The Edge of Heaven: Turkish Film

I was drawn to this primarily because it was set in Turkey, made by a Turkish/German filmaker, Fatih Aker, and received good reviews, though the brief summary sounded a bit silly. However, as usual, I was quickly pulled into the film, by the aging Turkish man, Yeter, living in Germany, his professorial son, Nejat, and the other part of the story, the young idealist, Ayfen, who is involved in the fight against the oppressive Turkish authorities. Like Babel and other films that emphasize synchonocity, all the characters are connected in some way, though they never realize this, not even at the end. Yeter ends up accidently killing a Turkish whore, who he has invited to live with him in Germany. He goes to jail; his son, feeling a sense of guilt, travels to Turkey to find this women's daughter, to help finance her education. Of course, unknown to him, the daughter is Ayten. She ends up having to flee Istanbul, after a near capture by the police. She is smuggled into Germany, where she befriends a young girl at the university, who takes her in, and they eventually become lovers. Accidentally, they are stopped by the police; Ayten attempts to run, but is captured, tried, and sent back to Turkey, where she is imprisoned. Her German lover travels to Turkey, over the protests of her mother, and ends up staying with Nejat, though neither no that the other is interested in Ayten. The weakest part involves the German girl, after visiting Ayten in prison, goes to dispose of her gun, it's snatched(in her person) by some young boys. She gives chase; they end up finding the gun and when confronted by her, one of them accidentally shoots her. The aggrieved German mother comes to Istanbul to pick up her daughter, ironically ends up staying in Nejat's apartment; there she has an epiphany, takes up Ayten cause, gets her out of prison, and they end up together, at least temporarily, staying in Nejat's apartment. Meanwhile, Nejat's father is send back to Turkey, where he leaves for Trabzon. Nejat realizes his ill treatment of his father and drives to Trabzon to see him again. The film ends with him sitting on the beach, waiting for his father to return from fishing. We are left with an ambiguous ending...does the father return, what happens to the mother and Ayten, do they ever meet? It's the characters and the scenery, whether Germany, Istanbul, or Turkey that drew me into the film. Though politics motivated some, it's not at the core of the film. Mostly it's about people who overcome their anger or prejudice and 'just connect.' I liked this film much more than his more famous film Heads On.

Departures---Japanese film

Once again, I was drawn to a film made outside of Hollywood, this time, a touching film from Japan and if one were to read the brief summary, without the information that it was the Best Foreign Film in 2009, you would never have picked up the film. But I did, and though it was slow to begin with, I gradually was pulled into the film, the characters, the beauty and ritual of Buddhist or Japanese ways of dealing with the death of a loved on. The main character, Daigo, realizes early in the film that his desire to play the cello will never be fulfilled, in fact, it may not have really ever been his desire. He returns to his village with his new wife and falls into a job as a morticians apprentice, though the word 'mortician' in no way describes the role he plays in the film Here the mortician mostly deals with the preparing of the body for burial, usually as the family watches. he applies make up, slowly and lovingly washes the limbs, the hands, in fact, the body, wraps it in a gown, and in most ways, earns the respect and thanks of the bereaved family. At first, Daigo is put off by the role, as is his wife and friends. Slowly, he begins to see the need and fulfillment in helping those who are in mourning. Though he wife leaves him, she returns and has an epiphany when he buries his old friend's mother, a woman who runs a bath and knew him when he was young. His wife, watching his loving and caring way with this woman's body, understands finally the necessary role her husband plays in the lives of those around him. Mixed with this Micawber vocation, the movie is often comic, especially as Daigo learns about his profession. Ultimately, though, he entwines life and death, memory and time, as he is, at the end, reconciled with his father, someone who deserted the boy when he was six, yet as he finds out, never really forgot him. A wonderful film, a great song track, and moving performances by the entire cast. Great films are hard to define, even explain, and this one fits that ambiguity.

