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29 episodes with cavit
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2 episodes with cavit
6 episodes with cavit
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2 episodes with cavit
Geçtiğimiz günlerde eski siyasetçi Cavit Çağlar'ın bir açıklamasına rastladım. 90'lı yıllara ilişkin tanıklığını şöyle aktarıyordu Çağlar: “(Mesud) Barzani ve (Celal) Talabani'ye destek sağladık, silah verdik. Ancak Talabani bizi sattı. Silahları Apo'ya, PKK'ya verdi.” Bugün de tablo pek farklı sayılmaz. Oğul (Bafel) Talabani de Türkiye'ye rakip ya da muarız aktörlerin ortak kesişim noktasında duruyor. Sadece Türkiye için değil Irak için de istikrar bozucu bir aktör halini alıyor. Kerkük'te oldu-bittiye getirilen valilik seçimleri bu anlamda bir turnusol kağıdına dönüştü. Oy kullanan bazı Arap üyelerin fikri bir gecede değiştirildi. Kerkük'te nasıl bir oyun oynandı? Bölgede artan ABD askeri varlığıyla bunun ne ilgisi var? Biraz bu soruların yanıtlarına odaklanacağım. ANKARA-BAĞDAT TRAFİĞİ YOĞUN Türkiye'nin Irak'la yürüttüğü istikrar ve refah odaklı bir süreç var. Dışişleri Bakanı Hakan Fidan'ın Bağdat ziyaretiyle (Ağustos 2023) başladı. MİT Başkanı İbrahim Kalın, Milli Savunma Bakanı Yaşar Güler'in ziyaretleriyle hızlandı. Cumhurbaşkanı Erdoğan'ın Bağdat ziyaretiyle çerçevesi çizildi. İlk meyve Kalkınma Yolu projesiydi. Irak'ın istikrar ve refahına katkı sağlanacaktı. Terörle ortak mücadele de gündemdeydi. Nitekim beklenen oldu: PKK ortak tehdit ilan edildi. Irak'ta “yasaklı örgüt” listesine kondu. Bağdat PKK bağlantılı üç partinin faaliyetlerini yasakladı. Türkiye, K. Irak'ta ciddi bir operasyon başlattı (Irak makamlarıyla, sahada, basına yansımayan sıkı bir diyalog var). Kilit kapanmaya yüz tuttu. Süreç devam ediyor. Dün de Türkiye-Irak Yüksek Düzeyli Güvenlik Mekanizması toplantısı Ankara'da yapıldı. Bu toplantıda da “terörle ortak mücadelenin yasal çerçevesinin tahkimi” konusunda çalışmalar yapıldı. KERKÜK İSTİKRAR ADASI OLABİLİRDİ Kerkük'te valilik seçimi, Kalkınma Yolu ve terörle ortak mücadele sürecinin bir parçası değildi. Ancak Kerkük, sahip olduğu kültürel çeşitlilik nedeniyle bölgenin izdüşümüdür, Irak'ın istikrarının ayrılmaz bir parçasıdır. Bu yüzden Ankara'nın yaklaşımı Kerkük Türkmenlerinin haklarını gözetirken, şehrin uyum ve istikrar içinde yaşamasını sağlamak, bu konuda tarafları diyaloğa teşvik etmekti.
Cavit Okur'un hatıraları Masum Hikâye – Bir MTTB Başkanının Hatıraları adıyla geçtiğimiz ay Beyan Yayınları tarafından kitaplaştırıldı. “Kitaplaştırıldı” diyorum çünkü, kitabı oluşturan hatıraların bir kısmı, öğretmenlerin kalemle ülfetlerini artırmak, genç yeteneklere yazma imkanı sağlamak maksadıyla, Cavit Hoca'nın yayımlanmasına bizzat öncülük ettiği Köyceğiz (Muğla) merkezli Sığla dergisinde yayımlanmıştı. Cavit Okur, İslami harekete mensup '80 kuşağının ağabeyi; son yirmi üç yıldır Türkiye'nin yönetimine katılan siyasilerin ve bürokratların büyük çoğunluğunun üstadı; üniversiteyi yeni bitirip mesleki kariyerin kapılarını zorlayan yüzlerce gencin hocası; Öğrenci kuruluşlarında, vakıflarda, miting meydanlarında, koğuşturmalarda, sürgünlerde, hapishanelerde, kısa süreli bir deneyim olarak particilik siyasetinde… dur-durak bilmeyen enerjisine rağmen yorgun düşüp, son adres olarak Köyceğiz'deki evinde dinlenen bir memur-öğretmen; Evveli Karaman'dan gelip, Isparta'nın Sütçüler ilçesi Kesme köyüne yerleşen altı çocuklu bir Yörük ailesinin, Kur'an okumayı dört yaşında öğrenen bir ferdi… Çoban olan ama Osmanlı Türkçesi'nin medresede öğrenmiş, tepeden inme inkılaplara zerre kadar muhabbet duymamış, hayatı boyunca Latin alfabesini hiç kullanmamış, şapka giymemiş bir babanın evladı…dır. Cavit Okur'un kimliği hakkında özetlemeye çalıştığım bu bilgilerin, aynı zamanda onun zihniyet ve eylem planındaki duruşuna da işaret edeceğini ummakla birlikte, asıl mesaisinin tamamını temsil etmemesi anlamında bir yazar olmadığı halde, hatıralarının sebebi telifini de ihtiva eden mukaddimesini “Bilerek Hakkı batıl ile karıştırmayın. Hakkı gizlemeyin.” mealindeki bir ayetle (Bakara 2742) başlatıp, yaklaşık 420 sayfa tutan metnini İsmet Özel'in “Varsın zindanların uğultusu vursun kulaklarımıza / Yaşamak bizim için dokunaklı bir şarkı değil ki” dizeleriyle bitirecek kadar tarz-ı kadim eser sahiplerinin ayak izlerini sürme konusunda şuurlu bir tutumun ve tenzihi bir hassasiyetin sahibi olarak, yeni yetme yüzlerce yazarın pabucunu dama atan biri olduğunu da özellikle belirtmeliyim. Nitekim kendisi de hakkındaki mezkur çerçeveyi kitabında şu sözleriyle tamamlamıştır: “Ben Müslümanlardanım.” diye çıktığım bu yolda yegâne ilah ve rabbin Allah olduğuna yakin bir imanla yürüdüm. Sohbetlerimde de bu minval üzere tevhidi bilince sahip Müslüman yetiştirmenin gayretini güttüm. Davamı temsil etmek için daima ona uygun düşünce ve yaşayışı önceledim. Konuştuğum her sözü vicdanımın onaylamasına önem verdim. Hiçbir zaman şahsımı İslam davasının önüne geçirmedim. Davamı daima önümde hissettim ve ona yetişmek ve onun içinde olmak için koşturdum. Ne ırkçılık ne demokrasi ne komünizm... Allah'ın emrettiğinin dışında hiçbir düşüncenin içinde olmadım. Çalışmalarımda tevekkülü önemsedim. Başıma gelenler için kimseyi suçlamadım ve bana düşmanlık edenlerden bile intikam almayı düşünmedim. Bir Müslüman olarak hiçbir zaman hâlimden memnunum da demedim.” Cavit Okur'un Isparta'da başlayıp, öğrencilik, eylem, yöneticilik, meslek, sürgün, insan yetiştirme hareketliliği içinde İzmir, Aydın, Afyon, Kilis, Köyceğiz, Kadıköy ve Üsküdar'dan sonra Köyceğiz'de karar kılan hayat hikayesinde, bir belgesel zenginliği içinde anlattığı Yörük köyü hayatını paranteze alarak, yaklaşık son yarım asırlık mücadelesine baktığımızda, onun isimleri fazla bilinmeyen onlarca eylem ve eğitim ehlinin, Müslümanların sırtından oluşturdukları sahte payeleri şimdi gerçeğin ışığında paslı bir teneke parçası kadar bile bir kıymet ifade etmeyen sahte münevverlerin gerçek hayat ve düşüncelerini aydınlattığını da görürüz.
Questo episodio è sponsorizzato da Scalable. Cerchi un modo semplice, sicuro e conveniente per iniziare a investire? Con Scalable, entri nel mondo degli investimenti con un partner affidabile e regolamentato e con costi d'ordine incredibilmente bassi. E sai qual è il bello? Con Scalable puoi iniziare a investire con solo 1 Euro! Apri ora un conto Scalable
Cavit, storico consorzio del comparto vitivinicolo italiano, presenta una nuova referenza della linea Trentini Premium dedicata all'Horeca: Cum Vineis Sclavis 2022 Schiava Trentino DOC, vino rosso che nasce da un importante vitigno autoctono del territorio, la Schiava, richiamandone le antiche tecniche di coltivazione e vinificazione della tradizione trentina.
Ayşete Yavaş'ın hazırlayıp sunduğu Depolama Çözümleri programına Optimak STU Yönetim Kurulu Başkanı Tansel Cavit Kulak konuk oldu.
Ayşete Yavaş'ın hazırlayıp sunduğu Depolama Çözümleri programına Optimak STU Yönetim Kurulu Başkanı Tansel Cavit Kulak konuk oldu.
Cavit, il rinomato consorzio trentino che figura tra i principali attori del settore vinicolo italiano, conferma la sua forte strategia nel canale Horeca. Il consorzio presidia questo settore cruciale attraverso una selezione di vini e spumanti appositamente dedicati, che incarnano l'apice della qualità del suo processo produttivo. A testimoniare l'impegno prioritario su questo fronte, il Gruppo ha ufficialmente annunciato la nomina di Stefano Bracci nel ruolo di Responsabile Vendite per il canale Horeca Italia
“Les cavités” de Laure Samama Aux éditions isabelle sauvageInterview de Laure Samama,par Anne-Frédérique Fer, à Paris, le 12 décembre 2023, durée 19'31.© FranceFineArt.https://francefineart.com/2023/12/13/132_livres_laure-samama/Communiqué de presseDans un premier temps, Les cavités pourrait se lire et se définir comme un conte cruel, avec sa kyrielle de personnages inquiétants : l'Affreux, le Père, la Mère, la Sœur, puis les Sœurs, les Méchants, l'Absent… et ses noms de lieux mystérieux – sans doute pas étrangers à la formation d'architecte de l'autrice – : le Temple, la grotte, la coursive, les « cavités en arrêté de péril », les portes et leurs clés tour à tour rouillées, « perdues et jamais retrouvées », les portes qui résistent, se ferment l'une après l'autre… Tout semble en place pour un conte pour adultes sur une enfance traumatique. Mais la langue de Laure Samama, en mêlant l'intime à l'universel et en utilisant les registres du langage contemporain, retourne les codes du conte pour nous livrer un long poème qui n'hésite pas à s'emparer de la brutalité et de la crudité de certains types de discours, celui de la Mère, à la passivité coupable, celui des Méchants, vulgaires et violents – « des voix me prennent les cavités ». Toutes ces voix stridentes, que la narratrice tente de mettre à l'écart, expriment les assignations de la société, ce qu'on nous rabâche et qui nous empêche. Le texte effectue plusieurs va-et-vient entre un avant, un maintenant et un plus tard, « les nouvelles cavités écrasent les anciennes », en une « errance hallucinée dans les tréfonds de ce qui nous construit et nous hante à la fois », un cheminement sombre dans ce qui infuse de l'enfance dans une vie d'adulte. Le corps est partout présent : le corps de Sœur soumise au corps de Père, le corps des femmes soumises au corps des hommes, « corps disloqué », « sans défense », « livré en pâture », mais aussi, en creux, le corps des femmes amoureuses au désir violent, des femmes qui jouissent, des femmes qui savent ce qu'elles veulent et/ou ne veulent plus. Enfin, sous la dernière porte filtre une lumière. « L'air est venu / sur mon visage et dans ma bouche. »Parution : octobre 2023. Poésie – 138 pages, 12 x 15 cm - Collection présent (im)parfaitLaure SamamaAprès avoir longtemps exercé l'architecture, Laure Samama se consacre aujourd'hui à l'écriture et à la photographie, à travers livres d'artiste, performances, expositions. Elle a été exposée, entre autres, à la galerie Vu' à Paris et à la Maison de la photographie Robert Doisneau à Gentilly. Les éditions Arnaud Bizalion ont publié les récits Ce qu'on appelle aimer (2016), Tes mains s'effacent (2018) et Je danse seule (2021). En 2023, les éditions Light Motiv ont publié un livre de ses photographies, La maison sans toit, avec un texte d'Hélène Gestern. Les cavités est son premier livre publié aux éditions isabelle sauvage. ActualitéLA MAISON SANS TOIT de Laure Samama & Hélène Gesternaux éditions Light MotivParution : 17 octobre 2023Photographies : Laure SamamaTexte : Hélène Gesternhttps://editionslightmotiv.com/produit/la-maison-sans-toit/ Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.
