Ankara International Film Festival, April 2007
Approaching Istanbul.
Arriving late in Frankfurt, I had to run the length of the huge airport to catch my flight.
When I got to Ankara, my suitcase was missing.
Standing at the carousel with me were a multilingual (French and English) college professor
(tweed jacket, elbow patches) and a tall gentleman with a long saz case, a magnificent Ottoman
mustache and a human-national-treasure bearing. I had considered bringing the Prada dress which
Supermarky (Atlas) had found me at the West Hollywood Out of the Closet for $16, along with
my father's Pravda amber. But now I was glad I had packed a pant suit instead.
When I registered my complaint with Turkish Air and exited the claim area, I was met by three lovely
young women from the festival who made a quick phone call and announced: "We are taking you shopping."
I felt like a Cinderella. These young women expertly assembled a "red carpet outfit" for me, although, we
got caught in the chaotic Ankara rushhour traffic (which makes the one in Fellini's Roma look orderly) and missed the entrace (I have a knack for missing these things since highschool
graduation).
The opening film was an Oscar-winning short
West Bank Story. A great movie that begins on the Gaza Strip and ends inÉBeverly Hills.
Director Ari Sandel's luggage was lost, too. He slapped a $100 bill on the table to bet whose
suitcase would show up first, but I wasn't feeling "Wherefore should I not be lucky? Oscar,
who is lord of all things, loves me (to paraphrase Wilde from Salomé)."
The fashionable crowd.
Now the fun begins. With the Host with the Most Levent Arslan.
With one of many lovely young women of the festival.
One of the nice staff who played Barbie with me. I should have written down all their names!