Istanbul V.04 ro/eng

September 30, 2013  •  Leave a Comment


Deja indragostit, intr-un Babilon actual, Zamfir ne-a dus mai departe de Fatih, acolo unde se grupeza expatriatii Istanbului, dornici de integrare, desi mai mult traditionalisti in restarantul segregat. Rafinament gastronomic si un regal al papilelor gustative !

A patra oara la Istanbulul, trezeste aceleasi simturi amortite prin toti porii. Taksim.

Zgomotul, vine de la comertul stradal foarte vocal in Istanbul, de la muzicantii de pe Isticklal sau vreun spectacol organizat ad-hoc cu muzici, cantat si dansuri, forfota vietii, sau imamii coordonati la cateva secunde, din toate partile orasului.

Separarea mirosurilor devine sarcina grea: intre peste proaspat si canalizare deschisa, narghilea dulce si carne de oaie, e nevoie de un stomac batatorit; mestec sendvicuri cu mate prajite si condimentate langa ligheanul cu peste pe gheata, ceaunul in care se prajesc scoici, sau scoici cu orez cu 1 lira bucata intr-o servire plina de emfaza in mijlocul strazii.

Ca si cum pana atunci am trait doar alb-negru, un batran umfla baloane colorate. unul cate unul tacticos, de placere sau cu vreun folos, le agata de o sfoara si le da drumul in apa. Soarele puternic le face si mai colorate fata de albastrul cerului si al apei, e rost de impuscaturi.

NATO, crucisatoare pe Bosfor, mai aproape sunt pusti si baloane.

In aceeasi zi pe malul marii,  in cautarea unei beri, e un soare cald, si valuri care se zbat de faleza. Baruri incognito si terase improvizate cu sanse mari de bere in butoaie ascunse. Un arheolog roman, stie tot sau mai mult decat am fi putut intreba.


Already in love, in a modern day Babylon, Zamfir took us further then Fatih, where the expats of Istanbul gather wishing for integration, although there are more traditionalist people in the segregated restaurant. Exquisite gastronomy and a celebration of the taste!

Fourth time in Istanbul and still the same sleeping senses are being stirred through all your pores. Taksim. The noise comes from the street merchants, who are very loud in Istanbul, the musicians from Isticklal or some ad-hoc show with music, singing and dancing, the city life or the seconds coordinated imams in every corner of the city.

The distinction between smells is hard work: fresh fish and sewers, sweet hookah and raw sheep meat requires a strong stomach. I chew a spicy fried tripe sandwich next to the bowl of fish on ice or the cauldron where the clams are being fried or I eat clams with rice that cost 1 Turkish Lira a dish, served gracefully in the middle of the street.

As if by now I have lived in a black and white world, an old man is pumping air into coloured balloons, for his own fun or with another purpose, he ties them with a string and throws them into the water. The noon day sun makes them even more colorful in the blue water and sky and there goes some shooting.

NATO, battlecruisers in the Bosporus and even closer there are rifles and balloons.

Same day, on the beach, searching for a beer, warm sun and waves crushing on the embankment. Incognito bars and improvised terraces with a high chance of hidden beer kegs. A Romanian archaeologist knows everything or even more then we could ask.



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