I've Come to Take You Home

OK. I am home. I am in Brooklyn, safe and sound, feeling like I never left. And feeling completely different. I had a nice easy trip home, despite a random search which ended well because I had Fenerbahce (go Fenerbahce!) soccer memorabilia in my bag. I did lose (lose??) my hairdryer in the multiple searches of my bags. I suppose that isn't bad and it had a European plug anyway.

So, I had my State Department Oral Assessment (OA) in DC on Friday. This was not my Turkish exam - that is a month away. I had no jet lag which was really helpful as this is a killer "interview" - I got there at 7am and left at 4pm. I did lose my head for a bit the day before and put a paper bag with my bagel and full cup of coffee in my handbag with all my application papers. The damage was not too excessive, luckily. I blame it on the fact that I have not been able to walk around with coffee on a regular basis for some time, so of course I forgot I had a cup with me. Maybe?

Anyway, I took this OA thing which is the monster final exam that gets you into the Foreign Service and hallelujah, I passed again. This is a major relief as it buys me a LOT of time to continue with Turkish. IF I do not pass my Turkish test at the end of the month, I will have another chance to take it again in 6 months time. I would not have had that option if I didn't pass the OA on Friday. And, as it was why I came back home from Istanbul, I feel sort of efficient. Like, OK, came back for this, check, next thing. Which is find some work. Which is go to jury duty. Which is head to Cape Cod and pick up the bulk of my belongings. Which is continue studying Turkish....

Well, all or any of you out there,thanks for spending some time with me in Turkey. I really enjoyed myself and don't think my time there is over. I can still feel the pull, I really can...

Gule Gule - Melissa

Slow Whirlwind

OK, I am in my last few days here and my head is always spinning. Everything I still want to learn is number one, followed by what I still want to see. Jessica is visiting right now, so the seeing is happening easily enough. Ah, but the learning.

It is falling into place but fast enough, I am not sure. I really don't know. My tutor is great and is helping me stay focused on what I need for the exam itself without trying to learn all things Turkish. The good news is that I love this language - I really do. It is just so cool and logical. Give me a few more years and I know I can get it down.

So I come back this Tuesday. Yes, this Tuesday. Am I allowed to continue writing about my experiences when I am not actually here? Hm. Like this surreal moment when Jessica was looking at t-shirts at the outdoor market in Kadikoy, on the Asian side. She liked this cartoon-y one that had a guy in a tank with the words "Go to Pub" under it. When she put it down for just a moment, it was snatched up... by a woman in a chador. It just didn't make sense and was hilarious.

K, then, just wanted to put something up so no one would worry. I am fine. I am busy. I am nervous. I don't quite want to leave, but have to return for my next State Department interview next Friday. Oh and I just found out that I have jury duty in Brooklyn on April 5th. Slow whirlwind...

And In the End

OK, well time is passing. I hate to think in these terms but, alas, I am entering the last few weeks. And I and keep thinking that they are the last few weeks. I need to think about I still want to do, and what I can still do. And yes, I must still make room for fun.

Well, I stopped the course. No, I didn't advance to Level 4 though that does sound impressive, even to me. Or maybe it is just to me that sounds impressive. Anyway, I decided to concentrate on just what I need for my State Department telephone test and rid myself of the static that I got being in class. Also we had headed into somewhat ridiculous grammar drills land... "the man that had taken my mother's suitcase and brought it to the room was not interested in any of the football teams in the city." Sentences like that. Sentences I could write perhaps but not sentences I could speak. And I also realized that I just get too interested in the other people in the class. I get so curious about them all and would daydream a little during those four hours. And the other students were often funny which I really enjoyed, but also conjured up more than a little anxiety.

So, in an effort to get really serious, I have taken myself out of that maybe too social place and am now studying in semi-isolation. It has been a week so far and I know that this has been the right move. Less fun? Absolutely. More productive? Sure. For one, I have spent more time with my Turkish friends, particularly my friend Gokhan who doesn't speak much English. Talking with him is great though exhausting sometimes. And I apparently make up words, or so he says. As these words aren't in the dictionary, I guess he is right. Gokhan lives near me and is cool meeting for tea or even just a walk by the Bosphorus. I am really really lucky to have found him.

I have also met with the first Italian Veronica (from class) three times to study together. That has been great. We talk our Turkish together for hours, and have elicited laughter from neighboring tables, if we are studying at a cafe. I also have met with my tutor Ozlan who is just fabulous. She coached my friend who also went through this State Department process successfully about 6 months ago and has the best ideas and exercises for me. Plus she talks to me really quickly. OK, maybe it is normal speed and if I stare really hard at her, I can understand her. We seem impressed with each other so far.

So, here is a story. Today Veronica and I were studying in Beykoz, near my house, and were sitting at a picnic table near the seaside. It was gorgeous and sunny today, and we were reading a story in one of her books about how calm and quiet Ankara is. Veronica then mentioned that a fight had broken out behind me. I turned around and noticed that the fifteen or so young men who had congregated earlier behind us were indeed holding back two guys. Besides these guys, we were the only ones on this mini-pier. Next, one of the guys held up a big kitchen knife above his head, threatening the other guy. Veronica remarked rather simply that it seemed dangerous. Yep, a guy brandishing a big old kitchen knife did seem a bit dangerous to me as well. So we quietly walked away from it from the weird scene, but we were really laughing immediately afterwards... Something about reading this story about peaceful Ankara and then her "dangerous" comment struck us as really, really funny. Please, parent types out there - don't worry. Honestly, it is safe here and I am safe.. despite potential drug smugglers in my train cabin and knife-wielding hotheads. So I guess I got a little dose of excitement. A little one.

K, Spencer is here in Istanbul, on business, and it is time for me to go meet him in his swank hotel. I stayed in said swank hotel last night, which was fabulous. Had my own bathroom. And while I do not believe that anyone needs 6 pillows on his bed, I can't say I mind it at all. I hope we do get out though and see some of Istanbul. So far I know he hasn't experienced any of it, really. It is possible to be in this place, for days even, and not ever really see it. Strange.

Out Post

Just a quick little post here from Greece... I am in Thessaloniki at a posh little cafe with a few minutes before my train leaves to take me home. Funny that Istanbul feels like home but it really does. I was going to stay here for one more day but I thought about my house and really wanted to get back there. Plus it is so SO much more expensive here. I am not so into the euro, really.

Well, leaving Istanbul has really given me some perspective. This city, the second largest in Greece, feels very European. And its Europeanness points again to the fact that Istanbul does not feel European to me. What that means exactly I am not sure. What is European? OK, this cafe is European - the lighting fixtures, the furniture, the cappucinos. But I think I could find a cafe that looks like this in Istanbul but somehow it would be different. I guess I need to think on this more.

I was going to write that this trip has been uneventful but that is not exactly true. On the way here I was in a sleeper car with a woman who struck me as a bit odd. I was NOT happy about sharing my cabin as I was convinced I would have the wagoncar to myself. I complained and complained to my Turkish friend Gokhan who had walked me to the station. The sleeper train was very, very comfortable and quite nicely designed... even had a little sink with a mirror - nice touch. The ride was about 13 hours and I slept a good 7 of that. So, anyway, when I arrived, there was this woman as in my car. She was a young black woman, maybe 25 or so, wearing really tight clothes. One of the first things she did was take out a handful of her hair extensions and just held onto them for awhile. Huh. She had the largest suitcase I have ever seen... the kind they sell on 14th Street. She claimed that she was transporting it for her sister who just had a baby. Weird as she said she was from France - so why the suitcase? And she seemed confused when I asked how long she had been in Istanbul. She was odd with all of her answers, so I was particularly careful in not leaving my bag when I went out to the bathroom. Plus there was zero security at the station - surprising as they have metal detectors at all the malls and metro stations. Once the train started up, this woman called someone and said "We are moving" and that was it. And she said it in English... why not French?? All strange.

