Actually the joy of traveling is in writing itinerary. Lots of people have traveled to China and Far East, but then you see that Marco Polo after so many years still can take us to Qooblay khan's palace and shares his fears and hopes with us in remote routes.
Having the ability to write is something, but being able to write with a more personal view is another thing. Therefore although I am afraid to publish all my itineraries in a book next year and I do not know whether it is the twentieth or thirtieth times that I travel to Turkey, I know that new experiences are waiting for me, so it would be great to share them as soon as they occur with those who are reading my weblog. However since it is a business travel and is related to the cartoon world, it is possible to follow it in the relevant sites.
Turkey is not an unknown country, not because I have been there a lot, nor because they treat me in a better way compared to other countries, nor because we have the same language, nor because we are Muslims ... .it is related to the stories I read in childhood written by Turkish writers. I can remember when I was reading "angry sea", apart from the sea which we did not have in Tabriz, all the other things were the same in Tabriz. The same regret and malversation, honesty, genuine emotions and the same philosophy of people etc. Of we Tabrizians. When you imprison a ten year old child in a large library named Amir Khizi until noon every day, and he would be alone with some saloons full of books and his father be the booker of Amir Khizi library ... then the result would be that after thirty years he still has both its Aziz Nesin with every of its narratives and its AnvarKhaje in mind.
My father had a boss named Mr. Toosi, I can remember his name because in cloudy weather while he wore milky raincoat, he still had grey sunglasses and constantly advised me to read "tell me why" books, but I loved king Jamsihd and fairy tales ... therefore instead of going to NASA , now I am going to a studio to draw frog-crab pictures for people and still I look at each tree on my way as awithered, dry, weary and sleepy old man ...
My daughter Rose did not sleep until I left home. She sat on the box of paints and drew the picture of "fragile" by that languid marker which continually ramified on the can and screamed .... It was not like glass at all. Then she strewed water in a black glass behind me, Mahdiye told me to look in the water. They had strewn water so many times, but I never had looked in it. The water in corridor stared at me. It did not have any feelings, Quran, however, was better. When I kissed it I felt that it was lighter and kinder than water. I entered the elevator without delay because I was afraid of Rose having nightmare at night and problem in school.
The behavior of airport staff has gotten better just like its environment. So when they asked me to open my suitcase, I was affable. They were suspicious to the statue of Mr. HijabyDamirchi which they thought was made of gold, but we had covered it.The statue was bronze and there it seemed so dubitable to me too. I showed them the colorful card of Feko Which has been issued in Netherland for me and explained to them that the statue was an award which must be delivered to its owner, so he acceptedand said: No, the award can not be made of gold, they do not give such awards here ...
While I was packing my suitcase patiently, I was thinking modestly to a philosopher's talk to customs agents who had pointed ironically to his head and had said that "gold is here which I am taking out with me".
The first day: as soon as you enter Istanbul airport, if you look around carefully its difference with other airports like Mehr Abad is determined better. Airport lights and its runway with its carbon and dark brick red and light olive lights, and then regular and milimeteric rows of rain washed and clean airplanes ...
In Tabriz there was just one airplane in runway which had stood on its feet with difficulty, then people would say that BaghalAsqariis impressed and is west oriented and so and so ..., despite my naïve, I do not deny the spiritual capabilities of our people, yet I can not deny a big fact named correct citizenship behavior, industrial manifestations, and the west technology.
Professor Sadtin has come from Skishahr to welcome me. Imagining how long he was on way to welcome me made me ashamed. Then we got to the ship and I zoomed on the word Ido, it was a question in my mind, but then in Boorsa, Mohammad Kahraman asked us whether we had gone there by Ido or Ibo?
And I understood that Ido was the abbreviation for "Istanbul denizOutobusi" and Ibo was the abbreviation for "BoorsadenizOutobusi".
There were lots of subjects for watching both in airplane and ship.On the plane there was an old man who had gotten old very badly and was sitting in front of me with his clear runny nose and there were some accented and crowded Arabs on the ship . Especially one of them whom I thought was turning his scarf to headband, but then he covered his eyes and ears with it and slept, they had somehow a strange self-confidence. There was a solemn Turk who had white hair with his daughter who had a bruised eye and wore eye glasses, they stood up and the Turkish man while was imitating mouth movement with his hands went to sit at the back and said with tantrum that "let's go, they are getting on our nerves by their talk "and after they left I became missed out that what has his 12 or 13 year old daughter done with this nervous person till now? And then I thought maybe he is alcoholic too. Yeah, being alcoholic seemed more rational. The ship was weep. I had a conversation with professor Sadetin on what were the differences between vapor, damp and fog.
When we got out of the ship, Ahmet Ayknat the famous cartoonist came to welcome us. I had met Ahmet before in Tourism competition in Istanbul and we were staying in the same hotel, then he had not seemed so warmhearted. But in this one day trip to Boorsawhich had been due to his and Mehmet Kaherman's (another famous Turkish artist) invitation, I found them very warmhearted.
