ISLAMABAD PAKISTAN 2018 - 2 - GOOD NEWS, GOOD MUSIC, GOOD PEOPLE

 

Hotel Serena is where I will stay for four days in Islamabad, which is quite different than the hotel we had stayed at in Lahore in November. Serena as its name suggests, has character, it has the persona of Pakistan, it reflects this land’s culture and its people, I feel more at home here. Breakfast is a fabulous display of Pakistani and western food. Luckily, the cuisines are distinctly separated from one another, and I don’t have to open every single container. I move straight to Pakistani cuisine section and load my platter with little bit of each of the unique dishes. Cucumber juice and sweet melon juice are two juices that I had never had before, what a treat. The latter, I will settle down with for breakfast, it is delicious and refreshing.
 

Almost every Pakistani dish is served with its uniquely paired sauce!

 

After breakfast, I explore how to get around to see couple of sites in Islamabad. My hosts and hotel staff tell me, Rajah Bazaar that I was considering is out of question: NOT SAFE. When locals tell me it is not safe, I oblige.  It looks like my only option is to rent a car and a driver, the service available here at the hotel. The driver will take me to places, stay with me all along and bring me back if I pay for time, gas, and tax. An estimate of 3800 rupees for half a day, close to $40! More than reasonable. And it will be an opportunity to encounter a local. I take it.

I enjoy observing people interacting in the rigshaws that we follow occasionally

My driver is a reserved young man, I know it is my call how much he and I may connect. I ask him his name, it is John; hmmm, interesting, is he not Muslim as everybody else seems to be here… I don’t ask. I tell him my name, he shakes hands comfortably. He catches the structure of my name suggesting Muslim/Arabic origin. He is delighted to hear that I am from Turkey, puts his hand over his heart and tells me “We love Turkish people, they are brothers to us”. He is forgetting the sisters part, but I am used to it, he still has a good heart, I can tell. Mission accomplished, we are connected! 
Approaching Shah Faisal Mosque in Islamabad

Our first destination is Shah Faisal Mosque, a pure white beauty of modern architecture. Apparently, King Faisal of Saudi Arabia had given this mosque to Pakistan as a gift when Islamabad, which was identified as the capital city to be built, way back. We can’t enter inside the mosque since it is open only on Fridays, the holy day for Muslims. The courtyard is as spectacular as that of the Shah Biruj Mosque in Lahore. This could and does regularly accommodate tens of thousands of Muslims every Friday.

The vast courtyard of Shah Faisal Mosque that accommodates tens of thousands of believers

 

Then we head to Saidpur, reportedly the oldest village around Islamabad. Islamabad and Ankara interestingly, seem to have a similar history.  Both were millennia old small villages until and through the process of the liberation of their respective nation. During their independence struggle, in search of a settlement with no negative connotation related to the past, each country identified its small village and its vicinity to be appropriate locations to establish the capital of their nation. My driver tells me, we will see a very old house in Saidpur that was used as the temple for Hindu worshippers in the village's hey day. I will see that this house tells the story of Islamabad, too. 

Hindu Temple in Saidpur, one of the oldest villages around Islamabad 

The modern capital in each country is similar to one another, too. Green and lush with a modern look, wide avenues, beautiful architecture, and culture… I wish this old town had been slightly better groomed as they did with the old village of Ankara in Turkey, but oh well, it is still a sweet place to visit. John, takes me to the oldest home in town, which was one of the Hindu temples. When I ask John, whether he is a Muslim, he discloses that he is Christian. He also tells me that 95% of Islamabad population is Muslim, 3% Christian, and 2% Hindu.

I wonder if piano playing is allowed to Muslims in Pakistan
 
I can’t believe there are Christians in Pakistan, how ignorant of me. I can’t help but ask him whether there is any discrimination against Christians, I assume that against Hindus due to the well-known tension between Pakistan and India over the Kashmir area. He tells me unfortunately there is, I am not surprised.  I now feel comfortable asking him about his family. Starting with children, I have discovered over the years is always the safest approach in Muslim countries. He is pleased that I ask; he has three children, oldest a 16 year-old daughter, who is in school: Phew, thank goodness. I reinforce his wisdom in supporting his daughter’s education. She will go to college to study pre-medicine. She might go to medical school, but it is very expensive and even public universities cost too much with no state aid to those who cannot afford the cost.

