Let me tell you something that your shrink won't no matter how much you pay: Don't let a 13-year-old girl watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I realized how dangerous it can get when I was back home making fun of my cousin's pictures on Facebook as she told me that she wanted to dye her hair green. Looking at her pictures, I also realized that people-or at least my cousin and her friends-don't really know how to take good pictures. Therefore here are some basic problems with amateur photographers and solutions I'd suggest:
My Parents Don't Understand Me So I Better Take a Picture of Myself!
This is probably a 13-year-old girl who, when it comes to taking a picture of herself, obviously sucks. Puberty is a tough process, I know. Even though only thing you do is slam doors in people's faces for no reason, not all of the guys can make it through. However, that doesn't mean that you should go and take a picture of yourself. And if you really do need to take one, then follow my instructions: Taking a good picture of yourself depends very much on analyzing the shape of your nose. So before you start shooting, practice
several angles in front of a mirror to see which one suits your nose-if any. For instance, it's impossible for me to do that without the help of an expert. But thank God, I've got friends who know how to use Photoshop. If you are having such problems too, then either find an altruistic friend like mine or simply Google "how to fix a nose in Photoshop." But my advice would be not to bother.
On the other hand, I'm aware of the fact that most of you guys are into your 20s, so what I'd really appreciate is to read out what I'm about to say loudly every time you see a teenager (It would also be a nice gesture if you could e-mail this to all your friends): Guys, please just don't grab the camera nearest you to take a picture of yourself whenever you feel that your parents don't really get you and you are an outsider. Instead, do what normal people do, go shopping; because the Web is filled with useless, mass-produced pictures of you, which can easily be reduced to two or three (Scientists are working on this).
It's A Bird... It's A Plane... It's Superman… No It's a Tourist Who Thinks He Looks Cool!
This one is one of the later stages of the disease that the 13-year-old-girl got where we gradually lose our hope for the patient. What do these guys think when taking such pictures like holding up the leaning Tower of Pisa? Does she think it looks original? Does the guy in brown really believe his co-workers would like it? Does the other guy behind them seriously think that his 7-year-old son would laugh a lot? So what? Anything can make a 7-year-old laugh.
I haven't checked any statistics but I'm sure it would say that Italy is exposed to thousands of tourists every year who are there solely for taking those pictures. What is even worse is that it takes 5 minutes to take that picture and then those people, to whom I'd like to refer to as pseudo-tourists, have four days more to spend which they wouldn't be expecting. It would be a good investment if some entrepreneurs could contrive daily tours to Tower of Pisa just to take cliché "holding up the leaning Tower of Pisa" pictures.
The difficulty with the photographs is that there are so many of them that it's almost impossible to be original. Therefore I don't really expect any of you to evolve into a Jan Saudek. But that really hurts me when people spend so much money and time on such photos, and what I would do if I really need to look cliché is to call that friend of mine who knows how to use Photoshop. I'd suggest you to do so, as well, or again, you can simply Google "how to take a cliché photo of 'holding up the leaning Tower of Pisa' in Photoshop." And hey, be careful with your nose.
Originally published: December 15, 2009
One thing I don't like about microeconomics is that we assume people to be rational and then construct a whole study on this assumption while extreme examples like me exist. Of course, it would have been way too difficult for instructors to grade midterms otherwise, because instead of deciding how much cake and coffee Joe would consume given his income by using a Hicksian demand function, I would write down something like; "Joe wanted to consume 5 pieces of cake and no coffee today, and he doesn't think that he has to explain his reasoning as if this has something to do with his country's relationship to Britain." But this way, my career would go to somewhere that only Kramer's goes to, which is, nowhere.
Speaking of careers, I'm not one of those guys who would do whatever you want if given a certificate in exchange. This is because I don't really think I will get a job at that company in the Netherlands just because I've listened to some guy whose job is to read out some bestseller personal development book, not that I think these seminars are useless. I think when it comes to my career, there is more to it than that. So in this week's column, I want to talk about my career and how I set my weekly career objectives so I can dispense my wisdom to you, my dear readers.
