Thousand and one coffee cups of Istanbul

My tired tourist legs are complaining, they want to be on a bed, not to hang off from a pink hard wooden chair, but I promised them it is worth it. I take the first sip of Turkish coffee just brought to me by young woman dressed in pink. Crap! It’s sweet. I like my coffee bitter, no sugar, but the lady gave me the one destined for my friend, who has a sweet tooth. I hope that will not have a consequence on the actual purpose of this coffee.

Obviously this is not an ordinary coffee hence I have to be outside my comfort zone when I drink it. We both suffer in our way while drinking it and hope that fortune telling “Turkish style” is worth the pain.

I look at the pink walls around me; they are supposed to give you the feeling of happiness and reassurance. After all that is why the women around me are here. The coffee cup is the clue to glimpsing ones future, you only need to drink the black liquid (that was not prepared according to taste in my and my friends case) and reveal the secrets of future.

My Western mentality expects to see the place full of uneducated lower class old ladies full of superstitions. There is a couple of that sort, is true. But the place is packed, all three floors of it. Sever fortune tellers are working hard to reduce weighting time to under an hour. So, who are all these women who wait holding their coffee cups upside-down?

I look around and I see almost no headscarves. Loose hair women of all ages, well dressed, and some quite sophisticated are discussing about what they expect the fortune teller to see in their coffee cups. Most of them wish that the coffee remains on the cup will reveal a man’s love, marriage, children. Mothers come with their daughters to ensure the boyfriend will marry the girl, friends come to support each other, big groups of friends come for a laugh but secretly hope for good news.

Turkey is not that different than the rest of the world. Definitely not much different than the rest of the EU. People always want to know their future, women always hope for a good man. The only difference with the EU is that western coffee stains less … which makes it difficult for the fortune teller to read the signs.

In the ladies-only coffee shop I feel I am faking it. I am not there because I want to know my fortune, but to look at the people who do.

Above the clouds

I have entered digital age. I am blogging while sitting in the airplane looking at some white fluffy clouds. I have finished my presentation for the next conference and I am enjoying my flight (with my legs against the back of the person in front of me due to lack of flight space).

I gather I am the only technologically advanced person on the flight. Go me! I can be isolated from the rest of the passengers more successfully that before. My bliss lasts until the person in front decides to have a nap and put his sit in the resting position. Then I will either have to accept having the laptop digging into my vulnerable intestines or I will have to start communicating with the fellow passenger.

Disaster!

I always need a mental and physical buffer zone between me and other passengers, especially when the plane is on a flight to Greece. The demographics on the plane vary depending on the time period. Two weeks before Christmas and the end of June students are in season, just before Christmas young Greek professionals populate the plane and all the rest of the time it the average Greek tourist dominates with his presence not only the plane but also the airport. The first thing you notice at this unfortunate period (alas I am going through it now) is the level of noise. Greeks (yes okay and Italians) are much more noisy than other Europeans. Secondly, there are no queues; just a random mob trying to avoid any order. The most striking thing for airport stuff is that all passengers in a flight to Greece happen to have tickets for the seats that are called to board first. Magic I would say.

I can be accused of being against my own people. That would not be entirely wrong. But it would not be entirely correct either. Being away for so long I have developed a very romantic and ideal perception of Greeks and the country. And now wherever I go, wherever I see it Greece hurts me.

Here I admitted it, the great behavioralist and rational choice front line fighter has a romantic soft spot for the homeland.

You can shoot me now!

Hair: Lost in Translation

I chose yet again to be a sacrifice for education, of course not for any kind of higher morality push, but merely due to the attractive £4.50 student friendly price of the haircut. Last time it worked fine I though... so happy jumpy smiley I walked down the road of vanity and reached the crazy school of hair care.

My experience there before made me believe that there is a whole science behind the way they cut your hair. I bet it is… But in every science there are different approaches one can take to reach the desired outcome. That’s assuming that the desired outcome is the same for everyone. For example, my desired outcome was to have descent hair, without white parts in it and no split ends. Plain desires you would think… I should put more art and colour in my life (or on my head) you would think… but would you tell me that? Well they did.

(His Excellency) The Hair Master described with vivid words and expressive movements his creative vision of my humble hair. I was convinced. What he proposed surely was out of the ordinary but still acceptable for little plain me. Yes yes I know. He should be a politician… but I did not tell him that. I think he would find life around the parliament lacking passionate hairstyles.

