Arzhang’s Blog

The Invisible Tourist

Growing up in Idaho was tough.  In a predominately Mormon community of cookie-cutter looks my dark hair and features never did fit in.  People soon figured I wasn’t Mexican which pretty much meant folks were confused as to “what” I was.  My sister to this day angrily recalls kids at school teasing her.  She had it worse than I did.  We were the ones that got funny looks.  It sucked.

Yet as I tour yet another country this time Istanbul, Turkey I came to appreciate those very features.  No matter where I go people never see me as a tourist (that is until I pull out my map or speak English).  Even when I speak English like today they assume I’m Italian.  Perhaps it is because I’m in the midst of making a film, but this trip more than before has made me think about the world around me.  I see things differently, looking for images, looks, emotions.  Being “invisible” affords you the opportunity to look at things more from the inside.

As I walk people don’t ask me to buy shirts, they just assume I’m like the other 14 million people in the fourth largest city on earth.  As a result, although I am a tourist I have the privelege of getting immersed.

The first thing that hit me in Istanbul was its beauty.  Lush green hills and waterways connecting Europe and Asia.  The people are exotic and beautiful.  Features break the norms.  Bright eyes, with dark hair.  Dark eyes with light hair.  Light skin, dark skin, inbetween skin.  Turkish, German, English, Italian, Farsi fills the air.  The next thing that struck me is how much it was like Iran.   Walking down the street the clanging of metal, old motor cycles and workers resonate.  Their is a tactile feel to products.  People still “make stuff.”  The air smells of dust, diesel and Chanel perfume.  An industrialized nation and third world mix.  As far as the eye can see are goods, shoes, belts, bags, shirts, mostly knockoff of designers.  While people must know these are fake they still buy them.  Perhaps it is trying to live the illusion of wealth.  The burden of money is constantly present.  A little girl with black hair and a red scarf, alone at night on a crowded sidewalk begs for coins a she taps her plastic bowl.  People rush to put coins in her bowl.  After half an hour her piercing teal eyes look out, glossy, lost, scared.  Down the street tourist fill the fish restaurants as traditional Turkish music is played.  At least culture is maintained somehow, albeit by entertaining outsiders.  But hey, at least people have time to vacation so kudos to them.

From my vantage point however, I feel like the tables are completley reveresed.  Almost without exception within two seconds I can tell that a group is from America or not.  It is a complex thing to explain but it is unmistakable.

I walked tonight to a small dessert bar and ate four different types of baklava (with an obvious thought to a few friends).  As I sat there by myself eating I looked over at my server, a guy with dark hair and features who was on his break.  He was eating a few pastries quietly in the corner.  His eyes were tired, it was 930PM and he was stuck feeding visitors like me.  As I left I told him how great the baklava was.  He gave a warm smile, his eyes lit up.

I walked the long way back to my hotel, not once did anyone ask me to buy anything.  Not once did I get a funny look.  Sometimes it’s good to be “different”