tea-sugar-eh-dream

that's how an english speaking person can pronounce "thank you" in turkish. and since my arrival in ankara, i've had plenty of occasions to use it.

the first was laurren's amazing welcoming! plates upon plates of hot, homecooked turkish cuizine awaited us on the table -definitely the best cooked food i'd had since my arrival in turkey! wine and conversation flowed as we caught up on our first impressions of life in ankara and on the road. the next day pleasant banter kept our pace as we aimlessly wandered through old ankara. we stumbled upon the citadel, a charming bazaar, and the anatolian museum. i thought i was starting to adapt to the consistent amazment of turkey's antiquity until i reached the museum and laid modern eyes on ancient artifacts. simply incredible. tea-sugar-eh-dream

a long day of walking and gaping warrents a good meal. we decided to return to a quaint moderately priced restaurant that we had previously got some coffee at. tea-sugar-eh-dream, for the marathon meal that we had coming to us made that night a truly memorable one! the waitor recognised us right away and verbally reinforced us for returning. we ordered our meals and soon he asked if we would like a terrace view. so we moved up and started off on our appetizers. half way through, he came up with a gift of delectable fried fish. the gifts did not stop there! he came with wine and tea and when we were finished our mains, invited us to the garden where there was a birthday party going on. the musicians blared the haunting arabic scales to unexpected (at least for a westerner) beats as the celebrators danced. it wasn't long before we were given incredible hazelnut chocolate birthday cake, more wine and a fruit plate. we danced it off with the merry family and as the turkish saying goes, it became our home.

tea-sugar-eh-dream for a genuine turkish experience!

bazaar

"yes please"

"lady"

"excuse me"

"can i ask you one question?"

"you speak enlish?"

"huney buney"

"come here"

"yes angel"

"i know what you needs"

"want a look leather jacket"

"let me show you"

"nice lady"

"you look tired. i can help. cay? cafe?"

"spain?"

"you are different"

ALWAYS preceeded, "where you from?" the dreaded question. i only stopped answering it today. it took me a long time to figure out that that was their in to the tourist psyche.

ah, how grand it was! i unwittingly ended up three metro stations away from where i started. and after all of that heckling and looking at worlds of material, i exited with a mere bag of dried figs (that melt in your mouth like cookie dough) and what was left of my roasted almonds (that snap under pressure like twigs). a day of overstimulation demanded a quiet night and i climbed into the top bunk in my shared room as soon as possible. i eagerly awaited the emotional, minor praise of the daily morning prayer exuding from the mosque to wake me up for my next adventure to ankara.

in-stuffed-bull

i wish i could smell. instead, textures and visions will have to suffice as i comb through the ancient cobbled streets of istanbul. perhaps this protection from sensory overload is a blessing, afterall, it is my first time alone in an extremely populated city. regardless of the fact that my first impressions are clouded by my body's limitations, i am happy to seek solice among civilizations oldest venues.



slowly emerging like shades in the dark, my brain computes the input of freshly roasted chestnuts, second hand smoke, and lingering exhaust. day two brings the promise of completing the experience. in spite of my body's protests yesturday, i was determined to adapt to the time and make the most of it. i managed to have some pretty unique experiences! my girggling, consistent cough turned out to be an optimal weapon against unwanted male attention. nothing says "i'm not available" like phlegm struggling for its independence every 2.6 minutes!!

in true form, my one track mind lead me to a cramped music shop filled with traditional instruments. after much consideration, i settled on a zurna -a rather abrassive sounding, wooden reed instrument- to be the perfect gift for laurren, who i was scheduled to meet in a couple of days. eager for some traditional music, i rambled into the only restaruant with musicians. i orded turkish tzatziki (definitely not called that) and watched intently as they plucked and bowed in feverish tempos. i took out the 3 lira book of traditional songs for mey metodu (turkish whistle) and it caught the eyes of the musicians. before i knew it, the fiddle/clarinet player was giving me a crash course on the zurna and all were laughing at my duck impressions!

