Thursday, August 15, 2019

Fiction Story: Amsterdam Flavor Tour

First thing in the morning I get De Telegraaf from the dealer. Then I enter a shop that I think is a cafe.  I would like to enjoy coffee while I was reading a newspaper. My eyes are looking for the sports page. When I don't understand anything from Dutch with plenty of j, I'm asking to the waiter with a thought that I'll stoop on my breakfast while I'm drinking coffee. "can i have a cake?" I say in a polite manner. I eat cake, drink coffee. After breakfast, I burn the pleasure cigarette. This tobacco is very hard .This is worse than Turkish tobacco. I'm barely finishing a cigarette. I'm turning to the newspaper again. In the headline, something like "tijger ontsnapt uit de dierentuin" * is on the bottom, a big picture of a tiger. "That's Dutch!" smiling, "Add j to the word Tiger!" Although I admire tigers, "the story of a baby tiger born again in a zoo. "Oh, those Europeans. They can even bring the news of a newborn tiger to the headline. "


Wandering the streets. I've been hungry for half an hour. I am feeling sleepy. I'm entering Voldelpark. Go, go, go. A huge forest in the city. There's nobody else but me. I'm taking a half-hour nap. When I open my eyes I hear a rustling in the bushes. Rustling turns into wheezing. When you caress the food of the house cat, multiply the sound by the face. However, the process of multiplying by the auditory face is repeated visually. I have a huge house cat in front of me. No, no, that can't be a fattened house cat. This is straight lynx. But as the feline approaches me slowly, I face the terrible truth. This is the most evil, the most ominous and the most beautiful of predators. Panthera tigris! Sheer tiger! I'm not slapping myself because I'm in a dream. I'm not rubbing my eyes and biting my lips. Because I'm sure I'm in a dream. A tiger approaching me in the heart of Europe. When you wake up in the middle of a beautiful dream, you close your eyes again and try to fill the rest of your dream through your ass. I'm trying the same way.




Even though I'm hungry, I have five kilos of concrete in my head. I'm sure I'Il fall asleep quickly. I dream of the tiger approaching me. I'm in Indian jungles instead of Voldelpark. At that moment I feel a wetness in my face. In my wonderful dream, I wake up again. When I open my eyes, I have to rub my eyes like in American movies. A perfect Bengal Tiger with all its majesty. What a beauty! Orange streaks that cut vertically black feathers, white feathers soaring through the cheeks. What about those big, honey-colored eyes? Even though I'm  normally a coward, but now i have an unnecessary relax. I think it must have been the effect of Turkish tobacco. This unnecessary relax turns into courage with the stupidity of sleepy mood. I love tiger like I love my cat at home. I'm scratching your neck. I'm massaging your ear. I knead his neck like a dough. After these actions, our Tiger loosens up just as my cat does. He's lying sideways. I'm caressing your white belly, scratching it. When I see your fluffy feathers, I put my head on my stomach and dive again. This time my brain is empty. I sleep for hours without dreaming. Deep inside, the police siren interferes in my ear, and then my head bumps into the ground. I wake up when I move from the soft body of the tiger to the wet and hard ground of the grass. The sound of the sirens is increasing. I open my eyes. There's no tiger, no tabby. Except for the ducks floating on the lake, the only living, loud Dutch siren comes out of a noisy siren. And they're running to my side. My misdeeds in Amsterdam pass before my eyes like a movie. I got on the subway for free! I wandered the Red Light longer than necessary (which is not even to blame), threw bottles in the paper trash bin, paper in the trash bin. But none of this is worth the fuss. At least in Turkey. I can think of the man in Canada who was sentenced to imprisonment for not sweeping the snow in his garden. I mean, I am doomed. I am brunette. I am Muslim (on paper). Was I going to experience the Dutch version of Midnight Express? What was this cop running over me? All my sleep, my looseness, smoke and fly away. The police are tangent past me and dive into the forest. The gunfire and shouting that exploded in the forest from now on doesn't interest me a bit. I tell myself I'm hungry like a tiger. Tiger! I say again. I should eat Indian or Southeast Asian food in honor of today.



