Relating a celebration of fasting and self-denial with one of culinary indulgence and gift-giving might sound a little strange. Let me explain.
First the creeping sense of anticipation. A slow build up over the preceding weeks. The gossip flares up, particularly among the new expats. What will it be like? we all wonder. As if the whole landscape might transform. Maybe it would be fun to try for a day, I think to myself, a Ramadan detox. My secretary tells me she plans to fast, and has been doing so since she was 16. In enthusiasm (and the theory that I need to go on a bikini diet for the following weekend's boat trip), I tell her I'll do a one-day-trial. However I simply cannot fathom how she will manage through a day in the office without food, let alone cook for myself and my boss when she hasn't eaten anything.
For those, like myself, who know little about the holiday, here's a brief introduction. Ramadan is the ninth month in the Islamic calendar. Beginning with the sighting of the cresent moon known as the hilal, usually a day after the new moon, it lasts one full moon phase, ending with the Eid-Ul-Fitr (breaking of the fast) when the hilal moon returns. As such, the date of Ramadan changes yearly. During this time, devout Muslims refrain from both eating and drinking between dawn and sunset, and try to be more pious by praying more and reading the Koran. In order to maintain the fast, they wake up before dawn (and the first call to prayer) to eat a meal called suhoor. They break their fast at Maghrib, the sunset prayer time, with a meal known as Iftar.
A Muslim usually begins fasting when he/she reaches puberty, and continues until old age. The elderly, the chronically ill, and the mentally ill are exempt, although those capable must try to feed the poor in place of fasting. Also exempt are pregnant women and those menstruating, but there are varying opinions on whether they should make up the days at a later time. Travelers are exempt as well, but they too are expected to make up the days they missed.
As the days loomed closer, I couldn't help wondering how it would effect my day to day life in Istanbul, where a statistically 90% of the population is Muslim. Much like at Christmas, I began building expectations about what I would find when I walked downstairs and out into the world. I imagined the streets empty and quiet. Roadside vegetable and simit vendors and small cafes shut in order to dissuade the hungry from breaking their oath. Scruffy old men in berets who rot away the days perched on curbs drinking tea, playing backgammon and watching passersby would be mysteriously absent. People dressed slightly more conservatively, walking a little more slowly. A little less traffic, a little less commotion. Sounded like just the ticket in the midst of the summer swelter.
The first morning of Ramadan (this year the 12th of August) dawned, as with the many days before, hot and muggy. I woke before sunrise to the sound of the drums from the streets below as the Musahar performs a ceremonial wakeup call for the suhoor meal. I considered getting up and breaking my own fast but it was an ephemeral thought as I rolled over and fell back into slumber. Several hours later though, I woke again with a little pang of excitement and rushed to the balcony to peer down into the streets below. Business suits and high heels on the march towards Taksim Square. Waiters at Olivia and Smyrna cafes unstacking chairs, watering plants, sweeping away yesterdays cigarette butts. The smell of fresh bread from the patisserie as it wafted up on the air. From up above the day seemed... pretty much normal. Still, I couldn't wait to rush downstairs and check it out from ground level.
As I walked out the door I realized that "Yuppy Street" might not be the best place to start observing religious behavior. Things would be different when I left my liberal bohemian, expat-centric and emphatically secular neighborhood and venture into Tophane and Karakoy, the more conservative areas on my commute. But the truth was, I found little difference there either. The same men sitting under umbrellas, sipping tea, watching passersby. The vegetable vendor on the corner is doing good business out of the back of his truck, and the exclusive Baklava and pastry shops next to the ferry are hopping with the morning crowd. The newly instituted Starbucks on the pier seems busier than usual. Perhaps all the non-Muslims were out to make a point?
On the ferry the regular cay wallah isn't enthusiastically proffering tea and simits on the back balcony where I take a regular seat. However, young headscarved woman pulls out a pogaci (pastry stuffed with cheese) from her handbag and nibbles at it conspicuously. I do some mental foot stamping. My enthusiasm about this holiday begins to dwindle. Leaving behind the ferry to walk through the market in Kadikoy, the cacophony of merchants cut through the morning air, the smell of fish and meat is still the air. The cafes are still full with the pre-work crowd sipping glasses of cay. No change here. It's like walking down on Christmas morning and not finding any presents under the tree.
When I reach my office I imagine Gul would be fasting. I ask her (or attempt to convey through sign language). She looks at me apologetically. Fasting yok. No fasting. She explains that due to the intense heat (and this August has been one of the hottest and most humid on record) it is not safe for her. This year Ramadan happens to fall in the middle of August, one of the most difficult times not only because of the weather, but also the long summer days which mean an earlier sunrise and later sunset. We sit down together over borek and coffee, and the day goes by like any other. Most of the days following do too, but Ramadan remains a topic of conversation among my friends.
Among the expat community, Ramazan is an opportunity for some cultural tourism. Let's go to an Iftar! is the message twittering among us, I hear there's a great place that does it on the Asian side. Others venture to Sultanahmet to partake in the evening meal. Being one of the most religous places in the city as well as the most touristic (nearby the beautiful Ayasophia and the Blue Mosques), it is a perfect location from which to admire the traditions and take part in the feasting that begins with the sunset call to prayer without feeling like an intruder. I have yet to take part in an Iftar, though I'd like to before the end of Ramadan. Somehow I can't help feeling a little bit guilty at the prospect. Why should I be able to stuff my face with food when most people haven't been able to enjoy breakfast (at a reasonable hour), lunch, dinner and (several) mid-afternoon snacks as well as at least three cups of tea, and a couple coffees. Somehow I'm sure I'll find a way to justify it when the time comes (I'll fast tomorrow sounds like a promising excuse).
Istanbul has even found a way to commercialize this religious tradition by introducing Jazz in Ramadan, where Muslim jazz artists from around the world have come together to perform at famous local sights such as Topkapi Palace and the beautiful Archeological Museum to perform. This is in part as a result of Istanbul's rapidly expanding cultural entertainment scene and the 2010 European Capital of Culture celebrations, but it also serves to prove that Islam is a modern, sophistocated religion and one that has universal forms of expression. Tomorrow evening I will be attending a performance of South African jazz pianist Abdullah Ibrahim and his band.
Ramadan certainly makes a statement in Istanbul, but unlike many other Muslim countries, it is easy to get by without it really affecting your day to day life. Friends arriving from Syria last week said it was practically impossible to get anything to eat in Damascus during the daylight hours. I'm thankful that I can find a simit or a fresh fig on the walk home from work, and not feel guilty for biting into it on the ferry in front of pious half-starved and despairing commuters. I'm thankful that the city has made an effort to integrate the holiday into the culture of the city, inviting those who may not necessarily be Muslim to take part in the celebration that is Ramazan. I'm thankful to be able to witness this holy event that is so integral to so many. I guess that's kind of Christmassy?