Arriva una nuova prestigiosa etichetta in casa Cavit, la referenza Kelter Lagrein 2020 Trentino Doc Riserva. Sin dal suo nome evocativo ‘Kelter', il termine tedesco utilizzato per indicare ‘il torchio', lo strumento che viene tradizionalmente impiegato per la spremitura delle vinacce, traspare l'anima di questo vino di qualità caratterizzata da una forte identità territoriale, ma soprattutto l'imprinting della Cantina che lo ha prodotto, Cavit.
Settembre profuma già d'autunno e di vendemmia nel cuore del Trentino, dove Cavit, consorzio che riunisce 11 cantine del territorio collegate a oltre 5.250 viticoltori, sta cogliendo i frutti di un intenso anno di lavoro. Un 2023 pieno di sfide, che ha messo in luce più che mai i punti di forza del metodo del Gruppo vitivinicolo, nel suo impegno verso la sostenibilità e la ricerca d'avanguardia. Un orientamento imprescindibile, oggi, per affrontare le incognite del cambiamento climatico.
No Click Valvar de hoje temos grandes insights sobre pressões de enchimento cavitários.
The hunt for October is on! So is the hunt for a good wine. This week Sarah and Scotty Mo try the pod's first moscato! While they sip this white wine, they discuss hot takes with Danny G, recap week 23 of the MLB season and vineyard vibes. Grab a glass and join them along the Foul Vine, where everything wine and baseball is in fair territory. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/foul-vine/message
2011 Şubat'ında Noreplika Kolektif'in hazırladığı Yer6 Hafıza programına dönüyor, Mondo Trasho ve Türkiye'de fanzileri dinliyoruz. Aramızdan erken ayrılan Nova Kozmikova anısına.
On this week's episode of Under the Shell, Cavit, Brendan, Sam, and Michael welcome on Dustin Hockensmith, a reporter for PennLive, to discuss the Maryland v. Penn state football game this weekend. After, we preview the upcoming games for the field hockey, soccer, volleyball, and basketball teams. This episode was originally uploaded in 11/22
On this week's episode of Under the Shell: Brendan, Sam, Cavit, and Michael welcome Maryland Football alum, Scott McBrien. We learn about his football career in the NCAA, NFL, NFL Europe, and CFL. Later, we preview the upcoming games for the football, field hockey, soccer, volleyball, and basketball teams. This episode was originally uploaded in 11/22
Ladies and Gentleman. We are over it! Our bodies, our privacy as women are not yours for the taking. Cousins, sit down with us as we dive into this matter. Earlier in the month a scandal involving Sukihana got the girlies talking and ya'll know we have something good to say! In this episode we are trying a special rose by @sipsuede Suede Rose paired with Cavit's Trevanzine Rose. Grab your friends and your glasses for another juicy topic.
Bernard DerridaPhysique statistiqueCollège de FranceAnnée 2022-2023Théorie des systèmes complexes : des verres de spin aux réseaux de neuronesSéminaire - JMarc Mézard : La phase chaotique en température complexeIntervenant(s)Marc Mézard, université Bocconi, MilanPour résoudre la théorie de champ moyen des verres de spin, Giorgio Parisi a utilisé la méthode des répliques, qui garde encore maintenant sa part de mystère. Pour comprendre son contenu, et trouver une solution alternative plus physique et mieux contrôlable mathématiquement, nous avons imaginé avec Parisi et Virasoro une voie d'approche toute différente, la méthode de cavité. Si cette approche a rendu possible une solution rigoureuse du problème, elle a aussi permis de développer de nouveaux types d'algorithmes pour des problèmes d'optimisation difficiles impliquant un grand nombre de variables, comme le fameux « problème SAT » qui est au cœur de la théorie de la complexité algorithmique. Ce séminaire propose de résumer ces différents aspects de la méthode de cavité.
Als Cavit sieben ist, geht seine Mutter zu den Zeugen Jehovas. Cavit ist darum lange ein Außenseiter. Mit 14 packt er seine Sachen und zieht zu seinem Vater. Der legt ihm 150 Euro auf den Tisch und fährt erstmal ein paar Wochen auf Dienstreise. Cavit genießt die Freiheit. In einem Jugendtreff lernt er eine Clique kennen, er fängt an zu kiffen und zu dealen. Und er nutzt das Haus seines Vaters, wenn der unterwegs ist, für richtig krasse Partys. Irgendwann ist das Haus danach fast renovierungsbedürftig. Cavit beichtet seinem Vater die Drogen und die Dealerei und der schickt ihn zu Verwandten in die Türkei, um Abstand zu kriegen. Dort beschäftigt sich Cavit mit dem Islam und merkt, dass er sich immer noch als Christ fühlt. Zurück in Deutschland schließt er sich dann einer freikirchlichen Gemeinde an. Doch bis Cavit den Halt findet, den er wirklich braucht, muss er noch Valentina kennenlernen und einige Hürden überwinden. **********Den Artikel zum Stück findet ihr hier.**********Mitwirkende: Moderatorin: Shalin Rogall Autor: Paulus Müller **********Mehr zum Thema bei Deutschlandfunk Nova:Sophie Jones: Zeugen-Jehovas-Aussteigerin über ihr Leben bei der "Sekte", wie sie sagtFrüher uncool: Wie uns die Schulzeit prägt**********Wir erzählen Eure Geschichten Habt ihr auch eine Geschichte erlebt, die in die Einhundert passt? Dann erzählt uns davon. Storys für die Einhundert sollten eine spannende Protagonistin oder einen spannenden Protagonisten, Wendepunkte und ein unvorhergesehenes Ende haben. Wir freuen uns über eure Mails an einhundert@deutschlandfunknova.de**********Ihr könnt uns auch auf diesen Kanälen folgen: Tiktok und Instagram.
“9. Uluslararası Yed-i Velayet 7 Vilayet Kısa Film Festivali” kapsamında, aralarında Cengiz Aytmatov, Süleyman Çelebi, Hüseyin Cavit ve Süleyman Çolpan'ın da olduğu Türk dünyasından 7 ünlü edebiyatçının hayatlarını konu alan filmler izleyiciyle buluşmaya hazırlanıyor. Festivalin detaylarını Ehli Sanat Sinema ve Kültür Derneği Başkanı Eda Sürmeli ile konuştuk.
Editör: Egemen Gök Koronavirüs salgınında vaka sayıları yeniden tırmanışa geçti. Günlük vaka sayılarının binin, vefat sayılarının ise beşin altına inmesinin ardından bitme noktasına geldiği belirtilen koronavirüs salgını yaz mevsimiyle birlikte yeniden hızlandı. Son bir aydır ikiye katlanarak ilerleyen haftalık vaka sayısı en az 120 bine dayanırken günlük ortalama vaka sayısı 16 bini aştı. Günlük vaka sayısı en son mart ayında bu kadar yüksekti. Güne Bakış'ta bu akşam Türk Klinik Mikrobiyoloji ve Enfeksiyon Hastalıkları Derneği (KLİMİK) Yönetim Kurulu Üyesi Prof. Dr. Bülent Ertuğrul ve Hacettepe Üniversitesi Tıp Fakültesi Halk Sağlığı Anabilim Dalı Öğretim Üyesi Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz, salgında son durumu değerlendirdi. Yayını izleyebilirsiniz: bit.ly/3ANgHI9
Çetin Ünsalan'ın sunumuyla "Makfed Makina Zirvesi Özel" programına Optimak STU Yönetim Kurulu Başkanı Tansel Cavit Kulak konuk oldu.
Çetin Ünsalan'ın sunumuyla "Makfed Makina Zirvesi Özel" programına Optimak STU Yönetim Kurulu Başkanı Tansel Cavit Kulak konuk oldu.
Nel pomeriggio di lunedì 4 aprile 2022, ai microfoni delle nostre Donne al Volante, con Liliana Russo e Katia De Rossi, è stata ospite Giovanna Camardo, la giornalista di Focus.it. In questo appuntamento, parliamo di quante grotte ci sono in Italia e dove si trovano le principali: «Esistono grosse cavità sotterranee nel solo nel Carso, ma anche in Puglia, Sardegna e altre regioni italiane» ci ha raccontato la scrittrice. A questo proposito, ci ha spiegato come avviene il fenomeno del carsismo, dovuto soprattutto all' azione del calcare e dell'acqua, sottolineando in particolare l'importanza di quest'ultima che non solo erode, ma costruisce anche delle cattedrali, lunghi complessi di cavità. In conclusione la giornalista ci consiglia le più belle grotte visitabili nel nostro Paese .
Bentornati su Breaking Lab, cari ascoltatori! Nella puntata di oggi Giulio parte parlando un po' del nostro "vicino" cosmico, ovvero il sistema stellare di Alpha Centauri con i suoi pianeti. Chissà che questa trasmissione non venga ascoltata anche lassù! Continuiamo con il nostro Daniele, che di ritorno dal Marocco ci racconta delle recenti scoperte di "nuovi" crateri da impatto e cavità naturali. In particolare uno potrebbe avere avuto un ruolo nell'estinzione dei dinosauri... Infine con Chiara indaghiamo uno dei fenomeni più misteriosi della nostra quotidianità: il sonno! Quanto dobbiamo dormire ogni notte? Come dovremmo migliorare le nostre abitudini? Questo e altro nella nuova puntata di Breaking Lab, su tutte le piattaforme podcast! YouTube - instagram - Twitch - facebook - Spotify
Uçan süpürge, elektrikçi Cavit amca, fotoğraf çekimi, aerobik, kilise sokağı, video klip, sahne performanslarım, içerde çalan çan, bahar dalları...
Ahmet Karabay | Uçak düşünce Cavit Çağlar, SİHA vurunca Ethem Sancak | 05.03.2022 by Tr724
Avec David Martin, les cordons bleus de nos régions vous donnent des idées de recettes.
EndüstrideAra.com'un sunduğu ST Konuşmaları programının ilk bölümünde Avenco Robotik Otomasyon Kurucusu Berkay Doğan, Jenesis Genel Müdürü Fatih Savaşkan, EMF Motor Yönetim Kurulu Başkanı Hasan Basri Kayakıran & Optimak STU Yönetim Kurulu Başkanı Tansel Cavit Kulak konuğumuz oldu.
Brent Marsh är andra generationens ägare av ett krematorium i den lilla staden Noble i Georgia. Krematoriet har under åren gått bra, så pass bra faktiskt, att det numera skickas avlidna från tre stater för att kremeras just i Brents krematorium. Men när en kvinna som är ute och går med sin hund upptäcker något hon inte förväntat sig på sin fridfulla morgonpromenad utbryter…. ja, kalabalik är kanske rätt ord. Brent Marsh Tri-State Crematorium Brehm, Reviews (2013) Fuller Studio Sahkanga https://fullerstudio.fuller.edu/sahkanaga/ (Hämtad: 2021-11-25). Cavit, R. (2016) WSB-TV Ray Brent Marsh released from prison after Tri State Crematory sentence www.wsbtv.com/news/local/ray-brent-marsh-released-from-prison-after-tri-state-crematory-sentence/372030430/ (Hämtad: 2021-11-25). Cruz, R. (2007) Could Mercury Poisoning Be To Blame For Crematory Scandal? https://web.archive.org/web/20110718010013/http:/www.wdef.com/node/2478 (Hämtad: 2021-11-25). Hart, A. (2004) The New York Times Georgia Crematory manager Pleads Guilty and Gives Apology www.nytimes.com/2004/11/20/us/georgia-crematory-manager-pleads-guilty-and-gives-apology.html (Hämtad: 2021-11-25). Hendricks, B. (2013) Kirkus A Long Day at the End of the World www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/brent-hendricks/long-day-end-world/ (Hämtad: 2021-11-25). Mursch, B. (2005) WIS-TV Deal says part of Georgia's Tri-State Crematory land will remain untouched www.wistv.com/story/4154020/deal-says-part-of-georgias-tri-state-crematory-land-will-remain-untouched/ (Hämtad: 2021-11-25). Rimer, S. (2002) New York Times Crematory Owners' Family Asks Why www.nytimes.com/2002/02/24/us/crematory-owners-family-asks-why.html (Hämtad: 2021-11-25). Tandläkarförbundet (2018) Kvicksilverförgiftad hos tandläkaren https://news.cision.com/se/tandhalsoforbundet/r/kvicksilverforgiftad-hos-tandlakaren,c2648613 (Hämtad: 2021-11-18). Wikipedia (2021) Environmental Protection Agency https://sv.wikipedia.org/wiki/Environmental_Protection_Agency (Hämtad: 2021-11-17).
