In the film 'The Lake House,' the wizened, often grouchy architect (Christopher Plummer) mentors his talented, love-starved son (Keanu Reeves) about their lifelong passion. He says that the architect must take into account the environment and must see how light in particular pours into a room, if he or she deigned to build something that would stand the test of time.
But what I loved most about this conversation is Plummer saying something along the lines of, The light in Barcelona feels different on our skin, as it does in Prague, as it does in Tokyo.
Architecture has, and must have, a sense of place. It speaks to its surroundings, and engages in a dialogue with nature. Moreover, it is unlike many other arts in that it must merge beauty with utility. The first without the second is merely display, and the second without the first is simply carpentry.
I see art as sensuous. Not necessarily sexual or erotic. But art as a medium for experiencing things with all of our senses, and we come away all the richer for it. Besides the feel of sunlight, I keep myself open as best as I can with how my surroundings truly are in their completeness.
In the past decade, I dispensed with my camera while traveling: one, because it was excess baggage, and, two, because I risked theft or damage. Most importantly, I sacrificed having photos, in order to gain an more authentic, unencumbered experience.
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| Train ride, Istanbul (image credit) |
So it was in Istanbul
I took the train from the airport into a city center, and noticed the largely drab colors of coats that both men and women wore. Some women, though, dared to wear muted but notable colors in their head scarves. Muslim women in general are careful about colors, but feel varying degrees of comfort versus risk, depending on where they are. Maybe it was my travel fatigue and weary eyes, but their demeanor struck me as emotionless and their manner interactionless. Maybe they led downtrodden lives, and did all they could to keep it quiet in such a public setting.
Once at the city center, I walked around. There was a nip in the air, and thankfully my sweater was enough to keep me warm. Still, waiting to cross a street at a red light, I closed my eyes for a moment and angled my face toward the sunlight, so as to feel its warmth and find out how different it was than anywhere else.
It's easy enough to take a taxi anywhere, but to get to really know a place I want to feel the pavement under my feet. One stretch of sidewalk angled, for instance, and I felt it before I noticed it. Then, I saw that some slabs of concrete were off kilter, and could easily trip the otherwise preoccupied tourist.
I wanted to rub elbows and shoulders with people there, too.
How it was in Riyadh
I had a security detail in Riyadh one time, and he cautioned me not to even come close to the women. Even an accidental minor contact would've landed me in jail. We were in the souk, shopping for a local sim card for my mobile, when evening prayers were called. Everyone rushed out of the shops, poured into the streets, and scattered in all directions. Owners quickly shuttered their shop windows and doors. Karim and I waited several seconds for the flurry to subside, before heading back to the car, with me walking nervously and attentively every step of the way.
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| Karim, me, Rolf and Herdie, King Abdulaziz Historic Centre, Riyadh (2005) |
I used to be positively frightened even about having eye contact with Arab women, so I'd keep my glance downward in an elevator with them and my hands duly clasped with one another.
It's less strict in Istanbul, but still I don't think I actually rubbed anything with anybody. Better safe than sorry, as we say in the US.
I was headed back to the train station, and noticed that I was famished. Besides garment and electronics shops, there were many small restaurants along the way. I looked in one, and passed. I looked in another, and passed as well. I must've done this a few times. There was a gentleman standing outside one of them, down the sidewalk. He must've seen me doing this, and probably looking hungry and dissatisfied at the same time, because once I reached his restaurant he led me inside with his arm around my shoulders.
Another tourist could've been easily frightened by this gesture, but I wasn't. It's virtually a consistent thing in my travels that people are warm and friendly and they take care of me. In fact, this gentleman treated me as if I were a prince in his humble restaurant. To be sure, I hardly look princely, but I smiled and felt more deeply grateful inside than I could ever convey in a thank you.
Of course, I was wary for my safety and belongings, but just for a few moments. His waiters treated me in exactly the same way. I had a very pleasant meal, he thanked me when I paid for it, and I went off into that increasingly crisp Istanbul autumn and the sun declining ever so slightly in the afternoon.