The Band's Visit

It's amazing how the briefest, even most improbable of plots can make a great movie, story, or book, The Band's Visit being an example A group of Egyptian musicians are stranded in Israel, with no place to go, nothing to do. The landscape of this part of Israel is bleak, almost apocalyptic with nothing to redeem the town except the unexpected hospitality of the people. This hospitality is best represented by the female lead, an attractive divorcee who happens to road what looks like to be a roadside restaurant. The band ends up at her doorstep, and after a few miss steps, she and the two loiters offer to the put up the band at there homes. Thus, begins an unlikely friendship between two lost tribes, one Israeli, the other Egyptian. There is little or not animosity nor prejudice towards each other, which might be the only unreal aspect of the film. The center is the somewhat formal, dour bandleader, a bit of a martinet yet touching. He and the only women in the film develop a relationship, mostly because she is so outgoing, which breaks down his formal, mannered way. Slowly, we and she get to know him, somewhat like peeling an orange. Nothing much happens though there is always the possibility of something sexual because of her uninhibited informal ways. Part of the humor results from her liberated manner which contrasts with the conductors discomfort with her openness, though he never seems critical, just uncomfortable. They walk, go to a restaurant, talk in a cement park, return home, and part. The other band members have similar experiences, ones that start out uncomfortable, but the barriers slowly fall as the couple with marital problems listen to the musician who has written part of a song. He plays it for them, breaking the ice. Little of consequence happens with the exceptions of small details, an Egyptian helping an Israeli to overcome his shyness, a musician touching a baby's hand, the conductor tolerating his youngest musicians ways. It ends with the band leaving the town the next morning, and we last see they performing, we assume in another Israeli town, as the mild mannered conductor ends up being the song leader of the Alexandrian Police Band. It's a charming movie, with wonderful performances, especially by the two leading characters.

Istanbul to New York

We are sitting at a large restaurant, overlooking the airport, where Evie got us tea, simit and cheese. We sat down at Gloria Jeans, but the service was so snotty that we decided to leave…the first time I ever felt this way in Turkey. We were up at 5:00, had packed the night before, so we did not have much to do, only organize a bit. We left at 7:00 for the airport though our flight is not till 10:30 and took the sea road, my request. Traffic was amazingly light, so we said good by to Ortakoy, Besiktas, the Galata Bridge, the city walls, the new apartments. As we crossed the Galata Bridge, there were still at least 50-75 fishmen, dangling their lines over the edge. One wonders if they ever leave, if they ever sleep. It is really relaxing sitting her, sipping tea in an airy restaurant, in no hurry, waiting for our flight, so much better than waiting at home, wondering if you will be on time. Our tickets, by the way, are the emergency row: somehow Agop managed to get them reserved for us, something unheard of but he did it. What a man, what a country, one where anything is possible.
We spent a lot of time in the airport shops, as we wanted to stock up on a few more Turkish objects, so we ended up buying a four foot chain of beads and evil eyes for around 40 bucks, no deal I am sure. I got a BJK hat and key chain, just in case I need it. Evie really didn’t seem interested in much of anything, as we already had lots of everything one could imagine. It was a busy place, with lots of people stocking up on things before leaving for outside the country. Unfortunately, our flight was close to two hours late, so we had to kill time shopping. The trip was fine, especially since we had emergency row seats, the meals fine, and though I hardly slept, I did watch two or three movies, as our plane was the new 787, or something like that, with an amazing array of options for music, video, tv shows, almost asnything you might want, all for free. The only down side was the guy who sat behind us coughed incessantly, then would move up, and kind of cough on us, something that made the journey less enjoyable then it might have been. The flight was very easy, little turbulence, and the guy who sat next to me was a Russian Jew, who grew up in the US, and had just returned from Uzbekistan, where he, like us, had friends who took care of his needs every day. It sounds like it might have been mostly eating and drinking, in enormous amounts, which he said he need a few days to recover from. He seems to import jewelery to the US, maybe even diamonds, things like that, and offered to take care of us if we ever wanted something.
We arrived around 4:30, two hours late, breezed through customs, though they checked our bas when we said we had spices, but it took a second. Our driver was waiting for us, and since traffic was light, despite the time, rush hour, we made it to Darien easily, though it cost us 170 bucks. The end of a wonderful trip.