Anyway, when we got to the border, the Turkish police were not happy with her passport that was actually from the Congo. The signatures did not match when they had her sign something. So they took her and her giant bag off the train... they had searched the bag on the train and I was curious too, so I looked down from my berth.. just looked like clothes in there. Anyway, the train steward came in and removed the bedding.. I tried to explain that she was in the station - apparently he knew that. Next the police came in and removed the cushions and pulled back the metal walls. Basically they ripped the cabin apart but did not find anything. I just stood there, trying to not be in the way. I was in the way though, I think. They did not touch my stuff. Never saw the woman again - wonder what was up there.

K, time to go to the RR station. Hopefully I will get a cabin to myself this time or at least a more normal person. Fingers crossed.

Safe European Home

Oh dear. I didn't mean to be away for so long. I am not sure what happens, but times flies. Or stands still. Or just passes with no reliable internet connection in sight.

Last Friday was Zeynep's birthday. She is the one by herself in the photo (taken by the German hiker), next to the photo of Ataturk and the Turkish flag. Every house or office must have a photo of Ataturk, founder of the modern Turkish Republic. My Dutch friend, the Iraqi and one of the other Germans are pictured with the chocolate & pistachio cake in the other photo. We threw her a little surprise party and she was really happy, I think. She said that in the four years that she has been teaching, she has never had a party thrown for her. This woman more than deserves a party. Every day I am amazed by how patient and fun and effective she is. Plus she is so careful and methodical without being really obvious.

So, yes, all continues well enough here. My class remains dominated by the competent Germans who have effectively beaten down my nemesis. Yes, the Germans really have taken over, imposing order and reason to the class. We now simply converse, answer the questions out of the book and well, learn. So much less wasted time. What a relief!

My nemesis and boyfriend did return from nearly a week in Prague but honestly, she no longer wields much power. My Dutch friend noticed it first, and I felt quite good to realize I am not alone in thinking this way. When Sarah did return, she remarked to me that I will truly amazed when I leave Istanbul to find how much easier and better other places are. Wow. She really is miserable here. Must be awful. I do wish she would just move to Europe though and be done with it. I must say, Turkey is many things but it is not Europe. It just isn't and I don't think it has any desire to be, really. That is a whole other subject, obviously.

So, yes, she has continued to miss class and I doubt she will move to the next level. Yesterday she and her boyfriend flew to London for a "much-needed English-language" long weekend. Have I mentioned that this woman says that she hopes to work in Rwanda and other trouble zones in the future? The same woman who complains about the number of "filthy cats" on the street? Doesn't seem to really know herself all that well.

So, yes, as you can see, the Iraqi has also returned to class. He was on a ski holiday with his family. OK, why didn't I see that coming? Iraqis on ski holidays?? I should have noticed that he does wear a lot of Lacoste shirts. Alas my mind struggles under the burden of stereotypes. He is hosting a party tonight and I am debating on whether to attend. He does live close to me as the crow flies, but the crow doesn't have to navigate crossing the Bosphorus Strait at night.

On Thursday, I played hookey from school as it was a gorgeous sunny day. It ended up being a great day to skip as it was the one beautiful day of the week and I found out we didn't really cover all that much in class. Today, for example, it is raining and even snowing a little. So, on Thursday, I hiked up a hill to an old Genovese medieval castle in a town called Anadolu Kavagi, about 20 minutes away. Actually, first I inadvertently hiked up a big hill here in Beykoz, past a forbidden military zone. I past an old castle of sorts currently inhabited by gypsies. Weird. I stood in front of it for about 30 seconds deciding if I should have a closer look. After I saw some clotheslines with drying laundry and clusters of kids, I realized it was not a safe place necessarily. Though I don't know what they would do with me, the phrase "kidnapped by gypsies" kept running through my head. I then luckily caught a bus that took me to the castle town.

I walked around the castle for about 45 minutes, for which you could see the beginnings of the Black Sea. Gorgeous! It felt so secluded in a way, and so not city. Unfortunately the place was full of litter, including broken bottles. Somehow not uncommon. So often I think that Istanbul and maybe Turkey as a whole doesn't really care about tourism. I mean I know it does, but there are these anomalies. A beautiful spot full of rubbish, a place that would be relatively easy to patrol or at least clean every week or so. All it needed was maybe 10 people and half a day, and the place would be spotless. In a similar vein, I am really surprised how many of the big tourist sites have squatty potties - porcelain holes in the ground, basically. Usually they also require a small admission charge. Western-style toilets are almost everywhere but not in the tourist sites. Very very strange.

So, as I was coming down from the castle, I ran into all the tourists coming up. Apparently the Bosphorus tour boat had just arrived. I got lucky! I went down to the town and asked the tour boat guys if there was some other place I should visit nearby... I had been hoping to go to a town on the Black Sea, but they told me that the bus didn't go that way. Because I was speaking Turkish (I think), they offered me a a cup of tea. They let me come into the little ticket booth and we chatted. Honestly my life here is so much better here now that I can converse even a little in Turkish. When all the tourists came back after lunch, I even helped tear their tickets and get them onboard. Yes, I sorta became a ferry boat worker there - cute! They then introduced me to the guys on the boat (same company that runs my daily ferry) and asked if I wanted to go on the tour. Well, sure! Istanbul looks particularly beautiful for the water. So I then got to take the Bosphorus tour for free and spent 3 hours more practicing my Turkish. The secretary of the boat told me that I was the first American to ever talk to him. I just hate this about touring, the separation between the locals and the visitors. Of course language is a big part of it but it is also a class & cultural thing. They were all really nice and hospitable, and I always had either a cup of tea or glass of Nescafe in hand. I also learend quite a bit about the sites along the way.

When I got back to the main Istanbul terminal, I hung out a little longer in the break room, drinking even more tea. I have never drank so much tea in my life. Basically tea is a constant here, usually served in little hourglass-shaped glasses. Finally, I got on a boat headed back to Beykoz... I realized I had spent about four hours only speaking in Turkish. Quite a good day - one of my best to date I think.

Uber Alles

We have had a shift in our class. For some reason, my class is now mostly German, and most of these German speak Turkish quite well. One girl has a Turkish father who talks to her alot in Turkish, though she responds almost exclusively in German. One is a physicist who is interning with Greenpeace. He looks very German hiker. One is a very cool political science student at Bogazici University. One is very tan. We also now have a Greek Cypriot, a very sweet, very smart girl who speaks English with a pleasant English accent. She is also studying political science and Turkish studies in general. She had her bank card eaten by a bank machine yesterday and mentioned that if she had problems with money, she had no consulate here. Right.

So, that means that the Iraqi has disappeared, and my fake-sweet American nemesis and boyfriend have been missing for days. They went to Prague for a long weekend and I thought they were supposed to be back by now. Hm. Who knows? I am sure they will also be most surprised by the change in our class. We are somehow now higher level than before. I figure it might be like pool: sometimes you can improve your game by playing against better opponents. Here's hoping.

Yesterday I had to give a presentation in class. I chose the Fall of Constantinople (1452-3), hoping that everyone would know the basics as we all live here. The German environmentalist had done a presentation the day before on the Greenhouse Effect. The only part of his presentation I really understood was when he said that people were like tomatoes (domates gibi). Well, heck, I never really understood the Greenhouse Effect in English.

