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Serendipity in Istanbul
By Robbieana
Standing inside a carpet and tile
store in Turkey,
I held a black calligraphy pen steadily in my hand as I drew four bold
strokes,
beginning the Chinese character ai. A
Turkish employee watched with interest as the random strokes began to
unite,
transforming into the final product: a complex character that simply
meant
“love”. The calligrapher’s excitement was apparent on his face,
expressed
through a mesmerized gaze, wide smile and breathless “ooh”. My mouth
echoed his
smile upon seeing how eager he was to learn more. I could not help but
to think
how lucky I was to have the privilege of meeting such a talented
artist, who
wanted to learn more about my culture. There was no other explanation
for this
special experience than serendipity leading me there.
Five
minutes earlier, Inga and I had walked by the store on our way to the
Blue
Mosque, Hagia Sophia and Cistern. A Turkish man smoking by the entrance
immediately
began the typical conversation starter we had heard all day, “Konichiwa. Anyong Hasayo. Where are you
from?” Intrigued that we were Chinese, yet spoke “perfect
English”, he said,
“Please come in, have some apple tea and meet my friend. He is very
interested
in China.”
Despite being in a rush, Inga and I eventually gave into his pleas and
met his
friend, a calligrapher. The artist sat behind a desk which proudly
displayed plates
and tiles that were elaborately decorated with famous Turkish buildings
and
beautiful Arabic characters. The Turkish calligrapher extended his hand
in a
friendly handshake before telling us about his interest in beautifully
entrancing Chinese characters. He was excited that we could speak
English,
unlike other Chinese tourists he had met, because it was our
intermediary
language for communication.
Responding
to several of his questions, I explained to the calligrapher that each
Chinese character
is a one syllable word, albeit sometimes two words are combined to form
a
single “compound word” with an entirely new meaning. To illustrate my
point, I
wrote the word, ni hao. Ni means
“you” and hao means “good”, so together they mean how
do you do. Next, I
wrote ai, and urged him to try
writing it. Picking up the pen with a childlike fascination in his
eyes, he
duplicated ai. Looking back
intermittently and forth between his trial and the original, he
carefully
composed a character that looked a somewhat recognizable as ai.
“Very different than Arabic. This is
how you would write it in Arabic,” he suddenly said as he began to
rewrite ai, with his own spin.
Each pen
stroke in the character grew longer, and the ends flipped delicately,
swiftly
taking on an appearance of English cursive. The final product looked
neither
Chinese nor Arabic, but instead a fusion of both languages. It was my
turn to
be filled with childlike excitement. I had never anticipated that my
day in Turkey
would
include meeting a calligrapher who is so interested in my mother
language,
especially one who was so innovative in fusing his Islamic heritage and
my culture
to produce a design so strangely beautiful and beyond my imagination.
In that
moment, I felt an amazing sense of freedom and hope, because our
differences
were shed, and we were joined by a stronger joy and appreciation for
art.
Although idealistic and hyperbolic, the new fusion character was
personally
uplifting because I saw it as a symbol of peace triumphing over divided
nations.
Theodore C.
Bestor mentions in his article, Inquisitive
Observation, that his anthropological site found him, “sometimes
spontaneously,
sometimes by design” (316). He notes that the most effective way to
find a site
is not to attempt to find the “ideal project” but instead allow
serendipity to
take its course. Bestor says, “I realize now that networks choose me
much more
than I can possibly select them…the trick to fieldwork is figuring out
how to
harness networks that present themselves, as well as how to expand upon
them
(316). Never planning to enter the shop, I was about to dismiss the man
outside
as just another Turkish storekeeper, who imposes attention grabbers
upon
tourists by incorrectly guessing their ethnicities. Until I had met the
calligrapher, I have never felt so connected to the wisdom that “often,
seemingly unlikely people will turn out to have incredible amounts of
information” (Bestor, 328). This experience taught me that fieldwork is
about
wandering around with an open mind, and “taking advantage of chance
encounters,” which provides unexpected opportunities that leads one
closer
towards lessons of great magnitude, that not only enrich our
anthropological
findings but also our lives (Bestor, 328).
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