Monday: I'd probably have a 600-word column to write, not to mention a four- page long homework assignment and a presentation on some topic that I don't know anything about. Despite the unbearable headache all this causes, the writing process is almost as much fun as getting fan mail, which is because I haven't gotten any yet. So on Mondays, I'm usually in the mood for being a columnist. I read other columnists, criticize them on Twitter and see if anything weird pops up to write about.
Tuesday: My favorite professor in the science world usually has her office hours, now that John Hicks is dead, so I visit her first thing in the morning and ask if she has anything to suggest for me. It doesn't take her long to convince me that I should be an academician; therefore our main focus in those fifteen minutes is how to get there. I don't know why but when academia is the subject, I've got this urge to read Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations; I think wannabe economists out there would understand me. So I go to the library and borrow that book for the 16738th time.
Wednesday: In certain times, I become fierier on this day than others, like Tuesdays. So in the morning, I definitely wake up less enthusiastic than I would on a Tuesday. I don't know how he does that but a friend of mine literally imposes the idea of working for government and teaching as a part-time instructor on me. And he definitely succeeds, because when I see an instructor doing so, I rise to the bait and ask "Why can't I?"
Thursday: I sometimes think that my mother cares about my career more than I do. Because when we talk on the phone every Thursday, one way or another she manages to convince me to work for a bank in İzmir. Though I try my best to explain to her that "distance can't pull us apart," her trembling voice overcomes my own interest.
Friday: I don't have any classes on Fridays. Therefore, I prefer not to think of my career. First things first, I return Adam Smith's book to the library, because I know I don't want to be an academician anymore. Instead of the career ahead of me, I curse the modern world, because it offers too many opportunities to someone as indecisive as me.
Weekend: Most of my favorite columnists write on weekends, therefore I decide to be one again on Saturdays. Then on Sunday, my mother calls me again to make sure that I'm okay-well, not just "okay" but "okay with the idea of working for a bank in İzmir." The supposedly touchy "distance" thing doesn't work again, so I realize that the only way to deal with it is to accept whatever she wants.
So, if you got even a little bit of sympathy while reading this, then you probably are someone at least as indecisive as me and have observed how unsuccessful I am when it comes to talking about a career. This is why I like Sector Introduction Days organized by the Career Center, because these guys do what I can't, they talk about careers. So go decide who you want to be, but don't forget, as one of my dearest friends states, "Certificates are Easy to Obtain."
Originally published: December 1, 2009
After technical analysis and legal evaluation based on the catalog crimes of the law no 5651, administrative measure has been taken for this website (zynga.com) according to decision no 421.02.02.2009-272446 dated 02/10/2009 of “Telekomünikasyon İletişim Başkanlığı”
On a sunny afternoon in October, which the World Mothers Association (WMO) has decided to blame for their children's overuse of deodorant, the auto-message above popped up on Joe Blow's computer screen. How come, when all he wanted was to get his daily dose of shunning society by playing Farmville, a cyber agrarian experience?
Farmville is a Facebook application where you, the little blonde farmer guy, are expected to run a virtual farm. Basically, all you do is plant stuff, plow land and then harvest. As you earn money and finish levels by selling crops, the scope of available crops to plant expands. To look like more of a middle-aged American guy who would have to think about lots of things before he sleeps, you can also raise weird animals like elephants or strawberry cows and help other people achieve the ultimate aim of being human, socialization.
Joe Blow, on the other hand, is an imaginary character that I've created just two minutes ago. Readers of my column would have realized that in my column, I like to call my generation “our country's hope for the future.” Well, I also would like to refer to Joe Blow as “one of the brightest minds of my generation.” In this respect, he looks very much like me. However, as you will realize throughout the story, we aren't the same person.
To start with, he is an engineering student, but I'm not. He is a huge fan of Fenerbahçe, while little by little my interest in Galatasaray decreases, which by the way has nothing to do with our recent defeat. Also, he has read that book called The Secret, and I haven't. However this is not the right time for me to make a critical comparison of us. Instead let's just go with Joe's story.