after a baklava or two, i wandered into the blue mosque square where i was struck by the flags resemblance of the evening's sliver moon. enchanted, i walked towards the sound of a lone guitarist. after a few songs, he offered me his guitar and i shared what i could with my maimed vocal capacity. he taught me how to say thank you and i taught him the use of the word "jam." he then invited me to "make jam" with him at his gig in a restaurant. thankfully, i had louie with me so we elevated to the top floor of a building housing a gorgeous terrace restaurant overlooking the aya sofia and the majestic blue mosque. the street vendors below captured my emotional splendor with their illuminated toys resembling fireworks as we harmonized for the diners.

mind the gap

somewhere inbetween north america and europe, i watched the sun emerge. it illuminated the clouds below and bestowed upon me an extreme sense of privilege for knowing that i was among the very few in london that day who got to witness the sunrise. nothing short of typical, the sky was as occupied as the clerks at the bank were sure to be. i was met at the airport by a dear, new friend who offered me his services as smashing host and tour guide all for the low low cost of appreciation (and hopefully someday reciprocation).

it didn't really dawn on me that i was in london until i saw the iconic big ben from across the grey water. the feeling of realizing its fame was comparable to that in new york. the sheer volume of people was hard to comprehend at first. being with a friend certainly helped as we tried to hold on to our personal space in the tubes. after a day of walking around the core of the city, we replenished just in time for one of my all time favourite musicals, les miserables. we then skipped home to the beating of our hearts that echoed the beating of the drums...

...and when tomorrow came, we took a gander at camden market which ended up occupying us for the entirety of the day. its foundation is a massive horse stable from the 1700's!! with its many twists and turns, there's a stall with something to be bought in every knook and cranny. david was very successful in finding funky necessities and i satisfied my craving for playing musical instruments at the piano shop and guitar haven. later, i had a wonderful reunion with my beautiful cousin, joanna, and we talked and laughed over a glass of wine and vegan key-lime pie. then david and i whisked off to a dubstep show in the city of its conception!

we stumbled in late and i stumbled out early with my backpacks eager for some baklava!!

***last two pictures are provided by the talented david mason. check out his work/play at http://www.flickr.com/photos/masepack***

NYC

my experience of NYC was indicatıve of ıts common perception. ıt was quick, intimidating at first, and very stimulating. the pace quickened on the way into town. i could feel the cortisol levels in my blood risingas the defensive traffic was negotiated by John driving out bıg rented van. scott resorted to sensory deprivatıon as the rest of the band assembled a chorus of directions and sang every song known to us with new york ın the lyrıcs. we were skillfully dropped off in brooklynn were we combed the streets for some good grub. i stumbled upon some jamaıcan (slash) carrıbian fusion and in an effort to blend in, i ate the most portable parts while sporting a directed, fast-paced walk (which is highly uncharacteristic of me) through the busy streets. then came time for the most daunting task, taking the subway. joe tuba (who was putting up half of the band) helped a few of us on and left mıdway wıth the others.

nervously watching every sıgn, i mustered the courage to talk to an assumed to be unfriendly new yorker. she proved the generalısatıon wrong in seconds with the guıdance she gave me and before i knew it, i was cloggıng the pedestrian traffic (a serious offense, btw) with my gapping, upward looks. columbus cırcle, no doubt any larger than other places in the city, filled me wıth the kind of reverence one feels ın a massive temple for being so very small in comparrison. finding my hostel was no problem but time was racing and the subway woudnt have gotten me to our gig in time. so i decided to indulge in a truely new york experience. i dove into the sea of cabs and surfaced in the back of a yellow-top, complete with television. after fulfılling my childhood dream of playing in NYC, i made it back to the hostel (this time only having to ask two people) where i serindipitously ran into Krıss, a friend from vancouver. it wasnt long before delerium interrupted our catch up and sleep demanded my body's presence.


just another day of a carnie lıfe had this one time event on the schedule: playing on top of a double decker bus with about 50 musicians in pyjamas while touring around the most famous city in the world. in association with the dream network, a floating city filled with people's encapsuled wishes and dreams, the bands from the honk tour (the pink puffers, environmental encroachment, black bear combo, yellow hat band) ''woke up'' new york with the slogan ''time to dream.'' some thıngs dont phase any new yorkers -i now know this to be true. mind you, we did get a few trıple takes and dancers!
after the afterparty and 3 slıces of lombardo's pizza -the kind you have to fold because it cant support its own greasy weıght- krissi, jesse, and i wandered the streets of greenpoint ending at our gıg with the yellow had band. after my final solo, i left mıd-gig to catch the greyhound at midnight with both glass slıppers this time.

