So, this is the end of my adventures for now. I'm in the computer room at the Dilijan Resort Hotel in Dilijan, Armenia. Dilijan is one of the only woodsy places left in Armenia, and it is really beautiful. I met Dutch backpackers a few days ago, have made friends with every waiter, bartender and bellhop in the hotel, and had a few minor adventures. Finals were finished in Yerevan, and my last paper (detailing the Armenian constitution and democratic process, and the corruption therein) was turned in at 5:00 pm today. I spent far too many hours hanging around the bar with a friend and most of the waitstaff, hanging out and trying to understand people who don't really speak english- made me a bit nostalgic. Despite the fact that far fewer Armenians speak english than Turks, I've spent 99% of my time around my Americans classmates, several of whom speak Armenian, so I've had no real need or opportunity to practice the language until last night. Frustrating, because I know if I had a week or so of the amount of practice I got in one night, I'd probably know as much Armenian as Turkish... shat vat e. But too late now. We leave the hotel around 5:30 tomorrow morning for the Yerevan airport, maybe 1.5-2 hours away. From there, it's a long flight to Charles De Gaulle airport and then a longer one to Logan, then a ride on the T, the na five hour bus ride, then a 45 minute drive, then I'm home.
I must admit, in true anxiety-ridden Katie style, I am really nervous about coming home. I know everyone and everything has changed, even if only a little. And I know I've changed, and not just a little. I feel so much more tolerant, more understanding, even (gasp) more patient... more levelheaded. Things like communicating solely in hand signals, crossing eight lane highways on foot, dancing in public, being constantly misunderstood, and meeting new and different people every day have become my norm. Frustrating sometimes, dangerous sometimes, exciting always. I've picked up a few weird habits, two languages, a half dozen good, permanent friends, and innumerable absurd stories. Part of me can't wait to come home and see my siblings and how much they've grown. I remember how long seven months is when you're 17 or 15 or 13 or 11, how much your perspective/style/attitude/friends/interests can change. I genuinely look forward to getting to know them again. I can't wait to catch up with EVERYONE, hear stories and laugh and remember why we've always been so close. I'm dreadfully out of touch with pop culture, current music and movies and tv shows. I don't look forward to reverse culture shock- trying to cope with everyone speaking english, with fast food, with the individuality and lack of community that really defines America. Why do you think the only place in the world with "greek life" - frats and sororities and all the drama that goes all with them- is the USA? Because we lack on a fundamental level the sense of connection and belonging that comes with a real sense of community. I have family, and friends, and coworkers, and classmates, but I have no community. No group of people who know me and keep track of my actions and have an interest in my life, though they don't really know me or have any right pay such close attention. It seems terrible, like overbearing parents with a "big brother" eeriness, but only to American sentiments. And I'm really going to miss it.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
It gets dark a little sooner, now
Today I visited Tsitsernakaberd. For the uninformed, "tsitsernakaberd" is Armenian for "Fortress of small swallows." It is the national memorial to the Armenian genocide, located close to my home in Yerevan. It is moving and elegant, bringing tears to the eyes of my Armenian-American classmates. There is a tall spike, an eternal flame, and a small museum dedicated to photographs, print, and statistical evidence of the genocide that took place in Eastern Turkey from 1915-1918. In Turkey, it is known as the "Armenian Relocation" or "Deportation of the Armenians," which they claim to be the mass deportation of the Armenian people to the Syrian desert as a result of skirmishes between the Armenian and Turkish peoples- skirmishes that resulted in deaths on both sides, which is why they insist on calling it a war, not a genocide. The politics are complicated, regardless of what the Turkish government or Armenian Diaspora (the politicultural group of people of Armenian descent living all over the world) might wish one to believe.
But this is background information.
Today was difficult. It is never easy to stand witness, even nearly a century later, to atrocities. It is even more difficult because I have come to know, and adore, the descendents of the perpetrators. Now, nobody hates the Germans for the Holocaust. But in Germany, it is a crime to deny the genocide- in Turkey, it is a crime not to (it is under the law criminalizing "insulting Turkishness"). It's difficult to know that so many people are so angry at a group of people that I've come to love. It's difficult because all the people I knew had no part in the genocide, and were taught from an early age that it did not happen. How can anyone fault them for believing what every teacher, every mentor, everyone they know has told them that it is a cruel lie designed to dishonor their grandparents and great grandparents? At the same time, I look at the memorial and want to shake people, my own government and every other one that has not recognized the genocide for what it was- a horrible attempt to destroy an ancient group of people. Politics are never clear or staightforward, and solutions are never easy.
I've spoken with the Armenian foreign policy advisor, the deputy Minister of Justice, the US Ambassador, and several other high-ranking political persons here in Armenia. No one has any more answers than I do.
But this is background information.
Today was difficult. It is never easy to stand witness, even nearly a century later, to atrocities. It is even more difficult because I have come to know, and adore, the descendents of the perpetrators. Now, nobody hates the Germans for the Holocaust. But in Germany, it is a crime to deny the genocide- in Turkey, it is a crime not to (it is under the law criminalizing "insulting Turkishness"). It's difficult to know that so many people are so angry at a group of people that I've come to love. It's difficult because all the people I knew had no part in the genocide, and were taught from an early age that it did not happen. How can anyone fault them for believing what every teacher, every mentor, everyone they know has told them that it is a cruel lie designed to dishonor their grandparents and great grandparents? At the same time, I look at the memorial and want to shake people, my own government and every other one that has not recognized the genocide for what it was- a horrible attempt to destroy an ancient group of people. Politics are never clear or staightforward, and solutions are never easy.
I've spoken with the Armenian foreign policy advisor, the deputy Minister of Justice, the US Ambassador, and several other high-ranking political persons here in Armenia. No one has any more answers than I do.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Culture Shock Strikes Back
Annum's Katie'e, yes Amerikatsi em, usough em Hayastanum... ama Türkiye çok ozledim.
Probably one of the more rare language combinations... Armenkish? Turkenian? It's the easiest example of my current bizarre strain of culture shock. Although suddenly living with and being constantly surrounded by 13 other American students who are all continually speaking in English and making pop culture references and talking in 4 syllable words about Ameican politics and foreign policy is a whole separate (and completely exhausting) culture shock issue. But as for Armenia and Turkey, they are far more similar than they would ever admit, but there are enough differences to keep my on my toes. A breakdown:
Language:Armenian and Turkish, despite being sandwiched together for over a millenia, have almost nothing in common. I've found two words that are similar: "nargile" meaning hookah, and "peynir" meaning cheese. They also both have the "click" that means no, but the Armenian click is more subtle and less definite. But the grammatical structure, pronunciation, and vocalizations are completely different- Armenians even have their own alphabet (unbelievably frustrating). More interestingly, in the same way the Turkey has many people who speak a bit of English, simply because they studied at some point in school, Armenia is filled with people who know a smattering of Russian- logical, since it is a state only 17 years free of the Soviet yoke.
Religion: Obviously, Turkey is Muslim and Armenia is Christian. But as far as my experiences go, Armenians seem to take religion far more seriously than most Turks I met- granted, I spent most of my time in Ankara and Istanbul, major modern cities, rather than the more conservative, religious villages in the southeast. But on the same token, I'm currently in Yerevan- the capital, albeit tiny, city and arguably most progressive part of Armenia. I got to visit Khor Virab, a 1600+ year old church on the Turkish-Armenian border, with a beautiful view of Mt Ararat (think Noah). I also attended Sunday morning service at an Armenian Apostolic Church, which was quite an experience. Very serious, very decorous, very intense. Supposedly somewhat similar to Russian or Greek Orthodox, there was a lot of chanting and I've never crossed myself more often in a 2 hour span in my life.
Personal Space: It's been endlessly entertaining to me to watch the other Americans (particularly boys) here get squeamish about personal space- and not even invasions of their own, just other people touching or kissing each other casually. For me, Armenia has been strange because they are FAR more reserved than Turks. They greet each other with a kiss on one cheek, rather than two, and often it's an air kiss. They don't generally hold arms, although women here interlock fingers more often. Armenians don't smile as much, or laugh- especially in public, they are extremely reserved and formal. Turks also stare much more- I've only noticed people staring once or twice here, like on public transit, because I'm completely used to it. My classmates complain that they feel like they are constantly being stared at... I think the main difference lies in that when you catch an Armenian staring at you, they look away, and when they talk about you, they hide their mouths behind their hands. Turks as a rule are much more blatant, and definitely have no problems maintaining eye contact.
Appearance: Very similar. Like the staring thing, I no longer notice unibrows. Seriously, not at all. They're pretty common, which amuses my classmates, but I didn't even realize what they were referring to when we first arrived and they commented on the hairiness and such of people here. If I could average the country out, I'd say Armenians are a bit lighter than Turks, but I've met blond Turks and extremely dark Armenians, so there's really no rule here. Turks are more concerned with fashion and hairstyles, and take more fashion risks, whereas Armenian men wear more hats, women wear higher heels, and clothes are FAR more revealing- the amount of skin I saw during church was absolutely distracting. (What's that? Oh yes, I did just spend six months in a {mostly} conservative Muslim country)
History: Well obviously both groups have been in the area a while, and have had very different experiences. But what I've found more fascinating is that both nationalities have an obsession with their history and ethnicity. Turks are TURKISH, and they obsess about Ataturk. Armenians are ARMENIAN, and obsess over their historic lands. Among other things. But it's a bit like seeing a familial trait- similar to how my father and his brothers enjoying delving into geneaology, both Turks and Armenians have an eye focused intently on the past.
Food: Doner. Lahmacun. Ayran. Even Beypazari sucuk. Unbelievably delicious produce, including cucumbers, tomatoes, apricots and sour cherries. Turkish food is still my favorite (no iskender, kokorec, manti or midye here), but it's really not too far off. The amount of ham is a bit weird, and my stomach definitely reacted strangely to it at first. Also, Ankara was filled with American fast food places- McDonalds, Burger King, KFC, Pizza Hut, Dominoes, Arby's, Starbucks. I haven't seen a single familiar food name since I've been here. My guess would be Armenia's Soviet past- for all I know, half the restaurants with Russian signs are well known chains in Moscow. (Reallllly starting to wish I had taken Russian lessons from my ex-roommate in Ankara.)
Like I said, I miss Turkey. A lot. I'm trying not to hang out too much in my Turkish bubble (populated by me, my Turkish friends and students' facebooks, & my collection of Turkish music), but it's tempting- especially since the alternative is a herd of Americans, and nobody likes that. My classmates are just starting to understand my adoration of this part of the world, although I'm 100% aware that if I tell one more story that starts with "Well this one time in Turkey..." they will duct tape me into a closet and leave me there for the next 3 weeks. It's strange, sort of knowing what to expect and sort of not. The insane driving, irregular power and water, and the idea of communicating complicated thoughts without speaking a common language is all very familiar to me... but cultural details are very different.
I've visited an art museum, a historic cultural landmark, attended a week of classes, and picked up bits of the language... yet I've only met one Armenian who was not introduced to me as a tour guide or teacher, fluent in English language and customs. One. Such is the American bubble.
Probably one of the more rare language combinations... Armenkish? Turkenian? It's the easiest example of my current bizarre strain of culture shock. Although suddenly living with and being constantly surrounded by 13 other American students who are all continually speaking in English and making pop culture references and talking in 4 syllable words about Ameican politics and foreign policy is a whole separate (and completely exhausting) culture shock issue. But as for Armenia and Turkey, they are far more similar than they would ever admit, but there are enough differences to keep my on my toes. A breakdown:
Language:Armenian and Turkish, despite being sandwiched together for over a millenia, have almost nothing in common. I've found two words that are similar: "nargile" meaning hookah, and "peynir" meaning cheese. They also both have the "click" that means no, but the Armenian click is more subtle and less definite. But the grammatical structure, pronunciation, and vocalizations are completely different- Armenians even have their own alphabet (unbelievably frustrating). More interestingly, in the same way the Turkey has many people who speak a bit of English, simply because they studied at some point in school, Armenia is filled with people who know a smattering of Russian- logical, since it is a state only 17 years free of the Soviet yoke.
Religion: Obviously, Turkey is Muslim and Armenia is Christian. But as far as my experiences go, Armenians seem to take religion far more seriously than most Turks I met- granted, I spent most of my time in Ankara and Istanbul, major modern cities, rather than the more conservative, religious villages in the southeast. But on the same token, I'm currently in Yerevan- the capital, albeit tiny, city and arguably most progressive part of Armenia. I got to visit Khor Virab, a 1600+ year old church on the Turkish-Armenian border, with a beautiful view of Mt Ararat (think Noah). I also attended Sunday morning service at an Armenian Apostolic Church, which was quite an experience. Very serious, very decorous, very intense. Supposedly somewhat similar to Russian or Greek Orthodox, there was a lot of chanting and I've never crossed myself more often in a 2 hour span in my life.
