Henna, Turkish Tea, and Kilims

Before I left for Turkey, my friend Tida got me a henna kit as part of a going away present. We had planned on doing henna on ourselves while I was still in Washington, but all of the stores we called didn't have it. Because my last night was filled with goodbyes and last minute packing, I threw the kit into my suitcase and decided it'd be a fun group activity once I met the other students.

There are variety of street vendors in Istanbul. Food vendors have carts filled with roasted chestnuts or grilled corn on the cob. Little boys run around with colorful wooden tops dangling from their arms. They toss them down with with a snap of the wrist and mindlessly do tricks as their eyes pan the scene for curious tourists. Of the collection of vendors, I find the calligraphy artists the most interesting. Watching them deftly glide fat permanent markers into loops and geometric patterns is one of my favorite activities, and after watching them for a few days I had the brilliant idea to ask one of them if it would be possible for them to write something on my arm with the henna kit I had brought along. 

My attempt at asking included a lot of gesticulating towards my forearm and a pitiful motion that was supposed writing. The first man I asked didn't seem to speak much English so he called over his friend. Again I slowly asked, "If I brought HENNA, can you WRITE on my ARM?" I assumed he would understand some of what I meant because henna is used in Turkish village marriages, but I know that it isn't used in the same intricate designs as Indian henna. He didn't seem to understand. Eventually, I realized that my sign language skills were failing miserably, and decided to move on. The man stopped me saying, "No, no, no. I do Henna. For you my friend, for you free. Henna." He pulled out a fancy sheet of stationary and popped open his permanent marker...

My permanent Henna.

Well, I got my Henna. Though it wasn't exactly what I was thinking. At one point he stopped and wrote it down on a separate sheet to make sure that he was spelling it correctly. I figured if I was getting it for free I might as well get it spelled right and told to him add an extra n. 

We ended up doing henna on ourselves later that night.


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Tonight I found myself at tea with Yusef, our teacher's brother-in-law, and a few of my friends/fellow students. We were invited to tea a while ago, and it wasn't until tonight that finally found the time to head over to their carpet shop for some apple tea (a Turkish favorite) and chatting. Earlier that night we had talked about whether or not we would end up buying carpets as gifts, and eventually I brought up the question to Yusef about different types of carpets, their prices etc. Yusef dragged out a few carpets and began explaining to use the different types. He explained how the village women gathered the wool and how each color was dyed with organic material. Orange was dyed with apricots, blue came from indigo, and green dye was made from pistachio leaves. We oo'ed aa'ed as he explained which rugs were for prayer rugs, which were dowry rugs and which were made as door hangings, teaching us how to identify each by their shape and tassels. 

Some of the carpets that Yusef showed us.

 In the course of our short conversation, Yusef had changed from being our host to a true carpet merchant. As he explained each detail, it was clear that this man had stores of knowledge about all the different carpets, kilims (a very flat type of carpet), and the history of his business. An expert in his subject, the Yusef before us was clearly in his element. 

After our encounter with Yusef, I ran the experience through my head a few times and realized that it was a running theme throughout my time so far.

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 My very first conversation in Istanbul was with my shuttle driver. His name escapes me now, but on the drive from the airport to the hotel, my driver struck up conversation about life. He told me that everyone here works in tourism. He had just started shuttle driving two months ago, and he told me that his English had improved so much. He studied English ten years prior in school, but he didn't remember much until forcing to work with it. Life here is hard, he said, not like America. He told me his boss was crazy, but had managed to work his way up the ladder in two years, starting as a driver "where I am now". We happened to drive passed the shuttle office at one point, and saw the allegedly crazy boss walking down the street. The driver rolled down my window and  they had a brief conversation before parting ways again. As crazy as the boss may have been, it was clear that my driver looked up to him. Once we got to the hotel, my driver shook my hand and wished me a good trip, saying perhaps we would meet again.

This initial conversation sowed a seed of contempt for the tourism culture. Throughout my first days, I looked around and only saw the dependency that tourism had created. Street peddlers and restaurant owners beckoned to us to see their wares or visit their shops, and all I thought about was how hard life must be. I now realize that while their lives may be difficult, the vendors and workers of Istanbul have great pride in their work.

From my friend at the leather shop to Yusef to the calligraphy man, everyone is immersed in their work and their perspective subject. They are experts in their field and proud of the work that they have created. Restaurant owners stand in front of their stores, trying to convince people to eat at their restaurant. Yes this is in part an advertising ploy to get money, but also it is laced with the message that says let me make a meal for you. I've been in the situation where I tried to say that I only have three lira on me instead of the five required for a sandwich[which was true], but the owner waved it away and fetched me a sandwich, a seat, and an apple tea. 

Hamza, Yukiko's huband, ran away from the village when he was young. He worked as a shepherd in his younger years before escaping to the city. Now he owns a carpet store that has been recommended by Vogue and National Geographic. He also rents out four flats to tourists with Yukiko and does trips all over the world to deliver carpets.

Yes, life in tourism is hard. That is indisputable. The amount of work and effort that these men and women put into their jobs is incredible. I have the utmost respect for these people. Those who have the guts and the determination to work hard and build themselves up to what they are today. Atatürk once said, "Turkey's true master is the peasant." From what I've seen, that is spot on. 

Hamza's store has huge piles of the most gorgeous rugs.