Turkey's Independence Day

Yesterday morning I was lounging around in my pajamas when I heard music from a marching band waft up to my apartment. I threw on some clothes and ran a brush through my hair only to get to the bottom of the hill to find everything was normal. The marching band was gone.

This evening I tried out a new Internet cafe that faced one of the main shopping streets from the second floor. Looking around the joint, I decided to sit at a computer next to the window, as I love looking at people when they don't know they're being looked at. (Don't we all? This activity used to be a favorite of mine when I was in college. My best friend and I lived in the dorms above the cafeteria and would spy on the everyone as they came to dinner or lunch.) Less than an hour of dinking around on the Internet had passed when I heard the same music from the previous morning. The whole cafe crowded around my window as I fumbled to get my camera out of my purse. It was a small parade, consisting of about 50 to 75 people walking behind the band waving sparklers and Turkish flags of all sizes. I couldn't get a picture from there, so I ended my Internet activites and headed for the park in the center of town. I got there just in time for the last speech under that statue of Ataturk. It's just as well I missed the speeches for two reasons: they weren't amplified at all making it difficult to hear with all the passing traffic and I wouldn't have been able to understand them anyway. The excitement began right after that and only lasted about 10 minutes. (Notice the statue of Ataturk on the left.)





One guy who had an enourmous flag also had enormous red sparklers and shot a couple of them off in which people clapped and cheered wildly. Some people began to leave at this point (the crowd was now about 100 to 150 people). I didn't want to leave just yet, so I pressed a little closer and noticed a group of people jumping in unison, much like people jump when jumping rope. They started pushing people back so they could form a line which eventually grew into a circle. An older man ran around the center of the circle singing and playing the kemenche, a small stringed instument played with a bow, much like the viol back in the Renaissance, except that you don't have to sit to play. Sometimes the kemenche is called the Turkish Violin. Check out this website to see what it looks like: http://www.kemence.com/eng/tarih.htm

I could barely hear the instrument and failed to get a picture of the guy playing it because for some reason, my camera takes a picture a full 5 seconds after you push the button. Ah well.



Enormous flag and sparkle man dazzled the crowd once more with his huge red firework by lighting it in the middle of the crowd, which you can sort of see in this blury picture here.

There didn't seem to be much else happening, so I went to another Internet cafe. Half an hour later I heard drumming and the loudest clarinet ever! Why was I sitting in front of a computer? I ran back outside only to find the park not every excititng. Then I heard a crowd cheering somewhere to the east, so I followed the sound for about a block. People were crowding around to see something, what I wasn't quite sure, but they were hanging off balconies and waving their flags frantically. As I let myself be swallowed by the mass of people, I could make out a small stage decorated with red and white balloons. Pretty soon a man playing the baglama (bah-la-ma, this website's namesake) began playing, and my heart nearly melted. I love this instrument! A few of the people around me began to sing and dance along. A zurna (the loud clarinet I heard earlier) and a drum soon joined the baglama player, but the crowd grew restless. I was completely fascinated with what was happening on stage; I love Turkish folk music.

What's the zurna like? I hear you asking. It is not exactly like the clarinet commonly found in Europe and the States. It's a double-reeded instrument with no keys with a bright, clear sound, a bit like the oboe. The way the guy played made me think of the bagpipes because I didn't hear a break for breath once. Sometimes it sounded like two zurnas were playing, but my friend who showed told me that indeed it was just one. Oh! my friend!



(The sign behind the guys says "Municipality of Trabzon Independence Night"

As I was listening to this music, I thought to myself, "I wish there was someone here who could explain what was going on." I sometimes think there is a magic fairy that follows me around and grants certain wishes that I have, because not 10 minutes later I heard someone calling my name from behind.

"Nicole!" yelled a male Turkish accent. I love the way Turks say my name. Americans skip over the first syllable and draw out the second in the back of the mouth, 'nih-coal', while Germans make the first syllable longer, 'nee-cole'. The Turks say it staccatto like, shortening the second syllable barely pronouncing the 'l', like 'nee-coh(l)!' But I digress.

I turned to my left and saw a guy who clearly knew me, but I couldn't place him. He didn't speak English to me, so he wasn't one of my students. 'Who is this guy?' I thought. Aha! He's one of the guys from the laundromat! There are about five of them who run the joint, and for about $5 I can get a load of laundry washed, dried, and ironed (even my underwear!). Two nights ago they asked me if I could help them with a new edition of their brochure. They want to have it available in four languages to drop off at the tourism office: German, French, English, and Turkish. Would I help them with the English version? they asked me. I admitted that my Turkish is not great, but I would do my best. I thought I might be able to do the German for them as well, but after trying to talk with my aunt in Germany and having one hell of a time thinking in German, I don't think I'll be able to do that. Muti, as he is called, explained to me that the people were really here to see some other famous musician, which explained the crowd's restlessnes. They began booing the zurna player, who was alone now. Eventually he got off stage and a woman said a bunch of stuff in Turkish. After she stopped talking, the crowd cheered wildly, and huge stage sparklers went off. Check it out the balloons.





I thought the balloons would catch fire! They didn't though, they just popped. The guy who came on stage was Volkan Konak, a guy who has several hits right now. I hear him all the time when I go to the Internet cafe (appropriately named) Konak. For the 45 minutes that I stayed there, I recognized three songs. If you want to hear his songs, click here to find his MP3s. http://www.turkishsongs.net/artist.asp?artist=418 (You have to register.) His song Dido is one that I recognize. Muti was very cool to have around, because every so often some guys would come pushing their way through, and Muti would tell them to be more polite. He also would help me find a closer space when one opened up so I could get a better view. At one point I was stuck behind some super tall guys and Muti convinced them to let me stand in front of them.

Unbeknownst to me, there was also a Trabzonspor soccer game that night. (Trabzonspor is the local football team who recently won the Turkish Cup or something like that and is currently the best soccer team in the country) At one point the Trabzonspor flag made it's way around the crowd. It was enormous! People passed it spread out above the crowd, trapping body heat and smoke where ever it went. They were celebrating the victory of creaming the Diyabakirspor team, 4 to 1. (Diyabakir is in southeastern Turkey.)



It passed over us twice. That's what this blurry image is about. It was really hot under that thing. Phew!

Soon after the crowd started getting more rowdy and I'd had enough. Muti walked me out of the crowd and towards my way home. I showed him the general direction of the school and he said he would be an advertiser, sending every one there instead of the other three English schools in town. He also told me he would find a baglama teacher for me! Oooo, how exciting! He hopped in a dolmush and I climbed my way up the hill, satisfied that I had had an eventful night.