Personal Space: It's been endlessly entertaining to me to watch the other Americans (particularly boys) here get squeamish about personal space- and not even invasions of their own, just other people touching or kissing each other casually. For me, Armenia has been strange because they are FAR more reserved than Turks. They greet each other with a kiss on one cheek, rather than two, and often it's an air kiss. They don't generally hold arms, although women here interlock fingers more often. Armenians don't smile as much, or laugh- especially in public, they are extremely reserved and formal. Turks also stare much more- I've only noticed people staring once or twice here, like on public transit, because I'm completely used to it. My classmates complain that they feel like they are constantly being stared at... I think the main difference lies in that when you catch an Armenian staring at you, they look away, and when they talk about you, they hide their mouths behind their hands. Turks as a rule are much more blatant, and definitely have no problems maintaining eye contact.
Appearance: Very similar. Like the staring thing, I no longer notice unibrows. Seriously, not at all. They're pretty common, which amuses my classmates, but I didn't even realize what they were referring to when we first arrived and they commented on the hairiness and such of people here. If I could average the country out, I'd say Armenians are a bit lighter than Turks, but I've met blond Turks and extremely dark Armenians, so there's really no rule here. Turks are more concerned with fashion and hairstyles, and take more fashion risks, whereas Armenian men wear more hats, women wear higher heels, and clothes are FAR more revealing- the amount of skin I saw during church was absolutely distracting. (What's that? Oh yes, I did just spend six months in a {mostly} conservative Muslim country)
History: Well obviously both groups have been in the area a while, and have had very different experiences. But what I've found more fascinating is that both nationalities have an obsession with their history and ethnicity. Turks are TURKISH, and they obsess about Ataturk. Armenians are ARMENIAN, and obsess over their historic lands. Among other things. But it's a bit like seeing a familial trait- similar to how my father and his brothers enjoying delving into geneaology, both Turks and Armenians have an eye focused intently on the past.
Food: Doner. Lahmacun. Ayran. Even Beypazari sucuk. Unbelievably delicious produce, including cucumbers, tomatoes, apricots and sour cherries. Turkish food is still my favorite (no iskender, kokorec, manti or midye here), but it's really not too far off. The amount of ham is a bit weird, and my stomach definitely reacted strangely to it at first. Also, Ankara was filled with American fast food places- McDonalds, Burger King, KFC, Pizza Hut, Dominoes, Arby's, Starbucks. I haven't seen a single familiar food name since I've been here. My guess would be Armenia's Soviet past- for all I know, half the restaurants with Russian signs are well known chains in Moscow. (Reallllly starting to wish I had taken Russian lessons from my ex-roommate in Ankara.)
Like I said, I miss Turkey. A lot. I'm trying not to hang out too much in my Turkish bubble (populated by me, my Turkish friends and students' facebooks, & my collection of Turkish music), but it's tempting- especially since the alternative is a herd of Americans, and nobody likes that. My classmates are just starting to understand my adoration of this part of the world, although I'm 100% aware that if I tell one more story that starts with "Well this one time in Turkey..." they will duct tape me into a closet and leave me there for the next 3 weeks. It's strange, sort of knowing what to expect and sort of not. The insane driving, irregular power and water, and the idea of communicating complicated thoughts without speaking a common language is all very familiar to me... but cultural details are very different.
I've visited an art museum, a historic cultural landmark, attended a week of classes, and picked up bits of the language... yet I've only met one Armenian who was not introduced to me as a tour guide or teacher, fluent in English language and customs. One. Such is the American bubble.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Countdown
So it's down to the final 10 hours... It's so difficult to say goodbye. Technically I've finished saying goodbye to everyone I know- most of whom are in Ankara. But I'll miss Turkiye like an old friend. One that I didn't like much at first, didn't trust, didn't understand... but given a lot of time and patience, we're now thick as thieves (wait, did I just describe Turkiye or Alex Budge? =P ) I love the culture here, the eccentricities and customs that once seemed so foreign. Midye and kokorec at 3 in the morning, misir (corn on the cob) on every street corner, gypsies and tissue kids and shoe-shiners. I'll even miss TOBB, and some of the awesome people I've been lucky enough to get to know. I've learned a lot about the world, about myself, and about other people.
I've learned that more often than not, words are irrelevant to communication.
I've learned some people will respect you for who you are, and some people won't, and often you have no choice in the matter.
I've learned I can't control other people, I can't always change my situation, but whether I have fun is completely my decision.
I've learned the worst experiences can make the best stories.
I've learned a whole lot more, but my internet is running out. I promise to add on to this when I get a chance!
I've learned that more often than not, words are irrelevant to communication.
I've learned some people will respect you for who you are, and some people won't, and often you have no choice in the matter.
I've learned I can't control other people, I can't always change my situation, but whether I have fun is completely my decision.
I've learned the worst experiences can make the best stories.
I've learned a whole lot more, but my internet is running out. I promise to add on to this when I get a chance!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Far too long
So, so much has happened recently that I'm not sure how I'll ever manage to talk about it all. Suffice it to say that May and June have been filled with adventures- some better than others. A woefully inadequate recap:
May 7-10: Trip to Gaziantep. Alex and I hung out in Antep for a weekend, visited a school, factory, hospital, bird preserve, and museum, all run by SANKO, a Turkish conglomerate. We saw kelaynak, an endangered (and kind of ugly) species of bird, learned about the Zeugma civilization, saw how towels are made, ate Ottoman-style food, played in the Euphrates river, and hung out at a private elementary school with about as much money as my university. We bonded with a bunch of the people all the trip, all university students from Ankara or Istanbul. The best part was we didn't have to apply to the program or pay for any of it- our employer pulled a few strings- although, as expected, everything was in turkish.
The next week was filled with festivals. I went to two nights of Gazi University's festival, and saw Magda (really cool turkish rock band), and got pushed aside by a girl wearing a headscarf and bondage pants. The next night was some mediocre chick who wasn't wearing any clothes- think Britney gone Turkish. I tried kokoreç, (roasted sheep intestines- a turkish specialty), with ayran for the first time, which was actually very very good. I also tried midye, mussels with rice and lemon squeezed over them, sold on almost every street from 9-1:00 am. Even better than kokoreç. I am going to miss this country.
That weekend was TOBB's festival, from Friday to Sunday, where I got to hang out with students, listen to Turkish music, play on a huge trampoline, and just generally goof off. I also learned how to dance Turkish-ly, which involves holding pinkies while standing in a circle, then stepping three times and sticking a foot out, (think bar mitzvah, not hokey-pokey), not to any particular beat. Then repeat. Sometimes the guy on the end twirls a napkin.
Since then, Alex and I brought our Muslim friends, who we hung out with on Easter, to church with us, and visited their mosque (camii, in Turkish, or "Mos-Q" when they pronounce it in English). I received declarations of undying love from two of my students, and played (life-size) chess for the last time with a good friend I'll leave behind. Alex and I taught two weeks of classes, after six weeks without, then had our last week off. We've spent time with a dozen different friends, saying goodbyes with picnics and giving away various things- our Brita water filter to one friend, the coffeemaker to another. We took photos, but not nearly enough.
I'll miss them, students and coworkers and friends. Teasing my students on their english, and hearing them roar with laughter when I try to chide them in Turkish- whether at my pronunciation or just the idea of me speaking their language, I don't know. I'll miss the woman who looks no older than I am, who cleans my desk and empties my trash every day, and the man (nicknamed Merhaba) who makes deliveries and has a constant smile. My officemates, Faruk joking and talking to me in rapid Turkish, and Nesrin smiling and complimenting me, and Nurcihan willing to listen to my petty complaints and act sympathetic, even when I didn't deserve it. Fatih, the much put-upon recordings person, with a full load of classes, two whiny native speakers, and a bit of a midlife crisis on top. And all the great people I've met or gotten to know over the last month- friends of the last native speakers, graduates, students at the real university, the daughter of a diplomat who lived in NYC for six years. Being temporary is one of the hardest experiences of my life- knowing that I'll leave, and no one here will expect to ever see me again. Undying love aside.
Turkish-style picnic with Engin & Ozlem- grilled lamb chops, kofte, chicken, veggies & garlic!
Some favorites: Kutay, and Sevket, Ömer, and Yusuf
Selçuk trying to murder me with a chess piece; and one of my prouder moments- beating Cağkan, mechanical engineer/chess wiz, at his own game
May 7-10: Trip to Gaziantep. Alex and I hung out in Antep for a weekend, visited a school, factory, hospital, bird preserve, and museum, all run by SANKO, a Turkish conglomerate. We saw kelaynak, an endangered (and kind of ugly) species of bird, learned about the Zeugma civilization, saw how towels are made, ate Ottoman-style food, played in the Euphrates river, and hung out at a private elementary school with about as much money as my university. We bonded with a bunch of the people all the trip, all university students from Ankara or Istanbul. The best part was we didn't have to apply to the program or pay for any of it- our employer pulled a few strings- although, as expected, everything was in turkish.
The next week was filled with festivals. I went to two nights of Gazi University's festival, and saw Magda (really cool turkish rock band), and got pushed aside by a girl wearing a headscarf and bondage pants. The next night was some mediocre chick who wasn't wearing any clothes- think Britney gone Turkish. I tried kokoreç, (roasted sheep intestines- a turkish specialty), with ayran for the first time, which was actually very very good. I also tried midye, mussels with rice and lemon squeezed over them, sold on almost every street from 9-1:00 am. Even better than kokoreç. I am going to miss this country.
That weekend was TOBB's festival, from Friday to Sunday, where I got to hang out with students, listen to Turkish music, play on a huge trampoline, and just generally goof off. I also learned how to dance Turkish-ly, which involves holding pinkies while standing in a circle, then stepping three times and sticking a foot out, (think bar mitzvah, not hokey-pokey), not to any particular beat. Then repeat. Sometimes the guy on the end twirls a napkin.
Since then, Alex and I brought our Muslim friends, who we hung out with on Easter, to church with us, and visited their mosque (camii, in Turkish, or "Mos-Q" when they pronounce it in English). I received declarations of undying love from two of my students, and played (life-size) chess for the last time with a good friend I'll leave behind. Alex and I taught two weeks of classes, after six weeks without, then had our last week off. We've spent time with a dozen different friends, saying goodbyes with picnics and giving away various things- our Brita water filter to one friend, the coffeemaker to another. We took photos, but not nearly enough.
I'll miss them, students and coworkers and friends. Teasing my students on their english, and hearing them roar with laughter when I try to chide them in Turkish- whether at my pronunciation or just the idea of me speaking their language, I don't know. I'll miss the woman who looks no older than I am, who cleans my desk and empties my trash every day, and the man (nicknamed Merhaba) who makes deliveries and has a constant smile. My officemates, Faruk joking and talking to me in rapid Turkish, and Nesrin smiling and complimenting me, and Nurcihan willing to listen to my petty complaints and act sympathetic, even when I didn't deserve it. Fatih, the much put-upon recordings person, with a full load of classes, two whiny native speakers, and a bit of a midlife crisis on top. And all the great people I've met or gotten to know over the last month- friends of the last native speakers, graduates, students at the real university, the daughter of a diplomat who lived in NYC for six years. Being temporary is one of the hardest experiences of my life- knowing that I'll leave, and no one here will expect to ever see me again. Undying love aside.
Turkish-style picnic with Engin & Ozlem- grilled lamb chops, kofte, chicken, veggies & garlic!
Some favorites: Kutay, and Sevket, Ömer, and Yusuf
Selçuk trying to murder me with a chess piece; and one of my prouder moments- beating Cağkan, mechanical engineer/chess wiz, at his own game
Monday, May 4, 2009
Islam on Easter, Annem (my mother) in Istanbul
Nearly a month! So much has happened. Easter was wonderful and unexpected- I listened to a bishop (I think? Someone important and Catholic with... well, rather gaudy robes) at mass, painted eggs with Alex, then had wonderful homemade manti with two of our students. I introduced them to peanut butter, and Alex's still-warm apple crisp, and we painted eggs, and watched an interesting video they brought us, a Muslim testimony by an Aussie. The girls asked us about the real meaning of Easter, and we explained everything. They showed us where the Quran mentions Miriam (the Virgin Mary), Gibrail (the angel Gabriel), Isa (Jesus), and several old testament prophets. We talked about faith, the differences and similarities. They also taught Alex and I how to put on headscarves- and giggled the whole time, clearly thrilled that we wanted to learn. It was wonderful to really sit down and hash out God and faith with girls my age, who believe just as sincerely in their lifestyle as I do in mine. No judgment, derision or defensiveness, just people trying to understand each other. I wish everyone could be so lucky.