Halk sağlığının korunması ve geliştirilmesi adına daha iyi politikalar ortaya koyabilmek için farklı bilim dallarının ve meslek gruplarının ortak çatı altında çalışmalarının gerekliliğini vurgulayan “Tek Sağlık” yaklaşımına duyulan ihtiyaca ve insan, hayvan, çevre ilişkileri bağlamında gelişen sağlık tehditlerine dikkat çekmek için Tek Sağlık Komisyonu, Tek Sağlık Platformu ve Tek Sağlık Girişim Ekibi tarafından 2016 yılında 3 Kasım, “Dünya Tek Sağlık Günü” olarak belirlendi. Geçtiğimiz günlerde Halk Sağlığı Genel Müdürlüğü, Dünya Tek Sağlık Günü dolayısıyla bir paylaşımda bulundu. Paylaşımda, dünya üzerinde insanlarda ortaya çıkan bulaşıcı hastalıkların yüzde 75'inden fazlasının zoonotik kökenli olduğu belirtildi.
Quadro novo no Podontocast! "GRUPO DE ESTUDOS". Quer mais sobre as regras gerais dos preparos cavitários? Principais dúvidas / / Dicas Material de apoio - acesse o link - leitura e material em vídeo 1 , 2 e 3 . Neste episódio, escutamos o episódio sobre Isolamento absoluto, de uma série de episódios do quadro "Grupo de estudos", produzido pelos Bolsistas da UFC-sobral e supervisionado pelo professor Mário Áureo Gomes Moreira, confira! @pod.odonto.cast_ufc - Instagram / / Equipe de Dentística UFC Sobral - YouTube
Güne Bakış‘ta bu akşam, anayasa hukukçusu Prof. Dr. Levent Köker ile Diyanet'in siyasallaşmasını ve laikliği, Hacettepe Üniversitesi Tıp Fakültesi Halk Sağlığı Anabilim Dalı Öğretim Üyesi Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgınında ortaya çıkan Mu varyantını konuştuk. Editör: Engin Deniz İpek
Sağlık Bakanlığı'nın açıkladığı güncel verilere göre son 24 saatte 283 bin 250 kişiye koronavirüs testi uygulandı, 19 bin 557 kişi pozitif çıktı. Koronavirüs nedeniyle 245 kişi hayatını kaybetti, iyileşenlerin sayısı ise 13 bin 401 oldu. Sayılar yüksek seyrederken, aşılama da sürüyor. İki doz aşı yaptıranların sayısı 37 milyona yaklaşırken üç doz aşı olan kişilerin sayısı sekiz milyon 394 bin 223. Vaka sayıları ve aşılama oranı bu durumda iken bizleri nasıl bir sonbahar bekliyor? Okulların açılmasıyla çocuklarda vaka artışı yaşanır mı? Hacettepe Üniversitesi Tıp Fakültesi Halk Sağlığı Anabilim Dalı Öğretim Üyesi Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz yanıtladı.
O treni olmayan istasyonun yılmaz bekçisi, Türk sanat müziğini dillerinden düşürmeyenlerin temsilcisi, Türkan Şoray'ın en koyu hayranı. Beyaz önlüklü, hoş sohbetli biri. Yedikule'nin Cavit abisi. Cavit Durukan… Mahallenin eski sakinleri birer birer yarımada dışındaki yeni, modern evlerine taşınırken 14 yaşında başladığı berberlik mesleğinde 60. yıla merdiven dayamış Cavit abi bütün bir Yedikule'nin derdini dinlediği 8 metrekarelik şirin dükkânında zamana ayak diriyor. Burası yıllar içinde âdeta bir fotoğraf sergisine dönüşmüş… “Kimler geldi, kimler geçti” diyerek hüzünlendiği dükkânında şimdi Cavit Durukan'ı kendi ağzından dinleyelim. --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/yeditepe-fatih/message
Sağlık Bakanlığı'nın açıkladığı güncel verilere göre son 24 saatte 294 bin 561 kişiye koronavirüs testi uygulandı, 21 bin 692 kişi pozitif çıktı. Koronavirüs nedeniyle 183 kişi hayatını kaybetti, iyileşenlerin sayısı ise 14 bin 636 oldu. Vaka sayıları düşerken ölüm oranları artıyor. Sağlık Bakanlığı'nın paylaştığı verilerden derlenen bilgilere göre, 21 Temmuz-3 Ağustos dönemine oranla, 4-17 Ağustos arasında toplam test sayısı yüzde 12, vaka sayısı yüzde 29, ölüm sayısı yüzde 87 arttı ve 100 bin kişi başına düşen toplam vaka sayısı 298'den 386'ya çıktı. Son bir haftada ise vaka sayısı yüzde 14 azalırken, ölümler yüzde 35 arttı. Hacettepe Üniversitesi Tıp Fakültesi Halk Sağlığı Anabilim Dalı Öğretim Üyesi Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz salgının seyrini Medyascope‘a değerlendirdi.
Güncel Sağlık Bakanlığı verilerine göre son 24 saatte 214 bin 196 kişiye test yapıldı ve 9 bin 586 kişinin koronavirüs testi pozitif çıktı. 5 bin 93 kişi iyileşirken, son 24 saatte 52 kişi koronavirüs nedeniyle hayatını kaybetti. Vaka sayısı gün be gün biner biner artıyor. Dün 8 bin 780 kişi pozitif iken bugünki pozitif kişi sayısı 9 bin 586. Sağlık Bakanı Fahrettin Koca dün (22 Temmuz) yaptığı sosyal medya paylaşımında yeni vaka sayılarının iki haftada iki katına çıktığını vurguladı. Hacettepe Üniversitesi Tıp Fakültesi Halk Sağlığı Ana Bilim Dalı Öğretim Üyesi Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz, bu endişe verici vaka artışının ve Delta varyantının salgının gidişatını nasıl etkileyeceğini Medyascope yayınında anlattı.
Türk Tabipleri Birliği (TTB) Kovid-19 İzleme Kurulu'ndan halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz, koronavirüs salgının son durumunu, üçüncü doz aşı tartışmalarını artan vaka sayılarını ve Delta varyantını Medyascope'a değerlendirdi.
Haber Hafta Sonu'nda bu akşam Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgınında son durumu, Delta varyantının etkilerini ve alınması gereken tedbirleri konuştuk.
Can Karadut'un hazırlayıp sunduğu Eve İş Götürme programının bu bölümünde Tepe Betopan Genel Müdürü Cavit Mocan konuğumuz oldu.
Can Karadut'un hazırlayıp sunduğu Eve İş Götürme programının bu bölümünde Tepe Betopan Genel Müdürü Cavit Mocan konuğumuz oldu.
Can Karadut'un hazırlayıp sunduğu Eve İş Götürme programının bu bölümünde Tepe Betopan Genel Müdürü Cavit Mocan konuğumuz oldu.
Antalya’nın Korkuteli İlçesi’ne bağlı Dereköy Yaylası’na Turkuaz Maden tarafından kömür madeni açılmak isteniyor. Yöre halkı tarım arazilerinin, su kaynaklarının ve antik döneme ait kalıntıların olduğu yaylalarında kömür madeni istemiyor. Antalya Valiliği’nin ve Antalya Defterdarlığı’nın da oy kullandığı Toprak Koruma Kurulu, yaylada maden açılmasına izin vermişti. Yıllardır Turkuaz Maden tarafından açılmak istenen kömür madenine karşı direnen Dereköy halkına bir kötü haber de Antalya Çevre ve Şehircilik İl Müdürlüğü’nden geldi. Çevre ve Şehircilik İl Müdürlüğü’nün 18 Mayıs tarihli kararına göre, Turkuaz Maden’in Dereköy Yaylası’na kömür madeni açmak için Çevre Etki Değerlendirilmesi (ÇED) raporu almasına gerek yok. Medyascope’a konuk olan Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi Antalya Milletvekili Cavit Arı, Antalya Valiliği Çevre ve Şehircilik İl Müdürlüğü’nün aldığı kararı “skandal” olarak niteledi.
Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bu akşam, halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile Türkiye’nin koronavirüs salgınında normalleşme takviminini, alınması gereken önlemleri, aşılara güveni ve önlemlerin azaltılması beklenen 1 Haziran’a giderken güncel vaka ve ölüm sayılarını konuştuk.
Türkiye, normalleşmeye hazır mı? Bizi nasıl bir yaz bekliyor? Halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz değerlendirdi.
Editör: Egemen Gök Güne Bakış’ta bu akşam, Kudüs’te İsrail polisi ile Filistinliler arasında çatışmaları, gazeteci Fehmi Koru ile suç örgütü lideri Sedat Peker’in videolarını, Türk Tabipleri Birliği Koronavirüs İzleme Kurulu Üyesi ve halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile vaka sayılarındaki hızlı düşüşü konuştuk.
Türkiye için kapanmaktan başka çare yok mu? Koronavirüs salgınında neredeyiz? Halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz, Medyascope özel yayınında değerlendirdi.
Cavités, valves, oreillettes, ventricules, myocarde, péricarde, oui, nous parlons du cœur ! Ce qui définit la bonne santé du cœur, c’est entre-autre son rythme, et le nôtre bat à l’unisson sur une cadence bien rock’n’roll ! Lançons-nous le cœur léger dans cet épisode avec la célébration du cœur, ses joies, ses peines, par Nirvana, Yes ou encore Rush. --- Du lundi au vendredi, Fanny Gillard et Laurent Rieppi vous dévoilent une anecdote sur le rock chaque matin dans le Morning Club à 6h30. Rediffusion à 13h30 dans Lunch Around The Clock sur Classic 21, la Radio Rock n' Pop.
Editör: Betül Başak Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bu akşam Gelecek Partisi Yönetim Kurulu Üyesi, 2008-2011 yılları arasında Merkez Bankası Başkan Yardımcılığı yapan Prof. Dr. İbrahim Turan ile Merkez Bankası Başkanı Naci Ağbal’ı görevden alınmasını ve yerine eski Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi Bayburt Milletvekili Prof. Dr. Şahap Kavcıoğlu’nu atanmasını, Türk Tabipleri Birliği Merkez Konseyi Üyesi Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgınında artan vaka sayılarını ve salgını seyrini konuştuk.
Güne Bakış’ta bu akşam, kamuoyu araştırmacısı ve siyasal danışman Dr. İbrahim Uslu ile Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi Genel Başkanı ve Cumhurbaşkanı Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’ın muhalefete karşı kullandığı kutuplaştırıcı dili ve muhalefetin durumunu, Türk Tabipleri Birliği Kovid-19 İzleme Kurulu Üyesi Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgınında son durumu konuştuk.
Editör: Betül Başak Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bu akşam Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgınında son durumu, aşılamanın seyrini ve yeniden normalleşme adımlarını, avukat Tuba Torun ile cezaevlerinde çıplak arama iddialarını, çıplak aramanın mevzuattaki yerini konuştuk.
Türkiye’nin önemli turizm merkezlerinden Kapadokya'yı, Berker'in izlenimleri öncülüğünde ele alan ekip, uzaya gitme gündemine roket fırlattıktan sonra macera rotasına geri dönüyor...
Güne Bakış‘ta bu akşam, Reuters’ın Vaşington’daki diplomasi muhabiri Hümeyra Pamuk ile ABD başkanı Joe Biden’ın dış politika ekibinin Ankara-Vaşington ilişkilerine olası etkisini, Türk Tabipleri Birliği COVID-19 İzleme Kurulu Üyesi ve Halk Sağlığı Uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile salgında son durumu konuştuk. PATREON'dan Medyascope'a destek olabilirsiniz → https://www.patreon.com/medyascopetv Teşekkürler!
