e.i.

Arrived home around 05h00. Nilgün did not wake up for the Ankara train. I immediately took off my clothes and lay down to sleep. It was short-lived; Nilgün got up around 07h00, got ready, smiled at me one last time, and left. I will be alone in Istanbul this weekend. On one hand, it seemed like there was nothing to do, while on the other, there were two relentless days ahead of me.

I hadn’t intentionally picked up my guitar last week. This was the first time we’d reached this level of closeness since I began playing. I missed it. I spent the morning doing a bit of practice, having breakfast in between, lightly planning my day, and then practicing some more. Due to my solitude, the evening activity was obvious: playing the acoustic guitar and, if possible, listening to live music. Two planned activities prompted me to come to Istanbul early. The rest are gaps that can add to my day. Before leaving the house, I had set aside an hour for street conversation. I also learned while calling my cousins that my aunt had fallen ill and was hospitalized at Siyami Ersek. Setting aside 1.5 hours for her meant that my general activities fell into order.

The conversation began at the head of the apartment building. Our neighbor, whose lung cancer was improving, was sitting on the entrance steps waiting for her daughter and we chatted a little. Then, I turned my head and saw that the shutters of the shop next door were half open (which isn’t very common), so I immediately moved there. After giving away some of his items to a junk dealer, Atıl; saw me and said wearily, “You’re late.” That’s when I understood why I saw an old-fashioned, nice music system in the junk dealer’s car while talking to my neighbor. Atıl wanted me to drive him to the hospital to be with his wife who was admitted there. I said OKAY. Went back home, grabbed the keys, and headed to the car. What did I see? The rear tire was flat. Great (!). While I started to change it, the wrench to remove the lug nuts broke. It was apparently designed for one-time use only. Taking Atıl to the hospital was off the table. Hello, tire-changing business. I was looking around for a lug wrench, a neighbor came with a compressor and swiftly inflated the tire, then hop, off to the tire shop in the backstreet where I usually get my tires. About 200ml of mom’s fresh basil limonite went to the compressor hero neighbor, and roughly 300 Turkish Lira from my pocket to the tire guy. The tire had a nail right through it. That happens with all-season tires. I locked the car at the tire shop and ran to the people I’d set aside an hour for the real chat.

The collectives across from my house, have come up with yet another fresh and beautiful project. They’ve nicely updated the lighting elements of the Galata Tower. The work turned out so well that the design itself became illuminated. In fact, the designer must have realized just how beautiful their design was, as they expressed their good intentions in a different language. That’s what they were dealing with when I arrived. With the remaining time from my allocated one hour, I lingered around this topic and then moved on to the next activity. My aunt was doing well; no problems there. One warm night in Bodrum, her heart gave a signal. The sign of that signal showed itself in Istanbul. Are they going to fit a pacemaker to her heart? Or not? They’ve admitted her to understand this. The room has a beautiful view. She’s a lucky woman. Thanks to her, I also got to see my cousin, granduncle, and aunt-in-law, which was good. After all, reminiscing about old days for a short while isn’t a bad thing. There were also some things that I needed to discuss with my cousin, so it was better face-to-face. Now it was time to return home; I had entered the time frame to get ready to go out just to come back and sleep. I’m sure I need to inflate my bike tires as it’s been a long time since I last rode it.

I inflated the tires, hopped on the bike, and rode to Yoğurtçu Park next to the bicycle collective. Today, there was a Critical Mass ride, one of the reasons mentioned in their previous article. The exciting part was that this communal ride would end at the beginning of another collaboration, and there was still time before the ride started. Since I hadn’t ridden my bike in a long time, I started a short, light ride alone along the shore. If time had allowed, I would have visited the other cousin, but the meetup was at Göztepe Park at 19h00, and Maltepe was too far for that. The opening of Caddebostan beaches was great. The municipality’s affordable snack bars are also fabulous. The mixed toast was finished at one, so I had to go to the other beach. After a mixed toast, a cold coffee, some shade, and watching plenty of passing people for a late lunch, I pushed the pedals, trying to catch up with the bicycle collective on the road for the CM ride.

