this is an honest woman simply doing her work as so many had before her. With pride, confidence and concentration. And I may have thought Ive seen this painting Ive felt this music Ive touched this monument. And the entire universe smelled of breads and the air was inundated by the aroma of baklava .And I dont usually take photographs of such simple things. Those things only translate well to the memory of the smell of a taste whispered in my mind.