Final Day in Istanbul

We woke up a bit loggy from the previous night and decided we wanted to go down the Bosphorus, so we took a bus to Rumli Hisar because it was raining. We went to a different tea shop, ordered menemens but Evie started to feel nauseaous, partly from cigarette smoke, and perhaps something else. WE did not stay long and ended up walking back to our apartment, about a 45 minute walk. Fortunately, we missed the rain, stopped by a tea house where I was short of money, gave them the liras, though they did not want it and went home to relax, work on my journal, Evie worked on the pictures. We did not do much the rest of the day. Sami called to wish us a bon voyage; he is now in Bodrum with friends, then on to Ankara, then home then London to see his daughter. He did leave some evil eye hangings for us, along with assorted knick knacks to put on our refrigerator. They are fun and very thoughtful of him. I went to Migros, bought some yogurt and sutlac, then to the village for some mercimec chorba. We both were very tired, but had a couple of gin and tonics, to watch the Bosphorus one more time, then ate, watched tv and went to bed by 9:30

Tom Davis Day

We were to be picked up at 12:30 by Ates so we had a free morning, which sounded good. I did not feel like sitting around till we left, so we decided to take a bus to Ortakoy, ab out five or ten minutes away by bus, just to walk around. We ended up stopping in the first shop we came across, one which looked much nicer than most, and ended up buying quite a bit, from cotton beach towels, to tee shirts, to some evil eyes. The owner was quite nice, giving us quite a few baubles as we left for our grandchildren. We ten sat down at a little alley kiosk and ordered Avalike toast, large slices of bread with cheese, tomatoes, and socuk. A young man sat down next to us, and as I went to get money changed, he and Evie struck up a conversation. He lives with an American girl friend, is a financial advisor, and he was fun to talk to. He talked about Turkis hospitality, how no one in Turkey splits the check, how one usually just pays…it’s the custom. He ended up saying good by and buying or tost sandwich and tea. Another great Turkish Experience.
Ates and Mine were waiting for us at the gate, raring to get going. We headed up to the Besiktas Sports Club, basically a huge complex that houses the team’s gymnasium, where the basketball and volleyball teams practice and have their matches. It seats somewhere around 3000 people, which seems small but just recently they passed a rule that opposing spectators were not allowed in the gym because of the altercations during and after the matches. A different world from the seventies. We met the Ass. Director or basketball, Metay, and he took us around showed us the facilities, teamrooms, training room, lounges and the Basketball Hall of Fame Room. In it were numerous photos from the past BJK teams but our team and pictures of all of us dominated all the walls. They had Battal’s shoes, Unal’s jersey, things like that, so it was fun to see. Numerous pictures of our team and individuals were on the wall. Then, we went out and two photographers took 30-40 pictures of me alone, in various poses, for the BJK magazine, but also pictures of me with the team, with Evie, and so forth. I have never been photographed so much in my life…I quite enjoyed being the center of attention, as would anyone, I guess. We then went to a different part of the complex, where there was the BJK Club proper, with lovely cafes serving Starbucks, work out rooms, spas, tennis courts, two swimming pools outside, one inside, numerous shops, and a fancy bar and restaurant, all for BJK club members. I assume the fee is pretty steep to belong, but there were all kinds of wealthy people, working out, or with their families, just enjoying the being there and taking in the scene. It’s nicer than most clubs I have seen in the states, and always in use. We went into the restaurant bar and I was interviewed for about 30 minutes by two women from the BJK magazine. While I was interviewed, Ates was very antsy, and I later surmised he was dying to be included, which he was at the end. I tried to be sure to mention all the players, why we were so good, and how talented each was, but I fear in the translation and writing of the article, I may appear in a different light, perhaps talking too much about myself. I hope not. They also asked Evie questions about our family, took more pictures, and I promised to send them a couple of our entire family with grandchildren, in case they wanted it for the article. They were very interested in the changes, in why we came to Istanbul, why we left, and a lot about our family and kids which was neat.
After the intereview, we jumped into our cars; Faruk was the only player to be at the complex and on the way, I began to figure out there was some kind of rift between BJK and the rest of the players, or the way Ates handled the setting up of the event. I am still not sure; Ates seems to have wanted to control things, to take us everywhere, and some of the other players may have resented this, thus only Faruk showing up. We went, of course, the the classist place in Istanbul, the top terrace of the Istinye Park Mall, where all the rich and famous hang out, to be seen or to see. It’s called Masa, and it and indoor/outdoor restaurant surrouned by Louis Vitton and the likes. We walked through the outer patio, stood around for a bit, as there were lots of people in line; they were starting to set up a table inside when the head of Besiktas basketball arrived; he snapped his fingers, the maitre de appeared, and within two minutes we had a table outside, the way power and presitige and love of sports work in Istanbul. I have never seen so many