English translation below. gsQuelques Extraits...
''Je n'ai jamais aimé New-York. J'ai dès ma toute première arrivée trouvé cette ville pauvre et sans identité, ou beaucoup trop pour n'en avoir qu'une. Ces milliers de gens dans les rues parlant leur propre langue vivant leur coutume différentes à chaque coin de rue sans entité globale comme Paris, Londres ou Rome en a une, n'excitaient en rien mes sens. Mais le jour où j'arrivai à Istanbul, je respirai de suite de son air le grand et le grandiose, l'empire, la domination puissante, le luxe, le savoir, la culture qui s'affichaient dans le raffinement de ses grands boulevards et de ses rues à l'architecture si travaillée et aux gens habiles et gracieux qui vivaient avec honneur et grâce le byzantisme de cette ville au tumulte incessant de bruits, de pas, de voitures et de bateaux sous le vol des oiseaux envahissant le Bosphore. J'avais préparé ce voyage. Pour tout voir, tout faire, tout y vivre. Épouser Istanbul. Une de mes racines que je voulais découvrir et dans laquelle me confondre à ses intérieurs les plus sombres comme les plus glorieux. Pour la gloire, il y avait la famille de mon père. Les restaurants et ses serveurs aux gants blancs qui nous servirent le long du Bosphore poissons et crustacées des plus fins, les verres de cristal de leur belle maison aux colonnes baroques qui gardaient fières le mobilier colonial anglais et ses Cherterfields de cuir rouge dominant la route de Gumuspais devant les paquebots, les bateaux et ferries qui défilaient sans cesse sur cette eau scintillante, le champagne et le raki qui m'enivrait d'anis si facilement aux yeux de leur domestique qui n'arrêtait pas de me sourire de ses longs cils noirs et brillants et de sa bouche pulpeuse, et que j'aurais si volontiers emmener dans mon lit pour que sa queue m'y emprisonât de sa force impériale ottomane. Oncles, tantes, parents, cousins et cousines venus d'Israël et de France à cette fête familiale y célébrer leurs souvenirs en commun et la source de leur enfance en repartirent cinq jours plus tard. C'est de là que j'avais préparé ce voyage.''
''I never liked New-York City. Since the very first moment I arrived in this town I found it poor and without its own identity, or rather should I say, far too many to have its one and only. These thousands of different people speaking their mother tongue and living their own culture and customs at any corner of any street could not make me feel or make my senses arise through a global identity the way Paris, London or Rome could with their own. But the day I arrived in Istanbul , I breathed The Exceptional, The Grand and The Grandiose, The Empire, The Powerful Domination, The Luxury, The Knowledge, The Culture that could be breathed through the refinement of its huge and gracious boulevards watching the sophisticated architecture of its building standing there for hundreds of years, just as gracious and stylish and honored to be there the way its inhabitants were hurrying away in the middle of an endless tumult of noises, steps, cars and boats under the invading flights of the birds in the Bosphorus skies. I had prepared this trip. For I wanted to see everything, do everything, live everything. I wanted to melt myself into the city of Istanbul into its inner darkest sides as well as in its glorious ones. For the glory, my father's family was there. The restaurants and theirs white-gloved waiters who were serving us the most refine fish and sea-food were working on it just fine. The way the crystal glasses and the red leather Chesterfields facing over the Gumuspais road in front of the ships, boats and ferries sailing their routes across the dazzling waters were. The way the baroque white columns standing impressive outside at the top of the patio stairs and the off-beige ones inside proudly keeping the English colonial furniture of the house did. The way the euphoria of the bubbles of champagne and the rake's anise's intoxication provoqued just the same the flattery of an Ottoman glory. Indeed, the glory was there. Even more touchable as their male butler gently smiled at me from his big lips and hairy hands whose the only thing I could see was to take his dick to bed for him to show me the Turkish strength. My uncles, aunts, parents, cousins that came from France and Israel for this family meeting to celebrate their souvenirs ans childhood in common finally went back home five days later. My time came then for me to live the trip I had prepared.''
''I never liked New-York City. Since the very first moment I arrived in this town I found it poor and without its own identity, or rather should I say, far too many to have its one and only. These thousands of different people speaking their mother tongue and living their own culture and customs at any corner of any street could not make me feel or make my senses arise through a global identity the way Paris, London or Rome could with their own. But the day I arrived in Istanbul , I breathed The Exceptional, The Grand and The Grandiose, The Empire, The Powerful Domination, The Luxury, The Knowledge, The Culture that could be breathed through the refinement of its huge and gracious boulevards watching the sophisticated architecture of its building standing there for hundreds of years, just as gracious and stylish and honored to be there the way its inhabitants were hurrying away in the middle of an endless tumult of noises, steps, cars and boats under the invading flights of the birds in the Bosphorus skies. I had prepared this trip. For I wanted to see everything, do everything, live everything. I wanted to melt myself into the city of Istanbul into its inner darkest sides as well as in its glorious ones. For the glory, my father's family was there. The restaurants and theirs white-gloved waiters who were serving us the most refine fish and sea-food were working on it just fine. The way the crystal glasses and the red leather Chesterfields facing over the Gumuspais road in front of the ships, boats and ferries sailing their routes across the dazzling waters were. The way the baroque white columns standing impressive outside at the top of the patio stairs and the off-beige ones inside proudly keeping the English colonial furniture of the house did. The way the euphoria of the bubbles of champagne and the rake's anise's intoxication provoqued just the same the flattery of an Ottoman glory. Indeed, the glory was there. Even more touchable as their male butler gently smiled at me from his big lips and hairy hands whose the only thing I could see was to take his dick to bed for him to show me the Turkish strength. My uncles, aunts, parents, cousins that came from France and Israel for this family meeting to celebrate their souvenirs ans childhood in common finally went back home five days later. My time came then for me to live the trip I had prepared.''
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