A musical city

One thing that is unexpectedly prominent in Istanbul is music. The city is full of it, from street musicians, to live traditional music in bars, even to street vendors spontaneously belting out a mournful middle-eastern warble in the moments when sales are down. Many of the older generation will sing as they amble along the street. Whilst in England such people would provoke a few sideways glances (and maybe a call to the nearest mental asylum), spontaneous song seems to be totally acceptable here. And the people seem to respect, almost venerate their musicians. It is not at all uncommon to find a large and lasting crowd gathered around musicians in the street. When people play music in the metro or on the ferry, other passengers, instead of sticking their heads further into the depths of their newspapers will devote their full attention to the spectacle and the majority will always give money.

I went to a free concert last night on the street where I'm living. We only caught the end, but what an ending. The band, and most of the audience, was Kurdish. That became quite clear at the moment when the singer announced that he was going to sing some songs in his native Kurdish dialect. The auditorium erupted. Everyone was on their feet, a load of scarves bearing the Kurdish colours were plucked out of people's handbags, and about half the audience flooded down to the front of the stage where they danced in unison a traditional Kurdish celebratory dance.

Until recently, I discovered yesterday, it was against the law to give your child a Kurdish name. Still now many Kurds carry a Turkish name on their passports in order to avoid discrimination in the workplace, by the police etc. Kurdish names are for use only among those who are also Kurdish. For many years, the language has also been banned in educational and other public institutions. So you can imagine these people's joy at being able to hold a public celebration of Kurdish identity.

I have also never felt so conscious of my foreignness as I did last night. Among about 300 people, I was the only one fair-haired, fair-skinned, blue eyed. A strange feeling.