So, anyway, I had a whole long paragraph on how the Ottomans rolled their boats overland over oiled logs to get to the Golden Horn. The Byzantines had blocked the water route there with a large chain. Really fascinating stuff. However, I don't think anyone understood me at all. Totally blank faces. The hiker said he didn't understand. I asked him what he didn't understand and he said, well the whole thing. So I went to the board and tried to draw it. Zeynep (my fabulous teacher who I appreciate more and more every day) tried drawing it as well. It was like a painful game of Pictionary. I think Zeynep went in and out of understanding me. I wish I could have had a translated version of what I was saying. I think it might have been hilarious.

So, today is Valentines Day. Since Turkey isn't one for saints, it is called Lovers' Day here. Same red hearts, same fuzzy white bears. Oof ya!

Entertainment

This has been a big week for me, entertainment-wise. I went to two movies and one concert. OK, these outings weren't entirely successful, the movies in particular. However, I was entertained, in a way not expected.

Last Monday, my friend Sean and I had gone to Kadikoy, the kinda hip neighborhood on the Asian side (Anadolu Yakisi), and decided to go the movies. Turkey has a fairly large film industry, and foreign films, mostly American, are popular as well. I have noticed that any film with Jude Law will be shown here, no questions asked.

There were a number of theaters listed in my Time Out Istanbul (the Turkish version, a big step-up for me from the paltry English language version). When we got to the addresses, however, we were mostly greeted with construction sites. Strange. When we did get to the one theater that did exist, we decided against Holiday (with Jude Law). That left the zany, Turkish screwball comedy Americans in the Black Sea 2 (yes, the sequel) and a movie called Barda (In the Bar). Based entirely on the movie posters, we opted for Barda. The poster showed a photo of some young people listening to a band in a bar and some sinister faces above them. Looked like some kind of thriller, should be easy enough to follow.

Well, first off, I noticed that the sound in the theater was terrible. I couldn't understand the trailer for the upcoming Jude Law film, and that was in English. Problem var! (Turkish for "Houston, we have a problem.") Ah well. My understanding much of the Turkish seemed unlikely. I settled into the chair and figured I would just do my best. Sean, who is American, understands and speaks Turkish much better than I do, so I figured that I would hit him up for film details later.

Unfortunately, the film took a bad turn about 20 minutes in... seems this was a horror film, as in a torture film. With next to no plot development that I could see, the film became even more simple. Basically five very bad men who were on something came into a bar, took the five students who were there hostage and started torturing and/or killing them. I never like torture in movies, and can't even watch Reservoir Dogs for that reason. I would never ever ever see Saw 3, for example. Also, I got very nervous about how far this film might go. I sort of know the limits that American films have for graphic violence, but could Turkish movies be worse? Well, sure, could be. Also I did not need or want to have any of these images in my head for later, when I was alone, say. Later, when I looked it up, I read that the filmmaker was hoping to make the most violent film in Turkish film history. He may have succeeded; I will never know. I had to leave and Sean was more than cool with that. Later, thinking about it, it seemed strange that there were so many couples in there, many of the women in headscarves. Perhaps they left as well? I suppose I might be a bit off suggesting that women in headscarves might be more offended by a movie that depicted rape and torture than other women. I would hardly imagine it as a date movie, in any case.

On Wednesday, I decided to give Blood Diamond a try. It was playing at the big cineplex in Taksim, near my school. I took my pre-assigned seat (they assign seats here) and figured I would do my best to read the subtitles rather than listening to the English. However, when the film started, I noticed a shadow a few rows ahead of me. The fourth time I saw the shadow head on and yes, it was a huge rat, methodically running down the rows. I am not particularly frightened of rats, due to the high number I have already encountered in NYC, but it was just so wrong. I have not seen any rats here at all, perhaps surprisingly for a large city. As the rat moved towards the back of the theater, I felt compelled to do the same. I stood in the way back for awhile and eventually moved to a seat. However, the rat was working its way to the back of the theater as well, so I ended up standing against the wall again, craning my neck to see. All in all, I think I might have watched for the rat more than I really watched the movie. No one else in the theater noticed or perhaps cared about this nearly foot-long rat. I mentioned it to a Turkish friend last night at a dinner party, and he said, well, really what can you do? I like easy-going, but come on! Rat, maybe a rabid rat even, running under the seats, and you are just going to accept it?!! Really?!?

And in my Entertainment triumvarate, I saw Bonnie "Prince" Billy (aka Will Oldham, Palace) on Friday night at a fairly large municipal concert hall. Will Oldham is a singer/songwriter, fairly slow, from Louisville, Kentucky. I must say I was both surprised that he was playing in Istanbul and surprised that he was playing in a concert hall that is usually reserved for classical shows. I do like sitting down at shows, so that part was nice. However, the whole thing was just a bit too civilized for a rock show. Twice, Sean and I were asked by a male guard to stop talking. A female guard, who was wearing a nice dress, had the unfortunate job of asking people to shut their cellphones, even when they weren't talking on them. This was one very quiet concert. I thought the hall itself appeared very Soviet, but Sean, who spent some time in Bulgaria, assured me that it was not. Afterwards, we went backstage and talked to the band, as I have liked Will Oldham for a long time. This is a benefit of seeing someone really out of their element; going backstage is very easy and fairly normal. They had found the concert a bit strange as well. Will was tired (and had spent too much time at a Turkish bath that day) but meeting him was still interesting. One of the young guitarists was so impressed with Istanbul, he was considering moving here. This city really has this effect on people, right away. It is entrancing. We tried to explain it is a bit different than it appears at first, but I don't think these things can be explained; they need to be experienced.

So that is the latest here. Class is much more difficult, but good. We have an Iraqi in class. He stutters a little. He is from Baghdad originally, but now his family is split betweennow Jordan, Syria and Turkey. More on that later, perhaps. Now I need to get back to studying, of course.

Level 3

Well, tomorrow I start Level 3 at my language school. Friday I passed my Level 2 final exam with flying colors and hoping that my solid score really was an accurate reflection of learning. Let's hope. In Turkish, I can now say that I am doing something, I did something, I will do something, I always do something, I was doing something, I may do something and if I do something .... Every new verb tense fills me with hope, though the sentence structure still kills me. Turkish insists on putting the verbs at the end of the sentence and attaches everything else to the words before the verb. Next to impossible for me to think this way. Gives me a headache.

So after class some of us went out to celebrate the end of class. Yes, Sarah came. We got on fine though she was a bit amazed that I had gone to a hamam (Turkish bath) the day before, alone. The hamam I went to was one of the most famous ones here in Istanbul. I think it was in one of the Raiders of the Lost Ark movies. And it is mostly frequented by tourists. So, how scary could it be? (answer: not at all.) Basically I felt so relaxed that I fell into a wonderful sleep on the warm marble floor, staring at the lovely 18th century dome above me. The Canadian guy in my class continues to be a favorite. The Turkish expression for brother is "abey" (sp?) and is commonly used by anyone trying to get the attention of a guy. So what does my favorite Canadian in Istanbul call the advice column he is writing for Time Out Istanbul? Well, "Dear Abey" of course. Hilarious. He also made a great comment about drafts. Turks seem to be in near mortal fear of drafts. OK, that is an exaggeration but really, most homes are over-heated. Slippers are required upon entering the home and guests are provided with slippers upon arrival as well. My Dutch friend was told by her future mother-in-law that she was at risk for a urinary tract infection if she didn't wear her slippers in the house. Interesting connection. Anyway, my Canadian friend made a remark that he finds it fascinating that the same people who once held all of Europe in terror are themselves held hostage by their own fear of drafts. Struck me as very funny at the time.