My direction concept is upset. I walk completely with my instincts. I smell, I listen, I watch. For some reason, my instincts are taking me to the heart of Red Light. I'm on Zeedijk street. We're in Little Saigon, Amsterdam's Little China. Chinese, Vietnamese, Indian, Japanese, Malaysian restaurants. It's like we're on the Blade Runner movie set. There's no smoke, no grizzling, no exotic smells. I won't pinch myself if Rick Deckard passes me with his brown topcoat. After all, man in the middle of Europe kissed the tiger.

On the right, I'm entering the Thai restaurant called Bird. As soon as I come in, the smoke from the grill hits me in the face. I'm telling you the soup with mushroom fish called Tom yam pla. Plenty of coriander. It's good for my cold bones because I lie on the grass. Then I tell you spring rolls with vegetables. Even though I could not get close to what I had eaten at the Malaysian restaurant the day before, I still swallow it. At least it's much cheaper.





The star of the day is roasted chicken noodles with tofu. The servings were plentiful, even at half the price of mediocre Thai restaurant in the city center i ate before. Chang's Thai beer comes with an elephant theme logo. I raise my head. The video of the tiger, which ambushes on a typical Amsterdam bridge, plays on  television hanging up the wall. The two-second image is slowed down and extinguished. The rest of my mind comes back to me.



Isn't that the tiger I was vaguely in today's park? I watch the television in the bar as an American criminal who saw himself on television and pay my head forward. I'm erecting my coat like Erik Cantona to avoid recognition. As I run out of the restaurant, I see Little Saigon on a sparkling sign.



I'm going in. I'm in a hurry for no reason. "What can you do the fastest?" I ask the waiter as an American detective. Vietnamese waiter showing a photo of greens filled with big bread, "Bahn Mi!" he answers. While waiting, I'm interested in fresh spring roles prepared on the counter. Rice paper wrapped noodles, shrimp and various greens. I want a portion. So that you can have a good time. I'm going to consume them in thirty seconds like a mussel stuffing. The cook at the back is preparing my bahn mi. Isn't that one of Bourdain's sandwiches in Vietnam? The symbol of French colonialism is the compressed Vietnamese cuisine between the baguette bread. Steak cooked in ginger sauce, coriander, lemongrass, (I love it so much that I eat chocolate with lemon in the Puccini the next day. And I find the combination of chocolate lemonade surprisingly successful) and pickled radishes and carrots. The result will be exquisite. I say to the waiter. I am in a hurry.



I see the tiger floating on the Amsterdam canals on the tube television (again?) Hanging upstairs. Then I pay the bill with panic as if it were a crime. I take the sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil and leave the shop.        I run along Red Light between neon lights and far east food smoke. I hit the drunken Englishmen and move forward. I feel like the android that escaped Deckard. I'm going to a park again. This time it's dark. Opening my sandwich. The smell of lemongrass and steak comes to my nose. I'm taking a big bite. I'm going crazy. I shut my eyes. The feeling of concrete in my head still continues. I open my eyes again when the crickets cut off their voices. In the pitch dark two bright eyes are looking towards me. A deep growling is coming. That's the same wheezing I heard at Voldelpark this morning. I'm picking up the steaks in Bahn mi. I'm heading east to the dark eyes. I'm stretching my hand towards the growl. When I was little, I felt the same itch when I gave horses sugar cubes. The creature in front of me licks the sauce of moist Vietnamese steak with its tongue like sandpaper. Then he swallows it all quickly. Stroking her head. I scratch your ears. His wheezing is growing. The tractor resembles the sound. That's ten minutes. The environment is pitch dark. No sign of the police sirens. Creature is walking away softly and disappearing. I'm lying on the grass with the exhaustion of a long day. Crickets are starting to sing again. I sleep for hours without holes because of the lullaby effect created by this sound.



P.S: I dived into a bookstore I saw on the way the next day. In the head corner of the bookstore, I came across a book called Bahn Mi Handbook. After yesterday's scrumptious sandwich, I bought it without thinking. The streets of Vietnam are sold not only with steak but with bacon, liver paste, chicken or vegetarian. Here in this book you can see all the bahn mi variety with their construction.


 *Tiger escaped from the zoo.

