Below is a text of Persephone in Istanbul. I remember for the uninitiated, that Perséf 'here comes skimming occasionally delicate verve.
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Cihangir is my paradise steep. This is the paradise of many people, unfortunately, we know why, take Assimilation Turkish Lesson 32:" Ama Tanrım! Bütün Bogaz ayaklar altında! "" My God! All the Bosphorus at our feet! "is how, for a few words, my secret island teeming with French.
Assimil has also mocked me well and I visited my room night, and as night in Istanbul is unclear, I did not see anything out the window, but a large square of shade, but stupidly I trusted in Bogaz Bütün ayaklar altında. On the ground floor was badly played, instead of the Bosphorus have a vacant lot full of ferns, and cats, and the terrace of my neighbors who feast until the wee hours of the morning. Cihangir is a paradise for revelers. But hey, it's fun, it's warm, the other day an old woman was insulted, it was three o'clock and ten, they would not sleep finally her husband slapped her, and since we did ' mean Moreover, it may be dead.
Cihangir is also a paradise for cats. Each building has its reference. They are not very stray, they are cats owners. At the famous Topçular Apt, there are four. They sleep in the yard, apparently, also love music, it's a state of mind. Is the most agile three-legs. This is my Three-Legs (Benim Three-Legs). It is a ferocious: it flanks donuts to all animals in the district, including large dogs, diseased and resigned, sleeping in the driveway. He is very affectionate, despite his disability, but The lover cow : Tonight I wanted to get back on its feet, and he did not want, and gnak! the hooks embedded in my sleeve, immediately démaillée; dirty beast, I had to shake it for three minutes for it to finally let down.
Another cat has settled on the ledge of my window. It is a small female black and red, as fierce as Three Legs is enterprising when it started to rain, it rains and Istanbul really like cataracts, she took refuge against my window and no longer budge. In a drawer I found a beige canvas curtain, and I placed on the edge to isolate the poor creature's icy concrete. It was an act interested. I like having my little cat in the morning. Since little ritual: opening the curtains, she sleeps (the stupid), I slid my hand, I stroked, she let go, sunshine, suddenly she remembers that she is shy, and gnak! she bites until they bled. Always calm, I gave her a slap, she escaped by meowing, I shut the window, and voila, the little ritual is complete.
Cihangir is the paradise of intellectuals depressed. This is an area that lends itself wonderfully to melancholy. I say this for intellectuals, because for me, it puts me in a good mood, especially when the weather is nice and the German hospital shines through all his Bavarian anvil. But intellectuals dictate fashion. They follow the letter of Pamuk's novels: the consciousness of loss, degradation, historical insignificance, all that. It must be said that some buildings inspire a kind of bitterness, you know, maybe the mosaic bathroom or glaucous lights at night, lights reflecting on intellectual irrelevance. There are also many who are very quaint. Cihangir Caddesi on it every day Exhibition of Art Nouveau. When I pass I want lifts wrought iron. They also put me in a good mood.
It seems that Istanbul is a city that generally inspires melancholy. I did not notice. You have to be sensitive to the poetry of mosaic bathroom.
That's what our French friends. They all live in the golden triangle between Sıraselviler Caddesi German hospital and enthroned in the middle, like a big meringue ruddy. Amid Sıraselviler, at chic bars and pastry Savoy, the density of Francophones is properly terrifying. In Carrefour Express, when I bought my parmesan, I meet all the teachers of Galatasaray, and many poufs who discuss the joys of the neighborhood. Carrefour Express is the luxury break. Everything costs twenty times more expensive, Parmesan, this is my week's salary, but I go for soft lighting, this little piece of France, of snobbery, you know.
Cihangir exerted an attraction on me once extraordinary past, that is to say when I first read the lesson 32. I felt a kind of appeal. I pay six hundred lire to live in this damn neighborhood six hundred lira for a small room, but what the hell! the morning I wake up in Cihangir! After checking, my street would be in Gumussuyu.
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