Dichotomies

The most common cliche about Istanbul must be the one on its many dichotomies. I would never pretend to know the city well, after being there only two times in a total of 10 days. But from a timid peek, one can already tell that it's a different place. Not in the "all places are different somehow" way, but in a "je ne sais quoi" way that is hard to explain. I might have been influenced by some readings, including the autobiographical piece by Orhan Pamuk, but it's not hard to realize that Istanbul doesn't easily fit in any category. The biggest cliche of them all: part-Europe, part-Asia, part-East, part-West. And the cliche stems not only from an abstraction but from the evident and unique geographical reality of the city, as one can swiftly pass from one continent to the other just by crossing the bridge on the Bosphorus.

As you walk down Istiklal Cadesi, with its 5-story buildings with ornate facades, you might have the feeling that you're in a European City. Still, it's not quite European. It is neither Asian or Middle Eastern as Damascus so evidently is. The avenues in the more affluent parts of the European side, like Beyoglu or Nisantasi, are not as orderly as in Vienna or Warsaw. Although they can be somewhat grandiose, sometimes there is also an ugliness - and the traffic jams - that is more reminiscent of Sao Paulo. Yet the overpowering energy of Sao Paulo is not there. It's easier to sense what Pamuk described as a feature of the city's people: their melancholy.

Like Buda and Pest on the Danube, the European and the Asiansides have their share of palaces built on the shores of the Bosphorus. Like Budapest, Istanbul has the magnificence of its past to show, but in the faded way of a great empire that ceased to be. Then there's the unmistakably Oriental flavor represented by the ever-present domes and minarets that dot Istanbul's skyline and make it unique in a way that no European city could be.

After talking to a few expats there, I learned Istanbul is one of these special, "love it" or "hate it" cities. This observation reminded me of Brasilia, a city that, like Istanbul, one cannot be indifferent to. Perhaps it would be more accurate to describe them as "love it and hate it". Yet, Istanbul is worlds apart from Brasília, not only for the richness of its history as for the apparently spontaneous urban development that one can't find in the planned and controled Brasília's layout.

Another dichotomy I could feel in Istanbul lay in the Turkish themselves. Eventhough they are very welcoming and friendly, they are quite reserved. Maybe traces of the melancholy Pamuk described?

All in all, its beauty and its ugliness living side by side, Istanbul is a magnetic, magnificent place to be.

Balkan travels (1) - The Day I was Stopped at the Border - and Sent Back

When I was a teen in my hometown, an average-size city in the State of São Paulo, it was common for people around my age to try and spend one or two years abroad and return back to the old life in that industrial, moderately crazy town. Favored destinations were the US, the UK and Australia, where one could improve his English and be exposed to a somewhat different life style in a developed country. People would go, work as a waiter or some other job and come back. One concern was getting a tourist visa, which was easier if your parents were well-off but not a sure thing. I considered this sort of short-term migration myself but never did it.

Visa issues ceased to exist when I became a diplomat. Now even for personal travels, I could use my diplomatic passport and get a visa, if needed, in a easier and quicker way. So I was astonished that, from all places, and after visiting around 60 countries, I was denied entry, from all places and for the first time, to Moldova.

Of course, I am aware that this split personality issue (Diplomat-Backpack traveller) is not always an easy one for people to grasp, though my experience so far had been of a beneficial relationship for both.

I was in Northern Romania, where I spent 1 day visiting the painted monasteries in Bucovina (World Heritage sites worth a visit both for the architectural and spiritual aspects and the natural scenery). It was close to Moldova, a 6-hour drive by Maxi-taxi (a minivan) from Suceava to Chisinau. After waking up and managing to board the minivan that had already started leaving the Station, there I was, in my way to spend a few hours in Moldova's capital before boarding a train to Bucharest and then proceed to my next destination: Bulgaria.

At the border, the bus stops and all passports are taken to the border police.