The next Monday, Alex left in the morning and I took the overnight train into Istanbul to meet my mother. I caught the wrong ferry to the European side of Istanbul, got very lost, and walked for two hours before finding Taksim Square, the location of our hotel. My mother arrived that afternoon, and we took our things back to the hotel before going out. We spent six days in the city, mostly in Taksim and Sultanahmet- the historical area of the city, home to the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, Covered Bazaar and other well-known places, and therefore a terrible tourist trap. I thoroughly enjoyed messing with the locals, most of whom know more English than my students, by replying in Turkish when they spoke to me in English. "Hello! How are you!" "Iyiyim! Siz nasilsiniz?" "O-ha! Turkce biliyorsunuz mi?" "Evet. Ben Ankara'dan!" (I'm good, how are you? - You know turkish? - Yes. I'm from Ankara!) Most of the vendors laughed uproariously at themselves before turning back and attempting to fleece the more-unsuspecting tourists.
A few highlights...
- Of course, the Ayasofya (Hagia Sophia) and the Sultanahmet Camii- know as the Blue Mosque because of its beautiful, individually handpainted Iznik tiles. Iznik, it might be noted, is a city in northwestern Turkey, once known as Nicaea- a name you might know from a famous Christian creed written in the same location.
- The Kapalıçarşı, or Covered (or Grand) Bazaar. We saw this on the same day as the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, on a rather high-speed tour with Alex and her parents. The shops are tiny and claustrophobic, and the shopkeepers are boisterous and friendly, and experts at bargaining- which is both a sport and an art form here. One can buy trinkets of every genre: nargile (hookah, or "water pipes" as they have been translated into English), Iznik tiles, arabic calligraphy, beautiful chess and backgammon sets, jewelry, carpets, headscarves, lamps and pipes and mugs and lighters and more cheaply made knickknacks than I ever want to see again. Alex and I spent a good deal of time fending off the younger vendors, and arguing with the older ones. But between the two of us, we generally worked our way into the "Turkish price" range, rather than the tourist one, and most shopkeepers were so amused with us and our attempts at Turkish haggling (mainly "çok pahalı!" - too expensive!) that they cooperated. Overall, it was very fun- but after an hour or so I was more than ready to get out and breathe a little without being hollered at.
- Topkapı and Dolmabahçe Sarayı - two Ottoman palaces, both beautiful. We saw the main areas, where the sultans worked and lived, as well as the Harems- not exactly the brothel-like image conjured when one thinks of a harem, it was simply the area where the sultan's mother, wives, and younger children lived. Interestingly, the sultan's mother was completely in charge of his (and everyone else's) private life- her quarters were even located between his and his wives', so that she was aware of everything happening in her home. The Sultan may have ruled the Empire, but his mother ruled his bedroom. Not completely surprising, though- Turkish women are not to be messed with.
- Food! My mother got to try all my favorites, from iskender to doner to manti. And of course, the desserts... and not just baklava. It's a terrible shame that of all the fantastic pastries available in every corner shop in Turkey, the only one that's made it across the Atlantic is baklava- not to insult baklava, of course, but really... there's so much more! My mother also had türk kahvesi, turkish coffee, for the first time, in a cafe overlooking the Bosphorus. I introduced her to kahve falı, the tradition of coffee-grind fortunetelling.
- The Cathedral of St Antuan- St Anthony's, a functioning church very close to Taksim, where we attended mass on Sunday with Alex and her parents. The music was familiar, the mass was moving, and it was good for my mother- something the same as home, after a long week of foreign and sometimes frightening experiences. My mother also got to watch a Nigerian man attempt to pick up Alex (or me, or possibly her- he didn't seem to have a particular target) as soon as we left the church.
There were many other fun stories, from arguing football with a taksi driver- he liked Ankaraspor, clearly soft in the head- to the daily conversations with our hotel maid, a soft spoken Turkish man with a kind smile, to the absurd numbers of stray cats that amused my mother to no end, and the friendly stray dog that accompanied Alex and I back to her hotel one night, when a taksi dropped us off a bit further away then we might have liked at that hour of the night.
Our parents returned to the States on Monday morning, and Alex and I met up in Taksim, sat in a cafe for a bit, and decided to catch the hızlı tren, the high-speed train from Istanbul to Ankara, even though I had purchased a roundtrip ticket for the overnight train. We arrived in Eskisehir a little before ten, and while waiting in line to buy the connecting ticket to Ankara, our train left. Without us. So we were stuck waiting for the next train, which was not due to arrive until 3:30 am. Coincidentally, it was the train we would have taken, had we simply taken the overnight train back. Instead we spent over 15 hours in transit, including five hours of sitting in a train station, being stared at by three curious and mildly creepy security guards, and spent twice as much money on tickets. We arrived in Ankara at 7:30 on Tuesday morning, one hour before we were due at work.
A final note, regarding "work"- As of this week, Alex and I have not taught a single class for an entire month. I'd explain, but I need to go find a tissue and wipe up the atrophied gray matter dripping out of my ears.
The next Monday, Alex left in the morning and I took the overnight train into Istanbul to meet my mother. I caught the wrong ferry to the European side of Istanbul, got very lost, and walked for two hours before finding Taksim Square, the location of our hotel. My mother arrived that afternoon, and we took our things back to the hotel before going out. We spent six days in the city, mostly in Taksim and Sultanahmet- the historical area of the city, home to the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, Covered Bazaar and other well-known places, and therefore a terrible tourist trap. I thoroughly enjoyed messing with the locals, most of whom know more English than my students, by replying in Turkish when they spoke to me in English. "Hello! How are you!" "Iyiyim! Siz nasilsiniz?" "O-ha! Turkce biliyorsunuz mi?" "Evet. Ben Ankara'dan!" (I'm good, how are you? - You know turkish? - Yes. I'm from Ankara!) Most of the vendors laughed uproariously at themselves before turning back and attempting to fleece the more-unsuspecting tourists.
A few highlights...
- Of course, the Ayasofya (Hagia Sophia) and the Sultanahmet Camii- know as the Blue Mosque because of its beautiful, individually handpainted Iznik tiles. Iznik, it might be noted, is a city in northwestern Turkey, once known as Nicaea- a name you might know from a famous Christian creed written in the same location.
- The Kapalıçarşı, or Covered (or Grand) Bazaar. We saw this on the same day as the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, on a rather high-speed tour with Alex and her parents. The shops are tiny and claustrophobic, and the shopkeepers are boisterous and friendly, and experts at bargaining- which is both a sport and an art form here. One can buy trinkets of every genre: nargile (hookah, or "water pipes" as they have been translated into English), Iznik tiles, arabic calligraphy, beautiful chess and backgammon sets, jewelry, carpets, headscarves, lamps and pipes and mugs and lighters and more cheaply made knickknacks than I ever want to see again. Alex and I spent a good deal of time fending off the younger vendors, and arguing with the older ones. But between the two of us, we generally worked our way into the "Turkish price" range, rather than the tourist one, and most shopkeepers were so amused with us and our attempts at Turkish haggling (mainly "çok pahalı!" - too expensive!) that they cooperated. Overall, it was very fun- but after an hour or so I was more than ready to get out and breathe a little without being hollered at.
- Topkapı and Dolmabahçe Sarayı - two Ottoman palaces, both beautiful. We saw the main areas, where the sultans worked and lived, as well as the Harems- not exactly the brothel-like image conjured when one thinks of a harem, it was simply the area where the sultan's mother, wives, and younger children lived. Interestingly, the sultan's mother was completely in charge of his (and everyone else's) private life- her quarters were even located between his and his wives', so that she was aware of everything happening in her home. The Sultan may have ruled the Empire, but his mother ruled his bedroom. Not completely surprising, though- Turkish women are not to be messed with.
- Food! My mother got to try all my favorites, from iskender to doner to manti. And of course, the desserts... and not just baklava. It's a terrible shame that of all the fantastic pastries available in every corner shop in Turkey, the only one that's made it across the Atlantic is baklava- not to insult baklava, of course, but really... there's so much more! My mother also had türk kahvesi, turkish coffee, for the first time, in a cafe overlooking the Bosphorus. I introduced her to kahve falı, the tradition of coffee-grind fortunetelling.
- The Cathedral of St Antuan- St Anthony's, a functioning church very close to Taksim, where we attended mass on Sunday with Alex and her parents. The music was familiar, the mass was moving, and it was good for my mother- something the same as home, after a long week of foreign and sometimes frightening experiences. My mother also got to watch a Nigerian man attempt to pick up Alex (or me, or possibly her- he didn't seem to have a particular target) as soon as we left the church.
There were many other fun stories, from arguing football with a taksi driver- he liked Ankaraspor, clearly soft in the head- to the daily conversations with our hotel maid, a soft spoken Turkish man with a kind smile, to the absurd numbers of stray cats that amused my mother to no end, and the friendly stray dog that accompanied Alex and I back to her hotel one night, when a taksi dropped us off a bit further away then we might have liked at that hour of the night.
Our parents returned to the States on Monday morning, and Alex and I met up in Taksim, sat in a cafe for a bit, and decided to catch the hızlı tren, the high-speed train from Istanbul to Ankara, even though I had purchased a roundtrip ticket for the overnight train. We arrived in Eskisehir a little before ten, and while waiting in line to buy the connecting ticket to Ankara, our train left. Without us. So we were stuck waiting for the next train, which was not due to arrive until 3:30 am. Coincidentally, it was the train we would have taken, had we simply taken the overnight train back. Instead we spent over 15 hours in transit, including five hours of sitting in a train station, being stared at by three curious and mildly creepy security guards, and spent twice as much money on tickets. We arrived in Ankara at 7:30 on Tuesday morning, one hour before we were due at work.
A final note, regarding "work"- As of this week, Alex and I have not taught a single class for an entire month. I'd explain, but I need to go find a tissue and wipe up the atrophied gray matter dripping out of my ears.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Turkish Food: Part I
I only write part one because I am certain I will bore of this topic before I am even close to finished babbling about the awesomeness that is Turkish food. Ahem.
Döner: It's made by stacking beef (et) or chicken (tavuk) on an upright, rotating spit, and slicing off thin strips.
The strips are then put in a gyro-like sandwich, (bazlama) or thin bread, pressed panini-style (ekmek arası- literally "between bread"), or in a wrap with lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes etc (dürüm). There are dozens of dishes prepared with döner, but my favorite is iskender. Iskender is when the döner meat is layered on a thick pita-like bread then slathered with tomato sauce and red pepper butter, and usually accompanied by roasted tomatoes and peppers. And it's amazing.
Yogurt is a common topping, which leads me to...
Yogurt: It's everyone's favorite condiment. Usually homemade, it's a little thicker than yogurt in the states- and when you (shamefully) buy it at the store, it comes in a huge tub. Think a little less than a gallon of yogurt. It's eaten on döner, pasta, any kind of meat, or solo- or if you're my roommate, by itself with garlic, salt, and hot sauce. It's far more versatile than I ever gave it credit for.
Pide: Think pizza. Now make it an oval shape with pointy ends, and about half the size of a large pizza. Subtract tomato sauce. Options are cheese, ground beef sprinkled on top, various veggies, or all of the above. Top with parsley and/or squeeze a fresh slice of lemon over it, slice into strips before eating. That's basically pide.
Köfte: Similar to a flattened meatball. You can buy it in various forms: patties, strips, chunks, you name it. It comes on sandwiches, or by itself with an assortment of veggies next to it- usually lettuce, shredded carrots, shredded beets, and patates tava (french fries). It's basically ground beef and spices, not bad by itself.
Kısır: Another of my favorites. It's made with bulgur, like the tiny pasta in couscous, plus tomato paste, spices, parsley, and slice cucumbers and other veggies. It's extremely good and healthy- and easy to make. A month or so ago three of our favorite students came to the apartment, arms filled with fresh groceries, and cooked it for us because Alex and I had mentioned we wanted to learn how. Of course, they wouldn't let us lift a finger, but we watched from a distance. The end result is delicious.
Mantı: Like ravioli, but better. It's basically a little square square of dough with a bit of meat in the center, and then the ends are pinched together. It's already cooked, so it's boiled just until it's warm/soft, then heated in the oven. Covered in garlic, spices, and yogurt, among other things.
