It's Gonna be a Hot One Baby

Spring and Autumn in Istanbul appear to have lost their desire to live anymore. Even winter is slowly loosing its will year by year, with snowfall lacking the gusto and energy of its former life. But if there’s one season who knows who’s boss, its Summer. The Turkish Godfather of the seasons, Summer gives us blazing heat and sunshine every year without fail. Having struck a deal with global warming, it gives truth to the age old saying of ‘survival of the fittest’. However, has our once beloved summer let the power rush to its head as it becomes more extreme each year? Is summer really the idealistic time of our memories? Unless you’re among the small percentage of the population who can afford to jet-set to the south coast of Turkey for the entire summer, what are we left to deal with in a city with more than 12 million people?

Sure, after the dark dismal days of winter it’s hard not to get excited about shedding layers of clothes and dining (by which I really mean drinking) until all hours of the night in sub-tropical temperatures. The promise of heat and sunshine that sporadically appeared between cold nights and rainy days in a season that barely resembled spring, left me longing for summer to a point of frustration. Then, without warning, wham bam thank you maam, I left my house one morning only to find myself dripping wet in a humid 30+ degree heat. Where was the lead up that spring offers? Did the government even have enough time to dig up all the parks to plant their ready-grown tulips by the thousands? Did all the stray cats and dogs have enough time to repopulate the animal street gang? (which by the way, brings another point to mind, I don’t think I have ever seen a street puppy; kittens, sure, by the dozen, but puppies, no). As we are thrown into something short of a heat wave, it would seem, Ladies and Gentlemen, that our old friend summer has arrived.

Without stating the obvious, I’m struggling to remember what exactly does summer bring that gets everyone in a frenzy? I like heat and sunshine as much as the next person and I’m certainly looking forward to loosing my ‘sut gibi’ skin, which in all honesty I have been called. Several times. But there’s a niggling I can’t ignore which contradicts the idealistic picture painted in my mind with the true reality of “A Summer in Istanbul”. Every year, I spend most of the winter wishing away the short days where the sun sets at 4pm, but have I drank away too many brain cells partying it up in Istanbul’s winter nightlife (which, let’s face it, is incomparable to most cities I’ve been to) to remember the true horrors of summer? In a distant far away memory, I’m sure I was cursing last summer about something to do with humidity, or feeling like my skin was melting, or dripping sweat; but I can’t be too sure just how that felt after the chill of winter.
There are, however, some things that are definitely ingrained into my memory. Smells, for example. When Istanbul gets hot, all sorts of aromas start permeating my nostrils. Rubbish, water canals, sewers, and my biggest favourite, body odour. May I introduce an old friend of mine deodorant. Somehow, deodorant hasn’t quite caught on in this country just yet (and where and when I find someone who is wearing it, in the nicest way possible I would like to say that a whole bottle is not really necessary). Public buses are the worst; lucky I’m tall, the air is much clearer up where I stand.

Bare legs, bare arms, bare shoulders. It’s hot, it’s summer, it’s sticky; I want to wear my singlets, skirts and dresses in order to avoid heat stroke, or even worse (shock horror), massive sweat patches. I understand that the percentage of my skin showing is possibly alarming, and I know this topic is debatable seeing I chose to live in a Muslim country, but I would really love to walk around feeling comfortable in my summer clothes. It’s the one thing that I approach with trepidation as I feel barley short of naked as eyes bore through my exposed skin. Although tourism has been flourishing in this country for the last ten years, these clothes still cause a stir on occasion. But what I don’t understand is that the younger generation of Turkish girls are wearing a hell of lot less than I do and draw little attention; I feel slightly discriminated against. However, in saying that, the semi-stardom status that I have in this country is rather addictive; perhaps this is one of those things I just suck up and take the good with the bad.

The last point I can vaguely remember about summer is the tourists arriving by the dozens (or rather millions). And without fail, the arrival of summer means the loss of my ex-pat badge I worked so hard to get. I feel I deserve credit for the groundwork I’ve done in this city (learning the language, shaking off stalker ex-boyfriends, dealing with difficult landlords); but no matter how far I’ve come, every year I get grouped back into the tourist group and get treated no different. All those cafes and shops that suddenly start up their invitations for tea, carpet viewing and what not, as well as the increase of random conversations on Istiklal about where I’m from, am I Russian, do I speak Russian, what is my name, you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen (hello, have you seen Angelina Joile?). I am fully aware of the hypocriticalness of my complaints towards tourists, seeing I myself am no native to this wonderful country. However, I am not ‘just another tourist’; I can actually make Turkish coffee and menemen, does this count for nothing?

So with all said and done, I guess Summer is just lashing out at the world as it comes to the realization that its days numbered (albeit a few million trazillion years off); perhaps it’s just trying to live life to the fullest. I guess we could all just pump up our air conditioners which may just make these hot humid summers end a million years earlier.