Selanik-Salonica-Thessaloniki

After I missed dinner at the Capsis Hotel, putting my parents to bed and sending off various e-mails for deadlines, I got one of the Greek girls, whose twin, I later discovered, was hovering about the place as well (I've got the imprreshaun, I'm just a cawpy) got me a cab, and it took even her to explain where the taxi driver was to take me a couple of minutes. The place turned out to be one of a pair of communist blocks- in one of them was the concierge who took me to my own building, which had a sort of porters lodge with pigeonholes and a green steering- phone device of some sort which looked like it had seen the days of Stalin, and upon which various icons of Maria, Dimitrios and Child Jesus were selotaped. From the main building came some alternative rock music sounds but I was too dead to engage in the social life of the Esties.

After passing a couple of pairs playing table tennis in the spacious entrance hall (one of the elements of the communist look), I took a lift to my floor, reminiscent of the high-rise Heidelberg student accomodations and I entered my room happy to find there was a washbasin in international student-room style, though tilted it was and leaking, just like the radiator. The green curtain had got loose in parts and it was not wide enough to cover the windows anyway. The window gave onto the upper part of the hill with some more buildings Kuşadası style, and then the green summit of the hill. I went to the window at the end of the hall, to discover a nice view of the town, albeit none of the sea itself. I then ventured onto the loo to find that the floor was of that hideous (mock?) grey-blue marble which I thought was particular to Turkish public toilets (which the Turks have, thank God, given up almost completely, but it remains my childhood nightmare still). I shall not get into the nitty gritty, but it was not pleasant, let's put it that way. I then got out of the toilet using, it turns out, the wrong exit. For the toilets had two doors on either side opening onto the two adjescent wings of the building. I got in and got out, had a Matrix moment, and then found my way back to my room and then slept like a log (after connecting to the wireless for a fleeting second actually)

After attending a conference session where two Turks were speaking- rather intelligently for that matter, one about Rushdie and one about Moris Fahri, someone I really must get my teeth in (he has a blurb on the Mazower book) I met my parents of Egnatia, and we walked to the sea front, not much of a sight due to the haze. After inquiring after the Friday prayer to a few random Turks we bumped into, discovering there was no mosque, and me learning that Greece was the only European country that did not have a functioning mosque in its capital, we were in time for the prayer at the Rotunda, where my father prayed sitting by the Ottoman fountain, and me, in the shade of the minaret, looking onto the Byzantine ruins. We also discovered Ottoman tombs in the garden, and the minbar of the mosque lying on the ground under the newly blossoming peach trees. From there, we walked upto Atatürk's house, like excommunicated Catholics to the Vatican. I then set out for my conference, missed the free lunch, had spinach böreks at a nearby cafe and then entered the next session: translation as cannabalism, abjection as negating all that does belong to one's body, and immigrants being baptized in to Orthodoxy and assuming Greek names.

Hovering around and above these sessions was one of the organizers who then turned out to be named Dionysos, you get the picture. The euphemism is, I think statuesque, rather big is the colloqial adjective. He was the perfect chimera- dark curly hair and very thick glasses, reminiscent of this Jewish-butcher acquaintance of mine, and yet at the same time fitting into the stereotype of the rather large Orthodox monk engrained in Turkish cultural memory. And of course, Salonica being what it is, he can well be both.

After that session I went to Venizelos' statue where my parents had started to hang out and then we took a cab to the Yedi Kule (Seven Towers), named after the seven towers prison in Istanbul, however, possessing only one tower. The driver turned out to be from a family from Istanbul islands and to prove his lineage he gave us a saying in Turkish "Gavur yan yan yürüyor, bir de kendini beğeniyor" (The non-muslim/heathen is walking side ways, and yet he likes himself) I wondered whether he actually knew what it meant, I guessed this was what his grandfather must have been confronted with often, to have the sentence be passed on in the family.

The tower was closed, and we walked down to the ramparts where we enjoyed really nice views of the city, mistaking Panorama for Olympos mountain. Then we walked down to the town through a circutous way, through the old Ottoman quarter and typical Ottoman houses. I caught the last half of the modern dance and started talking to a Romanian lady, ended up having dinner at the same table, biber dolma (I asked for yogurt but they didn't have any) and for desert helva and wonderful kadayıf with Greek syrup and cinnamon.

On the way back the Polish woman who had been eyeing me mustered up the courage to ask me if she had to wear a headscarf should she visit Turkey. I was too tired to retort with "So tell me, do I have to wear a two centimeters skirt like the one you are wearing when I come to Poland?" and just asked "Whatever gave you that idea?" She said, "No it's just that I have never been to an Islamic country".
"I'm sorry" I said "to have dispelled the myth. You wanted me to say, yes, didn't you, you actually wanted to be forced to wear one, now you're all upset because you won't have to buy a beautiful scarf and wear it". The Romanian lady laughed and told me I shouldn't shatter people's prejudices and expectations just like that. We were both very mean :-)