people so dressed, especially the women, who go out of their way to look like something over a Parsian run way. We felt like tramps. It turns out the BJK top guy lived in the US for 12 years, went to Monclair State in Jersey, played some football and baseball, his two loves. He said he prefers New York to Istanbul though his power seems pretty strong. I have no ideas what he does other than control some of the programs. The assistant’s wife had high heeled boots, a diamond in her nose, animal print dress, huge necklaces and rings, one about an inch high, and she seemed nice. She was dressed typically for her class, I suppose. The tables were often made up of 6-8 women or 6-8 men along with some familes, some couples, but everyone seemed to want to be seen. I loved the men, taking calls by walking off standing out in the courtyard looking important. We all ordered what ever, from an extensive menu, from steak, to pasta, to fish, to appetizers, to whatever. I got sea bass, fried, on top of a borek and it was as good a fish as I have had. Evie got a caesar salad, which was routine, nothing special, with iceberg lettuce, the wrong thing to get. Most of the group got what I did, but Faruk orderd a steak. Just before we left, we were invited as guests to the Heads box for the soccer game that evening. It sounded like a real honor, we thought about it a bit, and said yes, a big mistake, as we lter had to excuse ourselves as the rest of the team did not want to go. Ates and Mine, however, really wanted to go and thought it was an honor, and we were being ungrateful by refusing. I don’t think the Head could have cared less, but it was un uncomfortable five minutes. All this went on, by the way, at the end of the game, with Mine refusing to go to a restaurant, the team cajoling her to come, but she wanted nothing of it…she wanted to go to the game or home. As Faruk said, “Watching Mine makes me tired.”” Eventually, she gave in and we ended up going to a restaurant. When we left, it was close to game and we had a difficulty not only finding the gym, but finding a place to park. Finally, after a couple of round abouts, we found a place to park and hurried into the gym. It ws a decent gym, but not many fans, and the ones that we there were middle school age.
We ended up being rushed into the gym though the ceremony was to take place at halftime. We were taken into the stands, ushered around my Ates, introduced to all the big wigs, and then strangely, took seats down at one end, away from most of the Besiktas players, as if Ates wanted us all to himself. It was very uncomfortable and eventually Evie went down to sit with Fehmi and the rest of the team: Battal, Faruk, and Ahmet.
I was taken down on to the court, so they could take pictures of me, one with the present coach, which appeared in the next day’s newspaper. I then went up in the stands, watched the first half, and at half time, I was introduced by Bulent ??, a buddy of Battal’s and went out on to the center of the court and waved to the few fans in the stands, mostly the old guard, who might have recognized me. The Head of Besiktas basketball came out and presented me with a BJK jersey with my name on the back. Then, the head of the Turkish Basketball Federation came out and gave me an inscribed silver plate, recognizing my contribution to Turkish Basketball. After the applause, I went into the stands and, with the team and Evie, had pictures taken, the ones that appeared in the next day’s newspaper. I was glad that the team was included in this and was very uncomfortable getting all the accolades. We sat with Fehmi, Faruk, Battal and Ahmet the second half and it was much better. For some reason, there seemd to be a rift between Ates and the team, but by the time we left, it seemed to be settled.
We went to a restaurant run by one of Fehmi’s older players, Hayal Devran, who actually remembers me. It’s called the Hillside Club and it’s located on the top floor of the Instinye Park Mall It seems to be a new concept for Turkey, a combination restaurant, bar, disco and workout/sauna club, all combinedin one. Because it was noisy in the bar, we sat outside overlooking the arched roof of the mall, and had a dinner of various mezzes and pizza. We talked, took pictures, ate, and I got to know not only Hayal about her good friend, Canan Inanc, who conincidentally, because she comes from Kusadasi, mentioned Janet Crisler, the women who is head of the Crisler Foundation in Selcuk. It ends up she is good friends not only with Janet but with Muahrrem, a small world of connections. She was very personable, friended me the next day as did Hayal, and was going off to Tampa in five days to visit her old flame from high school who she had not seen in 25 years. She obviosly is a bit nervous about this but deserves cred it for being so willing to take a chance. I don’t think she has ever been married; she runs her father’s hotel called the Royal in Kusadasi, but it sounds like it may have seen its days with all the new hotels in town, so they are trying to turn it into condos, apartments, and long term rentals. She mentined Mardin to me, a place she was born, but had not been to since her birth. She told me all about its uniqueness, housing Chrisitian, Jew and Muslim, together for centuries, without much trouble. And I guess all the medieval buildings are in tact. I think this may be a must the next time I am in Turkey. We stayed till about 10:30, then said our good byes to the team, with Evie in tears. It was a very emotional moment for us, as we had enjoyed the team so much, had been together numerous times, and new we might not see they again for quite awhile. Ates took us home through winding streets, into Bebek, and we said our good byes. It was hard. We went to bed exhausted but happy.