Later on that night, I met up with a few folks from the Level 1 class for their celebration. It was fun being the older, wiser Level 2 graduate... There is a funny hierarchy and sure, I am in slight awe of the levels above me as well. So, yes, I was like an upperclassman who deigned to spend time with the underlings. I was invited by a British historian who reminds my Dutch friend of Mr. Bean. Yep, I see it. So, this was the first time that I have actually had the raki/meze experience. Raki is a licorice flavored brandy that is sort of the national drink of Turkey. When mixed with water, it turns cloudy, as does one's head. Meze are small dishes that include marinated fish, stuffed grape leaves, yogurt dips, etc. The waiter brings over a big tray with all the mezes on it and you choose. For those of us who don't really like to decide, it is perfect. Fun night. Good company, good food.

So, yes, next up is Level 3 and yes, I am halfway through my classes here. I have felt a change in my relationship with this language, and definitely feel more comfortable with it. However, I feel that I am still a bit quiet. I do also see that it is such a process and can't exactly be forced. I have decided that, from now on, I will not speak English on a regular basis. This will be hard. However, at this point, I do think I now have enough words and tenses to actually say what I'd like to say. The hardest thing, though, is the loss of personality through communication. I have never thought and talked so much about language, communication and expression as I have in the past two months. Language is so much about culture, not just about a string of words. Speaking in a language that does not express one's own culture is not natural, particularly in a culture as strong as this one. Turks are very specific in how (and what) things are done and this is true of their language as well. Many expressions are basically mandatory when faced with certain situations. English feels much more loose. Ah, we'll see.

Oh, and sorry about the lack of images. I am having trouble with my digital camera. It doesn't focus properly. I am not sure I will be able to fix it here. Bad timing!

Nicer Dicer

OK, first, I feel a need to apologize for yesterday's post. I felt I complained a bit too much about the woman in my class. For a number of reasons, yes, she distracts me. I woke up feeling a bit ridiculous that I wrote about her here. Part of the reason I chose to write a blog rather than a diary was so it wouldn't just write about my day-to-day emotions. Having a potential audience, even one person, helps you fly right. So, my apologies.

Today, however, I had even more trouble with her than usual. Won't bore you with the details, but man, we just don't get along. I just can't handle her learned helplessness. I find it so frustrating. I know that she disrupts my learning, like this constant buzz coming from the far corner of the room. I also know the fact that we don't get along also drives me the most crazy. She seems to have no interest in making new friends here, relying on just her boyfriend and the people in Istanbul that she already knew from the States. Sure, I have come across a lot of people here and yes, I get on well enough with most of them. Perhaps the fact that I can tell she doesn't care for me is a part of what bothers me.

But please let's move on. I really must. I must say, though the honeymoon is over, I am really enjoying this next phase of being here. I feel a bit settled. Places are familiar, I understand most of what is going on. No, that doesn't mean that I really understand what everyone around me is saying. Unfortunately not. I do, however, feel fairly comfortable all the time. I know where I am most of the time. I have a basic understanding of how things work. Yeah, I feel a little like this is my home, at least for now.

This past weekend I went to Bakirkoy, an area that I haven't seen before except when coming in from the airport. Friday night, I went to a party with Seda, Cihan's Turkish English teacher. She works at a school that is run by an American university, and I had met some of the English teachers at a party the week before. I figured it would be an easy party for me for that reason. However, the party was mostly in Turkish. Not always fun for me, but very, very good. Learning a language is such a process. I feel on this I am also into the next phase. I can't say much but I understand a fair amount. Now, I will say, the nonstop chain smoking in a small unventilated apartment was not enjoyable for me, and, as hard as I try, the smoking here really bothers me.

The party was thrown by Alper, an English teacher at her school. He is an interesting guy. Besides being an elementary school English teacher, he is also the coach and impetus behind the new Turkish international baseball team. Yes, he has brought baseball to Turkey. He trained with the Milwaukee Brewers a couple of years ago. Alper was born in Turkey, but spent most of his life in Germany. I don't know where the baseball thing came from. The party was small, mostly teachers from the school, gossiping about the other teachers, gossiping about the students. After the party, I stayed over at Seda's house. Her cousin, a corporate lawyer with thinning hair, stayed over too as the traffic situation here means you really just can't get around at night. Ah, the traffic. We drank some Turkish wine, and Seda roasted some chestnuts. Seda's cousin is a really, nice, patient person. He was kind enough to insist that I talk only in Turkish. Whenever I switched into English, he pretended that he didn't understand me. Good for me, but not so much fun. Probably not so fun for him either.

The next day, Seda and I went shopping. Well, actually she went shopping, I observed. We went to a mall. There are so many malls here, including one of the biggest in Europe. One of them gave me vertigo, it had so many floors. The malls are open until like 10 or 11 at night. After that, we went to Ortakoy, one of my favorite areas in Istanbul. Ortakoy is on the Bosphorus, and has a number of little shops and restaurants. She parked her car on a corner with the hazards on, as there wasn't any parking for miles, probably. After she bought some boots and we picked up some "meat" sandwiches and aryan (salty yogurt beverage that I sometimes like), she tried to start the car. The battery was dead. Somehow she managed to find someone from a local garage to jump it in about 5 minutes. After he jumped it, she tried bargaining with him to get his low price down. He told her that she didn't have to pay if she didn't have money and then she paid him the asking price. Hm.

We drove back to my house in Beykoz and we ate our "meat" sandwiches. The drive took about 2.5 hours in total, to go maybe 20 miles, if that. I actually don't know how far it is and I feel like you can't ever know how far things are, because of the traffic. We hung out in my house. Seda was waiting for Cihan to start his weekly English lesson. I really hand it to him, he is very diligent in this. He spends all his free time on English. Burju, Cihan's daughter who I really like, was there. Burju is on break from college and just seemed so much like a college kid on break. The digital satellite wasn't working properly, so only the shopping channel was on. We watched the whole 30-minute infomercial for the Nicer Dicer, and Burju became obsessed with it. "Dad, if we had the Nicer Dicer, I could make breakfast for you in half the time." She then just started chanting, "Nicer Dicer, Nicer Dicer." Quite hilarious. At this point, Seda told me that the sandwiches we had in Ortakoy were made of intestines. That is why they had so many spices. I had noticed that they had quite a strong taste. Burju and I got bored while Cihan's lesson was going on, so we went in the garden, looking for cats. We saw one ("Fluffy") from the window, but he was long gone by the time we got there. We couldn't find a single cat. Typical Saturday night when the digital satellite is down.

At Home (He Feels Like a Tourist)

So, most of the folks I meet here seem to fall into one of two categories: those who possess a somewhat adventurous experience and those who don't quite fit in at home. OK, more I think of it, perhaps this more of a spectrum, that most folks have a bit of both categories in them. Lucky for me, most people I meet tend more towards the adventurous spirit than the oddball ex-pat. OK, I did meet an odd ex-pat from Northhampton, Mass. last night who spent three years sitting in a beach town, doing nothing, because "life comes to you" but that is separate story altogether.

Every now, however, I meet someone who I honestly can't figure why they are away from home. Unfortunately I have one of these types in my class. I'll call her Sarah, to protect her identity and to protect myself, just a little. Sarah is an American in my class and yes, she is the bane of my existence at present. She is from New Hampshire. She is maybe 26 years old. One day, during a class break, she dissed Vermont, remarking that Vermont is home to rampant polygamy. Um, what? I mentioned that I had never come across that in my time there and asked where exactly this was happening. She answered that it was a statewide reality. We have been slightly at odds ever since. She clearly did not like my challenging her in public, but honestly, it sounded ridiculous to me. And I hardly wanted people from other parts of the world registering my lovely Vermont in their minds as the degenerate, backwards state...especially from someone from New Hampshire! She said she read about this problem in her hometown paper... well, OK, that does make sense. Only a local New Hampshire paper is going to report on rampant polygamy in Vermont. Yeesh.

