First Impressions

I am riding the metro into Istanbul's heart. The man next to me mutters to himself, occasionally glancing up from his droopy state to look at the foreigner with his large, red backpack. Having initially ignored him, my ears perk up when a lady sits down on the other side of this man. She asks him a question. He replies, "Turk". He gestures to reciprocate the query."Iran", she says. "Sunni?" "Shi'ite", she corrects. "You?" "Sunni" he says nonchalantly. But quickly they come to the agreeable conclusion that "Sunni, Shi'ite, all the same". I certainly don't speak Turkish, but this conversation is quotidian, the conclusion agreed upon all over the States. Yet to hear two Muslims say this is novel, notable, an indication of a desire for peace, at least within Islam. Outside we pass the ancient walls of Byzantium and the ubiquitous minaret reminds me of history's march.

"Really?" I blurt out. "You can hear it up here?" It is the call to prayer, and I turn to spot a minaret extending its phallic form above the trees and ski resorts. I'm trekking Mount Uladag, elevation 2,543 m (8,343 ft). Ancient Greeks believed the gods chose to dwell on the peak for the striking views of the Trojan War. If that's true, they must have come in more than the traditional toga since it is freezing on this ridge! The wind comes up from the valleys and sweeps along the backside up to the summit. I am wrapped in a fleece jacket and windbreaker, but I am not happy. An abandoned building at the peak is frosted over with ice crystals, splayed in every direction that the wind takes upon impact with the wall. I look to the west and the Sea of Marmara is visible through the smog that covers the Bursa region. The industrial city was once worse, I am told, but it still inhibits my view significantly. To the north tucked invisibly behind a mountain ride is Iznik, the modern city that once was Nicaea. There, in 325 AD leading ecumenical figures canonized the books that together compose our modern New Testament. And I am getting off this mountain before my hands break off from the cold.

Tonight Bursa is the political center of the country. The prime minister of Armenia is visiting, reciprocating the visit of the Turkish president to the former's capital, Yerevan. 'Football diplomacy' is the coined term for this tentative opening of negotiations between the historical enemies. For the past twenty or so years Turkey has kept a closed border with its neighbor, severing all political ties ostensibly in support of Azerbaijan's claim to a small strip of land that Armenia has managed to control militarily. But the history goes much further back, to the massacres of the early 20th c. Perpetuated by both sides, the Turks claim to have lost around 25,000 to roving Armenian militias while the Armenians spade that with a death toll of anywhere from 600,000 to 1.5 million. A gruesome tragedy, closure was never brought to the situation, the West's fault initially as the great powers dreamed of partitioning what is today the modern state of Turkey. Now, for Turkey to admit any wrongdoing would theoretically give credence to irredentist Armenians. International politics is an awfully squalid affair. Turkey wins the match 2-0. Nationalist Turks have slapped the Turkish and Azerbaijani flags on stickers, covering streetlight poles and walls with this symbol, the impetus a convoluted mess of nationalism, paranoia, xenophobia and innocuous love for their country's football team.

My home is approximately three miles west of the stadium. The area is called Chekirgae and is known as a more wealthy part of the city. I have a fantastic view of the urban area, industrial centers puffing out pollution on the far side of the valley while minarets poke up through the apartment roofs. In fact, only a hundred yards from my flat a newly constructed mosque fills the sky with two pristine minarets. My roommates and I discuss life on the balcony, cigarette smoke curling in the breeze. It is difficult to carry on conversation when the call to prayer rings out. One must cup the ears in order to hear what the other is saying. I know what you are thinking: He is obsessed with minarets. This may be true at the moment. As I mentioned previously, they are everywhere I go, and I hear the call at least three times every day. It is the most striking characteristic of my new life in a muslim country. I look forward to sharing the experiences of my time here with you and hope to hear your impressions of the life I describe. As I write this sentence the afternoon call to prayer rings out.