To Love London and Cherish Bursa

Here is what to love about traveling in a cosmopolitan city as such London is: Relishing an Ethiopian meal for the first time one afternoon and the next, pondering Churchill's support for continuing colonization in India at the WWII Cabinet War Rooms, a block down from 10 Downing Street (Britain's White House). It is quite foreign, how Ethiopians eat their meal. A large, circular, communal dish is brought out, eighteen inches in diameter, completely covered with a light brown, sourdough bread that appears to be a thin pancake. Covering the dense bread are spicy sauces over meat. Brought out separately are rolls of the sourdough bread, and taking care to use the clean, right hand rather than the dirty left, rip the bread and like pincers, grasp the saucy meat and place in mouth, specifically, your own mouth. Spicy, no utensils, and time-consuming, it affords a pleasant way to spend time with friends, which Uncle Mike and I did with Laila and Anna Grinberga, two friends of mine from Latvia. Truly enjoyable, thanks for the suggestion:)

To complete the second half of my thought, the next afternoon UM and I are off to the War Rooms, the location from which Churchill discussed military strategy with commanders, where he broadcasted to Londoners during the Battle of Britain, where the Nazi's top-secret messages were deciphered, and now largely dedicated to Churchill. The funding for the museum must have been immense because the layout was exquisite and it truly was meant to be educational. Every learning style was accounted for: Winston's speeches for the auditory, pictures, videos, and political cartoons for the visual, easy cyphers for the interactive, and quirky gadgets that one needed to move or reposition for the tactile. It was fantastic, and I was left marveling and exhausted because I was continually compelled to go on to the next exhibition, unable to absorb more, but still fascinated. If you go to London, don't miss learning abundantly in a very enjoyable manner.

And off to Turkey I went, the transition made from West to East, the Occidental to the Orient:

• My gratitude goes to the auto operators of London and one particular Turkish driver for not running me over when given the opportunity, since I frequently looked the wrong way before crossing in England, and to the Turk who, turning into the narrow alleyway I was on, stopped before ramming me. It was a large, black Chevy Blazer too, and the real surprise was when I walked by and observed that the driver was about eleven years old.
• At the London School of Economics (LSE), a potential place of study for me, where I had the pleasant opportunity to hear Paul Collier, a renowned expert on international development, lecture on the effect China will have in Africa through investment. Very exciting and and very cosmopolitan, UM and I got to discussing the safety of visiting Lebanon, whereupon I turned to the adjacent LSE student, an attractive Lebanese girl, and asked her, "Is it safe to visit Lebanon?" "Yes it is." "Even the South, with all the Shi'ites and Hezbollah there?" "Yes, most definitely, the news media makes everything sound so dangerous there, but it is perfectly safe." I shoot UM a told-you-so look (feel free to post any rebuttals:). That evening I board the plane to Turkey, reading about their paradigm-shifting referendum in "The Economist", whereupon I had the splendid opportunity to engage the Turkish lady next to me on the merits of the governance change. She is a liberal who doesn't trust the current government and thinks Turkey is on a slippery slope towards Iranian "democracy". She also posited the idea that the Islamic world never had a Renaissance as the West did, something I have heard before but doesn't really click for me. I can conjecture the consequence to be that the separation of church and state was never institutionalized by the leading thinkers of the culture; if any has a different view or idea, please opine.
• Where Churchill seemed omnipresent to UM and I, and I am sure that effect is exceptional save for UM and I, now Ataturk stares at us from corners, pictures on walls, in the post office, and on the metro. He bested Churchill in WWII, became the embodiment of Turkish identity, and is idolized like a totalitarian dictator wishes to be seventy years after his death. Both remarkable, though the Western world has chosen to remember Churchill rather than Mustafa Kemal Ataturk.

The liberals of Turkey today believe that Ataturk's Western values are being undermined by the current, mildly Islamist Prime Minister Tayyip Erdogan, and I think Turks are right to worry. Erdogan is the lynch-pin, and the public does not know whether he is still the radical, anti-American, shariat-loving Muslim of his youth, or the modern, liberalizing democrat that he presents himself to be now, matured and focused on merging into the European Union. He holds his cards close, for there is a 10, Jack, and Queen on the table; will the flush of proper democracy unfold in Turkey's future, or a straight of Iranesque tyranny. Time will tell.