OK, so, yes, Sarah is trouble for me. She is going into a prestigious International Relations program in the fall, to study peacekeeping. Not sure about the fit there. She is here with her nice boyfriend to learn Turkish, though it sounds like this move isn't altogether necessary. Now, why is she the bane of my existence? Well, she struggles with the language. That is, of course, no problem whatsoever. We are all visibly struggling and we all make really big mistakes. Turkish is full of opportunities to make huge mistakes that are quite embarrassing. Using the wrong vowel sound can lead you to uttering some rather rough profanities. So, mistakes in class are hardly a problem.

What is a problem is that this woman has some seriously negative energy. Not a day goes by without her whining, honest to goodness whining... about how hard the language is, about how much she doesn't like being in class. She expands this negativity to remarks about how dirty Istanbul is (it isn't really, though the air is polluted), and anything else along those lines. Every time she answers a question in class, she laughs nervously and can barely finish her sentence. Again, that is just fine but there is a meanness to her that is not OK. She laughs at her boyfriend when he makes mistakes, which luckily he rarely does. She pouts her way through class and seems altogether miserable. She is such a distraction that I try not to look her way or react to her. I am hoping to not reinforce her negative drive for attention.

Trust me, I realize that part of the problem is that I spend four hours every day in a small room with the same eight people. At this point, I know what to expect from all of them. Three of them I just love - the Italian anthropologist, my good friend who is Dutch, and the hilarious Canadian guy; the others I like just fine. Then there is Sarah. I have noticed that, in general, the Americans struggle the most in class, and seem the most uncomfortable learning. Perhaps this is because we don't learn languages as readily in school. I am not sure that is it. I feel like there is something else going on here. I don't remember being put in situations that made me feel OK in making mistakes in public. I think, perhaps, we are conditioned to be really uncomfortable in making mistakes and struggling publicly. Plus we often make fun of each other. Maybe that is it? I don't know. Today, sadly we signed up for the next class today, and yes, it looks like I will have another month with this woman. Ah well, I realize I really need to not spend my time on this. Hey, maybe she is just an outlet for my own frustration. I don't know.

Dark Days Indeed

Ah, don't let the title and my long absence cause you any concern. I guess I got a little busy and far from the computer. As lame as this is, my Italian friend lent me her 750-page Elementary Turkish grammar book for the past week and I have been trying to get through it. That and a Turkish friend of mine emailed me a very dry paper on restorative dentistry (in English) for me to edit for his dentist friend. Oof ya! Both things took my free time I suppose. And yes, sure, I have been doing more interesting things as well.

One strange thing about living away from home is that you have no idea what is being reported in the papers there. The brutal murder of a prominent Armenian journalist, Hrant Dink, here in Istanbul in front of his newspaper's office has gotten most of the press here for days. People are rightfully concerned that Turkey's reputation will be further tarnished worldwide. Last week some of the students in my Turkish language class couldn't physically make it to school because of the huge protest march in our neighborhood. Dink was shot in the head in his paper's neighborhood about 15 minutes away. The protest march, with estimates of 100,000 to 300,000, marched from the offices in Sisli to Taksim Square, basically the heart of downtown Istanbul. They had to close one of the major bridges in town as it was en route. Here is the latest article I could find about this in the New York Times - I am just not sure where it appeared in the actual paper - front page? I wonder:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/21/world/europe/21turkey.html?ex=1170219600&en=3f78b3d7ca59ecd9&ei=5070

According to Reporters Without Borders, this murder makes Turkey the 8th most dangerous country in the world for reporters. Wow. This place feels quite safe, so that seems of particular concern. However, on the flip side, I see the huge support shown for Dink and the genuine concern that so many Turks have about the situation. I wonder how important this story has been in the States. Anyone know?

Long Honeymoon

OK, the honeymoon is over. Apparently I am hitting this point just when expected. Over a month has past; it has been six weeks. You can almost graph this thing, I have been told. Sure, I am still plenty happy, but I can tell I have transitioned into the next phase. The novelty has worn off. We were discussing this phenomenon in class a few days ago and apparently it can rarely be avoided. It is part of the process of living abroad. Part of what happens is that those things you liked the most initially are now the things you find the most annoying.

Take, as a case in point, Turks' relationship with time. Immediately I noticed that Turks are easy-going. Turks don't seem to have the same time pressures we have or at least don't let time get to them. They rarely seem stressed. However, unlike other places that have a different relationship with time, they do adhere to fixed schedules here, meaning their ferries and trains run on time. At first this seems like perhaps the best of all possible worlds: the trains run on time AND the people are quite relaxed.

So, in keeping with this, one thing most Turks refuse to do is plan. They might appear to plan but these plans are just blueprints that will not be followed. Jenny, my Dutch friend, told me that her fiance's friends might say they are coming over for dinner on Tuesday night at 8pm and will then show up at 8pm - on Wednesday. Right, 24 hours later. Wow. Can you imagine?

And, get this, they don't have voice mail on their cell phones.... When someone calls you, you are expected to answer. If you are at work, playing tennis, in class or eating at restaurant, you answer. If for some reason you can't, you are required to call that person back within the next two hours. Last weekend, I heard Seda, Cihan's Turkish English teacher, apologizing profusely on the phone for not picking up because she was in the shower... she really was in the shower. Now, I am someone who uses my cell phone as an answering machine with a headset, I find this most unsettling. I do not want my life dictated by my phone. Here, phones are used to make plans, but only at the moment that the activity is happening. What this means is that: you call someone, you tell them where you are and then you ask/demand that they to join you. Usually the recipient of the call will then go. The caller will check in with the call recipient, say 30 minutes later, and the recipient will always say he or she is 5 minutes away, though he or she may be one to two hours away. Right. So the phone becomes a bit of a ball and chain.. either you answer it and then are forced to go somewhere, sometimes somewhere far away (traffic is terrible here - have I mentioned that yet this post?), or you don't answer and may jeopardize your friendship. I don't play by these rules yet, but I am not sure how long I can keep up the "I am a Yabanci (foreigner), I don't understand" routine.

So, you will all understand why I am thrilled that tonight I have plans with my new American friend Sean - actual plans. Sean is here on a Fulbright, studying Turkish labor history. He had been the runner-up for the Fulbright for the Middle East, but the winner had planned to do research in Lebanon and got cold feet after the war broke out. Lucky break. Sean had done some research in Damascus last year, where he was regularly followed by someone from the Syrian government. The guy trailing him once left cigarette butts in Sean's apartment, probably just to let him know he had been there. So, Sean opted to return to Turkey where he had studied before because it is an easier life here. He is also studying Turkish at Dilmer. I do feel like a bit like I am cheating by having English-speaking friends, but it is so so nice to actually be able to communicate (and laugh) with someone. I have plenty of days where I barely speak, or just talk very simply. I live in my head a lot.

So, yes, Sean and I discussed this Turkish time/planning phenomenon yesterday, and decided we would make plans and keep them. Today we solidified our plan and I will meet up with him in about an hour, when he is done with class. Honestly, I can't tell you what a relief this is. Funny the things you miss. I miss plans. I never thought that would be what I would miss - plans. For instance, before Bayram, (the holiday after New Year's), Cihan said he had cancelled his trip to London so that we would practice English and visit the historical sites in Istanbul. As he is serious about his English learning, I figured that was a real plan. Then, two days before Bayram, Cihan told me that he was going to go to Mersin (another Turkish city) for two days instead. He left...and returned four days later. This is normal for here. Completely, don't bat an eye normal.

