Una distesa arida e secca, sembra una piana lunare Ankara, la capitale di Turchia, mentre atterro nel buio di novembre.
A dry, arid expanse, it looks like a lunar plain Ankara, the capital of Turkey, as I land in the November darkness. Outside the airport, R is waiting for me, welcoming, if shy, his teeth a somewhat consumed by smoking, breath impaired by the day’s work and the tobacco. Seemed so sociable on whatsapp, now the embarrassment of choosing what to say, after a stopover and just wanting to get to my room hotel. ‘All is quiet in Ankara,’ he says. The day before, Sunday 13 November, in Istikbal Caddesi someone lit a fire, causing six casualties and injuring some eighty victims. “On the other hand, it has not happened for a little…since 2015 I think,’ he mutters. The eighteen o’clock traffic also crowds the grey Turkish capital, after about an hour we slip into the lanes of apartment blocks, uncultivated parks and imposing commemorative statues, I feel like be in Tashkent, or in generic Sovietistan. What happened to the glories of The City (Istanbul)? Arrival at the Neva Palas Hotel, a quick farewell and I am soon in room. Wasn’t I supposed to rest?
In less than half an hour I am in Kizilay street, where crowded çayhane and coffee shops get tangled up playing traditional melodies, or winking at hipster vibe, spiced up with flat white and vegan brownies. I am in the shopping and nightlife street, where fashionable young boys flank middle-aged men with fezzes and glasses of çay, some of them gather around tables to play cards, some veiled women confabulate at Starbucks crowding the nylon tables of symit bought at the market, sometimes in the company of peers in miniskirt. I passed by the countless mobile phone and handbag shacks counterfeits and I sneak into a big mall where I am told there is Turkcell in the basement. A shack. I try to get a sim, two fatty men are sharing a burek and agreeing to interrupt the snack by giving me the price of 250 lire, which after five minutes becomes 450 lira. At least I console myself at Yelken Balik, a renowned fish restaurant a little south of the city, in the diplomatic area of Ankara.
What is a Turkish evening without a mix of mezzes of the day chosen at the counter? “What about Kizilay street,” I think, enjoying some excellent marinated sea bass in lemon sauce. It sounds so New Yorker, so chic, the atmo in the restaurant. As a victim of the first impressions I wonder. “Well, how many Ankaras have I already seen in a couple of hours?”
I don’t feel like answering, I order my uber back to the hotel frozen, the Anatolian temperature range is being felt. The first evenings in a hotel always retain a unique charm, when occur in unknown cities. Intrigued, but awkward, we look for our place in the world, trying extemporaneously to create unseen rituals in an attempt to feel at home, to place ourselves. I always turn on the TV to keep me company, avoiding heating the kettle to sip something, it is always so full of limescale. Sometimes I call the room service to order some trifles, I feel like cuddling myself a little, as if limestone in hotel kitchens doesn’t.. “Ankara: CIA chief William Burns meets Russian spy boss Sergey Naryshkin’. Al Jazeera breaks from TV in my thoughts, distracting me from manias, passing me on to others, am I in the place of a spy story? No, it’s reality. Who knows where they are met, I am so excited. I slip into bed.
Zzz….