So H.E the Hair Master brought in his minions to perform the task. They are supposed to learn you see, my dear blog. That was the reason of my presence there after all. Help education in every shape or form, or so I keep telling myself… not the money! H.E. was German. His minions were from Japan and Italy. How Second World War of him! So in this Axis meeting he explained to the Japanese minion (who was way beyond retirement age where I come from… but then again the new pension’s law has not passed yet) all about his vision of my hair.

And here is the root of the problem. Execution. The Japanese minion could not speak English.. nor German! His Excellency could not communicate in Japanese, but he believed he could… as I was informed by the translator that H.E. the Hair Master in his attempt to say: “I like your work” he said “I want to sleep with a squid”.

Can you imagine the result of this on my head, my dear blog?

Simply lost in translation…

A traveller's life

Just before enjoying the fruits of my efforts I feel the wind of restlessness coming my way again. I just wonder when it will touch me... I know it is close.

"a traveller's life is one that includes much pain amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are forever on the stretch; and when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties."

Frankenstein, Mary Shelley

Politics of Suicide

Lately Goethe entered my life and provides a critique that makes reality hilarious.

The Sorrows of young Werther, Goethe’s first widely read novel, ended with the suicide of poor emotional Werther, and caused the suicide of at least 2,000 of its readers. Now that is what I call success.
Goethe, of course, was not very pleased (he was losing devoted readers) and neither were the authorities that had to collect all these bodies of successful Werther wannabes, and to try to reduce this Werther fever. That was Germany in the late 1700s.

A new Werther Fever outbreak has occurred in Greece of 2008. This time the suicides were unsuccessful. A wave of unsuccessful suicides, this time not inspired from a book on unfulfilled love but from a DVD on fulfilled passions. I rather not go into detail, especially because the corrupt politician starring in it is fat and naked.

The scandal involved sex, money, and little favours. The media focused like always to the one that sells the most.

These right wing government officials unsuccessfully tried to take their shame to a different world, since this one would not vote for them again despite the entertainment value of their unlawful deeds. Maybe they can go govern in one of the seven circles of hell. I am not saying they are evil and have to go to hell. It is just that heaven is a divine monarchy. Hell is much more democratic, pluralistic and has catch-all parties! Thus corrupt politicians stand a chance of winning the hellish elections.

However they failed to succeed. Or, since life is the highest of all commodities, they succeeded by failing.

The question remains though, since they were incompetent to even kill themselves effectively… what does this tell us about the effectiveness of the right-wing government that chooses such incompetent people for important positions?

Gordon Brown presents: McEdu

Forget about the PhD... I will go do a Diploma in flipping burgers!

Life tailored education, that is what I need. A multinational corporation to give me values and skills for life.
Gordon Brown once again has shown his concern for his people. He finds the best solutions for every problem. He even creates more future problems so the next generation politicians do not lose their job because their position is made redundant.

Everybody needs education more or less in the same way everybody needs food. The quality and long term implications are not important. First fill yourself up with whatever you can get hold of and face the consequences later.

So here it comes, McEdu in several variations. McAs (A-levels) and McDiplo (Diplomas).

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/7209276.stm

Miss Haversham and the semantics explanation to spinsterhood

My flatmate pointed out to me that the house is cursed.

The core of the curse lies in the power of words. Apparently the name of the road we live in has cast its weird magic on us. But the spirit of the road (assuming it has its own spirit) can’t spell. Not all road spirits are literate you see, and this one that is, got a really low mark in spelling. So instead of the curvy letter C that gives a certain femininity, and puts the seeds of great expectations being the letter starting Cupid, the road spirit spelled our address with H. Harsh lines implying the unimaginative emotionless stability of a building and one and only –though unwanted- connotation without great expectations. Miss Haversham.

Changing the C into an H makes the tenants into Miss Havershams and that is the reason of their love misfortunes.

Miss Haversham’s curse complicates relations to the opposite sex. We have not yet found out how exactly this happens or which of Miss Haversham’s attributes do we inherit as time goes by, but at least we know the root of evil.

And there are only two ways to solve it. We either move out of this road, or we teach the road spirit how to spell.

I have already bought a dictionary and a “Spelling for dummies” book. Never give up!! I have taught worse things in the past. You cannot convince me that teaching theories of voting behaviour to hormonal English 19-year olds is easier than teaching a road spirit how to spell!