Welcome back everyone! I'm so excited to speak to more great New Zealanders this year, and my first guest for 2021 is the wonderful Kristina Cavit, Founder & Director of The Kindness Institute. Kristina is one of those people, who seems to spend most of the hours in her day helping other people. In 2018 she was named a Member of the New Zealand Order of Merit for services to youth and community, one of a number of awards she's received. Kristina spends time working with marginalised communities facing stress and trauma here and around the world. There are so many remarkable things she has done, and is continuing to do, and it was an absolute pleasure to have some of her time. I hope you enjoy!
Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bu akşam Türk Tabipleri Birliği Kovid-19 İzleme Kurulu’ndan halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile yarın (25 Ocak) gelmesi beklenen 6,5 milyon doz aşıyı, aşıda tedarik sürecinin uzamasının koronavirüs salgınına etkisini ve salgında son verileri, Vaşington’da yaşayan araştırmacı Merve Tahiroğlu ile Amerika Birleşik Devletleri (ABD) Başkanı Joe Biden’dan sonra ABD’yi, ABD-Türkiye ilişkilerini ve S400 krizini, Oğul Tuna ile Rusya’daki protestoları konuştuk.
Ülkü Doğanay, 2020’yi 2021’e bağlayan atmosferi, 26 günlük yayın hayatının ardından kapatılan Olay TV örneği ve yılın ilk gününde Sözcü Gazetesi ile ilgili Ayasofya haberi nedeniyle Basın İlan Kurumu tarafından işlem başlatılması üzerinden değerlendiriyor.
Güne Bakış’ta bu akşam, Prof. Dr. Metin Günday ile Anayasa Mahkemesi Genel Kurulu’nun iş insanı Osman Kavala kararını, Türk Tabipleri Birliği COVID-19 İzleme Kurulu Üyesi ve Halk Sağlığı Uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile Sağlık Bakanlığı’nın koronavirüs aşı yönetimini, Medyascope Ankara muhabiri Okan Yücel ile bugün Ankara Atatürk Spor Sarayı’nda yapılan DEVA Partisi’nin Birinci Olağan Kongresi konuştuk. PATREON'dan Medyascope'a destek olabilirsiniz → https://www.patreon.com/medyascopetv Teşekkürler!
Olay TV’nin yayın haklarını elinde bulunduran Cavit Çağlar’ın kanalı kapatmaya karar vermesiyle, Olay TV 26 günlük yayının ardından kapandı. Genel Yayın Yönetmeni Süleyman Sarılar, Cavit Çağlar’ın “Ağır baskı var, devam edemeyeceğim” dediğini söyledi. Çağlar ise, böyle bir diyalog yaşanmadığını ifade etti ve “HDP’nin grup toplantısının tamamının verilmesi beni çok rahatsız etti” dedi. Galatasaray Üniversitesi İletişim Fakültesi’nden Doç. Dr. Ceren Sözeri ile kanalın kapanışını ve basın özgürlüğünün önemini konuştuk.
Olay TV 1994'te Bursa'da (96'da NTV'yi de kuracak olan) Cavit Çağlar tarafından kurulmuş 2019'da yayın hayatına ilk kez son vermiş, akabindeki yılın 30 Kasım'ında yayın hayatına İstanbul'da tekrar başlamış ve 25 Aralık 2020'de son vererek 26 günlük rekor bir süre yayıncılık yapmıştır... *** E, tabii ki İşsiz Muhabir ve Douglas aportta bekliyorlardı bu konuyu konuşmak üzere... *** Biz ne yapalım, taş mı yiyiciiz şekerim? (Eh en azından taş yiyoruz, aç değiliz.) Ama yine de destek olabilirsin: http://www.patreon.com/alternatifperon
Editör: Betül Başak Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bu akşam Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs aşılarının etkinliği ve alınan önlemlerin vaka sayılarına etkisini, Eski Washington Büyükelçisi Faruk Loğoğlu ile CAATSA yaptırımlarının kapsamını ve gelecek dönemde Amerika Birleşik Devleri ve Türkiye ilişkilerini konuştuk.
Editör: Betül Başak Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bu akşam Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgınında son durumu, ağır hasta sayılarındaki, günlük ölüm oranlarındaki artışı ve alınması gereken önlemleri konuştuk.
Music and sound are integral parts of crafting an immersive experience, and Stephen Thomas Cavit, Composer and Principal for Iconic Music, Design & Consulting knows a thing or two about leveraging those tools.He’s engineered sound and music for a variety of themed properties, from Alien Versus Predator at Universal Studios Japan and Hollywood to Fox’s Ice Age, has scored numerous films that have screened at the Sundance Film Festival, and much more.Cavit joined host Bryan Meszaros for this episode of the Experience by Design podcast, presented by MarketScale, where the two dove into this musical background and explored how Cavit uses music and sound to continue to wow people across the world.Join host Bryan Meszaros on Experience by Design every other Wednesday as he explores the latest trends and solutions helping craft the world’s most intriguing experiences.
Halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgını by Medyascope
Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bugün Türk Tabipleri Birliği (TTB) Kovid-19 İzleme Grubu üyesi, halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile okullarda salgın yönetimini ve TTB’nin Kovid-19 Pandemisi Altıncı Ay Değerlendirme Raporu’nu, Kadir Has Üniversitesi Uluslararası İlişkiler Bölümü Öğretim Üyesi Prof. Dr. Mitat Çelikpala ile Azerbaycan-Ermenistan arasında yaşanan gerginlikte son durumu, Hatay Güney Rüzgarı Dergisi kurucusu gazeteci Mehmet Ali Solak ile Hatay’daki orman yangınında yaşanan hasarı ve halkın tepkilerini konuştuk.
I can think of nothing more exciting than the prospect of touching down and finding oneself in Istanbul. When you’re there it really feels like you’re in Constantinople, the legendary nexus of East and West. The city is tinted in sepia, like an old photograph. It has a palpable historical gravity. You feel as if you could wander around a corner and stumble upon some significant artifact, as would Indiana Jones. It’s not just that it is an old city. Europe is full of musty, old cities emitting the last wheezing respirations of life. Not Istanbul. Its former glory is also its present glory. The city doesn’t need life support, because it’s still spry and muscular, in the prime of life.I had only 36 hours in the city on a long layover. Thirty-six hours, you may well note, is a ludicrously insufficient amount of time to investigate the historical depths of Constantinople in full. And I’d agree with you. But it sure as heck beats nothing. Plus, I didn’t have to book an extra airfare, rather than just pick one with a long layover. Pretty savvy, if you ask me. I had booked accommodations at the ‘Cheers’ hostel, so named not for the American television show of the 1980s but for what British youths say instead of "thanks" at the end of a transaction. That's where I headed now.I hoped off the metro in the sepia-tone city center. Actually I wasn’t sure if it was the city center. I didn’t know the first thing about Istanbul or how it was laid out. But it seemed bustling, and there was a grandly-domed Mosque, called Sultan Ahmet, which took up about the same footprint as a football stadium. I meandered up the side street on which Cheers was located. Meandering is the only form of locomotion one can perform on an Istanbul side street. Each street heads in some direction but only vaguely and with dramatic reorientations at unexpected points, like the trend line of the stock market. I noticed that the streets were littered with kittens. They were feral cats, in the sense that no one owned them. But they didn’t look scraggily like most intercity fauna. From the looks of the bowl of milk on the sidewalk, people took care of them. I made my way down the street with my suitcase, scanning each brightly lit façade for some indication that I had found my temporary home. Then from the cool shade of an ivory laced café called a voice:“Hey, man. Are you looking for Cheers?”“Yes,” I said.“Well, you found it, man!”A Turkish fellow named Ahmed greeted me as if I were an old friend. He took me into the hostel to the front desk, where he introduced me to Sinan. They both had the air of men who had been relieved of ambition through many devoted years spent with Mary Jane. They were ludicrously welcoming, and I loved them immediately.“Are you staying at Cheers, man?” Sinan asked this as if a buddy had unexpectedly popped by to crash on his couch. I informed him of my intention to do so.Sinan and Ahmed showed me around the place. The building was long and lean, with a tight spiral staircase running up its spine. Everything was wooden and well-worn. The first floor had a modest kitchen in the back, where breakfast would be served. My room was on the second floor, with twelve bunks and a bathroom, arrayed in an unusually spacious room. The third floor had more rooms. On the floor above that was the in-house bar, where I made the acquaintance of yet another warm and kindly Turkish guy who invited me back to enjoy half-priced beers at happy hour. The bar boasted a spectacular view of Sultan Ahmet’s dome, pillared at four sides by great, spear-like columns, the scene practically springing in through the window as it would in a 3D movie.There is an idea from psychology called the "explore-exploit tradeoff." It is a decision-making dilemma that any thinking organism must solve: I can either choose the option I know to be the best right now (exploit), or I can try something new in hopes that it might prove even more beneficial (explore). It is notoriously difficult to describe the optimal solution to the explore-exploit tradeoff. The crux of the matter is that it’s tough to know when you’ve collected enough information to stop exploring and start exploiting. Well, I developed my own solution to the problem. I had several weeks before made a reservation at a restaurant called Mikla, which was recommended by a gourmand friend of mine who had recently spent two weeks in Turkey. It was a tasting menu establishment, where the general arrangement is to hand the waiter an immense wad of cash in the promise that sometime later he will return, course by course, with a series of whatever the chef has on offer, minusculy proportioned and neatly arranged. Like White Rabbit in Moscow. I enjoy that sort of thing, and so does my friend. I trust his tastes, too. My solution to the tradeoff, at least when it comes to restaurants, is to exploit his explorations. He said Mikla was the best thing in Turkey.However, earlier that day I had sent Mikla an email canceling the reservation. It was a lot of money. Not as much as it would be at an equivalent restaurant in US, or somewhere else relishing an economy that isn’t teetering on the verge of collapse. But certainly it would cost more than whatever I’d be able to find stumbling around the streets. When I got to the hostel I equivocated for a bit. Would it be worth it? At length I decided to fetch up at the restaurant and let fate decide—if they still had a table, I’d snag it. What the hell? I’m worth it.When I left the hostel I wasn’t sure if I was in Europe or Asia. Approximately half of Istanbul belongs to one and half to the other. I assumed since I was on one side of Istanbul and Mikla was on the other that I'd crossed from continent to the other. I felt as though I was crossing a border illicitly, as if into a forbidden nation. I wasn’t, I later learned. But I reveled in the sense of espionage anyway. When I inspected the map, it looked like Mikla was on a main drag. But as I trekked up the hill on which it was situated, I learned it was most emphatically not. Maps of Istanbul bear only a loose correspondence with reality, as the streets are constantly shifting, like the moving staircases of the dormitories at Hogwarts.I presented myself at Mikla on the 18th floor of a hotel situated on Istanbul’s highest eminence. I had walked for about an hour to get there, mostly uphill, and it was really hot out. I showed up in a bit of a tizzy, more than a bit disheveled. I was wearing running shoes, which had been a different color when I bought them, green shorts that extended down only as far as my upper thigh, and had a soot-stained face that brought to mind an industrious but unfortunate character in a Charles Dickens novel. I looked like s**t, really. I inquired with the maitre d’ about the possibility of restoring my previously appointed spot in the dining room. He demurred and told me it was full-up. The restaurant, I could see, was empty. I managed to negotiate a spot at the bar. Then I excused myself because, as I told him, I had come prepared to change into something more presentable. He directed me to the men’s room. While I was changing in the tiny bathroom, a guy came in to check on me. He offered some banal explanation for his presence, like making sure I knew how to operate the flush handle on the toilet. But really he was there on orders from the maitre d’ to ascertain whether I had in fact transmogrified into a form that was presentable and unlikely to cause embarrassment or mirth among the other dining patrons. I had put on dark jeans and a light blue linen collared shirt. I had also wiped the grime from my cheeks. I wouldn’t be turning any heads, neither for reasons of sexual intrigue nor arresting sartorial faux pas. I made my way back to the host’s table. He had managed, magically, to find a table for me, provided I could vacate by 9pm. Excellent.I submitted my request for the full tasting menu and a glass of Turkish rosé. Then I went to look out over the city. It was amazing. When I returned to my seat I beckoned the garçon. “I have a dumb question,” I told him. “Which continent am I on?”