Since our destination was certain and scheduled, we did not extend our ride. When we stopped at the lights, we proclaimed our love for bicycles, carried them on our shoulders, counted down the traffic lights, and pedaled as if we were ‘single and free’ like a car. When we arrived at the Bull statue, it was clear that something was going on at the Kadiköy port area. It was like the ones on the old April 23rd National Sovereignty and Children’s Day, descending together. While we were thrilled about who would lead the way, a friend sped up behind us, and we went down into the laps area. The crowd gathered there, angry at their “servants” who were eager to take the life they did not give. They were excited for being able to gather, and they added to our excitement. The only problem was finding a place to put our bicycles. We asked, let’s put it among the parked service vehicles positioned in a way that prevents more people from joining. The uniformed officers did not allow our bicycles within the taped area, saying they couldn’t be sure what was inside them. Yet, a bicycle is a naked thing. Transparent. We went around to the back. Leaned our bicycles against a tree. Some of us stood by the bicycles. Others started to disperse into the area with their helmets. Right then, that’s where I split from my friends. I darted off like an arrow. My eyes were searching for the wearable dog statue that my friends had made.

I had never thought of the live music event listed for the night in such a manner. The last time I took part in a live music choir with our voices in unison was 11 years ago. This time, the theme is a reaction to our “servants” eager to take lives they do not give—a response to those who once wanted the trees, and now it’s about the homeless street dogs. The mood was perfect when the crowd, passionate and vocal with their reactions, came together. When thousands share the same thought, the atmosphere begins to shift. One feels lighter, almost as if in a slumber. As soon as I received the message that the bicycle vigil had ended, I started to make my way back, slicing through the crowd. We picked up the bicycles. We were about to leave the area. Of course, we would go through the traffic. On the very first occasion, a car grazes the rear tire of my friend’s bike. Immediately following, a woman sitting in the front passenger seat rolls down her window to scold us. Really now. Is this the pass we get during Critical Mass time? I started with the first syllable of our beloved bicycle anthem “Out of the car,” expecting my companions to join in the chant, but they didn’t. Instead, the driver of the car we had the minor altercation with tried to get out, and immediately, our uniformed friends stepped in, saying, “Was that really necessary, bro?” and they took to the road, persuading the driver back into the car. Then we set on our way and dispersed. Now it’s time to play the amplified guitar.

While it appeared that the day was coming to an end, incoming messages changed the course of events. Two of my colleagues said they were in Kadıköy, so Şaman and I played a short bit and then we both went out together. Thankfully, Merve had bought some beer, which we drank together. Then Kadir arrived following that. The topics began to deepen slightly. Where Şaman’s friends usually sat on the benches, now my friends were there. That’s life. Merve left early. Kadir and I went to have dinner together. Then Kadir left too. I continued playing until Şaman felt sleepy. After leaving Şaman’s place, with the idea of keeping on until my battery died, I headed towards Kadıköy. It turned out well. I saw my friend who was riling up the crowd on the Kadıköy shore with his speech and shared the speech videos with him. Then I saw the ones making wearable animal sculptures and spent some time walking around with them, drinking beer.

The most interesting character of the day emerged at the end. When he suddenly appeared in the middle row where we had vacated the person sleeping in the middle bench so that we could sit closer to our friends, I remembered seeing him in the cafe while he was running around during the day. We spent time together just appreciating the moment. First, we all listened to music together, kept the rhythm, and watched a group of 2-3 people on the opposite side who were dancing to their music without giving us even one of their sound bombs for a song. Then the friends left, and we were alone. We talked about this and that. To get our last beers, we walked a long way. There was no problem since we were close to home. Then we relived the Istanbul games of our childhood. We became the target of fun for two young lads from Adana. Dawn had broken; there was no more trouble. After all the hustle, I decided to check my phone. I saw a message from Deniz. (We had plans to meet up for a swim at Caddebostan the next day.) suddenly my battery died.

My last mysterious friend understood me, and reluctantly let me go. I went home at horse speed. I put the phone on charge, put the water in the kettle, and brewed coffee. I answered the phone. I called Deniz. He was running. “My battery is dead, I’ll come back after it charges a bit,” I said. I went to bed at around 06:45. I passed out. When I woke up, it was noon. Luckily, I had one day left to evaluate yesterday.