East to West
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Istanbul Dreams
“Do you know of any belly dancing schools where I can get private lessons when I get to Istanbul?” I asked Serena Wilson, professional belly dancer since the age of sixteen and current owner of Serena Studios on 8th Avenue at Columbus Circle.
“I don’t know of any specific schools,” she replied, her dark eyes shining with excitement at the mention of a country where Arabic dance is widespread. “I haven’t gone back to Turkey in a long time. I’m sure private lessons won’t be hard to find once you get there. I’m sorry, I don’t know of any teachers personally that I can put you in touch with.”
“Do some research online before you get there,” suggested Zenaide, one of the intermediate teachers at the dance studio. “When you get to Istanbul, go to the Grand Bazaar and ask around.”
And that is exactly what I did the instant I arrived in Istanbul in the first week of November, more than two months after that conversation. The cold air hit me once I stepped outside, the sky overcast and the wind was cold yet gentle enough to feel refreshing, especially after a prolonged summer as we’d traveled through humid Southeast Asia with its temperate harvesting seasons. Thoughts of the weather were fleeting as I had one mission only and that was to find a belly dancing teacher and to get private lessons in the five days I was in Istanbul. I felt like an avid gambler in Las Vegas, an architect in Rome, or a bookworm in the Alexandria Bibliotheca.
Though the origins of belly dancing are traced back to the Ancient Egyptians and their religious dances, the dance has evolved into many styles as it has traveled across the Middle East and ultimately into Western Europe. The more popular and well-known styles are: Egyptian (or Raks Al-Sharqi), Middle Eastern (also known as raqs baladi), Turkish, and Oriental. The dance has been growing in popularity in Europe and the U.S. because it celebrates the natural feminine body form, embracing the curves and roundness, as opposed to many dances that require flat stomachs. Belly dance is also less restrictive in that it doesn’t require choreography and most professional performers use improvisation. Many forms of dances have their roots in belly dance, including Spanish flamenco, Indian dances, and Thai dances. Though the dance was historically practiced in harems, by women and for women only, the dance is used as a form of entertainment in more secular societies now. In spite of the feminine tradition, there are also male belly dancers. The dance was also prevalent in bars and nightclubs in Cairo and Alexandria, as I’d observed and participated, just as hip-hop is widespread in the U.S. and meringue is in Central America.
I had first become interested in belly dance merely as a new work-out. I immediately fell in love with the movements, hand gestures, and facial expressions. Punctuated isolations, curving patterns, undulations, thrusts, lifts, locks, pops, and drops, and shaking movements are all characteristic of belly dance. Three years after my first class, I was taking classes two to four times per week at a professional Turkish-style belly dance studio where the teachers drilled me on one single movement until I got the movement down pat. I’ve always joked with my friends that belly dancing will be my back-up profession in case I can’t find a conventional full-time job after graduating college.
On my first day in Instanbul, as all my friends went off to explore the city and its sites, I got onto the tram from the Findikli stop (taking a mental note of a crowded café across the street called Elif’li) and made my way directly to Sultanahmet, the part of the city known as Old Istanbul where the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, the Basilica Cistern, and the Obelisk of Theodosius, as well as one of the multiple entrances to the Grand Bazaar just a few streets away are all located. In other words, it was one of the touristy areas. I presumed the first place to start was the tourist information center. I found one located right across the street from the Hagia Sophia shortly after I got off the tram.
To my dismay, the two older gentlemen, both wearing dark blue suits and stern expressions, who worked behind the counter couldn’t give me any leads. “Go to hotel,” one of them answered curtly in thick accented English. I interpreted the suggestion as, “We have no information about belly dancing even though it’s a very popular form of entertainment here, and the concierge at a hotel might be able to help you better even though we’re an information center. All we have are maps.” They pointed me in the direction of the closest hotel.
Once I was outside once again, I headed off in the direction of the Grand Bazaar (and not the nearby hotel). Walking past the cistern and Turkish bath, I caught site of several tour groups and many tour buses. Though I was curious as to the nationalities of each group and languages spoken on each bus, I was not the least bit interested in their activities, the sites they were seeing, or the information they were learning about Istanbul.
At the Grand Bazaar, I bypassed the jewelry, leather and suede jackets, souvenir stands, shoes and boots, scarves, rugs, teas and candies… I stopped briefly at a shop of musical instruments only to admire the zils, also known as finger cymbals. I was on the look out for belly dancing costumes, not because I needed more hip belts or sequined tops, but because I assumed the vendors would be knowledgeable as to where I might be able to find a teacher or studio. At the first stall that I saw for belly dancing costumes, the vendor didn’t know of any specific teachers or studios but he gave me the names of two well known professional belly dancers in the area: Asena and Iyatana. I bought three CDs of oriental and Turkish beats from him before I continued on my way.