They look at this travel document belonging to this exotic animal, most probably unheard of in the Romanian-Moldovan border: a Brazilian diplomat coming by bus.

After some 30-40 minutes, the bus driver decides to leave, saying that another bus would soon pass the border. Other passengers didn't show signs of distress at the long wait - of course and fortunately I couldn't understand what they said.

The border police was waiting for a confirmation on the actual need of a visa in a Brazilian diplomatic passport. At this point, I must observe that according to information I had obtained in my Foreign Ministry's website, that visa was not needed.

In the whole border post, only a young officer from the Customs knew some English and tried his best to be my interpreter. He looked thrilled in his new position, one that none of his superiors or colleagues could take up. He also enjoyed the possibility of brushing up his English. And he couldn't resist having foreign ears to hear how life in Moldova was difficult for the young, due to a lack of opportunities and better pay, as well as a tight, Communist-style control almost everywhere. He looked pretty authentic and, although financial issues made their way into the conversation, no hint of a bribe was made. Other people from the Customs approached to say the issue was not their responsibility: they were only the Customs and the border police were the tough guys.

Then, I'm taken to the office of the big boss, where I realized all the pages of my passport were scanned in this modern facility. I should have asked for a copy. I am subjected to an interview:

- What is the purpose of your trip? Tourism.

- Where are you staying in Moldova? I'm not staying. I'll spend only a couple of hours before boarding a train back to Bucharest.

- Did you already buy the tickets? No.

- At what time does the train leave? At 5:10 pm.

- How do you know? I checked the information on the internet and at the train station in Romania.

- Are you allowed to travel for tourism using a diplomatic passport? Yes.

- Are you carrying a regular passport? No.

- Where are you living? Where do you work? In the US, at Brazil's Mission to the UN. Can you prove? Yes, here are some documents.

And then, this pearl:

- With all due respect, is this passport authentic or false? Of course it is authentic, as well as all the visas and stamps you can see.

(The official pointed out it was strange that my photo was glued instead of printed on the page. He was obviously used to more modern documents than the older model I was carrying).

And then:

- I'm sorry, but a visa is needed and I can not let you in.

My young interpreter looked really sad, more sorry than I was.

At this point, in the split of a second, I considered switching from the backpacker mode to the diplomat in a tough negotiating situation mode and come with a discourse like: Brazil enjoys peaceful relationships all over the world, including with Moldova. After 60 countries, this was the first time I'm not allowed entry. People in my Ministry and in the United Nations will know that a Brazilian diplomat was not welcome in Moldova and, worse of all, his status and passport were considered a fake. But I also considered that the 3-4 hours I'd spend exploring the charms of Chisinau was at that point reduced to no more than 1 1/2 hour; another visa stamp and country included in my visited countries' list were not worth the hassle. And what if that official was right and I indeed needed a visa?

In the end, I restricted myself to mention that I was very disappointed because I really wanted to visit Moldova but had to understand his position. And that I hoped that the information he had regarding the visa was the accurate one and not the one I had.

The always polite officer then led me to the other side of the premises where they arranged me a ride back to Iasi in Romania, where I waited a few hours before taking my train to Bucharest.

And yes, they were right. I needed a visa for Moldova after all, as I found out later. It was my fault I didn't check the information I had before leaving Bucharest or even New York, as Moldova was already a possibility then. And after all, those guys at the border were pretty polite and serious in their jobs and, in retrospective, looked willing to help. Perhaps the interview was a way of evaluating the possibility of letting me in despite not fulfilling the visa requirement. I have to concede that having a diplomat coming in a bus from Suceava, with no clear purpose besides some sightseeing for a few hours and no place or reference at all in the country might look a bit suspicious in a place that is still not an obvious tourist destination in Europe's map.

But I won't give up. I'll still visit Moldova (with the due visa) and perhaps for more than one day. It's not only a matter of honor. After all, they have the largest underground wine cellars in the world in Cricova.