Blame it on the Weather. . .

Blame it on the weather?

Someone hasn't paid their electricity bill!

Perhaps the heavens heard us rejoicing about the deceptive spring-like weather and decided to rain a little on our parade. Just for fun. I had already taken my well-worn winter coat to the dry cleaner in anticipation of storing it away, when the temperature plummeted and the record-breaking rains continued to . . . to. . .well, break records! Still, we had work to do today and a stop to make at the Caravansarai building.

After a meeting with our architects to determine the timeline for demolition and reconstruction (and to alert them that the roof needs fixing after all this rain,) we braved the wind and cold to make a quick stop at the building to pick something up. As we approached the building, we saw a small, unknown man carrying a marble slab and a sledgehammer, which I recognized as belonging to our building.

While I followed the man, Julie unlocked the new padlock that we bought last week when all tenants were supposed to have moved from the building. There are only two copies of the key to this lock—one for us and one for our renters on the street level. She then unlocked the big lock on the heavy steel door and stepped into the ‘foyer’ of our building. Since it is dark in that space, she went to switch on the light and lo and behold—the switch was gone. Also gone were all the light bulbs and the fixtures they belong to, the other electrical switches and their wiring.

Meanwhile, I inquired of the unknown man how he gained possession of these things we thought were securely locked in the building. He replied that the çayci had called him to take them away. At that instant, Julie called to me and told me to come look. When I got back into the building entryway, she was standing in the dark, pointing to the place where a wall used to be. A wall which used to separate the inside from the outside. Apparently, the çayci had knocked the wall down and then taken the bricks and window to use in his new place of business. The only thing keeping anyone from getting into the building now was a flimsy steel gate and two measly padlocks. Padlocks for which only the çayci has keys!

After trying to sort out with our renters how he got into the building, they began also questioning the unknown man and soon we found out that the çayci had unlocked the gate, bashed in the wall (which he believes he owns) and came in and disassembled the electrical system. So our renters, who have taken it upon themselves to look after us (“You’re good people, we’re good people” etc. etc.) took control of the situation. The bossman instructed his “boy” (who is in actuality around 60 years old) to cut off the çayci’s padlocks. Meanwhile, the unknown man, who turned out to be the neighborhood hurdaci (scrapman) was visibly disturbed that we were cutting the locks. He then said, “Wait, wait, I have the key to that!” Huh? Then when he realized that he should not have any key to our building quickly took it back and said, “Oh no. I don’t have the key.” So the ‘boy’ continued to cut.

At that moment, a fine young fellow in the blue and orange uniform of the electric company walked up and told us he had come to cut off the electricity in the building because of delinquent bills. Julie, our renter Ceylan, and myself were standing on the landing next to the electricity box and we all burst out laughing. We warmly welcomed him in and told him to go ahead and snip away! We have enough things to deal with without worrying about a little disruption in electricity! He only cut off the electric in three units, so we have light in our office still.

After we wished him a good day, he looked at us as if we were crazy, and started walking uphill. At that moment, Ceylan realized he had cut the wrong account and tried to beckon him back to no avail. But we let him go.

Ceylan sent Julie with his ‘boy’ to buy new padlocks for the doors and I sat in their warm cave and chain-smoked (it’s only the polite thing to do) through a Turkish lesson. I realized then that these renters are indeed looking out for us and are also fun to talk to. So despite the Doomsday-type weather and incessant little obstacles we are always coming up against, at least some of our neighbors can offer the illusion of a sunny day.

 

Key Masters

As a result of the ‘official’ letter from us, as the legal owners of the building, written by our very smart lawyer, hand delivered by courier to each inhabitant of our building, the tenants seemed to have finally understood that we are real, legitimate owners, who did indeed buy the building for our own use, and cannot be charmed, persuaded, enticed or threatened to let them stay. Nor will we pay them to leave.