Rude Boy

Wow! I have been trying to open this site for the last hour and finally, I am in! I managed to set this computer to accept cookies for my blogsite in Turkish. This is an achievement. I guess my Turkish really is getting better!

So, I absolutely must write about rudeness in Istanbul, as I often think about it. First, I need to start with an acknowledgment that the Turks are some of the most welcoming and gracious people I have met. I have been given many a cup of Nescafe, countless little glasses of tea and even a few beers for no good reason... simply because people are nice. You can tell by their faces that they are sincere, and I, myself, have not been treated badly even once. I have not been hassled, except by one scam artist who tricked me into getting a shoe shine on Galata Bridge, but that was hardly a big deal. It was a very '80s squeegee-guy moment. This is a very cultured place.

I also acknowledge that this is a big city. A very big city. Estimates are currently about 20 million though it may be more. And sure, very big cities have a certain rudeness built in, a rudeness that is usually a response to a loss of personal space and a need to carve out that space.

However, in numerous situations, particularly those involving public transportation, I have yet to encounter a place more rude. Every day, as I board and exit the ferry, I am amazed by the rude behavior. People push to get on the metal ramp and steps that lead to the ferry. I don't understand it as the ferry waits. We will all get on. If the guys on the ferry see you running towards the boat, yes, they will acknowledge you and they will not pull the ramp away before you board. This is no NYC bus scenario. However, the pushing is as inevitable as it is unnecessary. When I am just standing there, someone will invariably push in front of me before the boat arrives. This is the kind of behavior that would never stand at an indie rock concert. So, we push on and then the boat ride is lovely - the boats are new, clean and the seats are comfortable. We pass by some wonderful sites on the Bosphorus: the remains of Mehmet the Conqueror's forts (Rumeli Hisari and Anadolu Hisari) that enabled him to conquer Constantinople, the opulent Dolmabahce Palace, beautiful yalis, etc. I love Istanbul at these times and already know how hard it will be for me to leave. Then, when the boat docks, the same rudeness ensues, and I don't care for this place at all. We will all be standing in the aisles, waiting for the boat to dock, and people will push out of their rows. There is no room for the people pushing out, so it is really weird. I want to say, "you know, the laws of physics dictate that we cannot both occupy this same space, so you might want to wait 'til I move up, say, three inches or so." Amazing. People will then push to get off the ramp though, of course, we will all be able to get off just fine. They then return to their cultured ways. I find it all so strange and, yes, another instance of the duality of this place.

Last night I had a similar experience on the bus. I had gone to a gallery opening in Nisantasi, a high-end neighborhood that probably somewhat resembles New York. The new Italian (Veronica the anthropologist) from class had invited me to the opening. The show was good. It was the work of an Italian photographer from Florence who explored ideas of collective memory through familiar icons, mostly classical ruins and sculptures. He coated the photographs with wax so that they collected dust, dirt, etc. He had brought his entourage from Florence and it felt familiar, like many openings in NYC. Everyone was really cool. The gallery assistants were all young women dressed all in black, of course. A friend of the photographer's, a Turkish movie star, came to the opening - his English was excellent. It is always interesting to meet a "famous" person when that means nothing to you. He was fairly attractive, very tall, though he was sporting a rather obvious cold sore.

Anyway, because I was still in the Beyoglu (the "New City"), I took the bus home. When it arrived, there were two young college-aged women who got on ahead of me. They were fumbling for change and the bus doors actually closed on me because they were in the way. Not a good feeling, that, to have dirty bus doors actually close on you. And no, these girls did not move out of the way to let me in, and their expressions never changed. I had to squeeze past them. They neither apologized and actually never moved from their poor choice of standing spots. As other people got onto the bus at the next few stops, they also ran into trouble getting past these two girls. However, no one seemed miffed at all. At home, many comments would have been made, but here, nothing. So, pondering this rudeness phenomenon, I realized that in order to be rude, you must realize that you are being so. At least there need to be larger social parameters that you are pushing against or even breaking. Here, it appears that there may be no such parameters or a concept of unacceptable public transportation behavior. I have yet to see someone be upset by behavior that is rude in my book. Perhaps the concept of rude doesn't really exist. Hm. Not sure. This is one place I think it might be impossible to not adhere to your own native concepts of politeness; they are just so ingrained. As I realize the futillty of being bothered by something that is not going to change any time soon, I will try to not mind being pushed around unnecessarily. We shall see.

School Daze

Classes started up again today at the ol' Dilmer Language School, conveniently located in Taksim, the center of the city. This is my second month at this school. I go 9am to 1pm every week day. I waffle between deciding that we are covering a lot and covering very little. Every day, I am confronted with duality, for lack of a better word, in Istanbul. It is both expensive and cheap. It is both modern and traditional. I don't think that I can say that it appears one way but actually is another; this is a different phenomenon. I don't think I will ever really "know" this place. I just can't figure it. I am always looking for clues.

OK, Dilmer. I realized today that I am going to a school that, if it was located in America, would have ads on the NYC subway. Ads with lots of smiling foreigners looking foreign (and being really excited about that fact). The school occupies one small building, and each classroom (one per floor) looks exactly the same. Same calendars on the wall, same Ataturk photograph. From what I have heard from students at other schools (Bosphorus University, Tomer), Dilmer moves the fastest and is the most lenient in testing. The school seems to be fairly evenly split between Russians (and ex-USSR republics), French & Italians, other Europeans and Americans. My class has nine students, five of whom were in my class last month. The class is now comprised of three Americans (myself, a guy named Tim who is planning on living in Istanbul for awhile, Benjamin the very smart ex-Four Seasons chef), one Dutch person (my friend Jenny who is engaged to a Turkish guy), a new Canadian guy (from Vancouver, so nice to hear that accent as it reminds me of my dear friend Colin - he is a freelance advertising copywriter whose hires himself out as a fixer of mangled translations), a Russian (this somewhat annoying guy named Andre who always wears the strange same highwaisted jeans and a belt that says "Boss"), a new quiet woman from the Ukraine ("Natasha"? - very doubtful), a new lively Italian woman named Veronica (who replaces the previous lively Italian Veronica - she is studying anthropology at one of the Universities in Istanbul), and the very bright and mathematically-minded Korean woman. She has the most amazingly methodical notes - they are all color-coded. Astounding.

Today I started out feeling really encouraged; the class felt really fun and enjoyable. We have Zeynep again, who is a really nice person, very cool, and a patient teacher... I know I like her as a person. And she speaks very slowly. One strong incentive to learn Turkish is to be able to talk to Zeynep, really talk to her. However, as it continued, I felt this sinking feeling that it was going to be simply a continuation of last month. Don't get me wrong, I learned a lot, but by the end I felt a little frustrated... I felt like we did far too much of the same. And yes, yet again, the lesson continued its well-worn pattern. We started off speaking in short sentences around the room. We talked about what we did yesterday or, as we just learned the future tense, what we plan to do. Do we plan to drink coffee tomorrow morning? (of course) Are we going to walk around Istanbul? (guess so) How will we get home? (ah, yes, again my six options for getting home.) Yeah, yeah, it is all worthwhile but I think we need to expand our horizons. We need to talk about more than just our most mundane existence. I don't think we can get into politics or religion quite yet, but I need to talk about more than just taking the boat to school, really. Hopefully I will be able to report a change soon. I have my fingers crossed.

Continue, Continue

This photo is of the library at Topkapi Palace, the great palace of the Ottoman Sultans built in the 15th and 16th centuries. No, it is not my house though Cihan often likes to refer to himself as "Sultan." Hm.