“Europe,” he genially informed me. “Asia is that way,” he pointed across a body of water. He explained that the heart of Istanbul formed something of a Y shape divided by waterways, the Bosphorus and the Marmara Sea. One segment of the triad was Asia and the other two, including Mikla and my hostel, were Europe.The first courses came promptly as a couple rounds of amuse bouche. Bite sized fishy stuff. These were accompanied by a basket of bread with goat cheese butter, from a goat named Yagmur. I sat there at the table to take it all in: I was in Istanbul. At the best restaurant in the city. Eating exquisite food and savoring a view of the whole thing. I couldn't have been happier.Throughout my meal I watched Turkish playboys trickle in with their exquisitely dressed blondes in tow. Each of the women was dressed in white. Every single one of them. It might have even been the same white dress. They also appeared to have had the same plastic surgeon do their boob-job. Regardless, no one failed to show up in anything but their finest duds. Myself included.I looked up from my book from time to time to take stock of the other patrons. I noticed the woman next to me carefully dabbing tears from her perfectly made up eyes. Then she started smiling. I could never quite figure out why. Eaves dropping didn't help, as the conversation was not only subdued but in Turkish. Istanbul is a city of mysteries. A couple was seated next to me. They were the same age. They also sported the same just barely elevated casual that I did. The girl was Asian; the guy was difficult to tell. They were speaking English, neither natively. I fantasized that they were lovers who met in a distant land and could only continue their affair meeting in Istanbul for all-too-brief romantic encounters. The tasting menu seemed to be a bit exotic for their tastes, as they prodded at the fishy amuse bouche experimentally with a fork and a pair of quizzical looks.Eventually I decided he was German. He was talking about the country as if he was from there. I could tell she was Korean. But then again he was uncharacteristically tan for a Teutonic lad. Turkish German, maybe? Anyway, doesn’t matter. There were more excellent dishes to be had. I was out by 8:50, as promised, and fully sated.After dinner I was eager to stretch my legs in the streets of Istanbul. I called first at a bar that I'd identified as promising on the way up to dinner. It was adjoined to a hostel. I walked through the lobby and a spacious diner to open air patio in back. The walls were festooned with flags and books, as if someone loaded cultural artifacts into a canon and shot it all the wall. Every table was filled. There was a Volkswagen van parked in a corner of the room. Bob Marley and his musical offspring were featured heavily in the musical selection. The place had vibes for days. On the cocktail menu were a bunch of Turkishly named drinks without an ingredient list. I ordered the Fahrettin, for reasons of phonological pleasure. The bartender, a busy guy to be sure, dropped my drink while presenting it to me, spilling on me and my book. He said sorry then wandered off, which I thought was a rather neat trick of nonchalance. What remained of the cocktail was quite good—tequila-based, accompanied by a mysterious concoction in the traditional idiom of Istanbul. He comped me the drink, which seemed like a fair trade for having to wear part of it.Time to hit the streets again. I reemerged into the humid Turkish night and set my course down the steep hill. It was steep enough that if you took a tumble, you’d continue rolling until you spilled out onto the level street a half mile below. I was clearly in a hipster area. Every storefront had a shop, a cool one. There were lively bars, vegan kitchens, and The Pure Love Café. Groups sitting at tables spilled out from restaurants into the street. All the people were good looking and appeared dressed to attract mates. The street featured a modest strip of sidewalk, wide enough to comfortably fit my three leftmost fingers. Enabling a safe place for walking ranked relatively low among its priorities. Mostly it was dedicated to other things, like rubbish bins, cellar stairs, stray cats, their generously proportioned milk bowls, and scooters thrown onto the sidewalk as if abandoned by a fugitive who had escaped down a nearby alley. The texture of the street was a comely but treacherous cobblestone, so the entire thoroughfare was a sort of a mini obstacle course at ground level. The street lights were spaced just far enough apart that when your shadow died in front of you it resurrected behind. Scooters and cars whizzed by as if finding themselves fifteen minutes late for a meeting on the wrong continent. Being a pedestrian in the city requires a certain extra sensory perception for knowing when to be in the street and when to get off. Istanbul is a game of inches.The street dilapidated as I descended. It was no longer populated by hipsters, as it had been near the top, but mothers and aunties sitting outside while mending clothes and folding laundry. At length I found myself back on the main road, which I took in the direction of my hostel. I followed signs to an underground "tramvay" which proved to be a closed market, shuttered for the night. After a few subterranean turns and what seemed to be too far to just cross the street I began to fear I'd been trapped in another Moscow metro maze. Then I resurfaced right in the metro stop that I'd aimed for, where I promptly boarded the next tram. I had learned an important lesson from the Russians—always offer your seat to elders, women, and children. This was taking me far in Turkish etiquette points. I no longer needed to be waved off by elderly men on the subway, but actively offered my seat when they came aboard.When I got off at the stop by my hostel, I noticed a massive hole in the sidewalk where some men were working. It hadn't been there when I left. The men wore plaid shirts, jeans, and one was knocking back a beer (obviously, he was the supervisor). I'd like to think they weren't engaged in any officially sanctioned work but rather indulging in their Saturday evening hobby of amateur ditch digging.I went back to my hostel. In my room I met a young man my age, named Dylan, from San Francisco. He was clearly of a strain of human being known as West Coast Bro. I told him I was also from the West Coast, Seattle. West Coast people have a certain way of communicating with one another, as if everything the other person relates is a cause for minor celebration. The excitement just sort of leaks out. He told me he and his buddies had covered 16 miles the day before."Dude, nice!" I responded."The asian side is pretty chill," he told me "You should go.""Hell yeah, man."This is another thing about the West Coast. The most prized attribute of anything is chill. As in: man, that party last night was chill; I went on a date with a girl, and she was pretty chill, man; I failed that exam, but don’t worry, man, it’s chill. One of the primary reasons why I don’t fit in on the West Coast is that, at 98.8 degrees Fahrenheit, I don’t have an ounce of chill contained anywhere in my body. For example, I go on rants about how silly the notion of chill is. That’s decidedly unchill. But I put on a cool front with Dylan, not to alert him to my lack of chill. In this I achieved a level of success sufficient for him to invite me to hang out. “Hey man, Kevin and I are about to take some vodka shots in his room. Wanna come?”"Sweet!” I told him. “Maybe I’ll meet up later.” I didn’t plan to meet up later.I took leave of Dylan and went up for a drink at the rooftop bar. We had a view of Sultan Ahmet in the evening air. I met an Indian girl who worked as banker in London and a Slovenian professor of public health. We bullshitted for a while. I wasn't quite ready to retire for the evening, having spent much of it sitting at dinner. I went for a walk to take in the evening streets of old city Istanbul. It was not exactly bustling, but there were still people out, mostly in search of food and drink. Restaurants yearned for customers. Turkish men stood outside of their eateries and implored you to dine in their establishments. I'd like to think that if I were really undecided about where to enjoy my next meal that I might actually be swayed by their amicable inducements. I do love to be courted. I returned to the hostel bar, where my friends lingered. We bullshitted more, until late, like 1:30. The Slovenian girl took a look out the window and remarked, “That's an interesting view." Then I retired for the evening.The next morning I was eager to get going. I sprung up, showered, and went out in search of one of the handsome cafes I had passed the night before. I realized as soon as I left that I had no idea where anything was—the grand bazaar, which mosque was the Ayasophia, how to cross to Asia. About three blocks away from my hostel I equivocated for a moment, pacing back and forth as I changed my mind several times over. First I decided f**k it, just wander; then I noted how short of a time I had in the city and I should be prudent about how I use it; then I went back to the first mindset, how hard can it be to find the grand bazaar? It’s pretty big, right? Ultimately I about-faced and went back to the hostel. I pulled out my map and my food recommendations, noting the major landmarks and eating destinations. I had a cup of strong Turkish coffee while I deliberated, along with heavily seeded watermelon. I located the Grand Bazaar, figured out which mosque was the Ayasophia, developed a game plan for my transcontinental crossing, and picked out a breakfast destination. Time to hit the streets.Where Russia is fixed and inflexible, Istanbul is fluid and free flowing. The rules here are like the addresses, an approximation, meant only to get you in the neighborhood. I had begun to understand this the night before when I looked up the address for Mikla and found that it took me to the right block but didn't commit me to any building in particular. The same was now true for my breakfast spot. The Russians would, however, I think, be quite fond of the way the Turks lay out their streets. They couldn't possibly be more convoluted.At length I tracked down my destination in an enclosed market with several different food stalls. I called at the one serving Menemen. It was unclear where exactly the seating area ended and the kitchen began. I presented myself to a gentleman standing vaguely in the part of the restaurant dedicated to preparing food rather than eating it, and asked for some Menemen, please."Only one?"Yes."Please take a seat."That kind of protocol would never have flown in Russia. I still would have been waiting for attention from the waitress when, mere minutes later, I was delivered a bubbling cast-iron pan of egg, pepper, spices, sausage, and tomato, more spice red than yolk yellow. Turkish omelette. After setting it down, the guy took the lid off a Tupperware container, exposing about two whole loaves worth of bread. I eyed it, appreciating the generosity, but not sure what I was supposed to do with about ten times more bread than omelette, by volume. I also ordered a Turkish coffee. I soon realized that what I had at the hostel had not been strong Turkish coffee at all. That was a strong cup of American-style, brewed drip coffee. I had just forgot what strong drip coffee was like, since the Russians enjoy a rather lighter cup. This was the size of an espresso shot, served in an oriental ceramic set. It had the consistency of melted chocolate. The gradient of Turkish coffee starts as liquid and ends as solid. Instead of fork and knife, I used pieces of bread to scoop up the omelette. By the end of my meal I looked over and saw that the Tupperware container was mostly empty. I was immensely satisfied.Before I headed out from breakfast, I spread out my map onto the table. It was a physical copy I had obtained at the airport. I always pick up the free tourist map whenever I touch down in an unfamiliar city. I forgo Google Maps if I can help it. The problem with Google Maps, you see, is that you can never really be lost. It tells you where you are, so you never have to figure it out for yourself. Getting yourself unlost is the best way to quickly become familiar with the layout of a new city. And gaining familiarity with a city’s layout is one of the most efficient ways to gain a sense of intimacy with the place. This was a cityscape I wanted to get to know. I pocketed my phone, resolving not to appeal to its GPS-augmented maps.I set off in the direction of the Grand Bazaar on a circuitous route, for there was no other kind available. I quickly became nowhere in particular. I was not on any discernible path or route. Istanbul is laid out not as a grid but rather as the pattern glass takes when you throw a small rock at it. It’s as if the road-builders made only game-time decisions about where the road should lead as they were laying the foundations. If you set off down a particular thoroughfare you're just as likely to find yourself circling back to your present junction as going on straight ahead. There’s simply no way of knowing. The other thing about the streets of Istanbul is that you never know what you’ll find on them, but you can be pretty sure it will be some sort of informal commerce. If Paris is a moveable feast, then Istanbul is a permanent market. As I wandered—potentially in circles, I couldn’t tell—I wondered where all these textiles come from. There’s a seemingly limitless supply of cheap clothes, shoes, gadgets, bags, household supplies, and provisions of every nature. Whence the demand? Who, for instance, needs four hundred little girl’s wedding dresses? As my mind slowly returned from its absence I grew concerned with whether I would even know when I breached the Grand Bazaar. Everything I passed was a bazaar. All of it seemed pretty imposing. I wasn’t confident I’d be able to distinguish the minor ones from the Grand One. Eventually I discovered I had ambled in correct direction, and I strode in through an arch labeled GRAND BAZAAR, est. 1461.At once I was thrust into a sort of capitalist cathedral with high ceilings and densely packed rows commercial stalls rising toward the heavens like a downtown avenue of product-laden skyscrapers. The scale of it resembled the Sistine Chapel, had it originally been zoned for commercial purposes. Salesmen lingered at their stalls like doormen at a building. In the section I had entered they sold mostly familiar sartorial wares: knockoff Gucci, LV, jerseys from the major soccer clubs, that sort of stuff. They didn’t look to be much engaged in the act of selling. Mostly they stood there drinking tea. The tea was delivered by couriers carrying hanging trays that looked like one side of the scales of law. Many of the salesmen yelled to colleagues across the way, or shared quiet confidences with their business partners in the stall. Most of them were just sitting or standing idly, seeming to take it all in, or at least facing the right direction to do so.I perused a few different boroughs of the Grand Bazaar. There was one with lots of jewelry, shiny and brightly glaring. It was like walking through an intergalactic market hawking small star systems. There was another area, labeled the "Old Bazaar," that sold antiques, like lamps from which you could solicit the services of a genie. The comparatively modern bazaar offered an array of goods without any unifying theme: picture frames, chess boards carved from marble, ceramic plates, glass tea sets, and rakish canes that would seem apropos in the wobbly grip of an octogenarian pimp. Kitty-corner to the stall I looked at now was one with much the same wares—the same chess boards, the same tea sets, though here they were featured in conjunction with various spice jars and décors of an Islamic bent. It occurred to me that something seemed fucked up in the supply and demand system here. There's an awful lot of supply. Turkish economics must operate by different rules, I figured. On the other hand, I wanted all this s**t. It was beautiful and unreasonably cheap. It wasn’t like the flimsy, crappy knockoffs on offer in many such markets. But I didn’t purchase anything, mostly because I didn’t want to have to lug it around. Still, it made me think about the guy selling the stuff. That guy could