Farah the speaker at the conference I will attend is the most modern looking of the four well-educated women leaders

He shows me the pictures of both his "girls"; mother and daughter are both beautiful and attractive. He has two younger boys, who are both in school as well. It is very reassuring to hear that in his family there is no difference in investing in the education of his children based on gender. Just like mine. In fact my father used to vow: "If boys don't want to go to school, they may go learn a trade, no pressure. But my daughter will have a good education, she won't be dependent on a man!" He kept his vow, raised me in such a way, there was no option but learn forever, thank you my dear father... 

My daughter's graduation from medical school will take place 2 months after my return from Pakistan

My driver asks me whether I have a child or not, and I tell him about my 33 year-old daughter. I don’t know at that moment that my daughter has matched to a psychiatry program in New York City for residency, the good news will have to wait until dinner time. On the way back, he takes me to a fine textile shop where I buy beautiful fine cashmere shawls for myself and my friends as well as hand embroidered pillow cases for my daughter. When we return to the hotel, jet lag hits me hard and all I can do is bed collapse in my bed for two hours straight.

Saidpur from a higher terrace with Islamabad in the distance

After I take a half-hour swim in the pool, on the way to the restaurant for dinner, a beautiful melody guides me to a grand piano. A young Pakistani man is playing a soothing tune, which he occasionally embellishes in his own beautiful way. I really like this Serena Hotel, its name is very becoming to its architecture, its interior design, its sounds, its staff, a true oasis that reflects the spirit of Pakistan’s capital Islamabad.  After taking a few video clips of his music to share with my friends, I settle down at the table right across from him at the entrance of the restaurant to continue savoring his music along with savoring the delicious flavors of all Pakistani food. One of my dear friends, with whom I share one of the videos, can’t believe I am in Pakistan!
 

Beautiful mosaic on the floor at Serena Hotel 

Just as I am savoring the egg halwa, the best dessert made with semolina flour, I have ever eaten, the screen of my cell phone lights up. Two lines from my daughter on the screen putting a happy end to our immigration saga: she matched with a psychiatry residency program. She will know with which of the three programs she interviewed with she matched in 4 days. We pretty much knew she would match with all the positive feedback she had gotten from all three programs, but as they say “before seeing the stamped paperwork, don’t believe anything…” She apparently believed in herself to such an extent, she took off to the road to Mexico before finding out whether she had matched or not. That’s my girl, she does everything she can that is in her power, then leaves the rest to the universe…

My daughter on her graduation with our "family" in the USA

She has transformed herself from a typical Turkish girl energized by anxiety and worries taking constant preemptive measures to dwarf any perceived catastrophe that might take place in the future (or not!), to one in the last 7-8 years, who strives to stay in the moment much more than her mother had ever managed to do. She has become my role model in many ways. That is how our life together turned into almost a beautiful tango: I have created a strong base, around which she embroidered all the intricate details of an elegant dance, which carried us both to territories we never could dream of doing alone.
 

Everybody who attended my daughter's graduation ceremony and party played a significant role in her success 

I recall the turning point in our relationship in terms of changing roles of leading. It was when I had had a horrible sinus arrhythmia after a high altitude hike: I had run out of water 2/3 of the hike and had to start “eating handfuls of snow”. I had lost the trail at a large opening covered with 2-3 feet of snow and in my attempts trying to find the trail, I had lost my directional orientation as well. The stress related to time topped it all: The sun had started setting when I still had 2-3 more miles to cover without knowing which direction even to go. Eventually, an unexpected hiker, who knew where he was going had helped me and all had turned out fine, except that the experience had left me with an arrhythmia that had lasted for several days.
 

Another beautiful mosaic from Serena Hotel

 

When I shared this experience with my daughter 7 years ago, she made this statement “Mom, you put your anxiety to work to accomplish all the things you have throughout your life, but your heart is talking to you now. You must listen to it”. Who knows how she felt the dismissiveness in my heart across the phone line, she continued “I know you won’t take me seriously, but please read about anxiety, I know when you learn something, you won’t turn a blind eye to it.” And, that, I took seriously, and I did read about anxiety and I did find out she was right. That was the first but not the last time she led me toward a healthier, happier future. That, I learned on the spot, was what “every generation surpasses the one before them” meant.