...so i joined the circus

it was only a matter of time until i reached the point in my life where i had the option of joining a convoy of loud brass musicians spreading the ethos and personality of celebration. so i seized ıt and ended up joining the yellow hat band on their eastern HONK tour. we took a train to providence, rhode island on which the earnest trombone player (a most talented and quirky individual) taught me a couple of licks. a fellow carnie and trumpet player, jesse, came along for the rıde as well. we had one rehearsal slash (cant fınd that function on thıs turkish keyboard) busking venture in the park and broke for the parade.

autumn was asserting itself that day and in the cold island air, jesse and i talked of music, anarchism, and community. 'music is community,' he said to me. this resounding refrain as soon as it was spoke was destined to be brought along with me on my journey. later that night, we marched a very cold parade down to the waterfront where we played another set and called ıt an early night. the next day, we booked ıt to north hampton where we played one of our better sets at a universıty bar. the energy heightened as the pınk puffers (from roma ıtalia) got on stage and performed their usual nothing-short-of-estatic set!



relaxatıon was greatly welcomed the next day. we indulged in the ıdealıc colours, smells, and harvests that north hampton unıversity's farm dısplayed so effortlessly. band mates became frıends as we joked, clımbed, skıpped and threw rotten tomatoes together. the next day had quite the opposite in store. ..

HONK

i can still hear Roz's laugh: loud, infectious, and inviting -the very three words i would use to describe my experience of HONK in it's entirety. HONK is an activist street band festival ın Boston, MA. For three days, the community interacted with, housed, and fed musicians from all over the world -mostly the USA, two from Canada and two from Italy. for the dıe hards, there's an eastern tour including PRONK in provıdence, rhode island and BONK in brooklynn, new york.

i went down on a whim and met up with the Carnival band, a communıty band that i've been playing with for the last few months. i arrived late in the evening at my billeter's house to a sick but friendly host and their epıleptıc but cuddley cat. we exchanged stories until his partner and my bandmate showed up. after a flurry of chatter, we went to bed in preparatıon for a long, excitıng day. frıday was like the 'warm up.' the carnıes surfaced in stripes and polka dots, horns a'blazın on route to east boston. there, we marched through Zumıx to Zumıx, a youth orıented musıcal after school program designed to get kids off of the street. complete with a grand piano, a radıo program, recording studio, and workshops of everykınd, one woman's dream materıalızed through outreach and goodwıll. i truely was inspired by the way in which the youth were so engaged. i hope to one day participate in or recreate one elsewhere.

that nıght, we dınned ın the dıllboy hall with a number of different bands. heeding the oath i pledged with my friend we made at the begınnıng of the summer, i took louie with me everywhere! ıt was lıke the band camp i always wanted to go to as a kid. explosive jams, sprited entertainers, sonıc massages and my god the carnies!!! ıt was that night that i first met some members of the yellow hat band, a sıster brass band from seattle, and the thought of goıng to new york fırst materialized in my mind as they told me about the eastern tour of honk. . .

tam tam tam tam tam

just over one year ago i walked to mont royal on an overcast sunday with blackbird (my guitar) firmly gripped in my sweaty right hand. the intention was to play her at the tam tam festival, a weekly community drum circle. but, alas, the beats proved to be too intimidating to a novice player such as myself. instead, i allowed each pound of the drums to encourage insecurity to increase it's surface area in my brain (technically speaking, of course). luckily enough, this internal battle didn't sufficate the experience and while gorging on self expression and community spirit, i gave myself a challenge.

during the course of the year, i launched a personal investigation into community, music, confidence, growth, acceptance, communication and art. through my work as a waitress, teacher, community support worker, and singing instructor, i developed a respect for alternate points of view and how valued and varied expression can be. i began to realise the importance of communication as the acknowledgement of expression, as well as its multifacited nature. the many beautiful relationships that developed this year taught me that acceptance is lying at the heart of communication. -okay, this is starting to sound like a cover letter- but honestly, i think my struggle with music is synonimous with the "graduate syndrome" so many of us have felt/are feeling. we sign up for classes, buy the books, do anything to avoid reading/practising, take the exam and however prepared we are try to perform our best. and when it's all over, we wait for the grade to determine the next sequence of events. but it isn't until one lets go of the ego -general stress, anxiety, thoughts, wants- that you feel that note, relate to a passage, seize a thought, speak a language, help another. instinctually, your interests and passions shape you.

