Sdupendous~

Sdupendous~

Market day in Kas. I decided to walk into town. Having been lovingly * yet sternly * admonished for my “foolhardy and dangerous!” jolly swims across my beloved (yet increasingly windy!) channel….I figure some sunshine and other form of exercise will do just as well. Shoes laced, keys in hand, IPOD set to Sigur Ros (of course), a quick, passing wave to brother Mem (if I stop, he will try and talk me out of “overexerting myself in the hot sun,” braving one big a** hill/ driveway, and I am on my way.

Once I arrive at the top of the drive—winded, “glowing” (not sweating, mind you) and gung-ho, Sigur Ros ushers me into a steady stream of musical and visual bliss. Turkey provides the accompaniment…* teşekkür ederim, friend * For Forty-five glorious minutes, I make my way past glistening seascapes, pebbled beaches, residential roosters, fellow pedestrians (ponopeople that bless me with every breath), and (my favorites)…peek-a-boo grottos (yes, I see you, you lovely bashful beauties).

As I approach the corner that will bring me to the main street market, I prepare myself for what is to come. The peaceful pedestrian must swiftly switch roles…Clark Kent style…quick-changing into the cunning and alert consumer. What may appear as mere “shopping” to some, I have come to know more as a true sense of self-preservation here in Turkey (at least for my rapidly dwindling bank account) J

To give you a mental picture….it mostly has gone like “this” in the past…

-Arrival. Onslaught. Hands Up. Back-Peddling. Stuttering. Reeling. Gasping for deep breaths. Back-Peddling some more. Spinning. Whimpering (to myself thank God) the mantra “deep breaths,” when all I could hear like a spell-binding chant was “BUY! BUY! BUY!” Teetering about, wondering where in the world is my Zack Morris freeze-frame when I need it...words can only come to: Whoa Nellie…

I have learned a few tactics that have served me well thus far (ALL the TWO times I have tried them):

-No Eye Contact.

-Keep your a** moving! (Once you stop, you’re as good as toast!)

-If you MUST stop, Brace yourself--in what I lovingly refer to as the “Barter Stance!” (Basically, feet firmly planted, yet ready to roll…one eye on the merchandise (cursory glance of non-commitment of course) and the other eye on the door (or in this case….stall entrance…).

Normally, I am not buying, but today I am actually looking for something small for a friend’s birthday. The vendors sense this…it’s like some frighteningly sensitive alarm system in their psyches and I have a big, blinking neon aura around me. * And, yes….I have been spotted… *

The teetering old man surprisingly approaches with stealth-bomber speed, arriving directly under my nose (smaller in stature by a good foot, yet I sense instantly that he is the one in command of this situation). His ferocious friendliness and charm is almost palpable. I sense myself slowly crumbling beneath his easy manner, humorous antidotes and winning smile. I ask the price of a handwoven scarf I have had my eye on. It is quoted, and seems reasonable, yet my big brother Mem’s advice rings in my ears: “Andy, you NEVER buy the first price! That is for suckers! And the higher they sell to you for, the more of a sucker you are….*shaking his head all the while at my complete hopelessness and ignorance….tsk tsk* ” I take this wisdom to heart, and (Barter stance still holding strong!) back-peddle my way towards the escape….er…..exit.

Just for my curiosity’s sake, I waited just outside of view to watch this man work (this was by far better than any entertainment I have yet to stumble upon in my adventures). I must have observed for at least2 hours (they flew by) when I noticed a man pick up my scarf. I waited with abated breath as I listened to hear the quoted price ( I was mighty curious to know just how large of a “Sucker Sign” I had tattooed across my forehead this particular day. * Apparently, a biggun’ * …..the man was quoted HALF my price, and seemed happy as he reached for his wallet to pay. I gleefully took this opportunity to round the corner and interrupt with an innocently ignorant (of course) doe-faced: “I’ve decided it’s just too good of a deal to turn down! I’ll take it at your sale price and DO thank you ever soooo much for giving me the special!” * I even added a clandestine wink for good measure.

