By Konstantin Petrovski

Macedonian / English translation Elena G. Kostadinovik

24 08 2001 Scheherazade

Istanbul, seminar, creative ways of radio reporting. . . something like that. I am having the third drink Guinness together with Bjorson, a colleague from the Norwegian radio. I am explaining to Bjorson that from where I come, Scheherazade is a place where you eat sweets, not a striptease bar with a size of a handball court where girls with red g-strings, small tits and a faces covered with a transparent scarfspin around the dance pole. Bjorson is laughing and says that he understands nothing. Fuck the cultural differences, and probably he is drunk. I exit the bathroom; wash in the big row of fountains. In this way, together with more people, I have washed my hands only in kindergarten. Somebody asked me in English if I am the one who writes. I turn on the right a little confused. In front of me stands a tall black haired girl. Her hair falls on her shoulders, her eyes are tiny, and the skin unusually white. The black sleeveless shirt is stuck to her body. Long thin hands, some black gloves of some fine material, which start from the elbow and end at the beginning of her hands. She points to my accreditation on which with large dark blue letters is written: International seminar for... I start waking from that confused situation and I say I am the one who speaks more when I am in the radio. - Entertainment guy. - Truly, I say, entertainment. - Video killed the radio star. She turns her back on me. I see how black boots reaching to the knees are going far away. The sound of the shoe hill is heard throughout the bathroom hallway. Oddly, in the mirror no, probably too much beer.

25 08 2001 Golden Horn

Bjorson told me that he is heaving a headache, so tonight we wont be able to go on a party. I found this place in the hotel brochure. Commercial: Golden Horn the authentic spirit of the orient; a bar for tourists who are not satisfied just with a tourist guide visit in St. Sophia. Allegedly, they want to learn about the life and people in Istanbul. Two rooms; the first one is a standard tavern - bar counter and bar tables. The point is in the other one small fountains, cushions on the ground and empty hookahs. Probably, they charge a cup of Agroplod ten Euros. I sat at the bar counter (at the European side) and I ordered a mug of Guinness. - The Golden Horn is not what it once was. So, I reminded myself about the excitement that was present here. You know, in the past it was a port. - Oh really? I dont know, this is the first time Im in Istanbul. - And how is it? - Our former capital. Cool place. - There are far more glorious moments for it. The girl, who in Scheherazade defined me as an entertainment guy and explained to me that the video had killed me 20 years ago,. Normally, as it should be I offered a round of Guinness. She told me that she was waiting for a friend of hers and that they had a plan to go somewhere else. Just as I thought that she dumped me in a polite way, she told me that we could see each other the next day! Great, anyway tomorrow is the last day of my Istanbul expedition. She took a piece of paper and scribbled something. Her girlfriend came for a couple of minutes; extraordinary beautiful. They looked like sisters. Hastily she introduced her and they left. After a few minutes a guy came and told me that I didnt have to pay and I had to leave the bar at the same moment. If I refused he would call the security. In one moment the barman was looking at me and in the mirror in the other, and swallowed frightened.

26 08 2001 Byzantium

The taxi driver had to call over the radio station to ask a colleague for my address written on the piece of paper. For a customer from Macedonia I would do everything - said the moustache man. The taxi stopped at some abandoned place near the sea. He pointed to an old house. As I was getting closer to it, I heard loud heavy metal music. At the door a guy with a shaved head met me. On his big neck there was a tattoo of a half moon. - You're probably Irenas friend. I would not let you inside, but when she insists... go down the stairs. Irena (so called entertainment guy) was sitting with two guys with long blond hair and the girl I met yesterday. All dressed in black. She smiled when she saw me. I sat down. With my crumpled white shirt, faded jeans and short hair I was a rare animal in this company. - I hear that you met Ismail, the guy at the door. You know, he is just as any aristocrat of agricultural province, a little snob - said Irena. Byzantium, dimly lighted cellar, there were no mortar walls. The red-orange bricks were surrounding about thirty boys with long hair and girls. I asked for a beer, for which the waitress looked at me blushed and one guy of my table, the one with silver ring with a unicorn began to laugh. Irena came to me and whispered that in Byzantium do not serve beer, because it is too inconvenient. It was worth this inconveniency only for Irenas lips to get closer to my ear. She ordered me rakija with a fancy name. - Well guys, you all come from Istanbul? - Yes, but only Irena was born here, said the guy with the ring with a unicorn. Marco is from Venice, I am from London, while Natasha is from Moscow. Mark helped the locals owner to buy his house. You know that his family, not so long ago, had a sort of an agency of a commercial nature here. - Here in Istanbul? Mark said nothing. - I would like to call the city Constantinople - Irena told me, it sounds better. - Tell me Mister Romanov, asked me Natasha, are you by chance related to the royal family? - I dont know, but I'll ask at home. Irena guffawed and the others looked at her reproachfully. We spent the night talking about how Istanbul is not what it once was. They were blathering about the senatorial families, hippodrome, and sultans, I told you - she said. I wanted to say that despite Discovery Civilization there are other TV - channels, but it came in my mind that they do not respond to humor. The time has come for classical faint; it is no air here, so if Irena agreed we would go for a walk.

Saladin 25 08 2002

Discotheque with advanced technology: colorful lights marking through the darkness. Music: Let me, let me entertain you. It was my birthday yesterday, so Irena gave me a book: Lost souls. I red a short summary about it on the Amazon. Gang of teenagers - vampires walking across America and do things from which a man remains speechless; orgies in which besides the standard combinations of male - female, there is relation male - male, female - female. I told Irena that I am not an eccentric aristocrat, but a nice middle class kid, and now I think this book, and if she got used to something else. She put my hand on my shoulder, where the traces of her teeth still stand. - Believe me that the life of a courtesan in Venice district of the city becomes boring after only twenty years.