Now at least three hours had passed since I’d set off from Findikli. Needless to say, as I continued to weave through the labyrinth otherwise known as the famous Grand Bazaar, I was feeling frustrated and losing hope that perhaps belly dancing lessons weren’t as accessible in Istanbul as I’d thought. Suddenly, all the noise, crowds, and wares in the bazaar overwhelmed me; my legs felt tired as I was losing my adrenaline rush and my messenger bag felt heavy across my shoulder. I took off my shawl and sweater, leaving only a tank top that attracted a few looks from locals in heavy wool, winter jackets.
Once I felt had gotten lost deep enough in the maze, I found a second belly dancing costume shop. I hurried inside and asked the vendor the same question, “Do you know where I can find a belly dancing teacher or studio?”
To my disappointment, the young, lanky Turk shook his head. “I know of one school but it’s far from here and I don’t know the address.”
“Do you know where else I can go to find someone that knows?”
“You can check the internet-” He was cut short as a European couple stopped at the front of the shop. “You can ask her! She’s a dancer!” He pointed to the petite, blond woman who looked up at me expectantly.
So I asked her the same question that had passed my lips many times that day: “Do you know where I can find a belly dancing teacher or studio?”
“Yes, there’s a shop near here that sells costumes and they can also set you up with private lessons,” she answered me in accented European English. “It’s called Istanbul Dreams.”
Since she wasn’t from Istanbul and was only there for a short visit, she admitted she didn’t have the address nor could she give me directions to the location lest I didn’t mind getting lost searching for this place. So with the name “Istanbul Dreams” running through my head, I rushed to an internet café, Googled the name, found the official website, and wrote down the contact information and address. After I paid for the use of the computer, I handed to the cashier the slip of paper with the address for Istanbul Dreams on it. He told me it was located on a side street right behind the cistern. Quickly, I headed back towards my starting point at Sultanahmet.
About ten minutes later, after stopping in a hotel to confirm with the front desk that I was heading in the right direction, I arrived at the address that I clenched tightly in my hand. By this time, the sun had gone down and the autumn evening air was turning chilly, even by my New Yorker standards for cold climate. I stepped through the front door to an apartment building that sat between two restaurants on a hill behind the Basilica Cistern (which I’d walked by earlier that afternoon with only a sliver of interest into its story). Directly in line of my vision was a storefront with mannequins in flowing, sequined belly dancing costumes framed by gold-gilded window panes. Bells jingled above the door as I pulled it open gingerly, the gold door handle felt delicate in my eagerness.
Once inside the shop, my eyes lit up and I felt like a child in a candy store. Well, a candy store that sold sweets made from layers of colorful chiffon, satin, velvet, beads, sequins, and Turkish coins. There were racks full of skirts and workout pants, shelves lined with sequined belts and tops, and walls decorated with hip belts and coin belts.
The shop-owner introduced himself as Erjan. Dressed in a wool sweater with a wool scarf around his neck, he was a young, short Turkish man with tanned skin and quick swift movements as he poured me a cup of tea. After a boisterous welcome and introductions, he’d invited me to sit down on one of the couches arranged in a U-shape in front of a window with a coffee table in the center. From the worn coverlets on couches and chairs, I could tell many guests had been entertained in this makeshift living room.
“So how long have you been dancing?” Erjan asked me after I gave him a brief account of how I’d came to find his shop. Erjan spoke English very well, especially compared to all of the other locals I’d encountered that day.
“I’ve done ballet, modern, and jazz when I was younger. I’ve also tried folk dance when I got older,” I replied slowly so nothing would get lost in translation. “I haven’t been doing belly dance for long, only for four years now, on and off. I discovered it when I started college because I wanted to find a new work-out. I really enjoyed it but I didn’t have much time for it until recently, especially after I graduated from college because I had more time to myself. So since this past spring, I’ve been taking two to three classes each week.”
“Why do you enjoy belly dancing more than other types of dances?”
“I fell in love with the art of the dance because it requires control. The movements are beautiful. I also love the whole feminine aspect of the dance. A lot of dances, like ballet, require the dancers to have a certain body type- thin, tall, long legs- all the things I don’t have. Instead, I have curves and hips, all of which are used in belly dance. I hope to be able to do it professionally eventually.”
“So what level would you say you are at now?”
“Somewhere between beginner and intermediate. Do you have any teachers or classes available while I’m here?”
Erjan got up and indicated for me to follow him. He led me to a shelf where some photographs were displayed. He pointed to a group photo of belly dancers, all light-skinned Turkish women with long, black hair and dark eyes.
“This is Claudia,” he pointed one out to me. “She would be the perfect teacher for you, but she’s on tour to Asia right now. She will not be back until next week.”
I felt my heart sink in disappointment, but before I could say anything, Erjan continued.
“This is Gumsey,” he pointed to another photo of yet another belly dancer with pale skin, black hair, dark eyes, a lose nose, a sharp chin, and a huge smile. “She does not speak English but she’s available and she’s doing Claudia’s classes right now.”
Who needs to speak English in a dance class? I thought to myself. Dance is about speaking with your body. “How much are the private lessons?” I forged ahead, eager to begin.