It all began back in the early 2000s, when I was spending most of my pocket money in Internet cafes over games like Counterstrike or Winning Eleven. In contrast, Joe Blow was very fond of some computer programs called ICQ or MIRC.
A few years later, after staring at those weird programs for a sufficient amount of time, NASA scientists announced in their spare time that it was okay for Joe to switch to Youtube and begin plaguing his friends with funny videos. They wouldn't pay him for it, but Joe was okay with that. It only took a few days for us to call him an expert on Youtube. He knew who would like what kind of videos, when he should laugh or stop the video and repeat the joke. Those were the days when my relationship with many girls would take a turn for the worse because of my squeaky voice, while Joe would only laugh to that monkey video and therefore we wouldn't actually know how he sounds.
Then again, after a given period, there came Facebook, a platform where I could spend the rest of my life if my basic needs were met. Joe's relationship with Facebook is very much like any of yours, apparently not like mine, because I'm not a fan of my primary school friends or Farmville, only status updates. However, Joe seems to like the Farmville most. The reason is obvious, actually: Similar to any other typical average Joe, he has always dreamed of a two-story house with a garden where he could raise his own tomatoes and cucumbers. And his compulsive behavior of playing Farmville serves his aim at least for the short run. I might think that Farmville is the stupidest game (although I was once tricked into it by thousands of Facebook requests), that doesn't necessarily mean I think it should be banned. I guess it isn't really a surprise for a country where nearly 6,000 websites are banned. Some claim that it isn't about the game, but the website-but who cares? It is a game that had more than 60 million active users this month; so people (in our case Joe) obviously like it a lot, and it is banned without rational explanation. And I know that this is neither the very first nor the last game to be banned. Tomorrow the victim may be one of those I like most, like Facebook, Gmail or Blogger. Or the Café World game, another application request I've just declined.
Originally published: November 10, 2009
Yazılı akitlerle sorunum yok. Acil durumlarda “buyur buradan bak” denip gözüme sokulan her türlü kural karşısında boynum kıldan ince, kuldan hallice. Lakin onun yazıya dökülmemişleri, soluduğun hava yoluyla öğrenilenleri, yemek yediğin masada veya oturduğun bir yan koltukta sana sirayet edenleri öyle mi? Değil.
Staj yapmanın ehemmiyetini anlamış değilim. Hepi topu getirip götürmekten ibaret bir işin şirketler nezdinde bu kadar önemseniyor olabilmesini aklım almıyor. Arkasındaki sebepleri tahmin etmek zor değil; kağıt taşıyor da olsan soluduğun hava iş hayatının havası, üst kattan gelen müdürünün sesi, şu şu kadar hayati bir mesele ve bu durumda tam da böyle davranılmalı vesaire. Ama işte insan esnaf çocuğu olarak doğunca ve benzer gerilimleri altını ıslattığı yıllardan beri yaşayınca zoruna gidiyor. Mesai rutini batıyor, canı o on metrekaredeki samimiyetsizliğe sıkılıyor veya kitap okuyası geliyor. Oluyor işte.
Hasılı müjdemi isterim. Şurada yazdığımın üzerinden geçen bir yılda nihayet bir düşüncede sebat edebildim. Evvelsi Pazar ALES’e, ondan öncekinde de KPDS’ye girdikten sonra artık gönül rahatlığıyla itiraf edebilirim ki akademide karar kıldım. Yazıp çizme ve bizzat öğretme işlerini çok sevdiğimden ve dahi bu mesleği icra eden pek çok kimseyi apayrı sevdiğimden karar vermem zor olmadı. Düşününce fena da durmuyor hani ismimin ardı sıra gelen o üç harf: Cüneyt Yılmaz, PhD.
Zorluğunun farkındayım, başlasam da bitirememe ihtimalimden de haberdarım. Lakin en çok içime sinen, kendimi kirlenmemiş hissettiğim tek yer de akademi dolayları. Sinmese, öyle demem.