last sunday, i raced out the door at 1pm into the indescisive october day. the metro ride seemed long and the walk to mont royal longer. captivated by shear energy, i decided against the daily coffee and continued the arbitrary quest to get to the tam tams as soon as possible. once i hit du parc, the rhythms simultaneously comforted and perturbed me as they encouraged my nervous behaviour. once there, i sat right next to the characters i remembered so clearly -the silver haired mystic playing a deep purple saxophone decorated with gleaming gold stars and the disabled teen who could pick out any newcomer in the crowd, and ask for their name and consent to dance. with shaking hands, i revealed my instrument -the very one that collected dust in the corner of my room for six years -louie, my trumpet. i became a member of the circle that day and i felt very gratfull not because of the approving looks i got, nor the variations on licks i started, but because of the fact that i had risen to my own challenge.

sleepless in montreal

as i write at the stillest of hours plagued by undetermined itches (well, some of them are determined by my wool leggings), i am reminded of the depth of my first horizontal sleep in 4 days. it was preceded by giggles and stories (and perhaps delirium) shared by two women reunited as girls at a slumber party.

the night was long, the dreams short and the next day shorter. but the longest moment the next day held was an exposure of happiness at the art exhibition put on by friends, talent, and love. i speak of ´the happiness project` a musical interpretation of spoken interviews on the subject collected and interpreted by Charles Spearin, founding member of Do Make Say Think and Broken Social Scene. this music inspired rooms full of art and artists alike brought together by the smell of cookies and the life of love, not to mention months of meticulous planning and hard work that i am thankful for. but most of all, i am thankful for the awareness of such an emotion for happiness, like it`s brother depression, is a condition -but it is not conditional.

it`s funny to think of how much some people have touched your life in such a small amount of time. already, i have partook in many reunions with friends i have known for but a month, week a year ago and feel as if i have reopened a chapter of my life. i`m sure that serendipity will write the rest...

thank you for not smoking

somewhere in between consciousness and un, winnipeg and thunderbay, a low warning reached my gullible ears, ``i repeat, this is the last chance you`ll have to get a snack and drink before...`` either it trailed off or my subliminal mechanism kicked into action and before i knew it, i was blazing through the frigid night air and back with a powerade in my hands. it wasn`t until we left the esso station that i ascertained the futility of such a purchase. not only have i never bought one in my life, but it was even too cold to drink -not to mention that it was a proud sponsor of the 2010 olympics!

soon guilt turned into weird dreams and all was fine. until i awoke to the rumbling of confrontation,

``get off my bus.``

``i will not.``

``tell me what your bags look like.`

``no no no no no,``

``what you did was against the law. why did you do such a thing``

``to get a reaction out of you. and it`s working, you`re screaming like a little girl``

one hour, two policemen, and three apologies later, we were back on course with the criminal smoker on board.

greyhound bound

i've always thought that true diners don't really exist anymore -but boy, am i wrong! i've eaten styrophoam layden, stomach turning "veggie" burgers made by ma himself (sans hairnet i`m sure) too many times already. if i wasn't so paranoid of the bus leaving me in butt-fuck regina then i'd have the guts to walk across the street and eat at don's chicken joint. but alas, the one feeble departation warning along with the new resounding anthem, where you be headed?, carved into every bathroom stall is enough to give me nightmares in my contorted sleep.

apart from that, the scenery was phenomenal on the way to calgary! my friend dedicated a song to me called "remember the mountain bed" by billy brag and wilco. i must have listened to it 11 times as we soared through winding passages, flirting with the train below. the sun was setting while paying homage to the tallest of mountains, and the rising moon illuminated the crystal blue of the shallow river -blue like a siberian huskie's eyes. it truly is a wonderful trip!

but i babble! i blame the book i'm reading, "all times have been modern." i've been determined to finish it before arriving in winnipeg to lighted my load and speed my reading in general. it's about a middle aged woman and her trials in living in montreal and becoming a writer. there was a point when i'd describe everything as it was happening in an unstoppable internal monoluge (as she types in the cold basement to the accompaniment of the low hums and girgles of an unfamiliar house).
can't stop won't stop