Musical bliss

Well it's been quite the harmonious week here in Boston folks. I was lucky enough to be present at four unbelievable and wildly varying acoustic sets - "best of jazz" at Symphony Hall, Dave Matthews, Josh Ritter with the BSO and Pearl Jam!

Close friend of the family and recent inhabitant of Boston, Brie Bidart, thoughtfully invited me to see a tribute to the late John Birks (Dizzie Gillespie) featuring a slideshow narrated with music from the Pops, followed by a performance by the Dizzy Gillespie All-Stars comprised of James Moody, Slide Hampton, Claudio Roditi, John Lee, Lewis Nash, and Cyrus Chestnut, each with his own flare and bebop style. (Worthy of note: our balcony seats hovered just north of the stage so we could witness each band member's detailed expression, every pic of the strings, every glint of brass and each awe-inspired face below!) Of particular interest to me was Claudio on trumpet. So honored and humbled was he to be, not only a member of the band, but in collaboration with the Boston Pops. Even as his trumpet gadget (distorter I believe) hit the ground during the peak of an exhilarating solo, Claudio remained composed and lighthearted, later incorporating the mishap into a few jokes, eliciting chuckles from his on-lookers.

Dave performed on a Tuesday night with impeccable timing; just as the last of the heavy rain that had saturated the tailgaters (whose canopies were seized in some cases due to the new Comcast regulations) ceased. Hoards of teenagers roamed the lots. Most were sucking face (like the romantic spin on that one?), relieving themselves on cars, having their 30-packs confiscated and being taken away on security golf carts (I wouldn't be too broken up about that if I were still in HS I'll admit). Although these events received top scores on the pre-show entertainment scale, they also made me feel aged by no less than 10 years. When we made it to our seats, it all came together. This is why I jumped on those last minute tickets! Dave and his band played a tremendous show. The lighting and stage set were complex and spectacular with clear close-ups of the performers. The majority of the set list included songs from their album that is due to be released this July. However, following the same groove and jam mentality of some of DMB's other songs, it seemed as if the audience hardly took note that they themselves didn't know the actual lyrics. One peculiar moment that stuck with me after the concert concluded was the bit where Dave speaks to the crowd (apart from thanking everyone). He told a rather off-colored story about a monkey he saw while visiting his homeland of South Africa, describing the monkey's blue "Frank" and red "Beans" before launching into "Proudest Monkey." It was difficult to decipher where the story was going for the first 15 seconds but I suppose we can't discredit him for creativity!

The following Friday I revisited Symphony Hall to see Josh Ritter take stage. I had been forewarned that Ritter sometimes dawns a much talked about white suit whilst setting the precedence for his show, however, in this case, he took the stage solo dressed in nearly all black. What does this tell us guys? Well, I'm still not sure because it didn't foretell his mood that night. Although Ritter played a number of subdued songs, he maintained his usual ear to ear grin throughout the evening. With some elaborate foot work and spin moves, Ritter summoned the audience to bring on the noise, whether it was a synchronous clapping or a chiming in for the chorus. At one point, a violinist from the supporting orchestra teamed up with Ritter on acoustic guitar to play "Thin Blue Flame", which deservingly received the first of several standing ovations of the night (while the violinist received a great big bear hug from Ritter). Midway through the hour and half performance, Ritter passed the mic off to Robert Pinksy who proceeded to read 2 "Poems of Desire". His artistic recital did not evoke the same response from the crowd as most viewers were thrown off by this interlude, but it was a heartfelt moment for both Pinksy and Ritter. Two encores and a grand finale of a sing-along later, Ritter rattled off a laundry list of sincere thank yous fearful of forgetting anyone who made his appearance at Symphony Hall possible, and the audience exited the building with "Empty Heart" ringing in their heads.

Josh's return appearance on Letterman this past winter.