Simit: Simit holds a special place in my heart. It's sold in carts on every corner in the metropolitan areas, like NYC hot dog vendors. It's also sold in the mornings by men who walk down the street balancing a board on their head, piled high with simit, as they holler "SIII-MIT! SI-MIIIIIT!" At six a.m. It's a bit like a thin bagel or untwisted pretzel, a loop of dense bread coated in sesame seeds. The circle is about six inches from end to end, and the bread itself is a cylinder from 3/4 to 1 1/2 inches in diameter. The best part is that it's very cheap, usually 3 simit for a lira in the morning, and as little as 7/lira by the late afternoon- as they get stale.
Ayran: A drink made of yogurt and water. They like it a lot, Marina adored it. I don't really get it. It comes in these funny sealed cups, and it's available everywhere from our cafeteria to nice restaurants.
Çay: "Chai"- plain black tea. Turkish people drink tea (or, godforbid, Nescafe) after most meals, as well as pretty much any time they're sitting still.
Like many things in Turkey, it can be delivered- whether you're sitting in a public park, working at a corner shop or teaching in a university, there's always someone running around offering çay to anyone within earshot.
....And as predicted, I'm bored. I'll think of more at some point, I'm sure.
Recent escapades include the discovery of a sweet bar/club/music scene, IF Performance Hall. It's not really a performance hall- closer to a glorified brick basement with a bar. But it's a good crowd and there's great live music, and a cheap cover charge. Alex and I saw Bedük, a fun Turkish techno artist who sings mainly in English, despite not speaking a word. We've met Mexican and Colombian volleyball players and various other expats, and were introduced to fun new music. Alex and I also finally made a trip to Ulus, the oldest part of Ankara, bought beautiful headscarves, and saw the remains of the Ogüst Tapınağı- a temple built in 200 BC as a tribute to the Phrygian gods, then rededicated to the Roman emperors (Ogüst meaning Augustus), then converted to a Christian church in 400 AD. In the early 15th century, the stones from the walls were used to build the mosque now standing adjacent- but one wall and entrance remains. We also climbed to the Citadel, claimed (in Phrygian lore) to have been built and founded by King Midas.
Wall of Ogüst Tapınağı
The Citadel, from a distance
Döner: It's made by stacking beef (et) or chicken (tavuk) on an upright, rotating spit, and slicing off thin strips.
The strips are then put in a gyro-like sandwich, (bazlama) or thin bread, pressed panini-style (ekmek arası- literally "between bread"), or in a wrap with lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes etc (dürüm). There are dozens of dishes prepared with döner, but my favorite is iskender. Iskender is when the döner meat is layered on a thick pita-like bread then slathered with tomato sauce and red pepper butter, and usually accompanied by roasted tomatoes and peppers. And it's amazing.
Yogurt is a common topping, which leads me to...
Yogurt: It's everyone's favorite condiment. Usually homemade, it's a little thicker than yogurt in the states- and when you (shamefully) buy it at the store, it comes in a huge tub. Think a little less than a gallon of yogurt. It's eaten on döner, pasta, any kind of meat, or solo- or if you're my roommate, by itself with garlic, salt, and hot sauce. It's far more versatile than I ever gave it credit for.
Pide: Think pizza. Now make it an oval shape with pointy ends, and about half the size of a large pizza. Subtract tomato sauce. Options are cheese, ground beef sprinkled on top, various veggies, or all of the above. Top with parsley and/or squeeze a fresh slice of lemon over it, slice into strips before eating. That's basically pide.
Köfte: Similar to a flattened meatball. You can buy it in various forms: patties, strips, chunks, you name it. It comes on sandwiches, or by itself with an assortment of veggies next to it- usually lettuce, shredded carrots, shredded beets, and patates tava (french fries). It's basically ground beef and spices, not bad by itself.
Kısır: Another of my favorites. It's made with bulgur, like the tiny pasta in couscous, plus tomato paste, spices, parsley, and slice cucumbers and other veggies. It's extremely good and healthy- and easy to make. A month or so ago three of our favorite students came to the apartment, arms filled with fresh groceries, and cooked it for us because Alex and I had mentioned we wanted to learn how. Of course, they wouldn't let us lift a finger, but we watched from a distance. The end result is delicious.
Mantı: Like ravioli, but better. It's basically a little square square of dough with a bit of meat in the center, and then the ends are pinched together. It's already cooked, so it's boiled just until it's warm/soft, then heated in the oven. Covered in garlic, spices, and yogurt, among other things.
Simit: Simit holds a special place in my heart. It's sold in carts on every corner in the metropolitan areas, like NYC hot dog vendors. It's also sold in the mornings by men who walk down the street balancing a board on their head, piled high with simit, as they holler "SIII-MIT! SI-MIIIIIT!" At six a.m. It's a bit like a thin bagel or untwisted pretzel, a loop of dense bread coated in sesame seeds. The circle is about six inches from end to end, and the bread itself is a cylinder from 3/4 to 1 1/2 inches in diameter. The best part is that it's very cheap, usually 3 simit for a lira in the morning, and as little as 7/lira by the late afternoon- as they get stale.
Ayran: A drink made of yogurt and water. They like it a lot, Marina adored it. I don't really get it. It comes in these funny sealed cups, and it's available everywhere from our cafeteria to nice restaurants.
Çay: "Chai"- plain black tea. Turkish people drink tea (or, godforbid, Nescafe) after most meals, as well as pretty much any time they're sitting still.
Like many things in Turkey, it can be delivered- whether you're sitting in a public park, working at a corner shop or teaching in a university, there's always someone running around offering çay to anyone within earshot.
....And as predicted, I'm bored. I'll think of more at some point, I'm sure.
Recent escapades include the discovery of a sweet bar/club/music scene, IF Performance Hall. It's not really a performance hall- closer to a glorified brick basement with a bar. But it's a good crowd and there's great live music, and a cheap cover charge. Alex and I saw Bedük, a fun Turkish techno artist who sings mainly in English, despite not speaking a word. We've met Mexican and Colombian volleyball players and various other expats, and were introduced to fun new music. Alex and I also finally made a trip to Ulus, the oldest part of Ankara, bought beautiful headscarves, and saw the remains of the Ogüst Tapınağı- a temple built in 200 BC as a tribute to the Phrygian gods, then rededicated to the Roman emperors (Ogüst meaning Augustus), then converted to a Christian church in 400 AD. In the early 15th century, the stones from the walls were used to build the mosque now standing adjacent- but one wall and entrance remains. We also climbed to the Citadel, claimed (in Phrygian lore) to have been built and founded by King Midas.
Wall of Ogüst Tapınağı
The Citadel, from a distance
Thursday, March 26, 2009
The End of the Month
or,
Things I Cannot Afford Because I Am in College
Cause:
- Monthly income: roughly 500 YTL (Turkish New Lira) - equivalent: $300
- Irresponsible spending habits, including but not limited to a spontaneous flight to Istanbul
Primary Result:
- Running out of money before the end of the month
- Shopping list:
Light Bulbs
Toilet paper
Napkins
Hand soap
Dishwashing soap
Laundry Detergent
Tampons
Food
Snack food
Secondary Result:
- Three (out of nine) functioning light bulbs.
This means that when I arrive home after work, I must decide which rooms I want lit, and move the light bulbs accordingly. In the dark.
- Four girls, one week, zero toilet paper.
We are now using napkins and, courtesy of the Russians, what I think may be crepe paper. Like the kind you string up around the house on birthdays.
- Candle lit bathroom.
The bathroom is not occupied often enough to warrant a light bulb. Therefore, we go in the dark. And hope there's enough napkins.
- Four girls, five days, one travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer.
You really don't want to think about this one for too long.
- Dish Rationing.
"Does this look dirty to you?" "Nah. Maybe a little greasy. Not dirty, per se..." "K. I'm gonna use it again."
- "Sniff tested" clothing.
Doesn't smell? Doesn't have any visible stains? Then who cares if it hasn't been washed in a month!
- ... Unnecessary-to-describe grossness.
- Four nights in a row of defrosted mantı (Turkish ravioli).
Also a dependence on potato-based meals that would make our Irish ancestors proud.
- Elevated levels of bitchiness due to hunger.
Update on the Russians:
In true Cold War fashion, we've outlasted them. Valentina left this morning, Marina left a few days ago. Alex and I have reconciled to the idea that we are each far too lazy to move all of our things. So we will continue to share a room, despite the two empty bedrooms.
Things I Cannot Afford Because I Am in College
Cause:
- Monthly income: roughly 500 YTL (Turkish New Lira) - equivalent: $300
- Irresponsible spending habits, including but not limited to a spontaneous flight to Istanbul
Primary Result:
- Running out of money before the end of the month
- Shopping list:
Light Bulbs
Toilet paper
Napkins
Hand soap
Dishwashing soap
Laundry Detergent
Tampons
Food
Snack food
Secondary Result:
- Three (out of nine) functioning light bulbs.
This means that when I arrive home after work, I must decide which rooms I want lit, and move the light bulbs accordingly. In the dark.
- Four girls, one week, zero toilet paper.
We are now using napkins and, courtesy of the Russians, what I think may be crepe paper. Like the kind you string up around the house on birthdays.
- Candle lit bathroom.
The bathroom is not occupied often enough to warrant a light bulb. Therefore, we go in the dark. And hope there's enough napkins.
- Four girls, five days, one travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer.
You really don't want to think about this one for too long.
- Dish Rationing.
"Does this look dirty to you?" "Nah. Maybe a little greasy. Not dirty, per se..." "K. I'm gonna use it again."
- "Sniff tested" clothing.
Doesn't smell? Doesn't have any visible stains? Then who cares if it hasn't been washed in a month!
- ... Unnecessary-to-describe grossness.
- Four nights in a row of defrosted mantı (Turkish ravioli).
Also a dependence on potato-based meals that would make our Irish ancestors proud.
- Elevated levels of bitchiness due to hunger.
Update on the Russians:
In true Cold War fashion, we've outlasted them. Valentina left this morning, Marina left a few days ago. Alex and I have reconciled to the idea that we are each far too lazy to move all of our things. So we will continue to share a room, despite the two empty bedrooms.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A True Story
A usual Friday sees Alex and I leaving work early, usually around 1-2 pm, and either catching a ride with Ozlem, a student/friend who we enjoy spending time with and who has been kind enough to volunteer her vehicular servitude. Last Friday I caught a ride with Ozlem to Tunali Caddesi (street), while Alex went home and showered before meeting me there. I wandered up and down the street a bit before sitting down in Kuğulu Park, a pretty little park with a pond and ducks large enough to eat four year olds. Whole.
I've discovered that if I'm quiet, I get glances but not stares. I don't fit the Turkish archetype- I don't have enough of a fashion sense, for one, and I don't have large, fascinating eyes. As a general rule, Turks have dark hair and eyes every color imaginable- sky blue, turquoise, dark green, amber, navy blue- it can be almost unsettling, especially with the wide variety of skin tones. Anyhow, so although I don't look particularly Turkish, I don't really stand out. Until I open my mouth. But I was bored, and had nothing to do until Alex got to the park- and she was taking public transportation, which can be extremely unreliable. And slow. So I called Sarah- a close friend from home- and endured the staring. You can almost hear the wheels grinding as they try to dredge up long-forgotten high school/college English lessons and translate what I'm babbling about. Most people looked away after a few minutes, once they realized I was (intentionally) speaking very quickly and they couldn't keep up. A few yards away, taking obnoxiously touristy photos, was a couple- obviously foreign, although judging by appearance alone they could have been Turkish: dark skin, dark hair, on the shorter side. The woman was dressed a bit differently, wearing a brightly pattern tunic under her sweater and a matching loose head scarf, and I chuckled a bit as I noticed that she removed the scarf for every photo. Once I started talking on the phone, the woman looked over intently- realized I was speaking in English- and didn't look away.
As I tucked my phone into my jeans pocket, she made her way over to me.
"Foreigner?" she asked brightly. Her male companion listened from their bench, in the background.
"Yeah- American." I smiled. It's not usually a problem.
"Ohhh, really? That's very good. Very good. Are you here on holiday?" she reminded me of a small bird, moving and speaking quickly, but without making one feel rushed.
I explained, briefly, that I was a student in Boston, but working here for six months before returning to my studies- the co-op program in a nutshell. I told her I taught English at a university.
"Ahh, teaching English! Very important!" she went on to complain about how so few people speak English in Turkey, and it's been a real challenge for her- her cousin (the male companion), spoke fluent Turkish, but she couldn't speak a word.
"Really?" I asked. "So where are you from?"
"Oh, we are from Afghanistan." she chirped. "We are heart doctors."
"Wow- um- really? That's interesting," I stammered. "Uh, so why are you visiting Turkey? On holiday?"