All this my dear friend Akin and I discussed in Bursa over breakfast. Before us Turkish cheeses, piquant tomato paste, olives, an assortment of vegetables, and a foreign butter-like cream that is soaked in honey and nuts spread across the length of the table to compliment the heaping mound of white, thick-sliced bread. Overhead is the most expansive tree I have ever encountered. Six hundred years old, the trunk takes eight persons, arms outstretched, to connect a human chain around while the branches, aided by steel braces, swoop out for thirty or forty yards in every direction. We thoroughly enjoy the meal, at one end of the table the eye-popping tree, at the other Bursa expands down the valley from our mountainside position. Akin, a liberal, non-religious Muslim is fearful of the government. He works as a percussionist in a local bar, where he has observed the tightening of regulations over alcohol consumption and nightlife. Bursa has always maintained a conservative nature through millenia, something this tree has observed through its eventful life, only a sapling when Greek Prusa became Ottoman Bursa in 1396, growing up with their empire till the mid-1700's when its sharp decline began, witnessing the Greek push for a long-lost empire in 1921, overrunning Bursa in a flash, though the ephemeral victory was lost within a year, to today's angst and excitement for the pivotal changes occurring in Turkey. The upheaval of history is disconcerting and current events disturbing, but that tree stands for how life goes on, and our conversation turns to Akin's recent engagement to an American girl, and the mundane complications of obtaining duel-citizenship and green cards...and life goes on.

I begin this post, the first of many on my grand tour, stinking like a worn-out gym shoe. London saw me wear through five days a black long-sleeve shirt with blue jeans, and only that. There will be much joy in reuniting with my long-lost wardrobe in Bursa this evening. Till then I write off the fumes.

The beginning of my trip was not auspicious when upon reaching British customs, supposedly the least of my border worries, I was detained for three hours by an Indian gentleman. Fingerprints, mug shot, a quite comprehensive interrogation ranging from physical scars to my siblings age, bank accounts were opened, and my outgoing flight to Istanbul checked. Finally, after informing me of my singularity and his pleasure at having met me, I was set loose on London.

Imperial defines the home of Arthur, Shakespeare, Elizabeth, Locke, Nelson, Churchill, and a lot of George's and Henry's. For Uncle Mike (UM) and I, Churchill was pervasive in our conversations and took the lion's share of our time there. The pug once said, "A day away from Chartwell is a day wasted," and though I can't heartily agree with him regarding his countryside estate, I dare say a visit is anything but waste. Bucolic views from a rise where his red-brick house is located, the estate surrounding marvelous, designed by Churchill and consequently an extension of himself. Lakes, dams, heavy machinery, his daughter wrily commented that "her childhood was beset by leaky dams." He became a master bricklayer, and even applied to the Union of such trade but was rejected due to a previous anti-union event he had ordered as home minister. Known largely as the statesman who saved Britain, Churchill in his free time managed to produce 200 paintings and more than 50 books including two authoratative accounts of the world wars. "History will be kind to me" Winston said, "for I will write it." Needless to say, UM and I are getting along grandly.

Our first day in the great city was spent resting. A pint at our hostel, and the sack for some hours. A walk along the Thames that night, British pies (pot-pies) at a riverside restaurant, and a flash-tour of St. Paul's, the Millenium Bridge, and the Globe Theatre that left UM sore the next day. London is to blame, for it has that way of chicanery, luring you on further, the next fabulous, the kind you have read about in a book for years, world-famous spectacle just around the bend. And I didn't even see the Palace, British Museum, National Library, the Eye, London Bridge, Harrod's Palace, or the Tower. I did, however, see Shakespeare. The cast of British movie stars did a wonderful job with The Merry Wives of Windsor, and Falstaff was brilliant as he was soiled in a laundry hamper, beaten black and blue by an angry husband, and tricked into sporting antlers in public. A truly splendid affair in the Globe under a clear sky while my fingers went numb. A note of praise for my kindle is in order. As the play started I quickly noticed that I understood approximately 10% of what the characters were saying. Deeply concerned, I quickly flipped on my beloved, searched the online store, and within three minutes had a free copy of The Merry Wives in front of me. It saved my evening.

There is more, but I think this is enough for now. I will post the rest in a couple days!

Love to all.