Pearl Jam was a band I hadn't seen since 2002. They have since been the subject of much hype and buzz, protesting Ticketmaster's escalated prices to the public, (canceling tour dates even) and joining forces with Verizon, to which Scottie makes mention here, in order to make their music more accessible to today's youth. Mansfield, being the last stop on PJ's 2008 tour, was crawling with long time fanatics and brimming with more energy than I can (or care to) remember. Luckily Jessie Capp scored tickets and was kind enough to bring me along to what I can confidently declare as my all-time favorite concert to date (U2 falling just shy to PJ and then maybe Arcade Fire - I know, Arcade Fire does not carry the same magnitude or weight as the aforementioned classics but they are phenomenal and soul stirring nonetheless)... Vedder balanced the set list between intimate and pensive and raging and electric. In fact he had quite the theatrical performance; from running leaps off of the sound system display, to air guitar splits, to lengthy jam sessions (he was not alone on this one) to ripping butts between songs and throwing plastic bottles at the stage props; Vedder completely owned the stage and the audience for that matter. Breaking briefly to dig on the Marine recruitment stations within the venue and making cutting remarks towards the war itself, Vedder could say or do no wrong in the eyes of his fellow worshipers. A true rock concert indeed, Pearl Jam had everyone on their feet from 8:30 to close (11:00) singing along, and on numerous occasions, singing nearly half of a song in unison before the accompaniment of Vedder on the mic (Better Man in particular stands out in my mind). As PJ wrapped up the evening with "Why Go Home", the thousands chanting along were questioning just that.

Not of the greatest quality but here's a clip of Better Man from the other night to give you a sense of the crowd's involvement.

First of all, my apologies to anyone who tried to have a listen to the song mentioned in the previous entry (at my request). I appreciate your efforts and I promise I did not intentionally deny you access (silly/glutenous iTunes regulations). It is worth checking out, if only for 30 seconds' worth of a sample.

Secondly, my weekend escapade to Aix en Provence was something out of a film (A Good Year perhaps). In just a brief few days I was introduced to the French countryside with rolling greenery and endless vineyards, petite, tucked away villages with cobblestone streets and quaint French cuisine restaurants, skinny (like most women's pants) interwoven streets consisting of dated architectural buildings (framed with classic sand washed shutters) that seemed to embrace the sun's light at the most picturesque angles, the city's bustling center brimming with boutiques, charming markets (displaying both material and edible goods), women in free-flowing sundresses and men in their business suits with beads of sweat adorning their brow, easily whisked away by a tepid breeze, and the remote island of Porquerolles offering tandem mountain biking as their premium mode of transportation (what could be better?!). (That may just be the longest run-on sentence I've created since 3rd grade.)

My future humble yet magnificent chateau sits on the grounds of a vineyard just adjacent to the owner's 10-rooms-too-many living quarters. It appears to be currently occupied by a lovely young couple at the moment but we'll check back next decade and see where we stand, shall we? I've also developed an affinity for the French dining etiquette. Five course meals including cheese and dessert plates as their own meals!! (However, I could probably do without the pigeon and duck souffle.) Until this point, I believed that my Boston driving skills would've prepared me to be successfully and efficiently mobile in any region. It turns out, (as hard as it is for me to admit) the French may have something on me. Then again, I didn't see one 5-0 in sight. If that were the case here, who knows what would ensue...

I want to send my sincere gratitude to Indy for doing an all-star job hosting me this weekend. You're ok with staying in a Holiday Inn and dining at McDonald's when you come over to visit, right? I mean, it's only fair...

Je ne te connais pas

So that Indy character I've been referring to as of late has naively invited me to his French abode for the weekend. Whaattt? It's make or break time folks. Let's take a leap of faith from the lion's mouth (as Harrison would say)... or just board the plane and hope it lands on foreign soil (preferrably in Marseille, France but who are we to be choosy?)
Here's a French tune to set the mood; one for those who employ fist-pumping as their mode of dance and one that comes highly recommended by Mama Sue who has enlightened me that the lyrics depict the story of a drunk man who fails to remember his female companion's name from the beginning through the end of their encounter. I guess it doesn't hurt to set the bar low, right??

