patient, focused.

"Any culture that is patient and focused enough to spend years working on a single carpet is capable of waiting years and even decades to acheive even greater goals."
- Prince bin Zayed of Abu Dhabi on the Persian, Wikileaks

the amazing life of phillipe ferrier

"In 1839, while being prosecuted by his creditors, he developed a feeling for adventure. He was recruited as a military instructor by Ḥosayn Khan Ājudān-bāši (q.v.). After his attempt to conquer Herat, countered by the British (1837-38), Moḥammad Shah (q.v.) had sent Ḥosayn Khan on a diplomatic mission to Europe (1839). While in Paris, he endeavored to persuade France to supplant Britain in Persia. To replace the withdrawn British instructors, he recruited French officers and artisans." Source

"The Persians have been not inaptly called the Frenchmen of the East. Their elegant manners, their wit, their levity, their general scepticism, their taste, their love of display, their hospitality, and their cookery, give them a claim to this title as compared with the surrounding Mohammedan nations. A Persian gentleman is naturally polished and refined. It would be difficult to exceed the grace of his demeanour and his courteous address. He is intimately acquainted with the literature of his country, and will embellish his conversation and his letters with ready and apposite quotations from the poets of his nation. He will be apparently generous and unselfish. His house and its contents are yours. He is your servant and your dearest friend." Source

hafiz far from home

zolf bar bād made, tā nadahi bar bādam....

Translation of Hafiz' divān, Sarajevo

har gez namirad ān ke delash zendeh shod ze eshq...

Translation of Hafiz' divān, Istanbul

Hafiz commentary in Ottoman and Persian, Istanbul

galata fishermen

"I hate this place," Samir grumbled in his singsong Damascene as he served up two plates of fresh fish. Mine was horrible, maddeningly full of spikes and wrapped in a cheap bun. "They work me twelve hours a day and treat me like shit all the time. They've got this complex, these Turks, they blame us for bringing down the Ottoman empire. It's the fucking twenty first century, get over it!" He was getting visibly redder in the face as he spoke; he saw in me an opening to vent, and I gladly obliged.

"You know I don't just work here, right, I am studying maritime law, masters, at the university..." Trailed off, distracted, and then suddenly leaped into character as he saw a couple pass by. "WELCOME!" he shouted, with a comically desperate grin, "Take a look at our menu, great prices, service, best fish in town!! Please just take a look, maybe for later..." The tourists awkwardly disentangled themselves and walked on.

Everything about this city makes me giddy and delighted to be here. Not least of these elements are the fishermen who come out each night on the Galata bridge, fishing until all hours of the morning. It was sad to think of Samir's rough patch, that he felt compelled to point out that he was a student, and not just a waiter. It made me think of my own insecurities on being away from the academy. Samir bustled about the store, stopping every once in a while to lament one or another facet of Turkish life.

Babaçan

Babaçan is an Alevi from Eastern Turkey. Some people radiate peace. He spent a good half hour talking to me about life in his village, in Istanbul, as a musician. I tried to catch bits and pieces with my broken Turkish. He sits in a cold underpass on the Bosphorus from seven to ten each night playing away for passers bye. He couldn't possibly do it for the money, because there didn't seem to be many people walking by, or very many coins in his case.

life and death

Graves and signs in Mostar, Bosnia & Hercegovina

london, if you're lucky...

 Welcome to Istanbul. Thıs was ıt. I had fınally arrıved. Nothıng says welcome home lıke cart loads of fresh pomegranıtes by the roadsıde, towerıng mınarets, posters of Aası the soap star (I am stıll ıncurrably ın love wıth her) and an entıre floor of a hostel just for me for a spectacular 10 dollars a nıght. Istanbul was every bit as magical as I remembered it.

I popped ınto the fırst and fınest cafe I spotted on the long walk from the bus depot to Sultanahmet. As I began to drift away into cups of Turkısh coffee and baklava, I heard the unmıstakable sounds of a Persıan conversatıon floatıng past the table to my left. What I heard left me badly shaken for the rest of what has turned ınto another ınsomnıac nıght wanderıng through a foreıgn cıty.

You can delıver the rest of the payment on the other sıde. Tell them not to waıt around, ıf he speaks the language already, there ıs no reason to delay thıngs. We can arrange the passports, probably Spanısh or Italıan, documents and everythıng, but let me tell you no funny busıness, brıngıng other people along and so on. You follow ınstructıons and we can get you to Parıs, Berlın, even London ıf you're lucky..

And so I sat there for a half hour more as Masud explaıned the mechanıcs of people smugglıng to hıs newest customer. I was overcome by sadness as I shot a furtıve glance across my table. Mr Hosseını dıdnt look lıke a scruffy crımınal or wıld eyed refugee. He was about to put hıs lıfe ın the hands of a stranger and weave hıs way by land and sea to a far away cıty to buıld a lıfe for himself and his family. I felt so ashamed, as though I had failed this man somehow, as if I had failed to make our country a home where people could live, not turn themselves into contraband in the hopes of a better future.

Welcome to Istanbul, I thought, looking into my coffee grinds. I got up and walked on.

Roads

The gentle, rolling sounds of Habib Popal and pockmarked roads and hills of a country slowly emerging from a bitter history of incessant war. His whistling took us to a different time. 

Hope

A Kabul licence plate and an Obama/Biden campaign sticker along the infamous Salang Pass, Afghanistan. In this country, there is a story wrapped in the folds of every stone.