Beautiful kilims used as upholstery in armchairs at Serena Hotel 

This turning point led to both of us engaging in mindfulness and meditation with more dedication and better understanding. I started doing yoga, and our mutual growth took a different path that at least I landed on the path of Buddhist philosophy and psychology as a novice learner. Am I grateful to my daughter and my ability to trust the young generation’s wisdom, which in many ways is surpassing our generation’s. And here we are, this precious being, what I still believe is the best thing I created in my 59 years, will become a psychiatrist with a plan to dedicate her professional efforts to lifting homeless people by providing them mental health services. Boy, do I trust her, and do I feel how lucky her clients and patients will be…

Traditional Pakistani music also sounds beautiful in this serene Hotel 

As soon as I am done with eating, with texting our entire “village” back in the US, in Turkey, even around the world of Zeynep’s good news, and holding the most peaceful and joyful video conferencing with my daughter, I am back to the open lounge where the sweet young pianist is still playing. It seems like he is happy to see me again. He asks me where I am from. As invariably every Pakistani does, his face lights up when he hears I am from Turkey and starts playing even more enthusiastically.
 

My daughter's best friend Paulinka as we call her in the "family"

 

There could be no better ending to my first day in Islamabad than this constellation. Good news from my daughter, this beautiful music, and heart-warming comments from scores of my friends scattered all around the world… Joy surpasses the amount of oxygen in the air, I am dizzy with happiness.

 

ISLAMABAD PAKISTAN 2018 - 1 - CONTEMPLATIONS ON THE WAY TO AN ISLAMIC SOCIETY, ONE MORE TIME

Four months after my first visit to Pakistan, I am again on my way to it through Arab Emirates, Abu Dhabi, this time my destination is Islamabad. My friends are besides themselves again, in panic for my safety: I am looking forward to it. For one, my first trip to Lahore, Pakistan generated very positive experiences and memories. Pakistani people proved to be very diverse in every way imaginable, very friendly, welcoming, and hospitable. They also made me feel very much at home and safe during my 48 hours in Lahore in November 2017.  

Generational attire diversity in the same family

Secondly, Islamabad, with its 1.5-2 million population, apparently is a much more manageable city. Compared to Lahore’s 15-20 million population, it should be less daunting. Lastly, this time, I will be working with the government of Pakistan and UNICEF, I should be even safer. I am hoping these two visits will in the end convince me that what is reported by the US State Department is pretty exaggerated in terms of safety issues: The moment, my trip to Pakistan was entered into the university time-off approval portal, I received an automatic e-mail message from the State Department. Skimming through it I could see the frenzy about how I should think twice before going to Pakistan.

Two village men in an authentic village nearby Islamabad

They clearly stated, "consider postponing your trip due to terrorist activities". That is how we all perceive Pakistan, even Turkey, in the US regarding safety issues. I smile at them and say “I trust the trustworthy people of Pakistan to protect me”, which is true. During my first visit, I was escorted at all times wherever I went, and I trust it will be no different this time. And if a terrorist's body explodes next to the car I am in, bad luck... Yet, I can't say I don't have any anxiety about going to an Islamic country, but it is of a different variety: I am usually worried about how things will go, especially from cultural competency perspective. I wonder if I will be able to keep my free-spirit under control so that I can come across as respectful of others' cultural and religious practices, which is most important in a culture governed by Islam. I trust I will never have a problem with simply traditional life styles but how my heart will feel upon encounters with radical Islamists is another story. 

Pakistani and Indian passengers dancing during festivities at Abu Dhabi Airport: might be an outlier...

Abu Dhabi is a brief test, yet, again. As I walk from one gate to another, I see a man in traditional Arabic white dress with a tense expression on his face. I don’t even know if he saw me or not before I see him, let alone having eye contact. He is followed with two women in identical attire, all black covering their entire body except for their hands and a slit across their faces barely allowing them to see where they step, perhaps. My blood boils, not only because of the contrast of the attire, but also with the possibility that both of these women may be his wives! I feel it, thanks to mindfulness practice, as soon as the boiling starts I focus on my breathing. This helps my "blood pressure" come down to at least a reasonably simmering level.
 

Self-confident stewardess mildly confronting an Asian man at the airport

Then at the gate another semi-blood boiling moment, although not nearly at the same level as the first one. We are in line waiting for passport verification by an Arab beauty at the desk. She has put head cover on her hair, which must have wrapped her hair like a sock. Then she twisted her hair and the “hair sock” into a bun over her head. This gives her beautifully made-up face an even more exotic look. She is mild, respectful, playful, confident, and inevitably measured.  All is going well until it is this tall, sturdy young man’s turn. She asks about his carry-on as she has done with everybody. Instead of showing her his carry-on, he states “he hasn’t checked in any luggage”. She comes around and checks its weight by lifting it, decides it is OK to take aboard. She then adds, “had it been too heavy to take aboard, you would have had to check this in”, it is indeed a large carry on. The man impresses me as a fidgety, tense mass of muscles, almost looking for a fight.
 

Pakistan is full of artistic and mild men, too.