Turkey for me, Turkey for you

Let's eat the Turkey in my big brown shoe.

Not that kind of turkey? Ohh, you must be referring to the transcontinental excursion on which Noel and I endeavored (just about a month ago now, yikes I'm a slacker). Got it! Well, since you inquire (FB), I would love to impart with you all a few noteworthy tales about our trip. Better yet, don't they say pictures speak a thousand words?

As you'll see Noel and I teamed up with 2 thoroughly entertaining Brits, Indy and the Monk, for the 1st half of our trip. We piled into the Ford Focus which accumulated some 2000 miles over the course of our journey from Istanbul to Safranbolu on the northern coast, hitting central Cappadocia, touching upon Konya province (comprised of mostly ghost towns with one listed hotel in a 50 mile radius) and shredding air until we finally reached Olympos (home of the treehouses and wagonwheel complexes), situated on the southern coast.

Bahaus hostel, our first sample of the Turkish culture and a backpacker's safe haven, became our home for the first couple of nights in Istanbul. We arrived shortly after Anzac Day, commemorating the battle between Turkey and Australia, so, as one would imagine, the area was grossly populated with Aussies. Although we Americans were outnumbered, we received assurance on more than one occasion that there was a special place in the Turkish heart for Americans (contrary to beliefs some of us may have held/do hold about our perception in the Middle East). The native people were so amenable to tourists (from around the world) that it was difficult not to feel suspicious at times. Advice, directions, guidance and transportation were offered at the drop of a hat (from where does this experession stem? anyone?) and with no monetary supplement expected.

Noel and I took a Bosphorus River cruise (which divides the European side of Istanbul from the Asian), bought spices and Turkish Delight (gooey deliciousness interspersed with nuts) at the Spice Bizarre and wrist sweat bands and silk scarves from the Grand Bizarre, wined and dined at some of the local restaurants and pubs (where we managed to get barricaded in in an effort to escape the po-po) and lavished ourselves with a Turkish bath and massage (a long extinct Turkish tradition that still (surpise!) brings in excellent revenue from tourists) while in Istanbul. I do feel I need to elaborate on the Turkish bath experience some. Having received no instruction aside from where to undress, Noel and I instinctively retreated back to our school girl days with our towels tucked neatly under our arms as we entered a sauna filled with 20-25 clothes-less women strewn about on a circular stone platform in the center like slabs of meat on a grill. It appeared that they were sunbathing without realizing they were indoors. Rather rotund Turkish women (impossible not to take note of) would splash water on you, which was your cue that your number was up. Nonverbal language sufficed for this part of the bathing; a finger, a slap, a pull of the hand and you were anything but disobeying. I felt like a 5 year old again and probably the cleanest I'll ever feel in my life.

Our next stop was Safranbolu, the most popular tourist town for Turks. With little to see or do aside from a mosque and some cobblestone streets lined with family-run markets (targeting mainly 10 year olds; similar to suks one may happen across in Marrakesh), we continued onto Cappadocia. This is about when I stole the hot seat. And, since I had never learned how to handle a stick, Indy (aka Owen) was my impeccable driving instructor. Success! (Minus a few bumps in the road later in the trip when I hit a town inundated with traffic lights that were partial to the color red...)

