Hıdrellez

Festivals, celebrations, legends, myths..whenever they come together anywhere in the world, if they are true, they pour over onto the streets....
Hıdrellez is no different. The reasons behind it? a few... two prophets that met to mark their adveniment to Earth, to deambulate and help us solve our problems and carry our guilt; the begining of the warm part of the year before someone decided to put a few seasons in between; the creation of something truly turk; the passing of some gypsis through town; I could go on for a while but I won't as the reason doesn't really matter... the spirit does...
Upon my return to Istanbul I was told of this festival: "a night in which everyone comes out onto the streets behind Sultanahmet to chat, to partake, and, later on, to dance and drink as streets musicians make their appearance and try to make their way through these streets to the seaside..." a feeling of spontaneity running onmipresent in the open, a true street festival, a people festival, that's what I expected and fantasized about...
But in these times, men have become greedy. Some big wallet bought the rights of the festival (yes, that IS possible) and translocated it to a nice/safe/easy-to-control-the-entrance location where he would provide great amusement from great bands and even easier access to food and drinks. All for the convenient price of only 20TL.. a true philanthropist....

The first posters advertising the "new and revamped" festival marked the begining of a heavy mood. The though of someone "buying" the festival was unbearable.

So unbearable, people had to show different. Everyone I talked to told me they were going to the original site, to a non-existing event. But it did exist. The streets of Ahırkapı were packed by the time we got there, and as I saw, people never stopped pouring in. And yes, there were drinks and food and music but mainly camaraderie. To the beat of a clarinet and a drum,a darbuka or a djembe we danced. It is so beautiful to say "we" meaning everyone in the place. The collective beat. The up and down of a crowd. The wave of a unique feeling. It does fill the spirit....

Spontaneous... that will be my description.
A two man show appearing at a corner, playing for a half an hour, lifting people from the ground with their beats, and then dissapearing for 10 minutes to reappear again 50 metres down the road. And again, play, lift, dance, dissappear to only appear again. Of course, if you want them to stick around a little longer, a drink or a cigarrete will take you a long way ;)
Joy of the beat that crawls up the spine and into the head and down into the feet at 80 kph....

Eleven marks the time to start making way for the bay front. Musicians leading, the masses move in waves across an old wall arcade. The street is no obstacle, cars will just have to wait as the procession of dancers cross the road. Some even join by stepping out of their cars and shimmy for a bit.
As I told you: spontaneous.

The time to jump the fire has come and the time to rest the feet along the Marmara, that big body of water that saw me arrive in Istanbul more than a year ago now :) .......

punto aparte:
la luna, que pedazo de regalo. Ella siempre coqueta como solo ella lo sabe ser, pero hoy con los ojos abiertos al gigantesco, mirándonos a todos y cada uno de nosotros, viendo como al saltar a ella nos acercamos... pues es seguro que sabemos que bien adentro, es eso lo que queremos, alcanzar un pedazo de luna seria bello....

I miss Marta

8 days in Scotland today and if not for the few days I spent with Hannah's family there will be very little to nothing I'd have learnt from this culture. Thye hills call me as the cities present grey and dark buildings, cold winds, vehicles that dont stop for people and people that cut off people when walking as they rush inside a bus, a train, a fast food store...
Celia Cruz' words resound in my head: "There will always be empty glasses if we rely on water from the city..." The best memories are my bus drives as i see the countryside and the countryside sees me: bottled up in a tin can, scrapping these plastic panels, yearning to come out, pleading to get dirty in the mud, to fall on the ice, to listen to the animals at night... I shut my eyes and remember Marta. I try but the sounds of her rackling chain are replaced by screeching tires, evading potholes are replaced by evading careless people that won't even acknowledge you when they bump you...
I miss Marta and miss the road. Soon now, soon...
Promise to come back, to see it properly, when the highlands can offer me a ground to sleep in, some shelter to cover me at night and a 1001 stories to fill my head and heart....