from SUNDAY diary (2)

SNOW, WHITE MOSQUES, FROGGER, CURIOUS WAITRESS, BAD COFFEE, GETTING BY, GETTING WARM

Sunday morning on Ataturk Street. Every town has one. from Sehrekustu Station to this Cafe Caffesi, the snow is dumping beautifully -- gloriously! I'm out in it. I walk up the cobbled street from Sehrekustu to Ataturk, a few men out, a photographer, a man calling out something unintelligible pushing a cart of discarded junk -- wires, a broken tennis racket. Coming out under the cover, I follow an off-duty police officer under the snow past the white mosques.

huge flakes drifting down. this is Turkey in its element. 90% of the shops are closed, only a few pillars of kebab meat spinning. the covered markets and bazaar locked up, the minarets cold and snow-covered against a gray wall that is the sky. even Ataturk St. is hard to cross on Sunday morning, and i'm playing an easy level of human Frogger compared to weekdays. no problem i am at the cafe with Turkish rock and snow dancing outside my little window and the lights inside are green, orange and warm. the building is Ottoman-style with its second floor protruding out over the ground floor. the second floor is actually the first floor and the ground floor is a "Z". rattling the coffee cup with my furious pen shaking the table, i get looks from the waitress who attention was alerted when i walked through the door an obvious yabanci (foreigner).

drinking shit instant coffee, which is so popular. don't know why exactly. wondering. oh well, the hell with it. it's warm. and i just need a warm place to write. waiting for Eda. thawing out my head from the cold again. watching boys throw snowballs at shopkeepers just trying to take their tables out on the street. they take no notice. they are men in navy blue jackets and caps, wrinkled eyes, a lifetime of blending into the gritty market streets, black bus fumes grey cobbled walkways, rusted aluminum doors with broken locks. their faces olive and shaded from the dirty shoes of millions passing and going and coming endlessly, scraping their pockets to keep up the struggle, to stretch their lives because what other choice do you have.

but not joylessly. your friends and family and the boy comes around the shops with tea and you talk shop and organize dates for your daughters, hear the gossip, comb the neighbors for pertinent information. stay on top of business, watch your kid's relations. the words are copied on my fingers now. the pen is good and finally warm.