In the past month or so, we’ve been collecting keys – room by room gaining access to more parts of the building. Some tenants moved out completely (one even took the power outlets and light bulbs!), others left bits and pieces of their businesses. We’re now the proud owners of a Canon 6020 copy machine, dating from perhaps the early 80s, missing its glass plate and who knows which other parts. We also now have a large pile of rocks, several broken tables, a slab of marble, two boxes of sledge hammers, 1 large old linen Turkish flag, 1 Besiktas flag, some Turkish lira coins from the 40s and 50s (back in the days of the ‘millions’), piles of nasty carpet, a random assortment of chairs and half-empty boxes. Most have removed their shelving, exposing the pattered stains on the wall and ceiling, 30 years of tar and smoke.

We’re looking forward to bashing down some of those walls.

 

CaravansarAID

I have visions of what Sweden is like. Having never been there, I know this is a dangerous exercise. I made the same mistake before I went to China in 2005 (to study foot juggling.) China had been at the very bottom of my list of places to visit. And then when I found myself in possession of an Air China plane ticket, I madly pressed myself to find something about the country I was interested in other than acrobatics. So I watched “Hero” and “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon” and Bertolucci’s “The Last Emporer” and developed a romantic vision of dynastic China.

Arriving in Shijiazhuang I was disappointed when instead of dragons and lions lolling about on the green grass abutting the Great Wall it was smog, cars, and worker ants amid expectorated snot and pools of vomit that I saw.

In my mind now, Sweden is full of rosy-cheeked Samis in snowshoes and reindeer. No one has to work and children dress in bright snowpants and sled to school. And hills are made of meatballs.

Meatballs! In the first ever attempt at “Meatball Diplomacy”, Caravansarai teams up with artists Arni Gudmundsson and Cristian Rieloff to host a competitive meatball eating extravaganza at the Supermarket Art Fair in Stockholm. On Saturday, February 20th at 6pm, competitors line up at the trough to compete for the coveted “Gravy Cup”. The competitor who can consume (without barfing) the most meatballs within 10 minutes will be the champion of this (projected) annual event.

Sponsored by Caravansarai, and hosted by Anika, this event is open to only the fittest of eaters . . . and anyone else in the vicinity interested in pushing the limits of repulsiveness. Watch Julie as she tries to break her record of 15 IKEA meatballs in under 20 minutes! Or perhaps you are intimidated by the competition, in which case, we are looking for counters (scorekeepers.)

Along with this short performance, we will be exhibiting another installment of our collaborative saga with Arni and Cristian. What began with a glue-sniffer attack on the mean streets of Istanbul’s Tarlabasi District continues in Stockholm as as disaster relief for our “Swedish” brothers by our “Turkish” aid organization, CaravansarAID. In preparation for this collaboration between Caravansarai (Americans in Turkey) and ArniCristianArt (Chilean and Icelandic in Sweden), we have been preparing aid packets containing Turkish consumer products which we have accumulated as part of our outside (non-Caravansarai) jobs. These will then be displayed in our booth in some aesthetically pleasing arrangement.

If you find yourself in Stockholm during the fair, please come say hello and eat a meatball or 200!

 

tapu tapu, with flowers

Persistance

Last Friday, the building acquisition saga came to a conclusion. We now have 10 shiny new deeds (tapular) in the name of Caravansarai. Here’s how it went down:

Tuesday: coordinate with the representative of the previous owners, our old lawyer, our new lawyer, Hasan and the woman at the deed office

Wednesday: bring two stacks of cash (they were out of 100s and 200s at the bank) to pay the deed transfer tax (at the government Ziraat Bankasi), the 2010 property tax (at the municipal office) and an original notarized translation of my passport (again at the notary of course)

Thursday: back at the deed office – sit in the hallway, take a walk up the stairs, read the health and safety signs on the wall, calculate how many millions of people must have gone up those stairs to ware down the marble that much, sit, rush into the office to ‘prove’ I understand Turkish (okudum, kabul ettim), get kicked out of the office, it was 4:29 and they closed in 1 minute.

Friday: return to the deed office, sit in the hallway, evesdrop on the people sitting next to me, wonder where that huge section of the stairway railing disappeared to and in which year, check the time – approaching 4:15, receive the summons into the director of the deed office.

There he was, behind the heavy mahogany desk, one pen, two stamps, the telephone and a large pad of paper. The assistant hands him the deeds and he slowly looks over them, periodically glancing up at Hasan (our lawyer) and myself. After his approval, stamp and signature on each page he hands them to me along with his congratulations.