"Oh, no," she shook her head. "We are here for a... to study angiography, at Umut hospital. We are learning to use an angiogram."
I learned, over the next hour, that Dr. Masooda was born in a village outside Kabul, and had always known she wanted to be a doctor or a teacher- to help people. She and her cousin were here at a workshop for angiograms because their hospital in Kabul had just received the first angiogram in the history of Afghanistan. She showed me Afghani money, and told me about her home. She loved Americans, and placed huge importance on the English language- "the international language," as she explained. She was frustrated the even in the medical and academic arena, the Turkish people dislike English on principle and show a great deal of obstinacy on the subject. I talked about my job, and how long I would be here, and my future goals- working in diplomacy, which excited her and Dr. Namat, her cousin, very much. I talked about studying Arabic, and Dr. Namat told me about how he learned Arabic in Pakistan. He could speak fluent Pashto (the main Afghani language), as well as English, Turkish, Arabic, and several other Afghani dialects, and he's always wanted to learn French. We talked about family, and laughed about the everyday absurdities one encounters as a foreigner in Turkey. In short, I got to know them.
It was getting dark, though, and they had to return to their hostels. We took photos together, each proud of meeting the other. Then Dr. Namat pulled out his cell phone- and asked if I'd like to get together again. Masooda chipped in, bribing me with offers of Afghani food, which I had never tried, and told me to bring Alex. I accepted, of course, and typed in my name and phone number. I've come to realize that no other culture can handle my name- I become "Kathy" to the French, and now "Karry" to the Afghanis, despite entering "K-a-t-i-e" into Namat's phone. But there are worse things to be called. They told me they wanted to get together on Monday -(talking talking talking)- no wait, on Sunday. I agreed, and promised to meet them in the same park at 10:00 Sunday morning.
Alex met up with me soon after, and I told her over dessert about my Afghani encounter, and that we were invited to meet them and their friends from the hospital on Sunday. She was as thrilled as I was, and we chattered excitedly about the cool possibilities of knowing people in Afghanistan- a possible future workplace for each of us.
Saturday morning we met up with an American friend at a cafe, and bartered our fabulous companionship for the delivery of two pints of sour cream. Alex is a sour cream fanatic, and Turkey hasn't yet discovered it- so this was a great deal. We talked, which is code for Alex and I took turns dominating the conversation, until I recieved a phone call from an unfamiliar number.
"Hello?"
"Kerry! This is Dr. Namat. Are you fine?" (They don't ask how I am, they ask if I am fine. Don't know why.)
"Hi Namat. Uh yes, yes I am fine. How are you?"
"I am fine! Are you in the park?"
"Uhm, no...?" I pause and check my phone. It's 11:30 AM- on Saturday. Not Sunday.
"Will you be in the park soon?" It's at this point that I realized that Pashto to Turkish to English, each with its corresponding word for "Saturday," isn't the most reliable form of communication. I didn't try to explain why I wasn't there on time, I just apologized, grabbed Alex and headed over. With two pint of sour cream in a plastic bag in her purse.
We went with Namat to Masooda's hostel, and then went with the two of them to their hospital for lunch. Yes, hospital food. Not as bad as expected. Then we visited their brother (they're cousins, but they both referred to Dr. Atikullah as their brother... another mistranslation. I hope.) and spoke to him about the future of Afghanistan and the importance of the angiogram they were to recieve. He's the Diplomatic Health Attache from Afghanistan to Turkey, and is newlywed to a Turkish woman- but has lived in the area for over a decade. After leaving there, we went on a walking tour of Ankara, lasting a few hours and ending the the Metro station, where Alex and I tried to make our exit. Not wanting to be impolite, as they clearly planned on keeping us around longer, Alex tried to explain that we needed to go home because she had a headache.
She explained this to two Afghani doctors.
Needless to say, other than making them a hover a bit closer, it was unsuccessful. They had promised to cook us dinner, and Afghani hospitality, we quickly learned, isn't so much an offer as an obligation. We eventually headed to Dr. Atikullah's home via public transit, which took us 45 minutes outside of Ankara... to a mountainside. We made conversation with Atikullah while Masooda and Namat made dinner, which they finished around 8 pm- by which time Alex and I were starved. I mean, barely-contained two-year-old hissy-fit famished. Almost-chewing-on-the-leather-chairs famished. It was not good times.
We ate at about 10 pm. After smelling the delicious, homemade Afghani and Turkish foods for over two hours. We ate on a spread on the floor, rice and a spinach-esque dip, pita bread and chicken and homemade yogurt (yes, homemade.) The center was a huge vegetable spread- carrots and cucumbers, lemons and tomatoes. I went for a cucumber slice, to be stopped as they poured salt over the whole thing. Cucumbers and carrots are actually quite good with salt- who knew? I wasn't daring enough to try the lemons, although Atikullah enjoyed them, biting into a round slice whole, as if it was a cookie. Salted.
After dinner we were shown a photo slideshow of Afghani villagers and their goats, at which point (after 11 pm), we were forced to take drastic measures to escape their hospitality. One faked phone call from a Russian and six million apologetic excuses later, we were out the door. They were disappointed, as they had assumed we'd spend the night. When we'd met them less than 24 hours before. But we were invited back as soon as we could make it, for more food and company.
And goat photos.
I've discovered that if I'm quiet, I get glances but not stares. I don't fit the Turkish archetype- I don't have enough of a fashion sense, for one, and I don't have large, fascinating eyes. As a general rule, Turks have dark hair and eyes every color imaginable- sky blue, turquoise, dark green, amber, navy blue- it can be almost unsettling, especially with the wide variety of skin tones. Anyhow, so although I don't look particularly Turkish, I don't really stand out. Until I open my mouth. But I was bored, and had nothing to do until Alex got to the park- and she was taking public transportation, which can be extremely unreliable. And slow. So I called Sarah- a close friend from home- and endured the staring. You can almost hear the wheels grinding as they try to dredge up long-forgotten high school/college English lessons and translate what I'm babbling about. Most people looked away after a few minutes, once they realized I was (intentionally) speaking very quickly and they couldn't keep up. A few yards away, taking obnoxiously touristy photos, was a couple- obviously foreign, although judging by appearance alone they could have been Turkish: dark skin, dark hair, on the shorter side. The woman was dressed a bit differently, wearing a brightly pattern tunic under her sweater and a matching loose head scarf, and I chuckled a bit as I noticed that she removed the scarf for every photo. Once I started talking on the phone, the woman looked over intently- realized I was speaking in English- and didn't look away.
As I tucked my phone into my jeans pocket, she made her way over to me.
"Foreigner?" she asked brightly. Her male companion listened from their bench, in the background.
"Yeah- American." I smiled. It's not usually a problem.
"Ohhh, really? That's very good. Very good. Are you here on holiday?" she reminded me of a small bird, moving and speaking quickly, but without making one feel rushed.
I explained, briefly, that I was a student in Boston, but working here for six months before returning to my studies- the co-op program in a nutshell. I told her I taught English at a university.
"Ahh, teaching English! Very important!" she went on to complain about how so few people speak English in Turkey, and it's been a real challenge for her- her cousin (the male companion), spoke fluent Turkish, but she couldn't speak a word.
"Really?" I asked. "So where are you from?"
"Oh, we are from Afghanistan." she chirped. "We are heart doctors."
"Wow- um- really? That's interesting," I stammered. "Uh, so why are you visiting Turkey? On holiday?"
"Oh, no," she shook her head. "We are here for a... to study angiography, at Umut hospital. We are learning to use an angiogram."
I learned, over the next hour, that Dr. Masooda was born in a village outside Kabul, and had always known she wanted to be a doctor or a teacher- to help people. She and her cousin were here at a workshop for angiograms because their hospital in Kabul had just received the first angiogram in the history of Afghanistan. She showed me Afghani money, and told me about her home. She loved Americans, and placed huge importance on the English language- "the international language," as she explained. She was frustrated the even in the medical and academic arena, the Turkish people dislike English on principle and show a great deal of obstinacy on the subject. I talked about my job, and how long I would be here, and my future goals- working in diplomacy, which excited her and Dr. Namat, her cousin, very much. I talked about studying Arabic, and Dr. Namat told me about how he learned Arabic in Pakistan. He could speak fluent Pashto (the main Afghani language), as well as English, Turkish, Arabic, and several other Afghani dialects, and he's always wanted to learn French. We talked about family, and laughed about the everyday absurdities one encounters as a foreigner in Turkey. In short, I got to know them.
It was getting dark, though, and they had to return to their hostels. We took photos together, each proud of meeting the other. Then Dr. Namat pulled out his cell phone- and asked if I'd like to get together again. Masooda chipped in, bribing me with offers of Afghani food, which I had never tried, and told me to bring Alex. I accepted, of course, and typed in my name and phone number. I've come to realize that no other culture can handle my name- I become "Kathy" to the French, and now "Karry" to the Afghanis, despite entering "K-a-t-i-e" into Namat's phone. But there are worse things to be called. They told me they wanted to get together on Monday -(talking talking talking)- no wait, on Sunday. I agreed, and promised to meet them in the same park at 10:00 Sunday morning.
Alex met up with me soon after, and I told her over dessert about my Afghani encounter, and that we were invited to meet them and their friends from the hospital on Sunday. She was as thrilled as I was, and we chattered excitedly about the cool possibilities of knowing people in Afghanistan- a possible future workplace for each of us.
Saturday morning we met up with an American friend at a cafe, and bartered our fabulous companionship for the delivery of two pints of sour cream. Alex is a sour cream fanatic, and Turkey hasn't yet discovered it- so this was a great deal. We talked, which is code for Alex and I took turns dominating the conversation, until I recieved a phone call from an unfamiliar number.
"Hello?"
"Kerry! This is Dr. Namat. Are you fine?" (They don't ask how I am, they ask if I am fine. Don't know why.)
"Hi Namat. Uh yes, yes I am fine. How are you?"
"I am fine! Are you in the park?"
"Uhm, no...?" I pause and check my phone. It's 11:30 AM- on Saturday. Not Sunday.
"Will you be in the park soon?" It's at this point that I realized that Pashto to Turkish to English, each with its corresponding word for "Saturday," isn't the most reliable form of communication. I didn't try to explain why I wasn't there on time, I just apologized, grabbed Alex and headed over. With two pint of sour cream in a plastic bag in her purse.
We went with Namat to Masooda's hostel, and then went with the two of them to their hospital for lunch. Yes, hospital food. Not as bad as expected. Then we visited their brother (they're cousins, but they both referred to Dr. Atikullah as their brother... another mistranslation. I hope.) and spoke to him about the future of Afghanistan and the importance of the angiogram they were to recieve. He's the Diplomatic Health Attache from Afghanistan to Turkey, and is newlywed to a Turkish woman- but has lived in the area for over a decade. After leaving there, we went on a walking tour of Ankara, lasting a few hours and ending the the Metro station, where Alex and I tried to make our exit. Not wanting to be impolite, as they clearly planned on keeping us around longer, Alex tried to explain that we needed to go home because she had a headache.
She explained this to two Afghani doctors.
Needless to say, other than making them a hover a bit closer, it was unsuccessful. They had promised to cook us dinner, and Afghani hospitality, we quickly learned, isn't so much an offer as an obligation. We eventually headed to Dr. Atikullah's home via public transit, which took us 45 minutes outside of Ankara... to a mountainside. We made conversation with Atikullah while Masooda and Namat made dinner, which they finished around 8 pm- by which time Alex and I were starved. I mean, barely-contained two-year-old hissy-fit famished. Almost-chewing-on-the-leather-chairs famished. It was not good times.
We ate at about 10 pm. After smelling the delicious, homemade Afghani and Turkish foods for over two hours. We ate on a spread on the floor, rice and a spinach-esque dip, pita bread and chicken and homemade yogurt (yes, homemade.) The center was a huge vegetable spread- carrots and cucumbers, lemons and tomatoes. I went for a cucumber slice, to be stopped as they poured salt over the whole thing. Cucumbers and carrots are actually quite good with salt- who knew? I wasn't daring enough to try the lemons, although Atikullah enjoyed them, biting into a round slice whole, as if it was a cookie. Salted.
After dinner we were shown a photo slideshow of Afghani villagers and their goats, at which point (after 11 pm), we were forced to take drastic measures to escape their hospitality. One faked phone call from a Russian and six million apologetic excuses later, we were out the door. They were disappointed, as they had assumed we'd spend the night. When we'd met them less than 24 hours before. But we were invited back as soon as we could make it, for more food and company.
And goat photos.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Istanbul (Not Constantinople)
The Turkish Top 20:
Things to remember when one takes a day trip to another continent
-Directions should be kept in the front pocket, not the back pocket, where they fall out.
