October 25, 2007 - Istanbul, Turkey
It was an unusually warm day in Istanbul - or was it global warming? and Hiroshi, used to the cooler air of Ankara, was looking for a café that sold iced tea, iced coffee, when he saw it. There, down a narrow alley lined with ancient stores it flickered almost as if it had its own light.
A short, muscular Turkish man was hefting crates of oranges onto an ancient truck while cars and bicycles squeaked their way around him. But down the alley, almost shining, Hiroshi saw a book shining at him. It was no ordinary book, Hiroshi thought, if it could attract his attention from across a busy Turkish street.
He crossed the street, dodging cars and trucks and hurried down the alley, skirting the orange crates. He hurried down the alley, past a neighborhood café, past a shish-kabob stand, and past an old man smoking stringent Turkish tobacco in front the blue front door of his home.
He stood in front of the window to the bookstore and looked at the book. It was leather-bound and big, almost double the size of a normal book and it had the feeling of age about it. But it was the title that attracted Hiroshi. Here, in an old bookstore down a narrow alley in Istanbul was a book with a Japanese title. For some reason, Hiroshi needed to look at it and immediately he thought it would be a great souvenir for his mother or Ryo...
A week after Ryoko returned to Japan, Hiroshi was snapping pictures of Norwegian bicyclists at Angor Wat. The Norwegians gave him a good idea and he agreed. As they bicycled around the world, they broadcast their progress on their podcast.
“All you need is a voice recorder,” Sven said and held up his Olympus Voice-Trek.
“And a web host,” Anna added. She smiled at Hiroshi and pushed her blonde hair out of her face.
“We use Libsyn because they give us a blog, too,” Sven said.
“And,” Micheal said, “they zip it over to iTunes automatically. Very good.”
“How do you get messages from listeners?” Hiroshi asked.
“Through the blog,” Anna said. “It’s all very cool. Can we interview you?”
“For your podcast? Sure.”
That was in Cambodia and ten days - and a country - later, Hiroshi had his voice recorder, blog, and iTunes podcast: HiroshiWorld. Most of his podcasts were his thoughts on his day; he recorded mostly at night after he’d eaten dinner and was reviewing his day. Some of his shows had interviews with travelers and workers he came across during the day. Sometimes he lucked into meeting a politician or businessman who wanted to talk and buy him lunch, too. All of his podcasts had sound scapes of the places he went to: street vendors, crowds, street music and, of course, the languages: Cambodian, Malay, Chinese, English, Korean... all the languages he met on his trip.
He knew as soon as he saw the book in the window he wanted to interview the bookstore owner. The book looked ancient and the store looked just as old. He pulled his Turkish-Japanese phrase book out and looked quickly through the vocabulary for words he could use, or at least point at. He rummaged through his backpack for his voice recorder and checked the battery life. All set. He pushed open the door.
“Hello?”
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Next: Do You Believe? II