As a typical student who cannot concentrate on what is going on in class for more than 20 minutes, I found myself mocking a professor in one of last week's classes because he had made a grammatical mistake (or at least I thought he did). Then my automatic self-evaluation system kicked in, which you can easily install, because it works like this: I try to pronounce "curriculum vitae" and if it works out, then I'm at a point where I should be. But if it doesn't work out as I planned, I conclude that my Indian counterparts are more likely to get the position that I'm planning to apply at a company in the Netherlands. That very day, I've failed to impress myself for 16738th time in history and that's why I'm going to talk about speaking English in this week's column.
Speaking from experience, if you are going to talk about a phenomenon that the reader might find in an encyclopedia, something like the English language, a brief introduction to that phenomenon would look professional. (Isn't it what the education is all about?) But whenever I try that, this is what it tends to look like: According to a movie, 10,000 BC, historical roots of speaking English can be traced back to, well obviously, 10,000 BC. However, Ronald Emmerich, director of the movie, doesn't seem to be the most realistic guy on Earth, as can be easily seen by glancing at his curriculum vitae. (Hint: Independence Day, The Day After Tomorrow and 2012.) For information that still tends to be open to question, I better not go into any detail about the history of the English language and wait for Ronald Emmerich and encyclopedia-writer guys to work things out. Instead, I will continue with the problem itself.
I don't feel wrong when I call speaking English a "pervasive problem." If asked how he feels, my 10-year-old brother, who claims his English is nearly perfect, goes through a fluctuating vocal cycle. (I hope that doesn't mean anything special in artistic jargon.) It doesn't require any special skills to hear him saying, "I am," but then as his voice level gradually decreases, the only thing you get to hear is him murmuring, or in other words, groaning in pain. On the other hand, I, as a brother 11 years his senior, am no different than him in speaking English. Frankly, my generation, the country's hope for the future, is even worse at it. In the classes where we are expected to give recitals in English, you would have realized the supposed "interactivity" that every instructor promises at the very beginning fails by the time he begins his lecture. The only thing us students might wonder turns out to be "what is written on the board next to x?" That is because when I'm talking to a professor or doing a presentation, my classmates look like giant TOEFL achievement certificates to me.
On the other hand stands tourists and exchange students. Us Turkish guys, who have always complained about English classes and questioned its importance to daily life, lose our marbles as we see a mouth-watering, ready-to-talk foreigner. In such a case, thanks to delirium, I put on the fakest accent on earth as Jennifer Coolidge did on Friends (in other words, I try to sound like Chris Martin), and go teach a good lesson to that foreigner about speaking English. (When I tried that method on our editor, she found my accent "so thick.") This might sound familiar to you, because this is what you have experienced while imitating Barney Stinson by calling stuff "awesome," which you would think sounds cool.
So what is it the solution? Some people suggest that I should spend a summer abroad "working and traveling." Others think I should insist on speaking English in class and some, by which I only mean my parents, think I am already speaking English flawlessly. I might not suggest a direct solution (neither does anyone else I know), but as someone who has spent his 7 years on Present Perfect Tense, I'm not so sure if W&T will help me improve it. I really miss Eng101-102 classes though. Those were the days when my instructor, God bless him, had to stand me speaking for at least 15 minutes. Those were the days I was graded on my speaking skills. Those were the days that debates existed. "Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end."
PS: According to my best friend (Google), "curriculum vitae" is a Latin phrase that I've chosen to test my English. Was learning English the best decision I've made?
PS: Some of you might have noticed that Barış Uygur also mentioned "Speaking English" in his column last week. However, by the time I wrote my column, Uykusuz wasn't released yet, so this subject has nothing to do with it.
Originally published: October 20, 2009.
By the time you think you have had enough of popular culture, a long lasting search inevitably begins for something else, something that would differ from what you have been exposed to everyday, something left off the mainstream, something that today's teenagers would call "indie." On the other hand, your obvious indifference toward the latest summer hits might not be welcomed by your best friend who has recently become a fan of Britney Spears on Facebook. He might even go so far as to call you emo or hipster. Luckily, at least for Antony Hegarty, this is worth it.