stand in front of his stall every day for the rest of his life, make his pittance of Turkish Lyra per diem and sell only a handful of goods every so often. It didn’t seem right.As I continued my stroll I noticed a band of policemen: three guys in jeans and Nikes with Polis vests, one strapped imposingly with an AK-47 diagonally across his chest. This is not an entirely uncommon sight around the world, but it is still somewhat off-putting.It wasn’t until I chanced upon the borough of preserved food—with teas, dried fruit, and the like—that the dynamics of Bazaaro economics started to jibe. The supply and demand was amortized. The timescale was that of many years, not of now. It was the opposite of scalable and innovative, the prized economic considerations of the modern West. But it was sustainable, which though highly-touted in the West is a much more low priority distinction. I was struck with the realization that all this would continue to carry on after I left, as it had since 1461. The supply could sit there and the demand could wander in as it may. It wasn’t a simple function of this point in time. It left me with a deeply seated appreciation for object permanence, that things are there even when I’m not looking at them. The world continues to go on, whether or not I appreciate it. And I was sincerely grateful just to see it, even if momentarily.In sum I’ll give the Bazaar points for Grandness, as advertised. But truth be told I expected the Bazaar to be, well, more bizarre. Perhaps I felt it should be filled with turbaned snake charmers, or a well-suited James Bond escaping from a band of international criminals on motorbike, careening off a nearby roof to unsettle a table of civilians just about to sit down for a large family meal. I don't know exactly.It proved easy to exit. However, it was not easy to know where I had exited once back in the unruly constellation of satellite bazaars. I had no idea which direction I was now oriented. When I stopped to get my bearings I saw a huge mosque. Surely, I thought, this would give me a landmark by which to establish my position. Not the case. When I surveyed the area surrounding the Bazaar on my map, I identified no less than a dozen mosques which I could have been gazing at now. For all I knew, this one could've been too minor even to be included on the map.I soon discovered that all roads lead back to the Grand Bazaar. I needed to get the hell out of this area to have a hope at establishing my whereabouts. It took me mere seconds to become completely lost. I was suddenly out of range of the main market and ambling helplessly through a sepia-toned hedge maze of storefronts, delivery trucks, and product-strapped couriers. There were no landmarks and no visibility in any direction. There weren’t even any right angles. There were however half a dozen guys unloading a shipment of approximately seven tonnes of the same little boys underwear. At length I found what seemed a promisingly distinctive landmark: a stately building with a plaque labeled ISTANBUL LISIPI. After a bit of scanning I found it on my map. I appeared to be situated on a street that led directly to the main drag. Nope. I ranged up and down the street, trying both directions, but it refused to spit me out anywhere besides nowhere in particular. I was totally lost again. By now I had made the worthwhile discovery that only sixty percent of the streets were on my map, which was already packed with detail. Only about twenty percent of the included streets featured names. When finally I found the main drag I had been searching for I pieced together post hoc from street names that I had been looking at wrong Istanbul Lisipi. I had been at Lisipi Zirkek, not Lisipi Kiz as I had suspected. Of course.I headed back toward my hostel for a reliable toilet. I found a Starbucks along the way and contemplated a cold coffee. This is something that the rest of the world has yet to figure out—when it’s hot, it’s nice to have the option for an iced coffee or a cold brewed coffee or whatever. Starbucks is the only global institution which reliably abides this philosophy. Also, Starbucks, like me, is from Seattle, so there’s an ounce of hometown pride involved in the process. I have the authority to inform the barista, “I’m from Seattle, so I really know what I’m doing here.” I'll often congratulate the manager on everything being up to snuff. At any rate, the queue was too long, and I desperately required the services of that toilet.Once relieved and back on the street, I realized that I expected Istanbul to have more smells. Even the roasted corn purveyed on the sidewalk is mostly scentless unless you get a really big snootful. I sort of imagined there would be an ever-present light dusting of za’atar or ras el hanout, like Turkey was actually located inside an oven cooking something exotic and seriously delicious.Speaking of seriously delicious, I decided to get some ice cream—something to tide me over until I made my way to Asia for lunch. I fetched up at an ice cream stall, where the gentlemen was engaged in serving a family of a mother and four little ones. Whereas the service of ice cream in the US involves a dim-witted, pimply eighteen-year-old scooping from one of thirty-one barrels and inquiring as to whether you'd prefer a sugar or a waffle cone, Turkish ice cream is served with a demonstration, like a hibachi chef at Benihana. This guy had flair. A magnificent mustache, too. He stood at a cart with a refrigerated cavern housing four barrels. The cones were stacked in a leaning tower on the side of his cart like a human-sized scimitar. Above the ice cream man were bells that he’d swat at deftly and rhythmically with his rapier. In his other hand he held not merely a scoop, but an ice cream spade. He served each child individually. I watched him start the little girl off with a cone on which he dolloped a scoop of pink ice cream. Then he thrust his rapier toward the little girl, who would recoil and giggle. While she was distracted he stole back the scoop he had just moments before conveyed to her. This stirred in her brief consternation followed by more giggling. Thus continued a cycle of dolloping, swatting bells, giggling, stealing, thrusting, and more giggling, until the girl had a cone piled high with four colors of ice cream. She was immensely gratified. As the family left still giggling, the man asked me, “Do you want all four flavors?” His voice was about an octave higher than you’d expect for a man whose upper lip was part wildebeest. “Yes, please,” I told him. My presentation was less elaborate, as I was clearly of a more esteemed clientele than his previous patrons. Thankfully, he still smacked the bells a couple times with his rapier. Then, just as he handed me the cone he upended it, and pretended to drop the ice cream. He performed the act so convincingly and with such conviction that my heart dropped and hit the floor at approximately the same time as the cone would have if he had actually dropped it. I giggled like the little girl. Getting Turkish ice cream, I noted, was one of best decisions I’ve ever made.As I gummed down my ice cream—it was chewy, flavorful, and unrepentantly delightful—I walked past the Sultan Ahmet mosque situated next to my hostel. I reflected on its grandeur, a sort of fractal monolith. Buildings were much better when we built them for God.I descended the hill on the other side of Sultan Ahmet, headed vaguely in the direction of the famous Ayasophia. I watched as the Bosphorus river shimmered in the distance, like the eponymous cymbals. It was a stroke of brash, spangled sapphire in the otherwise dusty cityscape of Istanbul. I thought I was on a street that would take me directly to Ayasophia. I wasn’t. I intended to cut smartly across the residential hillside, but instead I ended up at the bottom of it on an arterial street that more or less circumscribed Istanbul where it meets the water. I walked along that street. Clearly I would make it to Ayasophia eventually if I just stayed on this street. I spent forty-five minutes walking along, at first admiring the shimmering Bosphorus but then realizing that it was about high time to ask where the f**k this mosque was. How the hell do I get there? I knew I was getting close because I had to pick my way through a kilometer long queue of idling tour buses, their drivers napping in their vans. I still couldn’t see anything of significance. Impatiently, I glanced at Google Maps. I didn’t feel as though I was on the verge of becoming unlost. When at length I found my way there, I became confused. That’s it? I thought to myself. There was no real sight, just a mosque. There are mosques every seven or eight steps in this city, so that’s not exactly a big deal. It wasn’t even large. I guess its esteem derives from the fact that it is exceptionally old. As I scrolled unromantically through Google Maps to see if I was indeed missing anything, I realized that I hadn’t even been looking at the famed and idyllic Bosphorus river, as I had thought. It was actually the Marmara Sea. I stormed off, incredulous that I had gone to such trouble just to ogle at something so underwhelming. I later discovered that I had not visited the Ayasophia but the "little" Ayasophia, whose diminutive I had failed to notice. Totally different site. At any rate, I was ready for a new destination. I was ready for my transcontinental crossing to Asia.I gambled that a bus could take me along the waterfront to the Eminönü ferry terminal. I didn’t know that it would. But it seemed a good bet, since I was on a main drag headed toward a central location. I walked along but there were no bus stops. Magically, as with Catbus bounding out of the darkness in My Neighbor Totoro, a bus appeared with the word Eminönü on top. I waved the bus over, it stopped, and triumphantly I stepped aboard. Not only did it drop me at the intended ferry terminal, but I realized quickly that I was about a manhattan block away from my pide recommendation. I knew this would give me the strength necessary for my transcontinental voyage. Pide is essentially Turkish pizza, but greasier and meatier and therefore better. It comes in an elliptical shape, with a folded galette shell. It’s like a pizza crust orbiting a galaxy of meaty, saucy goodness. I happily inhaled a full serving before setting off for Asia.I had no explicit destination in Asia. My plan was just to get on a ferry and see where I ended up. There were three ferry terminals, all with vastly different destinations, spanning multiple continents, though I couldn’t quite tell which one went where. I boarded the one I evaluated to have the highest probability of terminating in Asia. I hoped at the very least it would end up somewhere still in Turkey. I boarded the maritime vessel along with six hundred of my closest Turkish friends, and together we set sail for I knew not where. I was one of the last aboard, as I had more or less hopped on whichever ferry left soonest. There was precisely three quarters of a seat available when I got on, and I wedged myself in on the top deck next to some Turkish youths. We took a sharp right out of Eminönü, back along the waterfront where I had taken the bus from Ayasophia. I looked at the hill of Istanbul from the water. After about thirty minutes the boat docked. I went down to the gang plank to discern whether I was at a decent location to disembark. I stood there while the boat’s ramp met the dock. No one got off. Several hundred new passengers stood in wait to pile on. I had no idea where we were, or where this boat would go next. I asked a few people around me—"Excuse me, where are we?" Everyone’s reply was uniformly unhelpful, "Sorry, no English." I equivocated, then at the last second I jumped ship right as boat was kicking off. Good thing, too. I believe the boat was going on to Beşiktaş, back in Europe.I had made it to Asia. But before I got to exploring I needed to make arrangements to get back to Eminönü. I couldn’t afford to be stuck in Asia and miss my flight. Luckily, the ferry official standing in the vicinity of the terminal was able to direct me to the proper concourse where I found the schedule. There were ferries back to Eminönü every twenty minutes. Perfect.It was time for a quick jaunt around Asia, a sort of warm up lap before I headed there in earnest. In front of me was a grey and sprawling business district along the water. The action clearly was located on the hill behind it. I ascended. Immediately, I was struck by a feeling of recognition. I was in Hong Kong. It felt to me like an Asian San Francisco, built on a hillside, with brightly lit storefronts catering to an amalgam of eastern and western sensibilities. There was an idiosyncratic flow to people’s movement, also as in Hong Kong. They move with the same purpose they do in West but on the madhouse, strewn-about streets of Asia: Manhattanites in a maze. I wandered into a used bookstore, the delightful kind where the proprietor values books more than organization. He delivered me to the English language section, and over-explained to me how the system worked. I appreciated the earnestness, but I had ascertained everything I needed to know pretty early on: here are the books. At any rate, the Turks must be avid readers because they have a s**t-tonne of book stores. I called afterward at a hipster coffee shop. They had cold brewed coffee in a carafe lingering in a space of frigid clime. Amazing.I sat outside and listened the conversations of the other patrons. They were all conducted in Turkish. As I matched words to menu items, I realized that spoken Turkish words begin the way I expect, then terminate in something completely indecipherable. At length, I descended back to my port-of-call for a late afternoon trip from Kadıköy, which I learned was the name of the terminal, to Eminönü. I sat atop the ferry in the dusky light of Istanbul.Eventually I arrived back in Europe. Then I headed to the metro, almost embarked, but decided against it in favor of one more stroll through the streets up to the hostel. At a three way intersection I saw a pavilion with mini chairs and tables, oriental table clothes, and these tiny Turkish teas I’d been seeing all day. I wanted one. It was perfectly positioned to watch the people traffic, too. Strong black tea in a glass three inches tall. Slightly more than a generous shot glass. I repaired back to the hostel bar just in time to watch the evening's soccer match.It was five, or just after. I looked out over Sultan Ahmet. Then a noise. Let me just say, there is nothing more exotic than the five o’clock call to prayer over the loud speaker in a Muslim city. It is the most non-Western sound in the world. It sounds to naive (and potentially blasphemous) ears like a sitar player drunk on a far eastern spirit, crooning a love song you'll never know the story to. It continues for just about ever. The cadence is such that it dies down, and just when you forgot about it, begins blaring again at the highest register, making the descent all over again.There was one last stop on my Turkish agenda: Asmalı Cavit. It is an eating establishment located by Mikla—by now feeling like an old haunt of mine—and serving hot and cold meze. When I presented myself to the maitre d’ I inquired about procuring a seat in the restaurant. “Inside is complicated,” he told me, enigmatically. Then he brought me round to an adjacent corridor, which was filled with white-clothed tables. This area was less complicated. I could take a seat toward the back, if that was fine with me. Happily, I accepted. The corridor was terraced, so there were three levels of diners. Since I occupied the furthest back it was also the highest and most regal. I wouldn’t even have to leave my seat to make my usual rounds of inspecting what everyone else is eating. When the waiter approached me I confided in him that I wasn’t sure what to order but I wanted lots. He required no further information. “I’ll bring you a plate of cold starters.” I’ve never felt so understood. As he turned to submit my order I called out, “Wait!”