Cappadocia is a region denoted by volcanic deposits and rocks, from which villages were later carved. We chose to spend our night in Goreme which was littered with what are referred to as "fairy chimneys", hundreds of pillars and minaret-like (fallic as Noel deemed them) rock forms. As many residents had transformed the caves into a place of inhabitance, we found it fitting to stay in a plastered hostel resembling such. In Goreme we were able to attend a "Turkish Night" where twirling dervishes and belly dancers entertained tourists whilst they ate tapas and drank Raki (a potent and acidic-tasting libation). Our carpeted van ride back into town put us in touch with our favorite gay traveler, Tom, who took the entertainment reigns for the remainder of the evening. At 5am we got ready to take a surreal hot-air balloon ride (or hover rather) above the magnificent pillars. Before we departed Goreme, the gang visited the open air museum which contained churches and homes carved out of rock and decorated with frescoes and ancient biblical illustrations. Sadly, graffiti marked many of the walls of these Lycian ruins (due to the lack of funding for preservation and upkeep). We also toured an 8-story underground city dating back 4500 years ago that held up to 5000 people. These people did their share of wine drinking when they weren't defending themselves from invaders (they even had an Indiana Jones circular stone that rolled into place at the release of a lever to serve as an entry blockade from any attackers). It’s incredible to imagine living in such tight (claustrophobia-inducing) quarters, crouching through tunnels, sleeping on stone surfaces and defecating in non-ventilated quarters, isn't it?

Time to continue our journey. With a reprieve (stopping off at a hotel, a rarity in Konya provence as aforementioned) from driving along unlit mountainous and winding roads (not unlike Lombard St in San Francisco), we landed at our destination; Olympus. I should mention that during our evening travels (with me as a less than superior navigator) we were pulled over at a random checking point. The police were purposively checking for Iraqis who may be sneaking across the border. However, with an undeniable language barrier, we received a disappointed curled-lipped face and awaited a possible English speaking officer to attend to us. As he approached the window, the only words exchanged were “good-bye”. Curt and concise (minus any cuffs), I’ll take it.

The Kadir treehouse village greeted us with vagabond workers and log laden dormitories and bars amidst rolling mountains. The rocky beach, within 2 minute’s walking distance, was surprisingly more comfortable to sprawl on than to traverse (which didn’t take long to discover). The “Bull bar” at the treehouse complex provided endless amusement with a fire pit and free-spirited dancers (namely Noel and Whyte, the bartender). For my birthday night, I received a caramel hostess cupcake complete with a sparkler and thoughtfully scripted inspiring words from my fellow cohorts. We witnessed the eternal flames (an hour ride from our site and a half an hour hike) with a bottle of champagne complements of Indy and the Monk. In case anyone was wondering, the flames are not resistant against water…and walking down a mountain in the dark without the aid of a flashlight will most likely end with a sprained ankle. Noel, being a Fairfield U graduate was very familiar with the idea of “stealing a birthday”, which does not commonly infer a negative connotation despite the typical use of the verb in this phrase. And so, as tradition would have it, Noel “black out” Barnes received a branding unlike those most eyes have seen before (one that Aussies refer to as a “vacuum marker”), thereby claiming May 7th as her own.

Leaving the treehouses and our newly established travel companions (and let’s not forget Freddie the Focus) proved to be more of a difficult task than anticipated. The only thing to which we looked forward was the possibility of hot showers in our near future. We boarded our schooner with 11 others for a 4 day venture around a small peninsula that culminated with the town of Fethiye. The water was not hot, nor was it warm, and the septic system was not functioning to the best of its ability, nor was it preventing feces from overflowing onto the bathroom floors, BUT the boat did offer plenty of opportunity to sun bathe and sleep on the deck as the sun emerged over the horizon.

As we docked for the last time, Noel and I faced a series of decisions that ultimately, after making plans with different Turks to hit the town that night, getting a hostel room and canceling it, buying plane tickets to Istanbul and voiding them, we boarded an overnight bus (not the one that we bought tickets for of course but the one adjacent to it) for a 14 hour ride to Istanbul, to Bahaus hostel in fact. For our last night we managed to meet up with a friend’s younger sister studying in the city (despite having a consistent mode of communication, like say a phone) to carry out the ultimate dance revolution.

Turkey was a place of fascinating and inspiring people, rich and unfolding history and incredible and memorable adventures. There are too many details to relay in this entry but if you’ve made it to this point, I thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings! Serefe (cheers)!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com