We have seen enough disbanding to make sure that what is harder than forming a band is to stay loyal to the brotherhood in it. (No, I'm not referring to Oasis.) However, when it comes to a member of the band singing individually, there arises nothing but a feeling of anger inside us. Aware of such a disadvantage, Antony and the Johnsons honestly acknowledge the very sharp distinction between the leading vocal and the rest of the band by the band's name. When the unjust judgments we have against transsexuals added to this, British-born and American-raised singer Antony Hegarty seems to be too weak for the burden on his shoulders. (Fortunately, we don't need to take sociology classes to realize that prejudices are no good.) As you listen to him, you would easily realize how much stronger Antony is than he might appear at first sight.
Antony has a smooth, silk-like, divine voice and a tremulous body to go with it. When he is on stage, despite his powerful voice, you can still feel the fear inside of him; not only from the lines "Hope there is someone/Who will take care of me," but also from the way he acts as he sings. This unexpectedly huge, depressingly white and childishly vulnerable diva-dude looks as if he belongs to another era, where people like him would have sung ballads.
Hollywood's teenager-oriented movies' "If I were a boy" cliché (body-swapping comedies), which is also frequently used by singers like Ciara and Beyoncé (You might unintentionally expect it to be used by Rihanna soon), is what Antony experiences without any kind of accumulation of interest. Besides his inborn "otherness," his God-given talent makes him a lot more vulnerable than most of us as he puts out in his own words: "I need another place/Will there be peace/I need another world/This one's nearly gone." Living in a world where everyone must have a dream-a reason to live if you will-I have my own, too. I also need another world where we don't have to worry about the environment, where prejudices don't exist, where people like Antony sing more.
The torch singer Antony and his band, Antony and the Johnsons, have released two albums so far: I Am a Bird Now (2005), which they have won a Mercury Prize for, and The Crying Light (2009). Antony has also collaborated with some diverse artists such as Lou Reed, Boy George, Björk, Mark Almond, Rufus Wainwright and sung for movies such as Animal Factory, V for Vendetta and I'm Not There. If you would like to listen to him, I'd recommend you to begin with Cripple and Starfish or Another World. (For those who like Beyoncé, Antony covered her Crazy in Love.)
Originally published: October 6, 2009.
Google, saniyenin onda biri geçmeden hakkında iki milyon yüz binden fazla sonucu önünüze getiriyor. Görseller, United Colors of Benetton reklamlarına has öğrenci kombinasyonlarının tren önlerinde çekilmiş resimleriyle dolu. Yerli malı istatistiklerle durumu izah edersek; bu yazı yazılarken Ekşisözlük’te hakkında otuz dokuz sayfa dolusu ‘entry’ vardı. 'Dürüst, tarafsız, ahlaksız haber' sitesi Zaytung’da hakkında “Avrupa Demiryolları İşletmecileri Türkiye'ye Sert Çıktı: İnterrail Yapmayacaksanız En Baştan Söyleyin!" başlıklı bir haber dahi yayınlanmış. Şakası bile yapılabiliyorsa eğer şöhreti tescillenmiş demektir, ama biz yine de bilmeyenlerin bir sonraki yazıya ışınlanmalarını engellemek maksadıyla tanımımızı yapalım. Yok efendim ben biliyorum diyenler gönül rahatlığıyla uzun atlama yapıp üçüncü paragraftan devam edebilirler.