“Yes?”“I’ll take an order of Raki, please.” Turkish absinthe.“With water?” he said, and raised an eye brow.“Sure,” I acquiesced. I wasn’t sure how one was supposed to take Turkish absinthe, so I went with the house recommendation. The Raki came out swiftly. It was served as a triptych. There was the shot-glass worth of absinthe, a tall glass filled with ice, and a small a pitcher of cold water. I set to work on my build-your-own Turkish cocktail, dumping the absinthe over the ice wholesale. I settled on a portion of water somewhere between my masculine inclination for neat spirits and the rather large volume the glass would contain. Of a sudden, the concoction turned ghostly white—chemistry meets conjuring. I took a sip. “Jesus Christ!!” This seemed the only handle by which my mind could grasp the experience. The drink felt like a swift kick to the nuts, but it happened where my face should have been instead of further south. I ventured another sip. Another audible “Jesus Christ!!” was the only response I could produce. There was something eminently realistic about imbibing this drink, like reality shone through with startling clarity after every intake. Two sips in, I could feel clinically interesting effects come on. I tried to recall whether I had passed any banks on the way up here, and I flirted with the idea of sticking them up. Just as I remembered I forgot to bring my pistol, my cold starters came, a plate of delicious mysteries. I was filled with a child’s wonder as I surveyed a landscape of variously colored and textured entities I knew nothing about. I stuck them in my mouth to learn more. The servings resembled what you’d find in the prepared section of your local deli, but it was as if they were assembled by a martian who was given a slate of fresh earthly ingredients and a keen incisiveness for eliciting delightful gustatory experiences. This alien had none of our usual prejudices about how food should look or be combined. There were spicy little green beans (actually seaweed), fava beans, spiced tomato paste, all with a vibrancy and color palate that felt at once exotic and lucid. I took another cool hit of Raki-inspired reality. “Jésus Cristo!!” It came out in Spanish this time.I took a break from the plate and surveyed my surroundings. I cast my gaze skyward. There was no sky, it was simply the interior façade of an apartment complex. I was seated almost in the inner courtyard. I dispatched with my food much as a dog chows down on her bowl, though with the addition of much happy and rewarding experimentation—“what if I dipped the seaweed in the tomato? Exquisite!” When I was finished and ready for another go-around my waiter was nowhere in the vicinity. I searched around for him, but all I could see were the goblins hanging from the AC units of apartments above and the other patrons in the restaurant wearing grass skirts and dancing the hula in unison. I made visual contact with the waiter from across the room. I gestured that I was ready for the next round. He made a circular motion with his hands and mouthed the word next. I nodded. He gave me the thumbs up and left, never to be heard from again. The goblins must’ve got him. I sat patiently for about twenty minutes before getting up, collapsing like a felled tree, dusting myself off, and inquiring with the only remaining familiar face—the Maitre D’, he who spake of complicated matters—about whether I had an order forthcoming. “No,” he told me politely. I told him I'd like to fix that. I ordered the lamb chop, which I had been eyeing. Then I added, “I’ll have another plate of starters, too.” What I had meant to convey was that I’d like a different plate of starters—a martian landscape as mysterious as the first, perhaps sweltering this time. I thought since my terse order had been so deftly intuited the first time around, I’d be just as lucky the second. I wasn’t. I got the exact same plate of cold starters, which I still wolfed it down, scattering bits of kibble across the white-tiled kitchen floor. I paid the reckoning, then at the moment I reached for my last dose of absinthe I was sucked into it, like a flushing toilet, and all at once found myself back at the hostel. It had been a Portkey.Intrigued by this newfound form of transportation but otherwise undaunted, I collected my bags from Cheers and bid farewell to my friends, Ahmed and Sinan. “Later, man!” they called as I scooted out along the cobbled streets of Istanbul to grab a train back to the airport.I took a seat on the train—old men, women, and children be damned. I pulled out my phone, connected the train’s Wifi (yes, Americans, even economically imperiled developing countries offer this service now), and began to watch the second half of a World Cup game, Portugal versus someone. As I streamed the match, I saw the white-mustached Turkish gentleman next to me eyeing my screen, surreptitiously, as one eyes a dirty magazine tucked away in the far corner of the rack. I inclined the screen toward him, a gesture of international goodwill. He nodded in appreciation, and together we gazed at the figures jaunting around on the otherwise verdant illuminations of my phone. Moments into our shared and intimate viewing experience, the Turkish man leaned in to share a confidence.“Beşiktaş is number one team in Turkey.” He gave me a wide smile. “Beşiktaş is my team,” he clarified, pressing a thumb to his chest and then an index finger distantly toward, presumably, the glorious municipality of Beşiktaş.“Oh?” I said, impressed.Then he pointed at the screen, “Pepe plays for Beşiktaş.”Pepe is a Portuguese defensive stalwart. He is one of Portugal’s most internationally prominent players, after Cristiano Ronaldo. Not only that, the man relayed as further intelligence: the Beşiktaş outfit also boasts among its numbers Ricardo Quaresma, who is a less distinguished footballer, but notable as one of the few Portuguese players who doesn’t identify under a mononym.“Oh, wow,” I intoned, convincingly, as if playing an Owen Wilson character.This Turkish-American connection via the Portuguese pleased us both and we sat there in happy silence for a few minutes. Then he retrieved his phone from his shirt pocket. He scrolled through and offered me a picture of him and his daughter at a game, indicating that this was Beşiktaş. “This is very nice,” I said. In return I offered a picture of Haily and me at our Portugal game in Russia and explained how I had actually been at World Cup before coming to Turkey. The man was keen on this information, as of course he was, because Beşiktaş is technically in Europe.When his stop came we parted as friends, as two men who had just before been strangers and in the intervening moments shared with one another intimate experiences held closely to our hearts and connected on a deeply-felt, fundamentally human level, which only an event like the World Cup brings out. Soon the train pulled up at the airport terminal. And as I hopped off the train I reached into my jacket pocket where I felt the smooth surface of a foreign object. I looked down and pulled out a manila envelope. It was stuffed with reams of neatly wrapped, bank-marked two-hundred Lira notes. “Now where do you suppose these came from?” I said to myself, depositing them furtively back into my pocket and making my way through the automatic doors of Istanbul’s Ataturk airport.I got to the airport at 11:30 PM for my 1:30 AM flight. The muslim girl at the Turkish Airlines check-in counter greeted me cheerfully. I handed her my passport. She banged away on the keyboard as airline clerks do—about a thousand clicks for what you imagine can only be about a dozen bits of information. Then she pulled a phone up to her ear and made a call. It wasn’t a short call, either. Not a good sign. She was speaking in Turkish, but I could make out the word “standby.” My stomach dropped. This had happened to me once before, in Mumbai. I had booked an intercontinental flight (on Air f*****g France, for the record), which was slated to depart in the wee hours for Paris en route back to America. There had been a tinsy miscalculation, and the doggedly optimistic algorithms at Air France had, unfortunately, unexpectedly, inexplicably, overbooked the flight. I was one of a handful of ticketed passengers denied entry. As you can imagine, I wasn’t happy. But as you also might be able to imagine, there were people who got more heated than I. One guy started yelling at the poor Indian girl behind the desk, “You can’t DO this to me! Do you know who I AM? I have somewhere to BE!” She did her best to assuage him. At first I understood his rage, empathized even, at least in the sense of mirroring his emotion. I thought he was a douchebag for yelling at her, sure, but I understood where he was coming from. He continued in this vein for tens of minutes. “Where I have to be is IMPORTANT! And I am getting on that PLANE!” Eventually I couldn’t watch anymore, because he was taking his anger out on this girl who couldn’t do anything about it. “Do you know who I AM?” He yelled at the clerk. “Yes, fuckhole we all know who you are,” I chimed in. “You’re a pompous, self-important, poorly-adjusted jerk. So just sit down and shut up like the rest of us.” I didn’t actually say that to him. But I did intervene and attempt to soothe him, which worked and the girl shot me a look of sincere gratitude.Anyway, the muslim girl on the phone had still not addressed me directly. She went over to her colleague for a brief conference. Then she returned and told me to follow. We went over to another counter. She consulted again with her colleagues in Turkish. After they reached a verdict, her colleague printed me a boarding pass. The girl handed it to me, smiling, and said, “Your gate is not open yet, but you can go through customs.” I looked down at my ticket.“Is there a problem?” I asked. Where my boarding pass should’ve had a seat number it just said “JMP.”“The flight’s overbooked,” she told me. “Just wait at the gate until everyone else is boarded. Then see if you get on.”While I’d been waiting I had noticed a sign that said you should request a compensation brochure in the event that you’re bumped from a flight due to overbooking. I requested one.“I don’t understand,” she said, suddenly not an adept English speaker.“Brochure,” I said, pointing at the sign.“No brochure,” she countered. “You’ll be fine.”I gave her a blank look for three silent seconds, then dismissively rolled my eyes at her and huffed off. As I walked away I thought about how that wasn’t a very nice thing of me to do and, reminded of my time in Mumbai, turned back and yelled, “Do you know who I AM?”I was in the throws of uncertainty concerning one’s destiny that only a waylaid transcontinental flight can bring on. I threw down my bags at the gate I was slated to fly out of and took a brief leave of consciousness, which was the most productive thing I could bring myself to do. When I awoke I was still marinating in qualms about the stochastic nature of my flight assignment—would I be able to get on another flight? Would I have to go back into the city? Would Sinan and Ahmed take me back? Of course they would, I assured myself. But it didn’t help.As the seating area around the gate filled up, I started to see them—white Africans. They were headed to Johannesburg, like me. They were speaking Afrikaans. I would’ve found this very exciting if I weren’t so nervous. One by one I watched each of them be graciously accepted onto the plane. Once the great throng of people had boarded the plane, I presented myself at the counter to be installed into any unclaimed seat. They said they were still waiting for a few passengers to trickle in. I took a half step away from their desk and tried to put on a patient face as I waited. Joining me in hoping that the stragglers had succumb to some unfortunate scenario were a couple of backpackers and an asian girl, with tattoos, in her thirties. We shared brief commiserations. A pang of kinship shot between us while resting in the clammy and masculine hands of Lady Fortuna.“Hope we get on,” the Asian girl offered to me.“Yeah, me too,” I replied.A family with two small children came running through the terminal, waving their tickets, and petitioning the agents not to close the door just yet.Then as the doors were closing, in dramatic slow motion, the clerks went bang-bang on their keyboards and out popped a fistful of boarding passes. They presented them to me and the two backpackers. They told the Asian girl there was no room for her. The three of us gave our comrade a doleful look as we were ushered down the runway. I wished her luck. Then I promptly forgot about her. For me, this was a happy occasion. I was on my way to Africa.Next Episode:Thanks for checking out Season 1 of Notes from the Field. If you’ve enjoyed it, please consider becoming a premium subscriber. I’m trying to do more of this kind of travel writing in the future. But as you can imagine, it’s hard to have these kinds of experiences while also holding down a job. Your subscription goes a long way toward helping me to do that. Use the link below, and you’ll get 50% off an annual subscription. Thanks! This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit codykommers.substack.com/subscribe
Il ne sʹagit pas seulement de grottes mais aussi de champignonnières ou dʹanciennes galeries minières. Des endroits où on ne sʹaventure pas sans un minimum de préparation. Comment trouver son chemin? Que faire si on est perdu? Est-ce que je peux manger de la pierre si vraiment jʹai très faim? Toutes les réponses.
