When I listened to Tapes from Istanbul, through my headphones, I was thrilled from the very first steps that Adrian described. I had to think about this, because my excitement went beyond those feelings, which normally make my senses wobble when listening to anything audio. It was very clear, that something else was going on. The Istanbul Tapes tell a story, that we thought to have lost, somewhere around the time when television became a medium for the masses.
Before that time, places were still exotic. And the main reason for those places to be exotic, was because the stories about those places were incomplete. While listening to the messenger, the recipient could not do anything else, than complete the image through his own imagination. Nowadays the lines that connect to that part of imagination are cut, because almost every inch of our globe is covered by moving images over and over again. The life of the traveller has been documented in the past. Today’s traveller, by force of the signs and services that await him where-ever he goes has become a tourist, a victim to the excitement industry.
But, as by magic, the wonder returned when I listened to Adrian’s report, that was recorded directly onto magnetic tape with a simple handheld walkman. Here it happened, that I listened to something that was far from perfect, that never could tell me the complete picture, and therefore ignited my imagination, and even more, made me dreamwalk in the same place, a place that doesnot exist and we all long for, to go to, and continue our lives.
Word to Adrian:
“I found myself lost in Istanbul with no idea where to stay, having thought I could leave on the first available flight. These are my tape diaries from this incredibly diverse city. I was immersed in the post riot Gezi park, the Grand Bazaar, mesmeric mosques and a herd of selfie tourists. On a strict diet of Simit and Turkish tea I managed to climb Istanbul’s overcooked Summer slopes and make my way through the ultra modern metro and suicidal traffic system.”
“Thanks ‘eternal’ to my saviours at the Planet Paprika hostel in Taksim without whom I guess I would have passed my days rolled up in a carpet in the airport.”
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