InterRail, seyyahlığa meraklı Avrupa insanına (dikkat, buna biz de dahiliz!) sınırlarını kesenize göre genişletebileceğiniz bir tarih aralığında, 2.sınıf bütün trenlere ücretsiz binebilme imkanı sağlayan bir bilet türü. Turistik temayüllerle hizmete sunduklarından suiistimali önlemek için ikamet ettiğiniz ülkede kullanmanıza müsaade etmedikleri bu biletin iki çeşidi mevcut: Global Pass ve One Country Pass. İsmine aldanmayın, Global Pass sadece varım diyen Avrupa ülkelerinde geçerli. Neyse ki böyle bir davet durumunda kılkuyrukluk eden ülke sayısı az. One Country Pass ise adından da anlaşılacağı üzere aza kanaat çoğu getirir diyenlerin, hudutları belli olsun da önünü görebilsin isteyenlerin, tek ülke göreyim ama bir uçtan bir ucuna gideyim diyenlerin müstakbel bileti. İşin içinde onca ülke olunca ilk trene atlayıp kafa nereye biz de oraya gitmek sanıldığı kadar kolay olmuyor tabi ama korkulduğu kadar zor olmadığı da kesin. Lakin kuralla, kaideyle, bilumum can sıkıcı detayla ilişiğini tez kesmeyen yazının reytinginin yavan olduğu da bir gerçek. O yüzden biz meselenin bize dair kısmına geçelim.
Geçtiğimiz yıl henüz geçmemişken, biz iki iktisatçı, Beşiktaş'ın şimdiki kadrosunu borçlu olduğu topraklarda, yani Portekiz'deydik. Erasmus bahanesiyle kendimizi legal yollardan sınır dışı ettirmiş olmanın rahatlığından ve de muhtemelen bir daha böyle kolay sınır dışı olamayacağımızdan, yurtdışının da yurtdışı vardır, vardır ama nasıldır, diye merak edip ihtimalleri istatistiki olmayan yöntemlerle hesaplamaya koyulduk. Kendimize iktisatçı diyorsak bir sebebi var, iki muktesit, on günlük şipşak gezimizin muhasebesini günlerce yaptıktan sonra hem eğlenceli hem de hesaplı olanının InterRail olduğuna karar verdik. Sıcak bir Lizbon öğleden sonrasında, kendimizi en yakın tren istasyonuna atıp biletlerimizi aldık.
Trene de binecek olsanız, bu sularda yüzmeye kalktığınızda yolunuz mutlaka Ryanair'la kesişiyor. Binenler bilir, bilmeyenler de ne olur binmesin; Ryanair sizi Paris diye, Paris'in seksen beş kilometre kuzeyinde, Beauvais diye bir yere götürüyor. Bunun canınızı sıkmasına izin vermeyin, zira bir kez varıldı mıydı Paris, uğrunda çekilecek her türlü çileye değer. İki günlük şipşak Paris turu, hele hele de baba tarafından Fildişi Sahilli, annesi Polonyalı Olek'in bize mutfağındaki kanepeyi açması, yetmezmiş gibi bir de onun o nevi şahsına has rehberlik anlayışı, toplu taşımanın cümlesine karşı nefreti ve yürümeye olan sarsılmaz inancı sayesinde iyice unutulmaz oldu. Burada bir parantez açmak lazım, böyle son dakika gezmelerinde kalacak yer büyük sorun olabiliyor. Biz bir arkadaşın arkadaşı sıfatıyla kendimize Olek’in mutfağında yer bulduysak da siz bu kadar şanslı olmayabilirsiniz, Murphy Yasaları en nihayetinde... Gitmeden evvel hatırı sayılır bir Hostelworld taraması, hatta cesaret edebilirseniz Couchsurfing açılımı bile gerekebilir.
Benim için yolculuklar Camera Obscura şarkılarına tekabül eder. O yüzden bir Pazar sabahı Paris’ten trene biner binmez elim Ipod’a gitti. Bir de açtığınız şarkı arka plana cuk oturur, o günün ve o anın izahını çok güzel yaparsa bambaşka hissedersiniz. Tam da o gün, kaç yıldır sıkılmadan dinlediğim, ismiyle müstesna Let’s Get Out of This Country albümünü bizzat bir ülkeden ayrılırken dinlemem davete icabete girer.