Güne Bakış‘ta bu akşam Kadir Has Üniversitesi Uluslararası İlişkiler Bölümü’nden Prof. Dr. Serhat Güvenç ve Boğaz gözlemcisi Yörük Işık ile Doğu Akdeniz’de süren gerilimi, Türkiye – Yunanistan arasında başlaması beklenen görüşmeleri ve Türk Tabipleri Birliği (TTB) Covid-19 İzleme Kurulu Üyesi ve halk sağlığı uzmanı Doç.Dr.Cavit Işık Yavuz ile sağlık çalışanlarına şiddeti ve salgında son durumu konuştuk.
---For English, please see below--- KARANTİNA, daha önce mekanda gerçekleştirdiği söyleşi ve buluşmaları podcast olarak kamuya açıyor. Orkun Destici'nin araştırma odaklı “Değişik Neşriyat: Kalemden Klavyeye Türkiye Fanzinleri” sergisi kapsamında, gerçekleşen Esat Cavit Başak söyleşisinin ses kaydı podcast olarak yayında. Orkun Destici'nin moderatörlüğünü üstlendiği söyleşide, Esat Cavit Başak'la sanatçının Mondo Trasho serüveni, üretim pratiği, ve Türkiye erken dönem fanzinleri üzerine söyleşiyoruz. #90lar #the90s #mondotrasho #fanzine #esatcavitbaşak #tbt *”Kuşaklararası 90'lar” projesi KARANTİNA bileşenleri Kendine Ait Bir Oda, 6x6x6 ve Dahili Bellek'in ortak yürüttüğü 2020 yılına yayılan Bizi Biz Yapan 90'lar programı kapsamında geliştirilmiştir. **”Kuşaklararası 90'lar” Kültür İçin Alan fonu tarafından desteklenmektedir. ***KARANTİNA, Sanat İnisiyatifleri Sürdürülebilirlik Fonu 2019-2020 kapsamında SAHA tarafından desteklenmektedir. KARANTINA makes public the talks and meetings held at its venue as podcasts. Audio record of Esat Cavit Başak talk that was held within the scope of “Değişik Neşriyat: From Pen to Keyboard Fanzine of Turkey” -a researched based exhibition by Orkun Destici- is now available as podcast. In the talk moderated by Orkun Destici, we converse with Esat Cavit Başak about Mondo Trasho, his artistic practice and early fanzines of Turkey. *”Intergenerational ‘90s” is developed and co-curated by KARANTINA's components Kendine Ait Bir Oda, 6x6x6 and Dahili Bellek within the scope of the 2020's program "90's That Made Us”. **“Intergenerational ‘90s” project is supported by Spaces of Culture. ***KARANTINA is supported by SAHA as part of Art Initiatives Sustainability Fund 2019-2020.
Editör: Merve Özçelik Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bugün Türk Tabipleri Birliği Kovid-19 İzleme Grubu Üyesi, Halk ve Çevre Sağlığı Uzmanı Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgınında gelinen aşamayı, bundan sonra alınması gereken önlemleri ve verilerin şeffaflığını, Eğitim ve Bilim Emekçileri Sendikası (Eğitim Sen) Genel Başkanı Feray Aytekin Aydoğan ile koronavirüs salgını koşullarında eğitimi konuştuk.
Cavité Mouvante in Poèmes d'amour (2016-2018)Illustration : Xabier Moingeon - https://xabiermoingeon.wordpress.comVentre troué Ventre galopéGalopantVentre constelléVentre morceléVentre de pépitesMorcelantMes paupièresDissolvantIrritent Mon cœurOrgane à trousArdeur dans le corpsForce et violenceManque colériqueColère torpeurD'un champ de ruinesL'odeur des pierresSoulève mon cœurOrgane granite
Cavité Mouvante in Poèmes d'amour (2016-2018)Illustration : Xabier Moingeon - https://xabiermoingeon.wordpress.comVentre troué Ventre galopéGalopantVentre constelléVentre morceléVentre de pépitesMorcelantMes paupièresDissolvantIrritent Mon cœurOrgane à trousArdeur dans le corpsForce et violenceManque colériqueColère torpeurD'un champ de ruinesL'odeur des pierresSoulève mon cœurOrgane granite
Haber Hafta Sonu’nda bugün, Prof. Dr. Yaman Akdeniz ile “EngelliWeb 2019: Buz Dağının Görünmeyen Yüzü” raporunu ve internet kısıtlamalarını, Türk Tabipleri Birliği Kovid-19 İzleme Grubu Üyesi Doç. Dr. Cavit Işık Yavuz ile koronavirüs salgınında son verilerin anlamını ve alınması gereken önlemleri, Medyascope muhabiri Fırat Fıstık ile Sakarya’nın Hendek ilçesindeki havai fişek fabrikasında meydana gelen patlamanın detaylarını konuştuk.
Asmalı Cavit'in kurucusu Cavit Saatçi, Rana by Topaz, Firuze ve Pandeli'nin kurucusu Yücel Özalp ve Giritli Restoran'ın kurucusu Ayşe Şensılay geçmişten geleceğe taşınan miras meyhaneyi moderatör gazeteci, araştırmacı ve yazar Nilay Örnek eşliğinde Anason Muhabbetleri'nde bizler için anlattılar.
Haber Hafta Sonu: Doç Dr. Cavit Yavuz ile yeniden açılma, Dr. Gülüstü Salur ile salgında yaşlılar by Medyascope
Emily and Michelle welcome Marriage and Sex therapist and fellow podcaster Angela Skurtu to Cliterally Speaking. Michelle enjoys a bright Cava from Giocatto while Emily breaks out a 2002 commemorative bottle from Madonna, Confessions on the Dance Floor. Angela rounds out the wine selection with a tasty Pinot Grigio from Cavit. According to Angela, it's a bottle that will guarantee a buzz! Angela shares how makeup is designed to look as if you just had sex. They do a deep dive into all aspects of intimacy. They talk about affection, communication, the blame lane, the honeymoon phase (usually between 6 months and 2 years), how to flirt, how to bullshit, how people use humor in relationships and what it indicates about the status of the relationship, the impact children have on the sex life of couples. They have a fun, insightful, and deeply intimate discussion on their different experiences regarding having children or not. They talk about the role women often get thrown into whether they like it or not as the HOUSE CEO. They talk about the frustration associated with that when you just wish someone would initiate without having to be asked to help and the challenge to ask for help within a relationship. Angela poses the question: does a partner add to your life or subtract? They talk about pendulum swings between traditional roles and egalitarian, owning your sexuality, nuanced conversations between couples, and giving each other a vocabulary to navigate expectations. Angela stresses the need for comprehensive sex education and communication skills. They wrap it up with a fun conversation on orgasms. To connect with Angela, visit http://www.therapistinstlouis.com You can find her podcast "About Sex" wherever you listen to podcasts. http://www.aboutsexpodcast.com Thank you for listening and subscribing to Cliterally Speaking the Podcast. Visit our website: www.cliterallyspeakingpodcast.com Facebook: @cspeakpodcast Instagram: @cliterallyspeakingthepodcast Twitter: @cliterallyspea1 Please call our comment line: 812-727-0794 Watch our youtube channel (Cliterally Speaking the Podcast) for all the behind the scenes discussions during our recording sessions. Be on the lookout for the launch of our live-streaming channel on Twitch, CliterallySpeakingPodTV. Our patreon site is up - visit it here - http://bit.ly/32uOnVT
@burcinergunt , @yemeicmeisleri 'nin bu ilk podcast serisinde, Beyoğlu'ndaki Asmalı Cavit'in sahibi, herkesin Cavit abisi Cavit Saatçi ile pandemi sonrasındaki meyhane alışkanlıklarını ve bu dönemi nasıl geçirdiklerini konuştular. #podcastişleri
This week we get mindful with The Kindess Institute founder and NZer of the year runner up Kristina Cavit. Dom and Krissy leap at the opportunity to undo a terrible grievance done to Todd and Dan contemplates the fiscal benefits of carparks and shoplifting rings. If you want to help support the podcast head to https://www.patreon.com/HNTBAA
"Ehrlich gesagt, hab' ich gar nichts vom Studium mitbekommen...", gibt Cavit Bican zu. Dabei war unser Reporter doch eigentlich zum Studieren auf Bali ;-) Hier das Interview mit Timo Hiepler.
Pourquoi la couronne solaire est beaucoup plus chaude que la surface du Soleil alors qu'elle en est très éloignée ? Une équipe d'astrophysiciens apporte aujourd'hui une réponse en expliquant par l'observation pourquoi et comment les ondes magnétohydrodynamiques s'intensifient dans les couches internes du Soleil jusqu'à sa surface. Une étude parue dans Nature Astronomy.
Sapevi che il vizio di gola non appartiene solo a chi mangia in senso biologico? Sapevi che l'ego si impone sulla maggior parte delle tue azioni? Sai che ascoltando questa puntata scoprirai cose che non sapevi? Provare per credere...
Sapevi che il vizio di gola non appartiene solo a chi mangia in senso biologico? Sapevi che l'ego si impone sulla maggior parte delle tue azioni? Sai che ascoltando questa puntata scoprirai cose che non sapevi? Provare per credere...
In this episode Monty Waldin talks to Enrico Zanoni, General Director at Cavit, one of the Italian most important wine coops located in the Trentino-Alto Adige region. Monty and Enrico discuss the role of the coops nationally and globally, with specific reference to the Chinese market. Enrico also talks about the famous Pinot Grigio and illustrates in detail its potential and differences with Prosecco. Join Monty and his guest for a cin cin and some storytelling from the Italian wine coop scene. -- [This podcast has been recorded during “Vi.Vite – Vino di Vite Cooperative” an event organized by the Alleanza delle Cooperative Italiane (Alliance of Italian Coops). This episode has been brought to you by Vinitaly 2018, taking place in Verona from April 15th to 18th. Vinitaly is the wine exhibition that helps you discover and get to know Italian wine and features over 4.200 wineries.]
serious question. who would be your celebrity bestie? who do you think you would hate in hollywood? Ashli and Sarah really cut to the core of deep topics this week but tackling these kinds of tough subjects. EVERYTHINGS FINE. you know what isnt fine? starting a fight with someone then realizing you need their help. don't worry! we have just the solution! pending friend requests, talking to a wall, plus ones at a wedding...you know just hard hitting journalism, over here! but really - WHAT DO YOU DRINK AT A WEDDING? let us know. BYE. make sure to SUBSCRIBE TO OUR ITUNES CHANNELLL!!!! then leave us a review, comment, like, share, follow, tweet, instagram, facebook, etc. to help spread the word about your two favorite embarrassments. Please send any other suggestions/tips on how to adult at: howtoadult1@gmail.com Instagram: @howtoadultpodcast
Altemasi is Cavit's Trento DOC range and made of five wines. Our tasting committee has evaluated the whole range and, among them, has awarded Trento Riserva Brut Altemasi Graal 2005 with five diamonds, an excellent classic method having a remarkable elegance and class.
Altemasi è la linea dei Trento DOC prodotta da Cavit e composta da ben cinque vini. La nostra commissione di degustazione ha valutato l'intera gamma e, fra questi, ha premiato con i cinque diamanti il Trento Riserva Brut Altemasi Graal 2005, un eccellente metodo classico che spicca per eleganza e classe.
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