I don't have a lot of things I cook regularly, but the ones I do, I think I do quite well. I learned the secret to a good omelet from Martha Stewart and so, after many promises that I would one day cook breakfast, I made good on that promise yesterday. Seda was over at the house, and she made most of the breakfast items. Seda is Cihan's Turkish English teacher (stay with me here). She teaches him grammar and is a great help to him as she can explain the rules and translations in Turkish. She is a primary school teacher during the week at a private school run by an American university. She often comes over on Saturday night and stays in Burjuhan's room so that the two of them can have English lessons all Sunday. While she is pretty (she used to be a flight attendant on Turkish Airlines), I am certain that there is no funny business. Seda makes my job is really quite easy; she handles the grammar rules that I don't think I ever learned, and I just talk and listen. I have an easy gig.

So Seda came over Saturday night and taught grammar to Cihan for about two hours. I sat with them a bit and had to bite my tongue a number of times as she corrected him with some very awkward English sentence constructions: "Until when will my car be repaired?" I didn't have any problems with her making some odd sentence choices, it was that she was correcting his which weren't often that bad. My limited knowledge of Turkish sentence structure explained why she ended up with these constructions so I figured as long as they made some sense, I let them be. I don't want to knock down the confidence that is being built and sometimes English just doesn't make sense, grammatically. There were a couple of times, though, that I did have to say something... and get this - she challenged me with a tone of authority. "In English sentences, we put the subject first, then the verb... etc." I gently corrected her as I could. Ah, I do give her credit for teaching English while a native speaker is listening. She has this confidence that borders on arrogance, but I must say I like her.

Anyway, back to breakfast. A week or two ago I did admit to Cihan that I wasn't about to start cooking breakfast as once I started, it might become expected of me. This has become our first running joke. He will just say, with a laugh, "Continue, continue"... right. My fear. For example, IF I start doing some of the ironing, alas, I will become the one in the house who does the ironing.. and I have NO interest in starting bad trends.

So I made a 3 egg cheese omelet that we split. I put aside the fact that I know that eggs sit outside of refrigeration in the supermarket and that one of the ones I used had quite a number of little feathers on it. It was quite good (thanks Martha!). Seda put together the rest of the breakfast. Breakfast is a big deal here and you get to eat all kinds of things that I don't necessarily think of as breakfast-y: olives, halvah, salad. I asked if I could put out the white bean salad I had made the day before and she scoffed a little, and said "Uh no, that wouldn't be right for breakfast." Right. Note to self: halvah and olives are fine for breakfast, but don't even think of allowing beans on the table. So she put out the olives, bread, jam, cheese selection and some specialties she had brought back from her hometown where she spent the holidays. These specialties were a special beef sausage which was amazing and this soft cheese/butter thing that I think is actually the curds from fresh milk. I forget its name but it was excellent with honey on bread. The breakfast was wonderful and I was complimented with a Turkish idiom that means, roughly, "from your hands good health." Nice.

The Street Where I Live

I live in Beykoz, a smallish seaside neighborhood on the Asian side of Istanbul. (My house is the second white one from the left.) I have been told that it is the one of the most conservative parts of Istanbul. Turks have also told me that it is their favorite part of the city. The town has a lot of fishing boats and the town is concentrated on the Bosphorus Strait. When I first moved here, I thought of the Bosphorus as a river. Obviously this was my New York City background coming through. I mean, you can see the other side of the thing, so how can it be the sea? One side of the Bosphorus is Asia and other side is Europe. However,one good look at the color of the Bosphorus and you just know it is the sea. It has that sea green color, and that seawater clarity. It also has its fair share of jellyfish and obviously has a lot of other fish as well, as evidenced by all the successful fishermen lined up on its shores.

So I live in an apartment in a yali. A yali is a traditional shorefront Ottoman-era wooden house. Not many yalis remain as most were either burned or knocked down to build apartments. As with many things Ottoman, they were considered old-fashioned and passé. (Recently I heard a Turkish friend refer disparagingly to a ring as "so Ottoman." Funny.) Our yali is in a row of yalis, none particularly grand but all quite attractive. We have the top two floors, meaning the upstairs bedrooms, accompanying bathrooms and laundry area are under the eaves. Here is a link to the history of yalis may be of interest to you historic preservationist types (you know who you are). I pass the white yali on the cover page every day on the ferry ride to school - it is quite stunning:

http://www.anatolia.com/anatolia/2000/11/yali/default.asp

So, how did I get so lucky as to live in a yali? Well, that was thanks to an incredibly helpful, intelligent and well-connected woman who I met through the US Foreign Service boards on Yahoo. She had lived here in Istanbul for 4 years and had worked as an English teacher. She has since moved to DC to start her new career in the State Department. I, for one, am glad she is going to be out there helping Americans around the world. Anyway, she had a number of private clients including Cihan, a successful businessman who is super busy. He mentioned to her that he wanted to have a native English speaker live in his home so that he could practice his English in those few moments when he was home. As I was looking for a place to live, well, it was a perfect fit. He owns a large logistics business called Adahan (means Island and Sovereign or Khan - nearly all Turkish proper names actually mean something). He has a really nice college-aged daughter named Burcuhan who also lives here, when she is not at her mother's house. She is a law student.

My "job" is really easy as Cihan is never home. I mean never. He averages about two hours awake a week, honestly. I speak to him for maybe one of these hours, in slow careful English. I think the guy works really hard. He keeps saying that things will be slowing down at his business but I wonder. So mostly I am in this beautiful place alone. Sometimes I feel like Maria von Trapp or that Anna Siam woman, except that I have no children to manage and there is no attraction between Cihan and myself. I just get to live in the nice place, mostly on my own.

When I first asked around, I was told that Beykoz was really far away and would be very inconvenient. Yes, it is within the Istanbul city limits, but... However, I have found it to be both far away and not at all. Ah the complicated dual nature of Istanbul and perhaps Turkey in general rears its head yet again. On week days I can get to school in what is most likely considered the "downtown area" (Taksim) in 45 minutes, door to door. I live right next to the ferry pier, so if I see the ferryboat approaching the pier from my window, I can hightail it and make it on the boat in time. I then push onto the boat with the rush of the Istanbul pushers (more on this later), take my seat in my airplane type chair and be there in 30 minutes. A quick ride up the hill in the Funikular (think pully with a three or four subway cars attached) and I am at school. Now, coming home can take over one and one-half hours, but that seems to be true for most parts of Istanbul. I know I will write a post about the ridiculous traffic situation of this huge, a city of over 15 million that had several SINGLE LANE central roads, but will wait until I am suitably irate.

Cihan's apartment is lovely, very comfortable and bright. There are a number of windows that open right onto the sea. His apartment definitely reminds me of an apartment of a single man. Very functional, big plasma TV with digital satellite, stereo sound (Dad, you would love it!), comfortable couches, but few decorations. The downstairs apartment is occupied by a family, and their place is much more decorated. I don't know how long Cihan has been divorced but I think it has been awhile. So, yes, the apartment is fairly modern and is heated by radiant heating. We have many modern appliances, like a dishwasher and a washing machine - no dryer though as they are just not common here. Most of the furnishings are sort of upscale IKEA, except for a couple of carved wooden chairs that are next to the seaside window. One of my favorite pasttimes is to sit in the chair nearest to the window, just daydreaming. Oh, and studying. Of course I am studying. :) There is something so peaceful about watching the pretty wooden boats ferry people over to the European side. Also, I love to watch the gulls and the black birds that seem to be ducks. I mean they act like ducks... diving under the water when harrassed by a gull...but do ducks live in salt water? I am not sure. I think I might just need to watch them a little more.