Was he tense for concerns that he might have had to check in his carryon? Was he tense because this Arab beauty’s femininity radiating through all her modesty aroused "the devil" in him as his clerics would claim and he is angry at her because of that? Was he tense because he had fought with his wife he left behind before taking off for this trip? Who knows… I was observing him for a while sensing the negative energy he had been exuding. I can’t help but think “Oh beauty, I wish you had refrained from saying this” knowing what a trigger it might have become for this mass of tension, but she didn’t, perhaps she had felt the negative energy he had been exuding and reacted to it, who knows. He was apparently waiting for this type of an even minor confrontation. He picks up the fight and towers over her with his huge body and almost explodes “I haven’t checked any luggage, I travel with a carry-on, why would I have to check this in?”  
One of Pakistan's colors, which may turn into a wall of art

His demeanor is almost “try me, I’ll show you if you can make me check this in.” I am not sure if I am biased against this very familiar machismo from Turkey and even the US, for that matter… I feel for the woman, while I feel disdain toward his machismo. I can’t help but wonder if he would have acted the way he does with this woman had the person at the desk been his size of a man… Luckily, the woman is professional enough, or perhaps socialized all too well to retreat when men become confrontational. She distances herself from him both physically and behaviorally and states “You are fine, your carryon is not too heavy” and dissipates the tension. Pheeewww...

Art is hidden, but everywhere in Pakistan 

When it is my turn with her, I feel the urgency to mention the scene to her and express my camaraderie. I tell her how wisely she handled an unnecessary angry male outburst, she smiles with content on her face for having been understood. I wonder what he would have told me, if anything, had I been able to approach him with trauma sensitive communication methods that I am trying to master. One of the most impressive Buddhist practitioners Cheryl Maples, a late police officer from Chicago had used loving kindness techniques with perpetrators of domestic violence, which is essentially trauma informed, trauma sensitive communication! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sopO5k5yqvI  I wish all legal system is transformed into one using Cheryl's practice. It would allow us all to see the hearts bleeding profusely underneath the thick crust violent men and women had to build brick by brick over their good, soft and kind core, with which they lost contact...

Notice the kind and peaceful expression on this man's face as he is circling the sweet into boiling oil to make fried candy rings 

Yet, I come across another man in identical attire on the bridge to the plane. He, in contrast with his fellow citizen, perhaps, turns sideways and catches my eye as he smiles “Good morning” to me. My heart warms up with this welcome: I can’t believe what this friendly “good morning” stirs in me: I recall a friend, who had told me, after some time of having no physical contact with anybody, how the hair dresser touching his head had stirred in his touch-starved heart an awareness of the importance of touch. I, on the other hand, compare this minute two diametrically opposing ways of interaction, one full of negative energy causing miles of distance in emotional panorama, the other connecting with the bond of being human.

My hotel is adorned with beautiful pieces of art as if it is a museum

What I would like to attain when I travel to Islamic countries is to is an anthropologist attitude so that I can observe and accept anything and everything I come across without judging. I can't say I am anywhere near that goal although I have come across quite some ways... What happens to me instead is: I receive constant male hostility, be it subtle, from all directions. Is it just because my hair is not covered and I do not submit when Arab males look at me, instead I lock their gaze with a smile and kindness, knowing this is not culturally competent. Do I at this age stir up the devil in them, just as they claim an “Immodest” woman does in “poor, God’s male subjects, who cannot control their genitalia".  

This young man plays the most beautiful classical music for me seeing that I am all ears for his feast

I must say, I do appreciate all the good Muslim males generously share with me in the form of kindness sprinkled here and there. But, then, there is the female response aspect of my response/reaction to what I observe in an Islamic society. I observe female submissiveness all around in different shades. Not being allowed to look at a man, period, specifically not in the eye when they are stripping you naked and devouring you behind who knows what kind of fantasies, is one.  When a man becomes confrontational as described above, a woman being responsible to deescalate the situation by backing off or resorting to silence, basically by shutting their mouths, is another. Being locked into their burkas and/or homes, accepting domestic violence as fate, on and on and on...

The mountains surrounding Islamabad

Put all of these into the context of having grown up in a patriarchal society that has never matured into a fully democratic society under the shadow of Islam, even though my own family was more or less a matriarchal one due to my father's incompetence in problem solving rather than my mother being a militant feminist... I became a fighter for all human rights including women's rights and child rights and have fought for justice and fairness all my life...Despite all these empowering and liberating resources I was very  lucky to have had, when I visit an Islamic society, I realize, how traumatized I had been while living in Turkey by simply observing other fellow women suffering from the national culture.

