a certain slant of light

Our annual family ski trip is generally a whirlwind experience. Children, parents, instructors, friends… it seems there are people everywhere I look.  Always someone to greet and almost always something needing to be managed; lost gloves, painful shoes, thin layers, dirty socks!

But this year on our last day of skiing, our guides planned for us to ski down to a restaurant to which we’d never been. The final portion of the journey included a short (and admittedly very easy) off-piste section that was breathtaking in its beauty.

As we approached the woods, we skied through what must have been a small meadow in springtime. The combination of sun, wind and cold weather of the week had caused the upper layers of powder snow to crystallize so that it seemed we could touch and count each individual snowflake.  Once we had our fill of playing with the “snowflakes”, we entered single-file into a forest of pine trees.

The awesome beauty and silence that surrounded us is hard to describe.  After the hecticness of the week, and perhaps due to the fact that we knew that the next day we’d be catapulted back into the familiar chaos (and less comfortable political realities) of Istanbul, even the children were reluctant to speak as we glided among the trees. Instead, we travelled quietly, each alone, but also together, until we reached the end of the path.

Although each of us loves something different about our yearly week in Alps; for Erim it is the fresh air, for Asya it is being able to be with her friends nearly twenty-four hours a day, for Alara it’s the respite from the daily requirements of scheduling and school, for Alegra it’s getting to have nutella crepes for breakfast every day, for me it’s getting to be in the mountains and immersed in nature; thinking back on that day we all agreed that our final quiet journey through the pine trees was simply magical.

In January, I was lucky enough to get to visit the annual Domotex floor covering trade fair in Hannover, Germany. Taking a break from Istanbul for a few days did me a world of good, having the opportunity to lose myself in the hustle and bustle of the carpet world was a real treat, and getting a real glimpse into the business world of my father and sister was hugely educational and inspiring.

Although the merchants and customers came from all over the world, the majority of the merchants we visited were from Iran. Turkish rugs are, clearly, easier for us to access here in Turkey, so my father focused mainly on purchasing the Iranian carpets, Gabbehs, Sultanabads, Herizes, and Samarkands; he felt would be popular among customers in the United States. As one might expect, a significant amount of posturing, negotiating, and bargaining was par for the course over the three days we were there!

Despite the cacophany of voices and the constant movement of fair, the time we spent looking at each carpet provided me a moment of quiet that was almost meditative.  As the colors and patterns moved before my eyes, I began to think a great deal about the cultures from which these beautiful pieces of art have emerged. In particular, the way in which a traditional art form, with a very functional purpose, has managed to form cultural connections between the cultures and nations producing the carpets, such as Iran, Afghanistan, Azerbaijan, and of course, Turkey, and those who have traditionally appreciated the beauty and workmanship these carepts represent, such as the U.S., Great Britian, Germany, and France (among many others).

The personal connections that I was able to make with the rug merchants we visited varied. Some were Iranians who had travelled to Germany only for the fair. Their family connections in Iran, and their ethnic backgrounds meant that while they spoke little English, they did, in fact, speak Turkish! Although at times I had trouble understanding some of the older Turkish words that have been lost from our daily vocabulary, my father was able to complete his negotiations and purchases without any trouble.  Other Iranian families had been living in Germany for years and spoke German and English fluently. One family in particular reminded us so much of our own family that I felt as though I had known them for years! Like us they had all spent their lives going back and forth between two countries and two cultures, in their case Germany and Iran, as their parents built their now booming carpet business. With them I was able to bond not just over the beauty of the carpets, but also over stories about our children, spouses, and struggles and success balancing our two cultures.

Balancing these two cultures has, for me, at times been a real challenge.  There are parts of each that I would never want to live without, and parts of each that I would be very happy to get rid of entirely. In addition, having lived a somewhat itinerant life as a child, it is certain that the current stability and routine of my life is something I sought out, however also something that often frustrates me. On the whole, as I was reminded in Germany, the vibrancy of this cultural combination, mirrored in the vibrant colors of the carpets that have always been such an integral part of my life, is something that has enriched my world and something that I would never want to lose.