Erjan printed out a list of prices (in Euros) for me, a table with “Number of Persons” labeling the rows and “Hours” labeling the columns. A maximum of four people were allowed in each lesson and a maximum of four consecutive hours were offered for each lesson. One hour by myself would cost me 45 Euros. At this point, relief washed over me just knowing that my search was over. As I sat contemplating not how much I could afford but how much of a workout my body can handle, the bells above the door jingled and the same European couple I’d seen earlier at the Grand Bazaar walked in, still in their heavy winter down jackets.
“Oh, you found it!” the blond woman’s eyes lit up in recognition.
Within seconds, Erjan had poured them each a cup of hot tea and we were all sitting around the coffee table. The woman’s name was Janet and she was a professional belly dancer from Sweden. Now that she was seated right next to me (and I was not rushing to find a dance studio), I was able to take a better look at her. Janet was petite and all her facial features seem small in relation to her large sky blue eyes. Judging from the lines under her eyes, I guessed she was in her forties. She told me that this was her second visit to Istanbul and she was getting private lessons as well. Erjan was setting her up with a well-known local dancer that was charging at least twice as much as the prices I held in my hands. But upon hearing the name of the dancer, Janet jumped up and down in excitement and said that money was not an issue.
“Are you getting lessons while you’re here?” she asked me after she’s calmed down from her excitement.
“I’m looking at the prices right now. Do you know who Gumsey is?”
“Yes, I had her the last time I was here, but she doesn’t speak any English.”
“Did you find that to be a problem?”
“No, but I prefer someone that spoke English. She’s a beautiful dancer, though.”
After pondering it over in a matter of 90 seconds, I opted for 2-hour long lessons scheduled for the following consecutive four days. Each lesson would cost me 60 Euros.
Before Janet and her husband left the shop, she gave me her business card which had a photo of her in a cotton candy-pink costume with a smoke billowing around her. “I love meeting fellow dancers from around the world!”
The next morning, I returned to the shop for my first lesson. Gumsey, who looked just as she did in the photo that sat on the shelf at the corner of the shop, was only able to speak limited English, as Erjan and Janet had warned me, but she was able to understand parts of conversations. Erjan acted as our translator during our introductions and breaks from the lesson. I learned that Gumsey was 28 years old and had been dancing since she was 6 years old. She’s gone on tour through Europe and Asia, dancing for consulates and ambassadors. I also learned that she was born in Libya, her father was Libyan and her mother was Turkish.
During the lessons, I learned the few words of English Gumsey knew: “Super!”, “Good!”, “Hips”, “Hands up”, “Shimmy”, and “Turkish style!” These were all the words we needed to use. Though Gumsey and I didn’t speak the same language, we had in common our passion for the dance, and by that alone we had established a strong bond from the first moment we shimmied together.
The rest of the time was spent on various shimmies, shoulder shimmies, hand and arm movements, floor work, variations of the kash (a four-step walk), the use of veils, and zil rhythms. In the subsequent days, we discovered each other’s unique styles and personalities; her movements and facial expressions were sharp, playful, strong, and dramatic whereas mine were lighter, delicate, and less powerful, symptomatic of my amateur level. Next to Gumsey, I felt like a poser. I had also been out of practice for almost two and a half months.
To my relief (and for my money’s worth), Gumsey was patient and creative. She taught me a couple of her choreographies which we used as warm-ups in the beginning of each lesson. Just as my teachers back home, whenever I made a movement looked awkward, she drilled me on it until it looked as though it was coming naturally. Whenever my feet got confused in a walk, she took my hand in hers and made me follow her around the room. She would not release my hand until I was able to do the walk on my own, as if I would stumble without her guidance because a misstep would be fatal. During the zil rhythms, she made me practice the same rhythm for an hour, reinforcing the beat and melody in my head until it became second nature to me.
Outside of the lessons, whenever my hands were free and no matter where I might be at that particular moment, I practiced my hand movements and facial expressions. As I waited for a friend outside a store in a mall, I practiced my arm and hand movements, barely noticing the stares coming from the balcony of the food court on the top floor. At night, I went out to Taksim Square and Beyoglu where I sat at bars and practiced my arms and hands and went out onto the dance floor to practice my hip drops and shimmies.
Somehow in the small amount of time I had in Istanbul, I had fallen into a daily routine: eat breakfast at Eli Cli, ride the tram from Findikli to Sultanahmet for my lessons, spend about three hours at Istanbul Dreams, eat a late lunch or dinner afterwards, and then head out to Taksim Square and Beyoglu for the nightlife. By the last day, my fifth day in Istanbul, I still have not seen what was in the underground cistern that I passed by daily and I still haven’t explored the differences between the Asia side and the Europe side of Istanbul, but I’d learned that Gumsey didn’t like to drink any liquids during lessons. I’d learned that my stomach wasn’t fleshy enough to perform exaggerated and pronounced undulations. I’d learned that language and cultural barriers do not exist in dance. My arm and hand movements are more refined now. I can improvise with a veil and zils now. I’d set out and accomplished the goals I’d set for myself in Istanbul Dreams.