In order to purify from something harmful, one needs to attain full mindfulness over that issue

Anything reminding me of what I observed in Turkey during my childhood and young adulthood brings back all the negative flashbacks, hence, I am not a competent anthropologist, yet... Knowing all these facts and bringing mindful awareness to my emotional reactions, though, I trust will help me recover from all the societal trauma Turkish society bestowed upon me, and a day will come I will heal and be able to help men and women of Islamic societies without an emotional baggage as well.

Haida and Ammar, modern Pakistani couple I met on the plane pretty much look like this at this point

As we walk onto the plain, I don’t know, yet, that even a better encounter is in the waiting: I happen to sit next to two young people, The man, Ammar is 25 and the woman, Haida is 23, both college educated professionals. They are very talkative and we become friends over a half hour conversation. The woman must be a “revolutionary” in her own right, a woman after my own heart. First of all she chose a totally male dominated field for her college education and she was the only female in her graduating class. She had worked in a facility, where only 5-6 of the 2500 workers were females! She can never see herself as a woman, who will stop working after getting married, which is the tradition and expectation from every woman in Pakistan.

 

If Haida and Ammar can stand the societal pressures or move out of Pakistan, they will probably look like this in another ten years

 

The fact that they have been dating for almost 18 months now, is known to only their parents. They tell me, in Pakistan, as soon as you pronounce dating, you must also start talking about marriage. They are not ready to get married, they’d like to enjoy life just like they did for a week in Thailand, from where they are returning. They remind me of the serenity prayer of Reinhold Nie “God give me the strength to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I can’t and the wisdom to know the difference between the two”. Yet, they have added another piece to the prayer “give me the agility to find ways around unreasonable barriers to enjoy life as it is handed to me with all its beauties”. This is resilience and scores of young people have found this path to not give in to despair in oppressive shame cultures… Kudos to these young people.

Reinhold Nie was indeed a very wise theologian, whose verses have been my guide through life 

The female member of the two leads the conversation and her boyfriend doesn’t mind it at all, what a refreshing experience to meet a Pakistani male, who is so open, supportive, and proud of his girlfriend with the way she is, a free-spirit! The woman floods me with questions first to understand who I am. She tells me she saw me typing on my lap top and inferred that I must like to write, indeed I do, and in fact I was typing up my impressions from the airport! Once she learns that I am originally from Turkey, but I have been living and working in the US for 20 years, she is all the more interested in conversing. She asks and I answer, she learns all about how and why I left Turkey, ended up in the US, and if not physically, professionally, how I returned to Turkey via a multitude of means to continue educating both professionals and the society on child abuse and neglect prevention and management.

During one of the trainings in Turkey on Child Abuse and Neglect

 

I have a feeling, she thinks she has found a mentor of some sort in me. What kind of books do I like to read? What do I read now? She takes notes on the books I mention. She tells me she is reading Arundhati Roy's last book "The Ministry of Utmost Happiness". We find yet another connection there. Arundhati is one of my most favorite authors. We exchange notes about our impressions of “The God of Small Things”, which I had read some 18-19 years ago. One of the most intriguing books I have read about class, discrimination, sexual abuse, shame... We love it mutually as we find more and more connections although there are three generations of space in time between us.

One of the best books I have read of Asian writers about Asian cultures, weaving class, discrimination, sexual abuse, shame into one plot so artistically 

I learn a lot about Pakistan throughout the flight. In large cities, people tend to go to college at higher rates compared to rural Pakistan, no different than in Turkey. However, most women, even in the cities do get their college degree only to stop working once they are married. This is quite different from what I experienced in Turkey. In fact, in Turkey, women of the top 1% chose not to work after getting married since they thought work was only to bring income to the household, sort of a necessity when money was scarce. I, on the other hand, always thought to work was a right to enhance one's horizon's and use all our brains. It is good to see that Haida is with me in this line of thinking.

 

I hope Haida joins the ranks of this courageous woman

 

She also grew up with a mother, who had her college degree but chose to stay home to raise her children, following the traditional expectations. Otherwise people would have thought, her father was not able to take care of his family, financially. However, the daughter now grown into a beautiful woman doesn’t think, she can let go of her aspirations as a professional. She is determined to continue conquering the men's world and deepening her footprint in Pakistani society even if she is one of only 5-6 women among over 2000 men in her work place. When I tell her, "You must be a revolutionary", she smiles a big, contagious, beautiful smile. Woman after my own heart, we share a delighted high five together… I know my daughter, who is another revolutionary on this earth would have loved to meet Haida...