As I strolled out of the stall, merchandise hot in hand, I chuckled to (or at) myself (one can never tell which most days). The * sales price * * steal * of a scarf was beautiful, but it was the exultant look upon that vendors' face, coupled with the priceless machismo comraderie between the two men (who shared a secret smile * or snicker? * over the little American Super Sucker) that I considered to be worth every lire~

Just Like The Moon~

Barcelona

I awoke early. Bouncing out of bed, I was eager to get to know you. You slept. You made me wait. I tried to go back to sleep and be patient, yet I felt restless...listless...lost. I am a morning person, didn't you know?

As I waited on you, I had time to think; time to pace the chilled marbled tiles, giving my icy feet time to remember (and grieve for) the warm, Hawaiian sand they'd so recently burrowed beneath. I had time to worry...to fret over how many mornings alone I would spend during our time together--time to calculate that loss in not just days, but hours...minutes...seconds...moments...and loved ones. I looked outside. Not even the sun would shed its light; instead making me wait in momentary darkness. I felt you were closed entirely to me, Barcelona. Even your shops and markets had no warm welcomes for me this morning....signs seemed to scream in resolved solidarity: "CERRADO!" I was awake, alone.

Unaffected, you took your time. As mid-day approached, I (being nearly at my wits' end, and certainly almost out of patience) watch as you nonchalantly amble towards me. Slowly, you beckon your day to begin, acknowledging noon in an unhurried aside. I follow at your heels, anxious to see who you are; what you are all about; to discover why you are so beloved among your people. To possibly understand why those who arrange their entire lives just to stay near to you possess such fierce loyalty in your name.

You stroll down the street, round three corners, cross one plaza, and slow. Sidling up to an unassuming sidestreet cafe, you enter...no introduction necessary. This is your spot. Here your table is ready--your coffee and croissant are waiting to warm you. I eat as well, feeling energized by the welcome repast. Yet, still, I wonder what it is exactly that is so special about you. You seem so quiet; almost rude; arrogant in your way. I wait to see.

You settle the bill and I assume we are on our way. My heart drops as I watch you leisurely reach for the daily news, shifting your weight ever so slightly--settling in. We sit for what seems like hours, observing as people pass. Your neighbors, your friends, your colleagues...all greeting you in quiet nods and familiar double-kisses from cheek to cheek. Your streets begin to slowly grind their gears--street vendors pedaling their wares; citizens shifting their paces into one slow and steady, collective hummmmm (yet in a reserved and almost regal way). I begin to see glimpses of life in you, Barcelona.

We share a lite lunch in a little cafe, and you open up a bit more in conversation. Gestures are more animated, and your muscles along your jawline (as well as your stiff upper lip) become more relaxed. I think I may have even caught a brief and fleeting glimpse of a grin at one point.

I begin to get excited, but now, where are you going? "Siesta," you say?!?!? But...isn't that just an exotic and very European-ese way of saying..."NAP?!?!" (as in the kind I used to be forced to endure back in the day...in Mrs Frye's Kindergarten class...while relegated to an orange foam mat that I DISTINCTLY remembered smelling of a grievous mixture of urine and cheetos?...) Well, if so (and I sadly fear it is), to be quite honest, this idea of wasting so much of my day away when I could be getting to know you, leaves quite the same odious stink to my senses). * Boo *.... Yet, I humor you, and we place our days on hold as we sleep. * sigh *

We awake and, surprisingly I feel refreshed. Almost, yes, almost as if this is morning anew. YOU bounce out of your bed and leave ME in the dust! There is much to do, you say, as I dash after you. We make our way through the (now bustling) streets; streets awake and alive with people yelling, heralding their family and friends across the avenues. I dodge children and papas giggling through a frenzied futbol session in the square...watch as a tiny curl-crowned Spanish princess passes by, greedily gobbling up her gelato--a tiny pink trail of sticky sweetness the only evidence remaining of her afternoon's delight.

Arriving at the pub, we sit. We eat. We drink. We laugh. And..I watch you come alive...mingling, dancing, reveling in fellowship and light. It is not until now that I see you, Barcelona. You, to me, personify the very rhythm of your days. We got off to a slow start. I only felt darkness from you...until I understood and looked closer. You, too, shine....the moon to Hawaii's sun, you are now understood, and recognized, with respect and newfound wonder.

I collapse into bed as we return home. How about tomorrow, new friend, let's sleep until noon....