-Do not give food to the stray cats that live in the train station, they get clingy.
-When buying roundtrip train tickets in a foreign language, remember the word for tomorrow. Do not confuse it with the word for yesterday. This rule may be suspended if you have a camera ready to capture the ticketer's expression.
-Kittens are the only animals that can sleep comfortably while intertangled in a cramped space, i.e. tiny upright train seats. Do not attempt, unless of course you truly enjoy not being able to turn your head to the left for the next 24 hours.
-Train, bus, and ferry stations, even in cities that are thousands of years old, are still pretty sketch.
-When faced with a decision between Nescafe and Starbucks, chose Starbucks. Endure the eyerolling of natives, because at least you know that whatever's in that cup was once related to a coffee bean.
-Just because a road looks like it should have a sidewalk on the map does not mean it does. Nor does it mean it is finished, and not, say, a forty foot under construction highway overpass with no railing.
-Expect detours and confusion.
-Do not expect logic, in any form, under any circumstances.
-If you plan to try the local delicacies, do not watch them being prepared. "Kokoreç" doesn't sound all that intimidating, despite its similarities to the English word "cockroach." Until you see them cleaning and roasting sheep intestine.
-Like an Escher painting or your grandfather's angry rants, it is possible to follow a route that is uphill both ways. I haven't figured out the physics, but I'm still certain we did it.
-When in doubt, follow the herd. Unless it's a herd of lemmings. Never follow lemmings.
-When security lets someone bring two unsearched shoulder bags and box theoretically containing a nargile (hookah) into the stadium, but takes your pocket lighter, you might not want to count on them for actual security.
-Football (soccer) stadiums are built to fit 50,000 raging lunatic fans, all of whom would die if someone even thought about screaming "fire."
-Drunken, celebratory football hooligans fall into the same category as lemmings.
-Do not give money to the stray children that live by the stadium, they get clingy.
-When in need of a guide, simply make eye contact with an underage local.* This is close enough to flirting and more than adequate encouragement for them to bop over and try to communicate. But good luck trying to ditch them after reaching the train station. (*Note: Only valid when used with underage males. DO NOT ATTEMPT otherwise.)
-Speaking in loud, rapid-fire English on the train will earn you dirty looks and dirtier come-ons from drunken middle-aged Turkish men.
-Try to stay out of the aisle as police officers come to escort away said drunken middle-aged Turkish men.
-When the train breaks down at 7:00 AM and you're supposed to be at work at 8:30, sleep through it to avoid homicidal interactions with train operators.
-When the train doesn't arrive at your destination until two hours later than it should have and you are forced to go immediately to work, unshowered and cranky, coffee is a completely reasonable first priority.
In other news, one of the Russians is leaving us in roughly a week. Not the Moldovan, whose name I finally learned via a sneaky, I-can't-spell-your-name-please-type-it-in-my-phone-with-you-phone-number scheme, (Valentina), but Marina- the one who speaks at least a little English. Not that she's been using it, as of recently our interactions have been limited to cutting each other in the shower line in the morning and blaming the language barrier... think Space Race, but less high-tech and more hygienic... but she's still capable of communicating. Valentina can't speak a word. Still. And I don't have the mental capacity to take on Russian. It's going to be an interesting few months.
Alex, Marina, and I
Things to remember when one takes a day trip to another continent
-Directions should be kept in the front pocket, not the back pocket, where they fall out.
-Do not give food to the stray cats that live in the train station, they get clingy.
-When buying roundtrip train tickets in a foreign language, remember the word for tomorrow. Do not confuse it with the word for yesterday. This rule may be suspended if you have a camera ready to capture the ticketer's expression.
-Kittens are the only animals that can sleep comfortably while intertangled in a cramped space, i.e. tiny upright train seats. Do not attempt, unless of course you truly enjoy not being able to turn your head to the left for the next 24 hours.
-Train, bus, and ferry stations, even in cities that are thousands of years old, are still pretty sketch.
-When faced with a decision between Nescafe and Starbucks, chose Starbucks. Endure the eyerolling of natives, because at least you know that whatever's in that cup was once related to a coffee bean.
-Just because a road looks like it should have a sidewalk on the map does not mean it does. Nor does it mean it is finished, and not, say, a forty foot under construction highway overpass with no railing.
-Expect detours and confusion.
-Do not expect logic, in any form, under any circumstances.
-If you plan to try the local delicacies, do not watch them being prepared. "Kokoreç" doesn't sound all that intimidating, despite its similarities to the English word "cockroach." Until you see them cleaning and roasting sheep intestine.
-Like an Escher painting or your grandfather's angry rants, it is possible to follow a route that is uphill both ways. I haven't figured out the physics, but I'm still certain we did it.
-When in doubt, follow the herd. Unless it's a herd of lemmings. Never follow lemmings.
-When security lets someone bring two unsearched shoulder bags and box theoretically containing a nargile (hookah) into the stadium, but takes your pocket lighter, you might not want to count on them for actual security.
-Football (soccer) stadiums are built to fit 50,000 raging lunatic fans, all of whom would die if someone even thought about screaming "fire."
-Drunken, celebratory football hooligans fall into the same category as lemmings.
-Do not give money to the stray children that live by the stadium, they get clingy.
-When in need of a guide, simply make eye contact with an underage local.* This is close enough to flirting and more than adequate encouragement for them to bop over and try to communicate. But good luck trying to ditch them after reaching the train station. (*Note: Only valid when used with underage males. DO NOT ATTEMPT otherwise.)
-Speaking in loud, rapid-fire English on the train will earn you dirty looks and dirtier come-ons from drunken middle-aged Turkish men.
-Try to stay out of the aisle as police officers come to escort away said drunken middle-aged Turkish men.
-When the train breaks down at 7:00 AM and you're supposed to be at work at 8:30, sleep through it to avoid homicidal interactions with train operators.
-When the train doesn't arrive at your destination until two hours later than it should have and you are forced to go immediately to work, unshowered and cranky, coffee is a completely reasonable first priority.
In other news, one of the Russians is leaving us in roughly a week. Not the Moldovan, whose name I finally learned via a sneaky, I-can't-spell-your-name-please-type-it-in-my-phone-with-you-phone-number scheme, (Valentina), but Marina- the one who speaks at least a little English. Not that she's been using it, as of recently our interactions have been limited to cutting each other in the shower line in the morning and blaming the language barrier... think Space Race, but less high-tech and more hygienic... but she's still capable of communicating. Valentina can't speak a word. Still. And I don't have the mental capacity to take on Russian. It's going to be an interesting few months.
Alex, Marina, and I
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Classroom Antics
Hug your foreign language teacher today. And if you don't have one, borrow someone else's and hug them. And if you were ever one of those students who was too shy to speak, or tried to argue about grammar, or just zoned out all class- find your teacher, apologize, and beg for forgiveness. Don't get me wrong, I understand- I was one of those students. Especially during my three semesters of Arabic. And karma, my friends, is a bitch.
The assigned lesson plans over the past three weeks have been generic and terrible, but by this point Alex and I have gotten the hang of things a bit and are much better at coming up with activities on our own. Theoretically, we're supposed to check our "revised" lesson plans with the curriculum department before running them... but considering many of them are made up the night (or the 20 minutes) before our first class, we don't exactly have time. And we are easily the most poorly supervised instructors here. True, there's always a teacher in the room during our lessons, but they rarely know what our lesson plan is supposed to be and have no interest in whether we follow it or not- they're just happy to have a break and watch someone else fumble around in the front of the room.
Three weeks ago, Alex and I organized a lesson on slang- an idea that made several instructors very nervous, because apparently one of the former native speakers considered it wise to teach the students curses including, but not limited to, "m***erf***er." Right. We came up with a list of slang nouns, verbs, adjectives, and acronyms, all appropriate and very funny. Some things you wouldn't immediately think of as slang- "to throw up," "to dump/break up with," "to freak out," to name a few. Explaining "wingman," "to rob the cradle," "cup of joe," "TMI," and "sketchy" were the highlights of my week- and I also learned that "poh-poh" (the police), is Turkish slang for butt. Giggling all around. To make the class a bit easier to run, I organized a game. Splitting the class into four teams, I made four lists on the board- each with three nouns, one adjective, two verbs, one acronym, and occasionally an idiom- think "to bury the hatchet" or "to test the waters." Each team was responsible for their own list, and they were allowed to use dictionaries, the internet, and me as a resource. None of the teachers had any idea what these words were, and all of them took notes in class- which was very funny. As for the internet, I gave them the link to urbandictionary.com - the only problem being that some pages are blocked by the Turkish government's cybernanny. But that's a whole different rant. Once we had defined every word on the board, if there was extra time, I wrote a catchphrase for each team, explained them, and gave them a few minutes to create and then perform a conversation in which one team member correctly use the catchphrase. The ones I usually used were "Say what?" "True story," "B.t.dubs.," and if I was feeling especially cruel, "awkward turtle."
Two weeks ago, Alex and I devised a vocabulary card game. We created vocab cards and divided them into four different levels of difficulty, with matching point values (hardest=4 points, etc). I split each class in half, and one team member was asked to come up, pick up a card of his choice, and stick it to his forehead- without looking at it. His teammates then shouted out words to help him figure out what the word on his forehead was, and he had one minute to figure out as many words as possible. In one class, a student held up the word "sneezing"- and his entire team immediately pretended to sneeze, causing the befuddled student to respond "God bless you...?" A girl in another class picked up a word and held it to her forehead, and the whole class started laughing, and a few students took pictures with their cell phones. The word she had picked up was "stupid." The game was fun and most classes really enjoyed it- loudly enthusiastic, most students ended up out of their seats and all over the room by the end of the class.
My second week here, Fatih, the teacher with whom I do recordings, gifted Alex and I with thirty or so large, laminated, very detailed black and white photographs- stills from old movies, although the only ones I can name are the ones with Robert Redford or Dustin Hoffman in the photo. So this week, we finally used the photos- because the curriculum was absolute crap- and made the students, in small groups, create and then tell the story of what was happening in the photo. I've gotten some hysterical stories, twisted stories, some very creative ones, and one pair of girls who decided to make a political statement about their hatred for my home (thus my last brief post). Some students chose to act out their stories, others just told the story. After each story, to make them practice more than just reading a prepared story off a paper, I asked questions- about the locations, motives, history, and minor details of the story they told me. I pointed out logical fallacies, much to the amusement of their classmates, and picked apart the photograph itself. Basically, I was mean and nit-picky, but their responses were priceless. I could write a book with all the funny material they gave me, but here's a few plot outlines...
- A wife and daughter believe there are aliens in their backyard, the husband believes their "psychologies are do-da-deteriorating," so he decides to hold a garage sale, sell all their things, and use the money to buy a gun and kill them. Instead, though, he uses the money to build a car. His name was Henry Ford.
- Mafiosos cleaning their guns, preparing to go out and threaten a man who hasn't paid his debts- this one was acted out- leading to the line, "If you don't give our money, I will shoot your head!"
- A story involving a father who died, to which I asked "What did he die of?" "He cancer." "What kind of cancer?" I smiled. "Uh..." she paused, and other students tried to mumble answers for her. "Uh... si- sk- sick cancer!" (the helpful classmate had been saying "skin cancer"). After the class laughed a bit, she changed her mind. "No, was face cancer!" she said triumphantly.
- Several students, who chose a photo of an older chef serving a woman in a crowded restaurant, with a menu above them that listed (dollar) prices for common American foods. The students explained to me that it was not as it looked, and in fact the chef was a "serial killer" (read: assassin), and each menu item was code for a different death. Death by Kalashnikov was the cheapest, at $1.85- which really meant $1,850, they explained. And the hitman was serving food in the photo because two customers in the background were FBI agents trying to prove that it wasn't really a restaurant.
- And finally, today's highlight: a story about two workers in a marble quarry in 1929 who, influenced by literature from the Soviet Union, killed their employer and then went after the government. After killing every member of Parliament and the president, they set up a new government of the more intelligent workers, and the country benefited. When asked where the story took place, they said Boston. "A marble quarry in Boston?" I asked. "Uh, well, you go outside of the city" the group corrected themselves, at which point one of their classmates chipped in- "You make a right." And then, of course, I had to ask about the Parliament. In the US.
The assigned lesson plans over the past three weeks have been generic and terrible, but by this point Alex and I have gotten the hang of things a bit and are much better at coming up with activities on our own. Theoretically, we're supposed to check our "revised" lesson plans with the curriculum department before running them... but considering many of them are made up the night (or the 20 minutes) before our first class, we don't exactly have time. And we are easily the most poorly supervised instructors here. True, there's always a teacher in the room during our lessons, but they rarely know what our lesson plan is supposed to be and have no interest in whether we follow it or not- they're just happy to have a break and watch someone else fumble around in the front of the room.