Lunch with Roni Danon, Dinner with Fehmi and Ahmet

I met with John Chandler at 8:00 to say good by and thank you; we ended up talking quite a bit about politics and he seemed very satisfied with my lack of effort at RC.

At 12:30, we had lunch with Ronnie Danon, 74, at Happily Ever After, a new restaurant in Bebek; Ronnie had made reservations so we sat at the table right on the water. It’s a very modern, almost Americanize restaurant, with mostly American food, from pancakes, to hamburgers, to pizza, but really well done. It was full of women at lunch time, having a meal, talking, and women were waiters, which was unusual. He imports wool from all over the world and has offices in London and in Istanbul, where he seems to spend half his time. I taught him as a Lise III student, and as he recalled those days, he had tears in his eyes, as Evie recalls. He was dressed immaculately, with a red silk hankerchief in his pocket, which was quite different from the dress of most of our acquaintances. He has two children, a son in college in the UK, and a daughter who went to Cambridge and now works for an agency or group that works with Christian/Muslims/Jews in the schools in UK, with the goal being learning to live together in a diverse world. He is very proud of her, rightly so, and sent me her website which I found interesting. As he recalls, he took 4 years to get through RC, but he has good memories, of riding his motorbike to school, of listening to music with his friends, of spending a couple of summers on kibbutzs in Israel though he mentioned the whole idea of the kibbutz has disappeared in the New Israel of land speculation and profit. It sounds like his wife spends a good deal of time there, either because her parents live there or else I am not sure. We left in a rainstorm with a promise to get together next time we are in Istanbul. He was really quite charming and interested…he took a course through Yale about a few years ago, got interested in psychology and philosophy, became so involved with a few others that one of they, a famous physicist from Yale, invited him and a few others to his reunion at Yale. Ronnie spent a week there celebrating with his friend and loved it. Currently, he is reading Ayn Rand, which seemed abit strange but it might indicate his politics, because he talked about Reagan being a great president. He clearly picked up that I was not a fan, like many Turks, and started prefacing his remarks with “In my opinion.”

Fehmi picked us up at 7:00, though he had to fight traffic once again, to get us. We are really beginning to feel a burden to people, as they feel the obligation to pick us up. We went to Gokturk, to Ahmet’s restaurant called Balikci, where we ate our second night in Istanbul. Ahmet, Nikki, Florette and Fehmi and us were the only ones this time. For some reason, Ates did not come. We had a great not at the restaurant, marvelous mezze, lots of wine, good conversation, as Fehmi got drunk on wine and spent the last hour singing old tunes, mostly Beatles, calling friends on his phone to find out what Ann Murrays song, Save the Last Dance, sounded like. He was able to find a couple versions on his phone but could not find the right one. Florette and Nikki talked most of the time which is too bad because I would liked to have talked with Nikki a bit more. She seems neat. Florette is very different though pleasant. Ahmet realized that Fehmi was a bit drunk so he ordered us a car, which took us home. The next day Fehmi said that he slept all the way home as Florette ended up driving. Our Turkish friends are very conscious of drinking and driving and make sure someone doesn’t drink or that they come to an event in a taxi so they can get a safe ride home. Later, Fehmi told me he slept till 4:00, couldn’t sleep and got up and went on Facebook. I wondered because when I was on in the morning I saw Fehmi was playing this game of coffee shop at 4:00. Another great night.