I turn around to leave, and there it was. The most incredible wall adornment I’ve seen in my entire time in Turkey. Just underneath the protruding golden Ataturk head was a huge Turkish flag, made entirely out of red and white artificial roses. My jaw dropped and I couldn’t move. I was brought back to reality by Hasan, gently guiding me through the door and back out into the hallway, deeds in hand.

 

Passed!

We’ve had good and bad news. First the bad: We (or most likely, Julie–as Anika is currently in the US for the holidays) will be spending a lot more time and money at the Noter’s Office. Now for the good: We passed the military checks!!!!!!

You may remember that because Caravansarai is foreign-owned we had to undergo screening by first the Istanbul Governor’s Office and then the Turkish Military. And we passed, so now we are legally allowed to begin business on our new building!

First items on the agenda involve tearing the roof off to build a relaxing terrace with a view, redoing all the utilities and adding gas for heat, and scraping the disgusting, dripping goo off the windows that the kapaci so typically and hastily used to secure the window panes into their frames. Oh, and hanging out with the noter and municipality zoning office to finalize our plans. . .

Meanwhile, we have begun research for our Tea, Tavla, and Tall Tales (TTTT) project and will shortly be contacting artists who may be interested in participating.

 

Noters and their Translators

We have not been able to talk or think about Caravansarai without getting it stamped by a Notary. And these thoughts most likely would have to be translated into English from the Turkish by a completely unskilled translator. One such ‘translator’ (and close friend of Beyoglu Noter #9) mistranslated my passport. Which is probably the easiest document to translate and so elementary I could have translated it into Turkish after 2 days of beginning Turkish class. Here are a few of the things that have given us occasion to hang out in the Noter’s office:

Power of Attorney to the Lawyer: This makes sense. No complaints here except that it costs 150TL + 100TL to the translator. This process costs $3.00 in the U.S.
And we’ve had to do it twice. And then again after another mishap.

Capital and Trade Registry Documents: What exactly are we doing as a business? Well, we would like to say we manage an art space and artistic projects, but officially we are called Caravansarai Gayrimenkil Danışmanlık Reklam ve Organizasyon Konaklama Ticaret Limited Şirketi. Which means we are in real estate, information, advertising, organizing, and guest services. Whatever.

We had to verify this at the notary as well as who are our investors and how much capital do we have. This process requires some moderation between your lawyer and your accountant. Some of the time you need to be present for these signatures and to show your I.D. over and over again. At other times the lawyer (or in this case, lawyer’s colleague) just camped out there by herself.

Tax I.D. Number: This all costs about 100 TL, plus your accountant’s fee for taking care of it. Oh, and the translator. Ha ha.

The Big Day: The day when the actual owners of the building–the people who’s names appear on the deed–have to come to the notary. This is when you arrive in a taxi, with the two checks, issued fresh from your company bank account for the complete purchase price of the building.

But we needed the notary to verify that these two old men had doctor’s clearance to sell. On top of that, because of the Turkish military checks, we cannot really get the deed (tapu) in our name. There was no way that the owners would wait for their money until our clearance is granted, so we drafted a ‘promise to sell’ agreement and registered this at the notary, sending a copy to the deed office to file with the property deed. By then those two old guys were sick of us. And we were sick of the Noter.

Visitors to Turkey often want to see the seat of the Ottoman Empire. They go to Topkapi Palace, and eat in restaurants which specialize in Ottoman Cuisine. But if you really want a slice of Ye Olde Ottoman Life, spend a little time in the Notary’s office. Despite the overbearing photos of Ataturk suspended over every Notary’s desk, the system is 100% pre-Republic Ottoman Turkey, right down to signs designating different functions, which still retain the Ottoman Turkish names. The one concession to modernity being that now they are written in Latin instead of Arabic script. Oh, and you can’t smoke.

 

Buying a Building, after the fact Part III: We ask for help

We quickly figured out that the property-buying laws in Turkey clearly do not favor foreigners. Even if the foreigners have a Turkish company. Actually the process doesn’t favor Turks either. It is mostly an outdated system from the late Ottoman/Early Republican times. Even the language, the recordkeeping, and most importantly—the Notary, are designed with maximum hassle in mind. For instance, to deter groups of foreigners buying up too much land in a particular area, the government requires that the military review the foreigners in question in relation to the particular property. If they deem us somehow threatening to the hardware stores or banks in the neighborhood, they can refuse us the building.

