Sleeping with Rumanians

In the great tradition of listing who one has slept with, along with my predecessors Tracey Emin and a certain Ms. Eker (to quote Emin "it's everyone I have slept with not made love to!!"), I now continue from where I left off- that is the Germans, see entry October 2, 2006 http://nhaliloglu.blogspot.com/2006_10_01_archive.html

I was the one who suggested it. I had just realized that the German girl at the reception desk at the Ibis Hotel had not quite understood how many nights I would be staying (I noticed there were at least 4 Germans in the hotel staff- is there some sort of an Ibis exchange programme?) and so I had had to clear out that morning. Of course I could've headed to Oxford straight, but there were several conversations that had been cut unfinished as it happens at conferences, and I wanted to pick them up, if only for another day. And of course I quite liked Anamaria (I do sincerely hope she will read this at some point, it would mean we're back in touch- sorry about the pun!).
We had met a couple of months ago in Thessaloniki, in fact, when I first saw her she was enquiring after her lost coat in that Woody Allenesque mode of hers, a coat, it turns out, she had bought in Istanbul and which held dear memories, hence the Woody Allenesque insistence on her tone with the hotel staff (who incidentally were quite trying on the nerves) Then one thing led to another and conversations about Lisbon and her friendship with J.P. There we were, friends, though in between she had had a personal crisis and not written to me, there we were, in Northampton Ibis Hotel, me roomless for the night and going up to her and saying "I say, what if we split the cost tonight and share a bed?"

The evening had started with us, a group of conference guests, looking for somewhere to have a drink. "Down town" Northampton was quite small, and each time we made a circuit looking for some place, the number of open establishments were dwindling, and the number of police presence increasing. The fifth time we crossed the town hall one of the officers gave me a strange look and we decided it was time to quit patrolling and sit some place. Indeed, we found a nice pub where my request for a cup of tea was treated as everyday and around 11 we went back to the hotel. By the time we reached the Ibis, which is close to the train station, so not exactly a posh spot, three burly men had taken post at the door. It looked like now we actually had to pass bouncers in order to get into our hotel. They greeted us kindly, asking for nothing, and once we were inside, we saw that the bar was full of blond women and men who looked like they had jumped out of an episode of EastEnders. They did not even see us come in, we quietly took the lift up to our room.

Anamaria fretted over her packing as I eased into bed. Last I heard her voice she was wondering where she should put the bottle of wine she had brought as a present for her friends in Reading. Then, sometime toward 2 o'clock, we were woken up by a fire alarm. A-ha! I thought, same old tactic as in St. Cross to see whether people have taken people into their rooms. I half heartedly put the scarf on, got into the corridor and saw only one other person there, bleary eyed, asking me whether one should go down. We decided against it and went back to bed. Anamaria had not budged. Then a couple of hours later there was shouting and running in the corridor. This time we both got up. I heard police sirens and went to the window. They were causing such flashes and racket that I thought there must at least be a dozen of police cars down there. It had happened. The headquarters of the notorious white women trafficking and drugs syndicate had just been discovered. It was right in the cellars of Ibis Hotel Northampton, this piece of earth, this England....
I then saw a man run across the street and sirens getting louder. I turned back to the room. The racket continued for a while more and then Anamaria told me how the night before the man above her room had paced up and down the whole night. It must have been the spooks who were waiting the right moment to attack, eh?

The rest of the night we slept well and in the morning went to the conference venue. The people with whom I had wanted to continue the conversation had all but left, but we enjoyed the cold Indian food buffet anyway.

Zizek as Closet Ottoman Revivalist

Once again 'the bearded one' is using Turkey as the stick to beat the EU with. Turkey as that lamella (the Ottoman "undead"), if you will, that nags at European consciousness, revealing all the points of contention between European nations.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/story/0,,2197161,00.html

Rediscovering Nasreddin Hodja

Reading Ziauddin Sardar, and the way he juxtaposes Nasreddin with Rumi opened my eyes to the possibility of reading Nasreddin as a sufi philosopher, to whom I believe I am already a disciple, through my mother's stories

One day they told the Hodja that his wife was going around and travelling too much, something not befitting the wife of a hodja. He said "No, that can't be true!", and when asked why he said "She can't be travelling all that much, had that been the case, her route would've her taken her home at some point!"

Hieronymo's mad againe

(upon watching Starter for 10)

what a pointless time to remember

the lesson unread
the sin unwashed
running up and down the stairs
up and down
running noses, in sync
what a useless time to remember

but of course each Ramadan will bring it back to me
each beginning, and each end

mad againe,
for just a while

A Few Days in September

French film about intelligence personnel... very good acting, excessive camera work which is beautiful but pointless, a cross between a 'French' film and a spy thriller, with a baddie who contacts his shrink continuously on the phone, and father figure issues, shared with the two kids.
The two Arab corporate men were also quite good- not au fait with what's going to happen on Sep 11, but being informed by it by a CIA agent (one of them was being played by - I think- an actor from Lost. The fact that he speaks French so well makes me think he's Iranian, again perfetc American casting! Iranians for Iraqis!)
The film also reminded me of the effort of another film I've seen recently, The Stone Merchant, which was trying to place Italy somewhere important on the fight against terror, and this one seems to lift its head up and says, hey, we in France are also involved with these efforts, more or less.