Three weeks ago, Alex and I organized a lesson on slang- an idea that made several instructors very nervous, because apparently one of the former native speakers considered it wise to teach the students curses including, but not limited to, "m***erf***er." Right. We came up with a list of slang nouns, verbs, adjectives, and acronyms, all appropriate and very funny. Some things you wouldn't immediately think of as slang- "to throw up," "to dump/break up with," "to freak out," to name a few. Explaining "wingman," "to rob the cradle," "cup of joe," "TMI," and "sketchy" were the highlights of my week- and I also learned that "poh-poh" (the police), is Turkish slang for butt. Giggling all around. To make the class a bit easier to run, I organized a game. Splitting the class into four teams, I made four lists on the board- each with three nouns, one adjective, two verbs, one acronym, and occasionally an idiom- think "to bury the hatchet" or "to test the waters." Each team was responsible for their own list, and they were allowed to use dictionaries, the internet, and me as a resource. None of the teachers had any idea what these words were, and all of them took notes in class- which was very funny. As for the internet, I gave them the link to urbandictionary.com - the only problem being that some pages are blocked by the Turkish government's cybernanny. But that's a whole different rant. Once we had defined every word on the board, if there was extra time, I wrote a catchphrase for each team, explained them, and gave them a few minutes to create and then perform a conversation in which one team member correctly use the catchphrase. The ones I usually used were "Say what?" "True story," "B.t.dubs.," and if I was feeling especially cruel, "awkward turtle."
Two weeks ago, Alex and I devised a vocabulary card game. We created vocab cards and divided them into four different levels of difficulty, with matching point values (hardest=4 points, etc). I split each class in half, and one team member was asked to come up, pick up a card of his choice, and stick it to his forehead- without looking at it. His teammates then shouted out words to help him figure out what the word on his forehead was, and he had one minute to figure out as many words as possible. In one class, a student held up the word "sneezing"- and his entire team immediately pretended to sneeze, causing the befuddled student to respond "God bless you...?" A girl in another class picked up a word and held it to her forehead, and the whole class started laughing, and a few students took pictures with their cell phones. The word she had picked up was "stupid." The game was fun and most classes really enjoyed it- loudly enthusiastic, most students ended up out of their seats and all over the room by the end of the class.
My second week here, Fatih, the teacher with whom I do recordings, gifted Alex and I with thirty or so large, laminated, very detailed black and white photographs- stills from old movies, although the only ones I can name are the ones with Robert Redford or Dustin Hoffman in the photo. So this week, we finally used the photos- because the curriculum was absolute crap- and made the students, in small groups, create and then tell the story of what was happening in the photo. I've gotten some hysterical stories, twisted stories, some very creative ones, and one pair of girls who decided to make a political statement about their hatred for my home (thus my last brief post). Some students chose to act out their stories, others just told the story. After each story, to make them practice more than just reading a prepared story off a paper, I asked questions- about the locations, motives, history, and minor details of the story they told me. I pointed out logical fallacies, much to the amusement of their classmates, and picked apart the photograph itself. Basically, I was mean and nit-picky, but their responses were priceless. I could write a book with all the funny material they gave me, but here's a few plot outlines...
- A wife and daughter believe there are aliens in their backyard, the husband believes their "psychologies are do-da-deteriorating," so he decides to hold a garage sale, sell all their things, and use the money to buy a gun and kill them. Instead, though, he uses the money to build a car. His name was Henry Ford.
- Mafiosos cleaning their guns, preparing to go out and threaten a man who hasn't paid his debts- this one was acted out- leading to the line, "If you don't give our money, I will shoot your head!"
- A story involving a father who died, to which I asked "What did he die of?" "He cancer." "What kind of cancer?" I smiled. "Uh..." she paused, and other students tried to mumble answers for her. "Uh... si- sk- sick cancer!" (the helpful classmate had been saying "skin cancer"). After the class laughed a bit, she changed her mind. "No, was face cancer!" she said triumphantly.
- Several students, who chose a photo of an older chef serving a woman in a crowded restaurant, with a menu above them that listed (dollar) prices for common American foods. The students explained to me that it was not as it looked, and in fact the chef was a "serial killer" (read: assassin), and each menu item was code for a different death. Death by Kalashnikov was the cheapest, at $1.85- which really meant $1,850, they explained. And the hitman was serving food in the photo because two customers in the background were FBI agents trying to prove that it wasn't really a restaurant.
- And finally, today's highlight: a story about two workers in a marble quarry in 1929 who, influenced by literature from the Soviet Union, killed their employer and then went after the government. After killing every member of Parliament and the president, they set up a new government of the more intelligent workers, and the country benefited. When asked where the story took place, they said Boston. "A marble quarry in Boston?" I asked. "Uh, well, you go outside of the city" the group corrected themselves, at which point one of their classmates chipped in- "You make a right." And then, of course, I had to ask about the Parliament. In the US.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Frustrated
Some days are easy, some days are not. Some days start out easy, and then a student ends a story with "And then the Turks invaded America and killed all the Americans. A happy ending!"
Today was one of those days.
Today was one of those days.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Dentistry: The Cheap Knock-off Version
Exactly one week ago, I rewarded my mother's incessant nagging and my father's gruff concern with a visit to the dentist. My broken tooth was far less painful to endure than the things I feared at the hands of local oral hygienist, but I already made the mistake of mentioning my broken molar in this blog, and would rather not give my mother ulcers by refusing to treat it. Although from 5,000 miles away, that might be an interesting feat.
Roughly two weeks ago, I contacted a dentist recommended, via email chain, by a friend of a friend of a relative, who responded abruptly and angrily in rapid Turkish to my inquiry "İngilizce konuşur musunuz?" (Do you speak English?)- and then hung up on me. Undeterred (okay, my mother was undeterred...), I went to Semih Bey ("Mr. Semih") - the director of the school, who fancies himself to be our pseudo-parent in Turkey, and is always offering his help. I explained the situation, and he immediately made several phone calls, resulting in an appointment with a friend of his who happened to be a dentist. Semih Bey also arranged a car for Alex and I so we didn't have to pay for a taxi, and for a teacher to babysi- ahem, accompany us.
So a week later (which was last Monday), we left with Mehtap- the same woman who took care of me when I first arrived, whom I am deeply indebted to, and who clearly only looks after me under duress- a bit before ten AM with the contracted vehicle, and headed to Ankara University.
University.
I was forced to hope that this was a teaching school, and not just some kids with rusty pliers. Unfortunately, Mehtap didn't have the patience and no one else had the language skills to explain where I was going, what they're going to do to me once I got there, how much it would cost me, or any number of other questions bouncing around in my head as we drove to this place. The three of us were dropped off just outside in the entrance- the perfect location to see several lab-coated, extremely young-looking Turks lighting up. Because smoking and dentistry go hand in hand. So I entered this place where I planned to let strangers stick foreign objects into my mouth while chanting "It's-the-culture-it's-the-culture-it's-the-culture" and trying to keep my breathing at a non-panicked pace. We passed the smokers and entered the building, only to be confronted by three off-shooting hallways stuffed with ill Turkish persons, a long, unhelpful Turkish department list on the wall, and an empty Turkish help desk. Mehtap paced, turned in a circle, and looked vaguely confused.
An auspicious start, I must say.
Mehtap asked a passing lab coated-person for directions, and we headed up the stairs. We passed at least a hundred coughing, sneezing, miserable-looking people who lined the corridor walls on our way up three flights of stairs and around a few corners. We (by which I mean Mehtap) found the correct office, which was locked, and waited outside with a mother and her precocious five year old daughter, dressed all in purple with bright pink tennis shoes and a pink plastic Disney princess heart necklace. Despite her soft-spoken, headscarved mother's best intentions, she immediately bopped over to us and introduced herself. Mehtap talked with her a bit, and the little girl turned to us. "Merhaba! Hoş geldiniz!" (Hello! Welcome!") she chirped, and glancing back to her mother for approval, she chattered a more elaborate welcome to me, and greeted me in the traditional Turkish manner for someone you greatly respect. Taking my hand in both of hers, she kissed my fingers and touched it briefly to her forehead. "Charmed" doesn't even begin to cover my emotions. I wanted to pick her up, stick her in my purse, and run. My morals getting the better of me, I wanted to at least take a photo of her- but there was a reason I didn't bring a camera to a dentist's appointment.
After maybe a half hour of attempting to communicate with and being greatly entertained by this adorable girl, the dentist arrived and ushered Alex, Mehtap and I into her closet-sized office. She asked, in slightly accented English, what the problem was and then took a quick look. We walked from her office, down the hall to another room, where a few more people clucked over my teeth, talked amongst themselves in Turkish, and agreed to send me to the "Radyasyon" department. Which, covered in yellow-black-yellow hazard signs and the words "radyasyon alanı!", was really reassuring. I got my teeth x-rayed in a radiation cubicle, puke green and less than six feet tall (several feet short of the ceiling). The resulting image caused much consternation among my dental team, most of whom spoke English but none of whom bothered to do so for my benefit. So I was stuck watching, ping-pong style, as the dentists and Mehtap discussed my mouth, without ever telling me what was going on. In case you've ever wondered what it feels like to be three years old, this was it. Eventually several people motioned for me to follow a girl through a set of double doors.
Imagine an inner-city nail salon. It's a bit grimy, and there's rows of chairs set up, informational anatomy posters on the walls, and poor fluorescent lighting. The people running the show have suspect hygienic habits, and speak broken English. Now add needles filled with God-only-knows-what, drills, reused gloves, and the idea of all of it going into one's mouth.
Abject terror best describes my first impression. It was also my second, third, and fourth, but who's counting. I was ushered, alone, to a seat on the far side of the room, in the corner (with mold creeping down the inseam of the walls), by a window- and my dentist cheerfully opened the window for me, revealing sleeting rain and five rows of icy barbed wire. I swear to God.
My dentist, who looked about 22, smiled and said hello. She apologized for her slow speech, explaining that she could read and write fluent English because of her studies but rarely spoke it. She pointed to a syringe on a small counter. "For... if pain, it numbs. You... what is the word? Inject?" She made a motion as though pushing the syringe into my gums. Like I needed a visual. "Give me a shot. You'd say you can give someone a shot." I closed my mouth tightly and tried to keep the horror off my face. The needle had come with the syringe- not from those cute, airtight hypoallergenic packets that I once took for granted. The dentist explained that if it hurt too much, she would give me a shot. Right.
I then proceeded to have my tooth drilled, and the previous filling entirely removed. She took a short break, letting me twitch a bit as the air caressed my newly exposed nerves. Then she stuffed my mouth with cotton balls (I have no idea), and filled the tooth with a suspicious, off-white material, held a funny machine that looked like a hair dryer against it, and repeated the process for about a half hour. After she finished, and fished the soggy cotton balls out of my mouth, she asked if I could do something for her. "Of course," I smiled, completely mystified. She explained that she had a friend who studied in Australia for a year, and when he returned he claimed that she spoke very poor English. I had complimented her English earlier, and it was understandable- a significant achievement. So she asked me, shyly, if I would mind repeating that sentiment. She then left the room and returned with an opened cell phone, and I defended her honor to a surprised (and fluent) Turk on the other end. She thanked me profusely and took the phone back, beaming because a "native speaker" had stood up for her.
And for possibly the first time, I returned to TOBB with a smile on my face.
Roughly two weeks ago, I contacted a dentist recommended, via email chain, by a friend of a friend of a relative, who responded abruptly and angrily in rapid Turkish to my inquiry "İngilizce konuşur musunuz?" (Do you speak English?)- and then hung up on me. Undeterred (okay, my mother was undeterred...), I went to Semih Bey ("Mr. Semih") - the director of the school, who fancies himself to be our pseudo-parent in Turkey, and is always offering his help. I explained the situation, and he immediately made several phone calls, resulting in an appointment with a friend of his who happened to be a dentist. Semih Bey also arranged a car for Alex and I so we didn't have to pay for a taxi, and for a teacher to babysi- ahem, accompany us.
So a week later (which was last Monday), we left with Mehtap- the same woman who took care of me when I first arrived, whom I am deeply indebted to, and who clearly only looks after me under duress- a bit before ten AM with the contracted vehicle, and headed to Ankara University.
University.