 

Take a child to school volunteers in Pakistan

What is even more beautiful is that the man is proud of his girlfriend’s thoughts about “I have to be in the society all my life” as well as of her being the only female in her graduating college class. They understand how Islam in poorly educated sections of the society complicates everything: Women working in public being looked down on as their husband not being able to take care of the family. They dislike the fact that women are not allowed to get as much if any, education as their male peers do. They visit a girl’s school and spend time with young girls, who love going to school although they know there is no chance for them to go on beyond 10^th grade before they get married.

 

These girls are probably as smart and able to get a college degree as their American peers, but they most likely won't be able to beyond middle school in their education, how sad... 

All this deep sharing inevitably leads to exchange of contact information, share titles of books we are currently reading before we depart, and multiple pictures being taken, all with her initiative. As I leave them, I share my heart with them telling them people like them will change Pakistan, one person at a time like they do at the girl’s school. I ask them to share with their parents “Kudos for having raised such brilliant children”. She promises, she will and again she is all, but a big smile. We take pictures, a first for me with passengers on a plane. When I deplane, on the way to my hotel, my heart is full of warmth and hope for Pakistan…

In a country like Pakistan, beauty is everywhere, but mostly hidden in the dark. I wish more light could be shed on this society so that more of its beauty can be exposed to be seen by all seeing hearts

 

LISBON PORTUGAL 2018 - 3 - FROM ONE OF THE SEVEN HILLS OF LISBON

After a productive day at the conference yesterday, I feel comfortable taking another day off and revisit the places that I had been to before and visit more of Lisbon that I haven't been to. I would like to go to Barrio Alto today and visit at least the Gulbenkian Museum. Seeing that the metro red line that I catch right in front of the hotel is a block away from Gulbenkian Museum at its last stop, I decide to change the order of my pursuits.

One very sensual piece of art from Gulbenkian Museum

Calouste Gulbenkian is known to be a British businessman of Armenian origin, who was the first person to exploit Iraqi oil and somehow to open Middle Eastern petroleum reserves to the use and exploitation of the Western world. However, his Armenian family lived near Lake Van in Turkey as early as the 4th century. As they moved around Asia Minor, they lived in Kayseri, Talas and finally ended up in Istanbul. That is where Calouste's father became an oil baron mostly focusing on the oil in the Caucuses. It was the Ottoman emperor, who gave the Gulbenkian Sr. the right to Mesopotamian oil fields! Calouste was born in Istanbul but after completing his college education in Turkey, his father sent him to London to study petroleum engineering. Apparently the father was very strategic about how to expand the family's control over ever-expanding petroleum fields in the Old World. Calouste travelled and lived in many major cities of his time including Istanbul, London, Paris, and Lisbon.

A copy of Kuran acquired in Iran, which displays most exquisite miniature art, the art of Iran that Orhan Pamuk talks about in great detail in his book "My name is Red"

With the loads of money he made off of middle eastern oil, he must have wanted to own beauty from those lands as well. Thus, he collected lots of art pieces and furnished his home in Paris with these museum quality artifacts. Currently, the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation owns all his art collections. The foundation not only preserves very successfully Gulbenkian's collection, but also continues to purchase modern Portuguese art to keep the museum dynamic. Apparently, throughout his life, Gulbenkian was involved with many philanthropic activities including the establishment of schools, hospitals, and churches.  

Tiles of all sizes, colors, and purposes from Iznik, Turkey, which is the tile capital of the country are abound in the museum

Although, commendable, I have become cynical about these good deeds when the very person(s) of such altruistic dedications have earned the resources to do such good by destroying the lands and at times lives of others. Koch Brothers, ExonMobil, Chevron, British Petroleum, I bet are all involved in numerous charity projects. Does that take away their responsibility in destroying the earth and along with it killing multitude of all forms of life from vegetation, to animals, to humans... Gulbenkian was not simply a rich man, he was RICH, big time. He as in one single man owned 5% of the Middle Eeastern oil reserves at the turn of the last century. He had a mansion in Paris, in which most of his own collection was displayed merely as ornamentation of the house.

Samples of tiles from Gulbenkian's house in Paris

Before purchasing an art piece, he consulted with multiple curators and collectors and had his finds valued.  He was able to afford that cost as well. One wonders then, was he doing this as part of his business dealings, expecting that they would bring a return of some sort? Although he had homes in Istanbul, Paris and London, he was essentially a nomad per internet entry and never had a home in Portugal and stayed at hotels as he visited. In 1942, he moved to Portugal, where he lived until his death in 1955. Thus, the Gulbenkian Foundation that he established and inherited all his fortune was able to found this incredible museum in Lisbon after his death.