Sonraki durağımız Brüksel, Paris’ten hemen sonra geldiği için haksız rekabetin gazabına uğramış olsa da nihayetinde hakkettiği değeri gördüğü kanaatindeyim. Çizgi filmleriyle ünlü bu şehri, duvarlardaki Tintin resimlerinin peşine takılıp gezmeye kalkmak, gezimizi “Vay be adamlar yapmış.” sığlığından kurtarıp ıhlamur kokulu Brüksel yollarını ayrıca sevdirdi. Şehre dair bir başka güzel ayrıntıysa üzerinde "Brussels, where the rain is typical." yazan bir kitap ayracına bakarken dışarıda çiseleyen yağmuru gördüğümüz andı.
Aynı şekilde, tren Amsterdam'a varırken, aslında bambaşka bir yeri de kastetse, Travis'in New Amsterdam'ı dinlemek, bir şarkının size yol arkadaşlığı etmesi iyi gelir. Fakat, her şarkı her arka plana oturmadığı gibi, her oturan da mutlu etmez. O sıralar Ipod'unuzda Neutral Milk Hotel'ın baştan sona Anne Frank kokan In the Aeroplane Over theTam da böyle dünyadaki bütün haksızlıklara bilenmiş bir şekilde Münih'e geçince ve trenden iner inmez polisler yolumuzu kesince benim inmezden evvel yaptığım "HitlerRail" şakam sebebini bulur gibi oldu. Lakin işte bir Allianz Arena gerçeği var ki her türlü kötü hissi unutturur. Beraber yolculuk yaptığımız Amerikalıların Türkiye'de hangi dili konuştuğumuz sorusunuysa biz çoktan unuttuk.
Ardından Alain de Botton’un üzerine methiyeler düzdüğü İsviçre, onun “sıkıcı kentlerinin büyüleyiciliği.” Dakikliği ve saatleriyle ünlü bu ülkede merak ettiğim, hangisinin hangisinin sebebi, hangisinin hangisinin sonucu olduğu. Basel, Avrupa’nın geri kalan topraklarında tutunamayan Türk futbolcuların olduğu gibi bizim de ilk durağımız oldu. Turistik olarak İsviçre’nin geri kalanıyla bence yarışamasa da gittiğinize pişman da etmez. Başkent Bern, İsviçre’nin başına gelen en güzel şey. Etrafı Aare Nehri’yle sarılmış Old Town, ömrümüzün geri kalanını seve seve geçirebileceğimiz nadir muhitlerden. Ayak bileği hizasındaki su ne kadar yükseğe çıkabilir merak ediyorsanız Cenevre’ye, Almanca’dan Fransızca’ya tatlı geçişe kulak misafiri olmak istiyorsanız Lozan’a gitmenizde fayda var.
Sonraki ve son durağımız Roma’da gardan dışarı kulağınızda Phoenix’in Rome’uyla çıkabilirsiniz. Biz öyle yaptık, oldu. Şair çok iyimser olduğundan size İtalyanların Avrupa’nın geri kalanıyla, bilhassa da önceki durağınız İsviçre’yle, uzaktan yakından alakası olmayan salaşlığından, trenlerin gecikmesi şöyle dursun, gelmemesinin bile gelmesi kadar normal olduğundan bahsetmemiş olabilir. Ama gerçekler de orada siz tecrübe edesiniz diye durur.
Nihayetinde biz böyle iki kafadar, sırt çantalarımızdan müteşekkil, üçüncüsü mütemadiyen değişen on günlük gezimizde burnumuzu bilmediğimiz şeylere çok fazla sokmadan ama bilmediğimizi bilmeye çalışmaktan da geri durmadan, tadı damağımızda kalan bir yolculuk yaptık. Paris’e de gittik beraber, Amsterdam’da da yaşadık. Sorun şehirlerden ziyade bir gün gelip de ait olduğumuz topraklara dönmek zorunda olmamızdaydı.
Hayatı tecrübelerle doldurulması gereken bir boşluktan ziyade eksikliklerden ibaret bir bütün olarak görmeye başladığınızda, yapmak istediğiniz bir sürü şey çok daha mümkün geliyor. Siz demirden