To help us navigate our way around this maze, we realized we needed to hire a Turkish lawyer who speaks English and has experience with setting up companies and then helping these companies buy property. And while we are at it, we might as well get an accountant to keep track of our new tax status. The thing with accountants and lawyers is that you need to find them, pay them, and you need to be careful with them once you have them. Some have fragile egos, as we found out, but that is for later.

To find a lawyer we checked the list on the American Embassy Website, asked a few friends and checked the back of the ‘buying property in Turkey’ book. After reviewing the recommendations, Julie made appointments with 4 lawyers and 2 accountants. Our requirements were:
- price
- experience
- distance from home
- appearance of office
- ability to separate social from professional conversation (rare in Turkey, but a necessary cultural skill if dealing with Americans.)

In the end there were two clear candidates, we chose one from between the two based on how quickly they responded to a question emailed to both of them. One was quick, the other wasn’t. But in the end, the lawyer we chose turned out to be a bit macho and didn’t appreciate our many thousands of questions, which he interpreted as a lack of trust in him. Which, in retrospect, was not what we were thinking, but the inconsistency within his firm (we hired him, he went on vacation for two months and gave us to one associate, who also went on vacation and subsequently passed us on to the next) did stick us with a pretty costly mistake. So now we have a new lawyer, introduced to us by our friend and next door neighbor. We will be more delicate with him.

The accountant was easier to determine. None of the accountants listed anywhere could speak English, so we asked American friends with big projects in Turkey. There was one clear standout and we contacted him. And he is great. So far. Our new lawyer told us that in Turkey it is best not to trust anyone. “Including me”, he says with a smile.

 

Buying a building in Istanbul: A status report, after the fact Part II Without a Net

At the point where you would like to offer some money (all of it at once and in cash!) for a building, you must enter into negotiations with the owners. With or without an emlakci, this is serious business. During our first set of discussions (see the Pink Pirate Academy,) we did have the constant moderation of an emlakci. She worked between us and the owners by arranging meetings, pushing the deal forward, convincing both sides that it was a good transaction. She arranged engineers and architects to survey the building, assuring us that it was in good condition. She invited the builder that she works with to give us a quote on the restoration. She convinced the owner that it is no problem to sell to foreigners, that there is no delay in the process (she was lying) and everything would be fine. Apparently the owner did not appreciate her services, as he sold the building out from under her (and us) the very morning we had made our decision to buy it.

For our second attempt there was no emlakci involved. Since we had found the building through word of mouth, it was necessary to negotiate directly with the owners for its sale. A Turkish friend helped a lot in the process this time around, as much as we would allow him. And we were constantly schooled in doing things ‘the Turkish way’. Which, as far as we could tell, just means lots of talking and not a lot of doing.

The actual owners were two quite aged gentlemen who generally stay at home, leaving their sons to run the family hardware-store business in Karaköy. Our contact person in the negotiations was one of these sons, who, while discussing price and conditions of the sale would simultaneously take phone orders, welcome customers and coordinate with the assistants in the shop. Fortunately for us, the contact person on our end is a Turkish man, because they were not completely comfortable with a foreigner female present in their shop.

But in the end, we settled on a price and entered into the transaction which, because it does not involve a mortgage, a loan, or any other bank involvement was actually pretty easy. Well, it would be easy if not for the fact that foreigners must undergo military checks to buy property in Turkey. Although we planned to purchase the building as an established Turkish LLC, since it is foreigner-owned we are not exempt from this screening process. So, technically we were not able to fully take possession of the building until we have passed these checks. Instead, we had the owners sign a “Promise to Sell” agreement over to our lawyer (another long story) for transfer to us once we pass.

Will we pass the military checks? “Inşallah”, some in Turkey would say. Others might say, “I hope”, “I wish”, or “good luck.” This law is an old one to prevent large groups of immigrants from buying all the property in a strategic neighborhood. Properties near ports, military installations, and other zones are heavily screened. I don’t think the law was originally intended for Americans and other Europeans, but nonetheless it applies to us now. And as it is we are near a port and the Turkish Central Bank. Inşallah.