Vases from far east displayed at Gulbenkian Museum

The foundation did fierce fundraising to build this two-section museum separated with beautifully designed gardens and a series of various sizes of ponds. One building houses the modern art collection and the other Gulbenkian’s own collection. In his collection are tiles, kilims, vases, bowls, and carpets from Iran, Syria, and Turkey from his earlier collection years. Later on, he continued collecting the same items in France, Spain, Italy as well. His furniture was Victorian style, beautiful elegant pieces, clearly carefully selected. Finally, he reached out to Far East and Egypt to collect exquisite pieces from every culture.

Pure silk embroidery from Japan

After I visit both sections, it is time to enjoy a cup of tea and a "pastel de nata", with almond based filling; delicious Portuguese treat watching the ducks in one of the ponds. Now it is time to head to Bairro Alto. Lisbon's Barrio Baxia, which it at sea level is the section of town where the old historic commercial and governmental buildings are located.  Since I visited Barrio Baxia the first time I came to Lisbon some years ago and decided "This is a place to visit one time" I will skip that. Barrio Alto on the other hand is a different story. I recall thinking when I had first visited it "I can come back here every time I come to Lisbon. And that is what I would like to do this afternoon. As you climb up to one of the seven hills that Lisbon is built on, you come across Chiado, which is the shopping district of Lisbon. Up further is Bairro Alto, the highest point of the west side of Lisbon across which you may enjoy vistas of the river.

The funicular up the steep street leading to Bairro Alto.

The San Jorge Castle and the rest of the city’s east side are very inviting from afar, alas won't be able to do it this time. When you go to Alfama, which is the eastern section of the city by the water, it rises up to the San Jorge Castle, from where you may view Bairro Alto, which is also an indispensable experience, which Bill and I had done in 2010. It was somewhat of a taxing climb for Bill, but he was always willing to try and had the greatest pleasure when we accomplished something physical together. Although there is a funicular that carries people up the steep hill from the Restauradores region up to Bairro Alto, I decide to hike up the cobble stoned street. To my surprise, although very steep, it is barely a quarter of a mile long. By the time I am up at the “terrace”, clouds have started accumulating, but sun is still shining in the distance and across from the valley. I am delighted to see that there is an outdoors café right on top of the terrace under linden trees. Although there is a very small kitchen area walled off of the terrace, they have a bathroom and they serve Vinho Verde!

Bare trees against the backdrop of gathering clouds on the terrace in Bairro Alto

Volla, this is my first stop up at Bairri Alto for sure. My server is a mixed-racial-appearing handsome young man named Ianick Helder Parvalho Mendes, who is happy to share his name with me. His family was from a small island under Portuguese control near Madeira off the African coast. He came to Portugal when he was 4 years old. He seems to be happy with what he is doing. He helps me get the best table to take in all the beauty the terrace offers, adjusts the outdoors heater, and brings me two fleece blankets along with my wine. I look like an Eskimo, but I am one happy camper…

Covered with fleece blankets against San Jorge Castle across the valley in Bairro Alto

After spending about an hour on the terrace, it starts raining, Ianick and his colleague are fast picking up the blankets that are scattered on the chairs to keep them dry. All customers find refuge under the huge umbrellas protecting several of the tables. It is about time for me to take off and perhaps find a true indoors place to visit and warm up a bit. One place I would like to find is the Café A Brasileria, which was once upon a time a place for all intellectuals of Lisbon, writers, poets, painters among others. After quite a bit of up and down walking, I finally find it after asking locals.

Café a Brasileria, the gathering place of the intellectuals of the last century in Lisbon

Although it has outdoors seating, I would like to see its inside. It is almost a hole in the wall, narrow, but deep. I find seating at the table at the very back of the café. Soup is the only thing I can think of at this point, both because I need warmth and I know there is no bad soup in Portugal. The soup of the day is spinach-bean soup. It turns out to be the regular delicious pureed vegetable soup that I so enjoy enriched with, most likely repurposed-left over, whole spinach leaves and chick peas! It is to die for and hit just the spot. When it comes to paying, I am about to fall off of my chair. This hearty and generous soup cost sonly E2.50!

