Not everyone spent Spring Break in Jamaica. Below, Bwog editor Chris Szabla reports on his visit to cold - and contradictory - Istanbul.
The train from the airport emerges into open air, weaves through tired concrete apartment blocks painted in worn pastels, occasionally grants glimpses between them of an endless, rolling cityscape of similarly dilapidated structures, all suffused in a dull green-blue haze. It halts at a transfer point shrouded in fog and you exit, your face sprinkled with forty-degree rain. That's when you remember: despite the minarets puncturing the distant horizon, the hijabs, the buzz-buzz-buzz of calls to prayer mediated by electric megaphone, Istanbul is far closer to Bulgaria than Bahrain.
Sure, "East and West": both are present in this city, which legendarily spans continents and cultures, shores and civilizations. That the two meet here is the cliché that has saddled Istanbul at least since the foundation of the Turkish Republic in the 1920s, when
one Orientalist trope after another was swept away by Atatürk's steady - some would say overzealous - Westernizing hand. Some dissenters, naturally, have chosen to paint the city one way or another, instead. "This Istanbul is European thing is bullshit," one grad student told me before my departure. "Most of it is just like Damascus." In Orhan Pamuk's Snow, on the other hand, distant Istanbul comes off no less foreign, no less "Western" to ur-Turkish Anatolia as Paris or London.
In his memoir Istanbul: Memories and the City, the Nobel-winning author strikes closer to the truth about this beguiling metropolis. East and West - if, for convenience's sake, we can collect a variety of stereotypes under these contested categories - do both exist, indeed coexist, in Istanbul. Whether they, in fact, meet - this is another question entirely.

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Dean of SEAS Zvi Galil,
Eagle-eyed Bwog Editor Jessica Cohen noticed this interesting sign in Milano.

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