Ahmet who had little green eyes, hid eyeglasses were much lighter than Sadtin's eyeglasses, his hair was less than Mehmet's but more than mine, took us to the atelier by his car. On the way he talked about Boorsa's factories and we talked about our kids and family. I asked Sadettin why they had red and green lights in their city, but there were no yellow light. And then I became interested to the weeds which had grown between the rocks which fearlessly got the rain and became greener ... they were really greener. Our poor weeds, as SamadBehrangi had cited, had tospread their roots to everywhere and absorb any moisture they found and then I thought weeds ... weed is a flower whose beauty has not been realized.
There were 80 cartoon students in the atelier; it was a snug, beautiful and modern place the corridors of which were exhibitions. At the entrance by two weights of paste and one weight of salt they had made fish and had colored them and had made the subjects of element in Baku and Pawl in Romania, etc. all of them made cartoons. I congratulated them that with such brave perseverance finally had connected the works of students to the subject ... I spoke Istanbuli Turkish to the students and taught them something very fast. Then a little girl with brown hair and eyes greener than Ahmet's eyes came towards me and spoke Italian. I explained that I was Iranian not Italian ... she had heard Iran as Italy. Once in AjiBadem School in Istanbul because of the text on Nogha they had thought that I was Arab, and had heard Iran as Iraq.
With Mehmet Kahraman, which means Mohammad the hero in our accent, we traveled around the city in a taxi. He showed me all the sites and explained about the importance of Boorsa with a little Bulgarian accent. He knows Leyla Alaiy, the great teacher and one of the executives of Tabriz old cartoon site, and we talked about this active lady's honesty and her creativity in drawing. My feet were wet due to rain, there was rain my shoes and the sky was weeping severely. The driver constantly interrupted Mehmet and spoke about each of the sites of municipality and county, but Mehmet's modesty prevented him from protesting. The driver looked in the mirror constantly to make sure that I was following what he said.
He even interrupted Mehmet's talk who was saying that we would eat original kebab at Alexander kebab and said that some other place's kebab was better, here Mehmet responded and said "No, here is better" in a way that meant "do not interfere".
They had kept the original atmosphere of Alexander kebab, a place which reminded of my grandma's house withgreen turquoise wooden windows, a small place with a lot of employees and then the upper shelf with blue old plates and a kebab that you have to ask Mehmet for its address to claim that you have eaten real kebab in your life. They had mixed pepper with yogurt and to respect the customer they emptied a bowl of local butterand kebab juice on the food.For the second time in my life I experienced a strange pleasure of food.
Mehmet who is a kind and lovely person took me to Mustafa's tomb, Sultan Suleiman's son. That Suleiman who is known in the whole Azerbaijan with Khorram sultan, and then we went to the tombs of the architects of Osmani Dynasty, with their strange hats on the soil and the pure silence of such places and the visitor's whispers and my wet shoes, but I did not protest. I sat in the silk makers' caravanserai. Mehmet is originally a Bulgarian Turk and we spoke about every subject that came up. We were sitting in the tents, heater was on the table and cigarettes and tea and blue blankets were on our knees ... Mehmet said that this strange structure in the middle of caravanserai was for that merchants could pray there fast and did not have to go to the mosque.
The general mosque was called Avalojami, that aspect that I write Avalo tannery on top of all my writings. It was were Professor prayed and for the first time in my life I watched a sonny's pray peacefully.
They sit on a rocky column beside the pool and wash their hands up to elbow several times, also behind their ears and their entire feet .... And then dry themby the towels which are rowed on the podium and then put these towels in special dishes to be sterilized again and then they pray.
Honestly I did not pray there. I just sat in a corner and had that green feeling, green like a weed that absorbs moisture ... weed like a flower which has not been realized ...
The story of the large pool in the mosque was also interesting, it famous that it belonged to a Jewish woman who did not consent that they build a mosque there. So the sultan of Osmani had built it in a way that this part would be in the middle of the mosque and had made them to make a pool there so that nobody would have confiscated pray there ...
Then Mehmet took me to have sweet or better say fweet! Named Ghazandibi which is toasted in the oven. But it was not their local sweet and we waited for Ahmet. When Ahmet arrived said that Mehmet Kahrman had been excited for my arrival since yesterday. But Ahmet Ayknat was silent and said it was due to his age. Maybe he was seeking for peace ... Mehmet Kahraman but was not young, he was at least 53 and we talked about Abbas Naseri. Abbas is a great Bojnourdi artist who behaves others in a warm way and then we talked about competitions ...
Then we went to eat a kind of sweet named Ghadiyaf on which there was a lot of cream, all the calorie needed during a month would be provided. While Mehmet had tea without sugar and I had talked about the benefits of sugar for brain, but then I understood that his sugar is provided in this way because I could not eat even half of the sweet but he finished it in a few seconds.
It was raining harder now, Pro. Sadttein wanted us to go back, it was late. They insisted that we be their guests for two days and I was thinking about weed flowers ... a flower that was not realized ...
The end of part one