The entrance door to Do Carmo Church in Largo do Carmo square

Three more days in Lisbon added to my undertraining of this beautiful city and its vicinity. My first time in Lisbon was also my first time in Portugal. Excitement was there, but with no previous understanding of Portugal, most memories slipped away from that visit except those that I cherished with Bill, who was with me when I had visited Lisbon the first time. As the days go by in Lisbon, missing him is more acute, his absence more tangible. I miss how we had shared our impressions of all the vistas in 2010 with deep thoughts and feelings. Sharing experiences with someone loved and trusted has always made the experiences deeper and more memorable for me and he was definitely that one for me last decade. He thought deeply and spoke and wrote eloquently. His use of his mother tongue, English always mesmerized me. My love of languages and admiration of those who use language of their choosing with artistry had found an object of enormous admiration in him.

I wonder how BIll would have described the juncture of the castle, one of seven hills of Lisbon and the ocean in the beautiful words of his mother tongue?

Although I aspire to reach that level of command of English, I know well that being one of Turkish origin, who moved to the USA in her late 30s, now ready to leap to her 60s, I will never be able to reach his level of use of English. Albeit, despite my annual visits to Turkey, with the lack of reading in Turkish, I am subtly but continuously losing my once impeccable command of Turkish, too. Yet I always take refuge in  "Change whatever you can with your best effort, accept with compassion, calm, and embrace whatever you cannot, and be wise enough to know the difference between the two..." This blog is my humble effort to do my best to change, hopefully, and possibly what I desire to change...

Colorful, sweet, tasteful, tasty Portugal...

 

 

 

LISBON PORTUGAL - 2 - INTERNATIONAL STREET BAND IN SINTRA

After an unforgettable afternoon at the Moorish Castle, I savor every moment of descending into Stirna downtown. With vistas of the Stirna plains extending all the way to the ocean, the doors and windows and the walls of buildings and churches that stood against time through centuries some millennia...

The façade of a beautiful architecture, despite its age, elegance is still there

When I get to the central square, I find a tiny corner bar with outdoors seating. I love the wooden stool I perch on with the sense of safety my back that touches the wall of the bar emanates. Right across from the bar is a group of three young men and a woman along with an elderly man. They are sitting under a tree and on the cobble stoned square floor carelessly...  All seem to be off the rat race with a hippie-ish touch including the older man. One of them is playing a very long blow-instrument that makes a sound much bolder than that of an oboe. However, as, who turns out to be Scott plays the instrument, it almost sounds like a small orchestra is playing. I am so intrigued with the instrument, I can’t wait to finish my delicious Vinho Verde to approach them to learn more about them and this instrument.

Sintra square hosting an ad hoc street band

I learn the names of two of the musicians: The instrument Scott is playing is called “didjeridoo”. Its origins go back to Australian Aboriginals. Scott  explains to me that the indigenous Australians let termites eat through the pulp of this particular tree, then “burn” it so that the hollow lumen becomes smooth. Finally, they attach three pieces of different caliber in this telescope style. Scott, moves these pieces to set the key, and blows into the pipe to create the harmonious sounds I have been enjoying. “Who travels not who reads more knows more ” is very apt for this situation!

Alejandro playing a lovely tune on his accordion

Alejandro, who is from France plays the accordion, I enjoy his music for a while when Scott is resting. The only female in the group is also from France, but I miss her name. Alex is from Portugal and is just hanging out just like the female. I watch her rolling a cigarette with what seems to be tobacco out of a pouch. I hope it was just tobacco. Had my daughter been here, I know she would have found her seat next to them with her drum. My coins join the rest of theirs they have been collecting in the didjeridoo case as I wish them all well on my way back to the train station.

 Alex and the French beauty hanging out                                                                         This time I take a different route, which gives me a glimpse of what this town looks like behind the façade trimmed well for the eyes of the tourists. On the off-the-beaten-path streets of town, I see multiple old mansions that are falling apart, windows and doors broken, exterior deteriorating, roofs in shambles… I hope they preserve these once must-have-been lovely buildings. As I walk through more modest neighborhood streets I come across working class people fixing up more modest homes on streets of the maze of Sintra.

Away from tourist eyes, the other Sintra

Finally I find myself on a street behind the train station, where I get a huge mango and citrus for the duration of my stay in Portugal since I cannot survive without fruit. Citrus fruit turns out to be the most delicious and juicy I have had for a long long time. When I am back on the train, I feel a serene fulfillment of visiting history, connecting with people, learning more about Portuguese culture. Although initially, I was planning to go to a Fado place in the evening, I decide against it as I approach Lisbon. I would like to savor the day instead, and leave Fado to my next visit following a very wise friend’s recommendation: Always leave something unexplored to come back to...

I might come back to visit the National Palace in Sintra