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What a fascinating chaos! Despite the signs forbidding the use of the car horn – or perhaps because of them ? – car horns were used continuously and seemingly with joy, thus drowning the omnipresent oriental music. This music came from old cassettes and was of the corny-exotic type getting on my nerves; however, I would get used to it in time. We bought a map of Turkey and went to the bank. The proceeds obtained from selling my 'legacy' in Germany had not arrived yet. We did not feel like waiting for the money here in Istanbul. We wanted to get out of this chaos – to which I would get used too – and bought a ticket to Sile.
It was a beautiful drive along the Bosporus right up to the 'Karadeniz' as the Turks call the Black Sea, only a few hours away from this Moloch called Istanbul. Jörg seemed to be a bit irritated because he would have liked to travel on, but I had asked my friends to send me the money to Turkey. Teheran or Kabul seemed too risky for transferring money.
What a calming idyll; we looked for a cheap guesthouse. I enjoyed the sea view from our balcony but Jörg immediately ran to the beach and made friends with a German couple, Klaus and Susanne, who were on their way to India in a cheap camper. I was weary of them right from the beginning. I on the other hand met Mehmet a young Turk. He was about to open his own disco, situated on top of a cliff; with little money and lots of work he managed to fulfil his dream. The tables were made of old tires and a glass plate. To obtain a license for his disco Mehmet was forced to shave his moustache, something quite scandalous for a Turk, but the authorities forced him to do so and Mehmet was a freak and could live with it. Anyway it seemed as if Sile had become a meeting point for Western freaks who were seeking a rest on a long journey.
I spent a few days with my new friend and helped him to make the interior of his disco look nice. There wasn’t much to do though because nature provided the most beautiful magic backdrops – the clear starry nights, awesome sunrises and sunsets. I gave him some advice on the music and helped him to design the poster for his opening night:
"Welcome to the LOVER’S DISCO.
A place for friends. A place to be.
Best music in town."
I even borrowed him some money to buy drinks. Meanwhile Jörg was spending his time with Klaus and Susanne on the beach and we saw less and less of each other. On the disco’s opening night the three of them went to the well known ‘Sile-Disco’ but didn’t turn up in our establishment. Next day I met three German guys. One of them was Bernd a friend of my supplier in southern Germany. Was that a coincidence? With time I would interpret this differently – karmic connections!
In the evening I met Bernd and his friends and Jörg. The five of us were roaming through Sile, Bernd had announced a surprise.
"I have a few grams of 'Magic Mushrooms' Psylocibin. You feel like having some?"
"Sure, there couldn’t be a better moment for me. The three of you are going back to Germany and you Jörg might accompany me still for a while, but you can return any time you like."
"Well, I am not so sure" Jörg answered.
It was clear for Michael and Tom however.
"Well here are three gram."
"I only want a little bit," Jörg, who actually did not want any at all, said.
"Ok. It was meant for the three of us. Chris you as our guest of honour are getting one third, Jörg as much as you want and the rest we divide amongst ourselves."
I felt very honoured and loved. We looked for a quiet place where our little fire could not be seen. Fiery sparks made crackling noises, music, illuminating us under the starry skies and Jörg took more than I had expected.
In this archaic landscape I felt propelled into the Stone Age. Stones were telling their stories, trees gently caressed me and flowers presented me with their scent. Ants almost changed their direction at my will. I was ONE with Creation. The wind touched me … I was exposed to the wind … I was like a leaf in the wind … I WAS the wind!
I was laying on a bed of moss and enjoyed it.
"Chris, are you ok?" Bernd asked me.
"It is beautiful. The wind is playing with me and the sea is calling me."
"Chris, are you really ok?"
"I feel newly born and I want to go to the sea. It calls for me!"
"Do you know why the Black Sea is called black?"
"Yes, I know!"
The weather here was unpredictable. After the most gorgeous sunset a storm could come up within minutes and you’d have to run for safety. Many people had drowned here already ...
"I want to go swimming."
To reach the sea we had to walk through the sleeping town of Sile. A beckoning smell wafted towards us. The baker was at work! Impatiently we waited for the first ‘Ekmek’; ah, how delicious it tasted! The baker looked slightly astonished at his bread. Does it taste any different today, he seemed to ask himself.
We proceeded through the slowly awakening town towards the beach. We had barely arrived there when I got rid of my clothes. Only Bernd followed me. He dared to swim out a bit but I wanted to go out further.. and further ...
"Chris! Come back!" they all called together.
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JoeMono
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Sea of Love
Digital image by Mimulux
"I feel like an embryo embedded in amniotic fluid. It is so wonderful. I feel so protected, nothing can happen to me."
I swam back even though I would have preferred staying in the amniotic sac. Bernd embraced me.
"I understood you. Now you are ready for your adventure."
Jörg looked at me, confused and frightened. It was clear to me me now that we would be going separate ways. He hadn’t understood me. Bernd and his friends drove home and Jörg continued his journey with his false friends. I went back to Istanbul, my money had arrived.
15 years later I ‘accidentally’ met Jörg in a supermarket in Cologne. He had just come from New Zealand where he lived with his family for 10 years. He was an apiculturist in New Zealand and here to sell a queen bee but the local ambiance did not suit her. He stayed in Germany for three days and I celebrated my 40th birthday – I was told then that Susanne and Klaus had robbed him in Anatolia.
Jörg had left me. I was all alone in Istanbul, a city that never sleeps. I couldn’t sleep and drank half a bottle of Raki and had a strange dream:
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Mimulux
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"The illumination"
Painting by Iron Irene - Acryl on paper
I had been in a kind of prison for ages it seemed. Or was I a yogi in the Himalaya? Was I a prisoner? Or had I just become a recluse to obtain total freedom?
There was something threatening about it yet I was not afraid.
I had lost the freedom to return to my country. That door had closed… or back behind closed doors .. but all the others were open to me … or were opening on account of this. It was like an illumination. Now I had a premonition that I was priviledged. You don't chose such a situation. I will have extraordinary experiences.
Looking back I can say:
"That was the best that could have happened to me!"
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Iron Irene
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Next morning I enjoyed a sweet breakfast at the ‘Pudding-Shop’ with its view of the 'Sultan Ahmed'.
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Sultan Ahmed
Photo by Peter Engelhardt
Here travellers to the Orient met, the first meeting point in a long journey. I heard about Fullmoon-Parties in Goa and praise for Manali’s dope. A group of Dutch, British and Germans entered. They had come from Amsterdam with their Magic Bus and were looking for dope. In Anatolia this is easy but in Istanbul it is difficult and dangerous. I had a small piece in my pocket, a farewell present from Bernd.
Happily I wandered through this huge city and bought a bus ticket to Teheran. Then I allowed myself the luxury of taking a boat trip on the Bosporus and bade Europe farewell. I got hold of a brand new Mercedes bus with a driver wearing the uniform of a flight captain and enjoyed the comfortable ride. Refreshingly perfumed towels were passed around and the journey was interrupted for tea breaks. We crossed Anatolia, or rather wild Kurdistan, to which the South of Iran and the North of Syria and Iraq belonged to as well. Along the shores of Lake Van and past Mount Ararat, where ‘the Arc’ supposedly had stranded. The landscape and the people were getting wilder, even hostile.
further
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Peter Engelhardt
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