Friday, August 09, 2019

Command Mode


Drink!
Three Kings: Three pearls of Portuguese sweet wine from left to right: Moscatel de Setubal, Porto, Madeira.
Port wine is, to me, Marlon Brando of the sweet wine world. It is considered to be one of the best of its kind just like the skillful player. Sometimes too flashy and raw, like Brando. But the performance of both increases year after year, and their showy state of the art is rasping within the years.
Madeira is Klaus Kinski of the sweet wine world. This wine is deliberately deteriorated by waiting in the sun. But this distorted taste gives wine an exquisite character. Just like Kinski's exaggerated, but impressive acting. Like Kinski, Madeira’s  weakest part , in fact, its strongest. Werner Herzog, who made great films with the master actor and even portrayed love-hate relationships with the legendary documentary in Mein Liebster Feind (My Favorite Enemy), once said, "Actors like Brando are like kindergarten children compared to Kinski." This was exactly what the port wine made me feel after I drink madeira.
Our last wine, Muscatel de Setubal, may be the most  unknown player of the community. Like Ben Gazzara, Ed Harris, James Coburn or Gian Maria Volonte.
In my tasting in Lisbon, they said that the grape of Setubal was almost extinct in the seventies. Even if it's known now, it's certainly not as popular as the other two dessert wines. But we have no doubt that his reputation will be restored in the future.
Read!
Three books who will go to Rome, should  read: In fact, you can add Goethe's “Travel to Italy” to this list, but the author's personal journey is sometimes annoying.
Katie Parla is an American blogger who lives in Rome. The name of her blog is katieparla.com and its specialty is food. “Tasting Rome” is a must-have book for those who go to eat in the city. With what to eat, classic Roman food recipes have life-saving content like the tricks of eating food in the city, like a local.
Rome is the cinema capital of continental Europe along with Paris. From the streets of De Sica's New Realism, it is home to Fellini's surreal spaces. Another way to explore a city with pleasure is to pursue movie venues. We all know that La Dolce Vita was filmed at the Trevi fountain. However, you can explore the city by exploring the meeting place of Giulietta and other prostitutes at Cabiria Nights, the final scene of 8.5, the Bicycle Thieves, the Roman Holiday and the location of many movies. World Film LocationsRome takes the reader on a cinematic journey through the city with that stops.
Note: In the meantime, you can support your photos with the instagram account film_locations where we play the movie scenes of the cities we visit.
The last Roman book is called “I, Claudius”. In this book, the author Robert Graves describes the Augustus and Tiberius periods as written by Claudius, the fourth emperor of Rome. The author fused the real events with the fiction of the novel and took care to ensure that his work was compatible with the historical facts. Reading this book and visiting the ruins of ancient Rome, the Capitoline Museum and the Appia road will double the pleasure you will get.
Smell!
Le Nez Du Vin: This is a set of wine scents from wine expert Jean Lenoir. Sets are divided into groups such as red wine, white wine, wine faults. For example, the set of wine faults has odors such as sulfur, glue, rotten eggs, rotten apples and mold. The set distinguishes these scents so that we can easily find out how the wrong wine might be. You don't have to be a wine lover to buy Le Nez Du Vin. If guests have come to your home and you have no choice but to zapping the TV, it is time for your Tasting kit. Play  "What does this smell?" with scoring procedure. Moreover, you have more fun than the Risk (board game) and you never fight.
Warning: Don't try to explain people over 60 what this set works for. They do not understand. My mother saw the price on the set and asked, "So what did you pay for? I said, "Mommy, I'm learning to distinguish smells through this set."
And my mom says, "What happens when you distinguish the smell?" knocked me out with the question.


Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Hammam Experience


The baths or 'hamams' as they are named, are for many aspects of health, not just for external cleanliness. Before Turkey was established as a separate country, the Romans, Byzantines, and nomadic peoples of the region had their own variations of bathing rituals. These traditions combined, creating a different variation of these ancient bathing habits, The Turkish Bath.The bather enters the dry heat of a sweating area. Afterwards, the bather begins to perspire heavily because of a wet steam.The skin is then washed with soap and warm water and the muscles massaged. After being scoured and washed, the bather's body temperature returns to normal from swimming in cold water. Closely interweaved with everyday life, as well as the Muslim mandates for cleanliness and respect for the varied functions of water, the hamam will probably survive modernity with many other things in Western Asia.

Join me on a visit to one of the Istanbul's more authentic and reasonably-priced Turkish hamams. After the hamam, we will eat local food, have tea, and tour around Balat district.
Food and drinks are included to the prices.If there is different genders in the group mens join the tour womens tour with my wife.
Here is my Vayable Link:
https://www.vayable.com/experiences/11492-hammam-experience