Other legal matters in the purchase transaction included Doctor’s clearance for the two elderly sellers. Because these men are over 85, they had to be determined to be of sound mind to sell a building. They passed, and now in our documents are two official physician’s statements with the mug shots of two tired old men who just want to seal the deal! With all the legalities wrapped up, we spent countless hours in the Noter’s office, having numerous documents stamped and signed into eternity. And in the end we almost have a building. But first we had more legal issues to address. . .

 

Buying a building in Istanbul: A status report, after the fact. Part 1

It was our intention to have semi-daily updates of this process, but that idea fell victim to reality–the reality of doing too many things at one time in an attempt to buy a new Caravansarai.

We bought the book Buying a Property in Turkey and read it cover to cover. Simple enough it seemed. There is a process, people had done it before. It is possible. The authors made suggestions, used examples and provided translations of commonly used words and phrases. In a word, its simplicity was “misleading”.

One way to begin the search is to use an ‘emlakci’ (real estate agent). But, as with many professions in Turkey, there are no accreditation requirements to become an emlakci. It’s enough to cover the windows of your dimly lit hovel in colorful signs listing properties for rent and for sale. These red, blue, and white listings plastered on the front of a storefront are the easiest way to locate an emlakci. But how much they know beyond what is listed in the signs is a crap shoot.

So, you read over their listings, enter the office, smile, and as cheerfully as you can, explain to them what you want and why. Then they offer you tea, check the computer and grab some keys. Or better yet, they send you off with one of their ‘boys’ to show you whatever property THEY feel is right for you. When you arrive there, it is usually with the wrong keys in hand, the owner will not be back for another few hours or something else happens to waste your time. For the most part, they don’t listen at all to what you say (they are just watching the pretty foreigner flap her lips and the dollar signs reflecting from the green of her eyes), and then proceed to show you places that are too expensive, too small, too far away or in horrible condition. This wastes an incredible amount of time. With a few exceptions, we mostly stopped visiting these places after 6 months or so.

Actually, Julie stopped visiting these places. Anika was conveniently in the states for much of the shopping process. So in order to make things a bit more efficient for herself, Julie adopted another strategy: browsing the real estate listings online, from the comfort of her home, or wandering around Tophane and Karakoy, looking for empty buildings. Sometimes the buildings sported ‘FOR SALE BY OWNER’ banners, but at other times it all came down to asking questions of nearby shopkeepers. Istanbul possesses, at it’s most euphemistic, an involved citizenry. This level of nosiness is advantageous for us when trying to shake people down for information regarding empty buildings. People ‘hang out’, in the process collecting numeric information about most every neighbor’s rent, age, salary and family history. It was in this way that we found and eventually entered into negotiations for the building we eventually bought: The Tan Han.

Our neighborhood emlakci/lightbulb/wiring salesman/nice guy

 

Tea, Tavla, and Tall Tales

Now that Caravansarai has a building, we have begun our first project. Part documentation, part research, part architecture, part installation—the project’s working title is “Tea, Tavla, and Tall Tales.”

Our building was built in the 80s in the Perşembe Pazarı in Karaköy, and has provided office and showroom space for hardware salespeople (mostly men) since it was built. But the neighborhood is changing, as neighborhoods do, and we are aware of our role in this ‘gentrification’ (although one could argue that opening a production space with not much commercial viability is not really gentrifying.) In any case, we would like to find out how the current tenants of the Caravansarai building feel not only about our invasion of their neighborhood, but also their historical perceptions. When did they arrive there? What was it like then? Do they know what was there before? What do they think we are doing there?

To investigate these questions, we, with the help of Turkish volunteers, will conduct some oral history interviews and transcribe them into English. After some research into the history and mythology of the Galata/Karakoy neighborhood, we will try to overlay their stories with other historical stories and then invite artists to create their own myths (informed by the information gathered) in any medium to be incorporated into the architecture of the building.

Speaking of architecture—it is crucial that we begin this process now, as the current tenants will not be there much longer, at which point we will begin the renovation of the space from hardware emporium to art space.