Stray Cats

We have cats in our garden, lots of cats. I know that Garfield and Doman (Smoky) belong to the downstairs neighbors but I can't speak for the rest of them. There is Fluffy and Orangy and Patches... OK those are my names for them. None of them will let me touch them and that just kills me. Smoky and Garfield are 6-month old kittens that thankfully do let me scratch their heads and pet them. They are super cute and friendly. Garfield is fearless and curious and, of course, orange. Smoky meows a lot, but it is a quiet meowing so it is sort of sweet. I haven't tried to pick them up yet, fearing a repeat of the Trooper scratch-my-face-relentlessly scenario. Someday I will be so brave.

There are a lot of cats in Istanbul, mostly strays. Dogs too. Even in the busiest parts of town. Last week, I watched a pack of dogs chase an orange cat up a tree in my neighborhood and when I passed by a half-hour later, the kitty was still up there. I wondered if fire departments in Istanbul ever rescue cats from trees. I have been told* that once or twice a year, the City of Istanbul picks up the stray animals and, get this, takes them to the vet. No, they don't get sent east to some "farm" where they will be very, very happy. They get veterinary attention, a little tag on their ear (if they are a dog) and are released to go on their seemingly merry ways. While people don't generally touch these strays, people do feed them and give them water. They generally appear to be quite happy and healthy, and feel quite at home on the streets.

*There is a verb tense in Turkish that is used when something is merely reported to you, but you were not privy to the event. I realize that so much of what I "know" about this place falls in that category. I wonder if I will ever feel like I really understand Istanbul and all its contradictions.

Paranoid

From what I have heard, most of the prostitutes working in Istanbul come from Russia. They are commonly referred to as "Natashas." I am fairly certain that I have not seen any and I have no idea where they congregate. Perhaps due in part to their unwanted influx, folks coming in to Turkey from Russia et al only get one month visas while we Americans and EU members get an easy 3.

There is one woman in my class who I thought at first might be a Natasha. She is very pretty, with very dyed red hair . Red hair not found in nature. She has this one black lycra t-shirt with silver guitars printed on it and laces that run in and out of the grommets, going on the inside and outside of the shirt. I cannot imagine this shirt is the least bit comfortable. Anyway, within a week's time, however, I realized that not only is she decidededly not a Natasha, she might actually be brilliant. She is apparently an Ukrainian economist and somehow manages to speak this mathematical language without the American requisite stops and starts. Ah, the danger of stereotypes.

So, one of my biggest fears here in Istanbul is being mistaken for a Natasha. I do have a coat with a fake fur hood. And I have some blonde hair. Now blonde hair like mine is very commonplace and does not target me as a foreigner. And I personally think I look Turkish. People often launch into Turkish when they see me, for example. The only ones who think I do not look Turkish are my Turkish friends, but what do they know?

A few nights ago I had my first bad experience in Istanbul, involving my Natasha fears. However, what started as one kind of bad experience quickly changed into another. I had met up that night with Veronica, my Italian friend from class, her Turkish boyfriend and a couple of her friends who were visiting from Italy and France. Everyone spoke in one language and listened to another. A lot of Spanish was spoken, with English as a close second. We went to a Greek taverna in Taksim and had some red wine and meze (appetizers). I did have two bites of lemony brain and had a slight gag reflex with each bite. We then ate mini-paella clams on the street, followed up by desserts. I opted for some chocolate covered pudding while Veronica went for her favorite - chicken pudding. It has pieces of chicken in it though it also somehow manages to have a subtle flavor.

Anyway, though indigestion would seem the likely next turn of events, I am happy to say it was not. I was taking my metro/bus combo home. After taking the metro to Levent... the metro that seems to be buried about a mile underground ... I was waiting for the 121A bus. This metro to the Asian bridge bus option always sounds the fastest and easiest to me but always lets me down. Why? Because the bus is always crowded. Always. And standing for 40 minutes or so on a swerving bus is rarely fun. The bus arrived and yep, already there were folks standing. Ah well.

I got on and right away, this man in his 60s or so offered up his seat. This generally does not happen so I was happy. Gentlemanly. He then started talking to me rather quickly, and waas pointing at his watch. Hm. Generally I am fine not understanding what is going on, but this time I was concerned. He obviously wasn't asking me for the time as he had a watch. Was he trying to confirm his watch's accuracy? I think it was around 11pm.

Next up was a mini-tirade about a key. Huh. So now we seem to have some need to communicate about time and a key. In an effort to find meaning in it all, I decide that he thinks I am a Natasha and this is how things go down. You specify an amount of time and she provides you with a key. Oh and it also seems that he is asking me to go somewhere with him, but of this I am not certain. I put on my slightly angry face and look defiantly out the window. Finally I just firmly tell him no. He reaches for his cellphone... somehow I know this is also going to fit into my analysis of the situation. He shows me the phone and it says "Cihan" along with the number of the house where I live. He is Cihan's friend. All of a sudden he realize that looks familiar. I think I met him on my first day at my apartment. However, as Cihan has a driver who takes him around in his new Mercedes, I hardly expect to see one of his friends on the bus. I have since realized that he is the guy who cleans the hallway. We had a conversation of sorts for the rest of the bus ride. I apologized and hopefully told him that I didn't recognize him. I felt so horrible... he was just riding home from his brother's and I acted like he was a low-level criminal.

So last night, when I was walking along the seaside road in Yenikoy on the European side, I tried not to jump to conclusions when a car stopped next to me and honked. Cars honk all the time here; every dolmus (mini-bus) or free taxi honks as it passes you, just to let you know that they are willing to stop for you. I figured perhaps he was actually signalling someone else, another car perhaps. I walked along a little further until I was nearly at the little road to the pier for the small boats to Beykoz. He pulled up again and stopped near me. Who knows what that was about. Hopefully I can find out more about the MO of these Natashas .. seems to me that slightly ill-fitting corduroys and an oversized jacket hardly seem the costume. And a well-traveled route in a toney neighborhood also seems not what I'd imagine. Yet again, so much to learn and so little time.

No One Knows What It's Like...

Yesterday I took the ferry to Uskudar which is on the Asian side after visiting Suleiman's mosque and tomb. As I live on the Asian side of Istanbul in a seaside town called Beykoz, I have figured out exactly six ways to get home from the European side. Which method I choose depends mostly on the time of day and sometimes sımply on my preference: ferry/bus? bus/metro? ferry/funikular? Traffic is just awful here and I know I will post a long irate post on that subject in the very near future. In fact, I am amazed that is not where I am starting.

Anyway I sat on the wooden benches near a man who obviously had some kind of mental illness as well as physical ailments. When he walked he leaned very heavily from side to side. I also noticed that he had fairly large hands. So, he sat down by the window and when an older woman with a cane came up to our little group of seats, he emphatically offered up his seat. She turned him down. The boat started its 15 to 20 minute journey and once we were off, the man started to cry. Loudly. He wasn't wailing exactly but he was really sobbing... the kind of sobbing usually designated to a pillow. I realized that this was the first time that I had ever seen a man cry in public. I was uncomfortable. No one paid any obvious attention to him and I wondered if this was normal at all. These thoughts come to me often as to what is considered normal and why. Perhaps such things can't really be figured out in a foreign country. Only through decades in the U.S. do I know that a man crying in public is not considered normal.

Anyway, I fought my inclination to look his way and instead held my gaze on the little buffet and the waiter with the steady hand who was delivering little glasses of tea to ferrygoers, despite the tippy nature of the boat. After five minutes the man stopped sobbing and wiped away his tears with the back of his large hand. It is Bayram in Istanbul, which is linked religiously with Ramadan and socially with the New Year celebration. So I figured he was crying because he was alone during the holidays. Hopefully his short fit helped him feel just a little better. The holidays can be a little tough for all of us.