Memory Soup

I remember a story about porters on an African safari who balked and refused to continue after a few days of frenetic transport at their European client’s bidding.  They said their souls had to catch up with their bodies.  I can relate.

I’m in Istanbul, eating breakfast on the terrace overlooking the Bosphorus, and staring straight at the Blue Mosque up the hill.  A few clouds cutting the sun (so I can see the screen), tone the breeze from hot to balmy.  It is heaven.  I’m at the Sari Konak Oteli.in Sultanahmet.  We stayed here for 9 days in 2004.  It was delightful then, and has since added a new wing and spiffed itself into a lovely boutique hotel.. Seagulls’ raucous shrieking chatter dominates conversations on the gentrified rooftops of old Stambol, except when freight ships plodding up the strait bellow a bass blast of the horn.  If I’m still up here at about 9:30, the discourse will be added to by the adhan from the Blue Mosque.  At the 5 daily prayer times, competing (or orchestrated?) adhans reverberate off the water and hills of the city, as if in call and response to each other. I have not heard such a symphony in other Muslim cities.  Istanbul seems more polished than six years ago, probably a combination of Turkey’s strong economy, the sparkling weather, and the contrast with where I’ve been.  I will enjoy both the new metro and new contemporary art museum today.  I could live in Istanbul.  

The visit to Israel is hard to write about, partly because I was traveling with Jim and didn’t have solitude and space, but also because it is a tense and conflicted place.  Visiting Bethlehem and the West Bank was the most moving part of the trip, but I haven’t sorted out how to write about it yet.  From Akko, we took the 1 ½ hour train along the sea to Tel Aviv.  We stayed in Art + Hotel on Ben Yehuda at Bograshov in Center City. I’d found it on Trip Advisor..a small, wonderfully located hotel, that celebrates about 8 young artists of Tel Aviv.  Each floor features one of them, from the hallways to works inside the room.  The place is very hip and minimalist.  Text on the wall in the room says “sweet dreams”, “looking good” is etched into the bathroom mirror.  The rooms are small, but very functional and attractive.  A sumptuous breakfast and day’s end happy hour are laid out on the community table in the Library, whose shelves are loaded with art books.  It is an amusing place to stay, organized around engaging with each other -- a great lodging concept.

I find that traveling warps and conflates time and memory.  Tel Aviv was hot, but we walked a lot.  In a city of unique neighborhoods…a huge curving corniche of Mediterranean beach is just another one or six.  Neve Tsedek reminded us of Miraflores in Lima, various parts of the center city reminded us of Prenzlr'berg in Berlin, Greenwich Village in New York, and a Bauhaus vs Art Deco South Beach…  Jaffa was charming, and we caught its Saturday flea market -- which is impressive and popular with locals, but full of other peoples’ junk. I'd love to have access to it as a source of found materials for projects. Jaffa is an active artist community, and its public infrastructure -- plazas, sidewalks, etc. are beautifully done.  It didn’t have the ancient, everyday charm of old Akko -- too reconstructed, with many visitors and their busses, but it didn’t feel like a tourist trap. It's port was colorfully picturesque -- no luxury craft a la Larry Ellison, just old fishing and working boats. I had some robust conversations with artists manning their coop shops in the limestone structures climbing the hills from the water.

I had a 6:15am flight from Ben Gurion airport, so saw evidence of Tel Aviv’s 24/7 character when I walked outside at 3:15am.  I couldn’t believe how full the streets were!  It was Friday night Shabbat, and at 7pm, we’d roamed the area for a restaurant open for dinner-- about ¾ of all establishments were closed.  People were drifting home from the beach, the city was shutting down.  Jerusalem had been tomb-like on the Friday night we arrived (although we weren’t out at 3am), and I assumed Tel Aviv would be the same.  Who would have considered planning for a sobriety check and traffic jam on an airport run in the middle of the night?

I was delighted by the non-amplified nature of the beach.  Walking by 70 yards away, one could hear the slaps of paddle tennis from the water’s edge.  I appreciated, too, the plastic recycle cages - wire cubes the size of a minivan for the chucking of empty bottles.  On the surface, Tel Aviv has a fun young, lively, vibe, but I was disappointed by the brusque rudeness of the locals.  We took a short city bus ride to Jaffa, and the middle aged man behind us just pushed ahead of us to get off.  I reminded me of the old ladies in Manhattan -- I learned early to be wary of their elbows entering and leaving public transport and grocery stores.  I did not find the soul of Jerusalem or the West Bank in Tel Aviv.  Bicycles and electric scooters compete for sidewalk space -- strolling is not peaceful.  Jim called it a narcissistic place -  I saw it as a glorified shopping mall, mirroring the consumerist, self-absorbed ills of our US culture.

I was underwhelmed with the Tel Aviv Contemporary Art Museum. Visiting the art galleries in center city was enjoyable, although there was a lot of poor art -- we all make a lot of it in search of the good stuff, and some of my favorite pieces were from an exhibition of young New York artists.  Tel Aviv and I didn't get under each other's skin.  I would need to dig deeper to feel I knew it.