I was forced to hope that this was a teaching school, and not just some kids with rusty pliers. Unfortunately, Mehtap didn't have the patience and no one else had the language skills to explain where I was going, what they're going to do to me once I got there, how much it would cost me, or any number of other questions bouncing around in my head as we drove to this place. The three of us were dropped off just outside in the entrance- the perfect location to see several lab-coated, extremely young-looking Turks lighting up. Because smoking and dentistry go hand in hand. So I entered this place where I planned to let strangers stick foreign objects into my mouth while chanting "It's-the-culture-it's-the-culture-it's-the-culture" and trying to keep my breathing at a non-panicked pace. We passed the smokers and entered the building, only to be confronted by three off-shooting hallways stuffed with ill Turkish persons, a long, unhelpful Turkish department list on the wall, and an empty Turkish help desk. Mehtap paced, turned in a circle, and looked vaguely confused.
An auspicious start, I must say.
Mehtap asked a passing lab coated-person for directions, and we headed up the stairs. We passed at least a hundred coughing, sneezing, miserable-looking people who lined the corridor walls on our way up three flights of stairs and around a few corners. We (by which I mean Mehtap) found the correct office, which was locked, and waited outside with a mother and her precocious five year old daughter, dressed all in purple with bright pink tennis shoes and a pink plastic Disney princess heart necklace. Despite her soft-spoken, headscarved mother's best intentions, she immediately bopped over to us and introduced herself. Mehtap talked with her a bit, and the little girl turned to us. "Merhaba! Hoş geldiniz!" (Hello! Welcome!") she chirped, and glancing back to her mother for approval, she chattered a more elaborate welcome to me, and greeted me in the traditional Turkish manner for someone you greatly respect. Taking my hand in both of hers, she kissed my fingers and touched it briefly to her forehead. "Charmed" doesn't even begin to cover my emotions. I wanted to pick her up, stick her in my purse, and run. My morals getting the better of me, I wanted to at least take a photo of her- but there was a reason I didn't bring a camera to a dentist's appointment.
After maybe a half hour of attempting to communicate with and being greatly entertained by this adorable girl, the dentist arrived and ushered Alex, Mehtap and I into her closet-sized office. She asked, in slightly accented English, what the problem was and then took a quick look. We walked from her office, down the hall to another room, where a few more people clucked over my teeth, talked amongst themselves in Turkish, and agreed to send me to the "Radyasyon" department. Which, covered in yellow-black-yellow hazard signs and the words "radyasyon alanı!", was really reassuring. I got my teeth x-rayed in a radiation cubicle, puke green and less than six feet tall (several feet short of the ceiling). The resulting image caused much consternation among my dental team, most of whom spoke English but none of whom bothered to do so for my benefit. So I was stuck watching, ping-pong style, as the dentists and Mehtap discussed my mouth, without ever telling me what was going on. In case you've ever wondered what it feels like to be three years old, this was it. Eventually several people motioned for me to follow a girl through a set of double doors.
Imagine an inner-city nail salon. It's a bit grimy, and there's rows of chairs set up, informational anatomy posters on the walls, and poor fluorescent lighting. The people running the show have suspect hygienic habits, and speak broken English. Now add needles filled with God-only-knows-what, drills, reused gloves, and the idea of all of it going into one's mouth.
Abject terror best describes my first impression. It was also my second, third, and fourth, but who's counting. I was ushered, alone, to a seat on the far side of the room, in the corner (with mold creeping down the inseam of the walls), by a window- and my dentist cheerfully opened the window for me, revealing sleeting rain and five rows of icy barbed wire. I swear to God.
My dentist, who looked about 22, smiled and said hello. She apologized for her slow speech, explaining that she could read and write fluent English because of her studies but rarely spoke it. She pointed to a syringe on a small counter. "For... if pain, it numbs. You... what is the word? Inject?" She made a motion as though pushing the syringe into my gums. Like I needed a visual. "Give me a shot. You'd say you can give someone a shot." I closed my mouth tightly and tried to keep the horror off my face. The needle had come with the syringe- not from those cute, airtight hypoallergenic packets that I once took for granted. The dentist explained that if it hurt too much, she would give me a shot. Right.
I then proceeded to have my tooth drilled, and the previous filling entirely removed. She took a short break, letting me twitch a bit as the air caressed my newly exposed nerves. Then she stuffed my mouth with cotton balls (I have no idea), and filled the tooth with a suspicious, off-white material, held a funny machine that looked like a hair dryer against it, and repeated the process for about a half hour. After she finished, and fished the soggy cotton balls out of my mouth, she asked if I could do something for her. "Of course," I smiled, completely mystified. She explained that she had a friend who studied in Australia for a year, and when he returned he claimed that she spoke very poor English. I had complimented her English earlier, and it was understandable- a significant achievement. So she asked me, shyly, if I would mind repeating that sentiment. She then left the room and returned with an opened cell phone, and I defended her honor to a surprised (and fluent) Turk on the other end. She thanked me profusely and took the phone back, beaming because a "native speaker" had stood up for her.
And for possibly the first time, I returned to TOBB with a smile on my face.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Apartment Living, Cold War Style
Roommate Number Four finally arrived last Tuesday. Marina had been on a cleaning binge for a few days, and she generally knows what's up- speaking the same language as the director of the university can come in handy- so we assumed that, over a week past her expected arrival date, our mysterious fourth roommate was on her way into town. Vague rumors (read: what I could get out of broken English conversations) implied, at different times, that she was Moldovan, that she was coming in January, that she was a boy and living elsewhere, that she was forty years old, that she was twenty years old, that she was imaginary, and that she was irrelevant because she couldn't get "papers." From Moldova.
So, at the point where we were under the assumption that she was 40, I was told that I needed to move everything out of my room, because it would be unfair to make an adult woman share a room. With Alex.
So I bitched, moaned, grouched, sulked, stomped my feet, and moved.
the room I gave up- it was much cooler than it looks here.
A week later, Alex and I came home from work babbling in warp-speed English about something irrelevant, and Marina was sitting at the table with a girl we didn't know. (Marina has many more friends than we do- it's sort of the norm.) We both said hello to her- no response. I dropped my bag on the couch, and, yanking my boots off, casually asked the friend's name. The friend, I might mention, was growing more and more terrified-looking as Alex and I continued what was probably just one of the many pointless circular political debates we have. Hourly. So I asked her name, and she looked in confusion between Marina and I, at which point Marina quickly muttered a translation under her breath.
"Ah!" the friend smiled. "Efiadlf;ksdlkfs."
I glanced at Alex, who shrugged. "Um, I'm so sorry- could you repeat that?" I smiled warmly.
More glances, then friend repeated her name. I still didn't catch it, except that it may have started with a E. Ef. Ef-something. So I shrugged it off and returned to my debate with Alex, while we puttered around and got ready to make a grocery run. We were putting our coats on when Marina asked if we needed anything from the Armada- the place we were about to go. We explained that we were already heading there ourselves- with a long list, and we were more than willing to pick up whatever she needed. She smiled, and brokenly explained that she was showing the friend the path to the mall. Huh. I thought. It's really not all that cool...* why would you sightsee with a visiting friend, and show them a MALL? (pause.) Eh. Whatever. Russians.
So to avoid the awkwardness of dealing with this friend who obviously did not speak a single word of English ("hello" confused her, remember), Alex and I procrastinated just long enough to leave the apartment far enough apart the we wouldn't run into them on the way over to the Armada. On the way out, Alex mentioned something about "our new roommate." Uh, what? Of course, I was the only moron who didn't realize that this "friend" was actually the girl living with us for the next eight weeks.
And I didn't. Learn. Her name.
So we now refer to her as "M-dubs," because a) she is Moldovan, and b) she's always with Marina. So M(arina) and M(oldovan) = double M = Mdubs. Alex came up with it- I'm not sure if I want credit for that one.
Speaking of Marina, she's spoken maybe half a dozen words to us since the arrival of Mdubs. Mdubs speaks Russian and nothing else, as far as we can tell, and Marina is mothering her. And also has no reason to talk to us- she's got regular human contact with locals, and now a friend in the apartment. The result of this has been a rather rapid devolution from a harmonious, multicultural household to an apartment divided strictly along Cold War lines- Russians on one side, Americans on the other. We eat, sleep, work, talk, laugh, go out, come home- basically live- completely separately. In our one-bathroom, itty-bitty apartment. My one limited interaction with Mdubs directly involved her pointing at various hair dryers and then the wall, saying "Marina?"
No, Marina is not a hair dryer. I have no idea what you want. She was holding her own hair dryer, she didn't want to use someone else's, and I pointed out the outlet to use it. I even tried the Turkish standby- "Tamam, tamam." (alright, alright). No dice. About ten minutes later I gave up and just shrugged a lot.
And that's the extent of my attempts to negotiate with the Russians.
*Apparently the Armada is, in fact, the shit. Named the best mall in Europe in 2003, the entire thing is shaped like a giant ship**- with an anchor statue out front. Despite Ankara being landlocked, its name comes from the ancient Greek word for "anchor." Thus the theme.
**... Alex and I only realized it was shaped like a ship about 24 hours ago. After visiting it almost every day for a a month and a half. We're quick ones.
So, at the point where we were under the assumption that she was 40, I was told that I needed to move everything out of my room, because it would be unfair to make an adult woman share a room. With Alex.
So I bitched, moaned, grouched, sulked, stomped my feet, and moved.
the room I gave up- it was much cooler than it looks here.
A week later, Alex and I came home from work babbling in warp-speed English about something irrelevant, and Marina was sitting at the table with a girl we didn't know. (Marina has many more friends than we do- it's sort of the norm.) We both said hello to her- no response. I dropped my bag on the couch, and, yanking my boots off, casually asked the friend's name. The friend, I might mention, was growing more and more terrified-looking as Alex and I continued what was probably just one of the many pointless circular political debates we have. Hourly. So I asked her name, and she looked in confusion between Marina and I, at which point Marina quickly muttered a translation under her breath.
"Ah!" the friend smiled. "Efiadlf;ksdlkfs."
I glanced at Alex, who shrugged. "Um, I'm so sorry- could you repeat that?" I smiled warmly.
More glances, then friend repeated her name. I still didn't catch it, except that it may have started with a E. Ef. Ef-something. So I shrugged it off and returned to my debate with Alex, while we puttered around and got ready to make a grocery run. We were putting our coats on when Marina asked if we needed anything from the Armada- the place we were about to go. We explained that we were already heading there ourselves- with a long list, and we were more than willing to pick up whatever she needed. She smiled, and brokenly explained that she was showing the friend the path to the mall. Huh. I thought. It's really not all that cool...* why would you sightsee with a visiting friend, and show them a MALL? (pause.) Eh. Whatever. Russians.
So to avoid the awkwardness of dealing with this friend who obviously did not speak a single word of English ("hello" confused her, remember), Alex and I procrastinated just long enough to leave the apartment far enough apart the we wouldn't run into them on the way over to the Armada. On the way out, Alex mentioned something about "our new roommate." Uh, what? Of course, I was the only moron who didn't realize that this "friend" was actually the girl living with us for the next eight weeks.
And I didn't. Learn. Her name.
So we now refer to her as "M-dubs," because a) she is Moldovan, and b) she's always with Marina. So M(arina) and M(oldovan) = double M = Mdubs. Alex came up with it- I'm not sure if I want credit for that one.
Speaking of Marina, she's spoken maybe half a dozen words to us since the arrival of Mdubs. Mdubs speaks Russian and nothing else, as far as we can tell, and Marina is mothering her. And also has no reason to talk to us- she's got regular human contact with locals, and now a friend in the apartment. The result of this has been a rather rapid devolution from a harmonious, multicultural household to an apartment divided strictly along Cold War lines- Russians on one side, Americans on the other. We eat, sleep, work, talk, laugh, go out, come home- basically live- completely separately. In our one-bathroom, itty-bitty apartment. My one limited interaction with Mdubs directly involved her pointing at various hair dryers and then the wall, saying "Marina?"
No, Marina is not a hair dryer. I have no idea what you want. She was holding her own hair dryer, she didn't want to use someone else's, and I pointed out the outlet to use it. I even tried the Turkish standby- "Tamam, tamam." (alright, alright). No dice. About ten minutes later I gave up and just shrugged a lot.
And that's the extent of my attempts to negotiate with the Russians.
*Apparently the Armada is, in fact, the shit. Named the best mall in Europe in 2003, the entire thing is shaped like a giant ship**- with an anchor statue out front. Despite Ankara being landlocked, its name comes from the ancient Greek word for "anchor." Thus the theme.
**... Alex and I only realized it was shaped like a ship about 24 hours ago. After visiting it almost every day for a a month and a half. We're quick ones.
Monday, February 9, 2009
A Day in the Life- International Edition
It was a sunny weekend. I rolled out of bed around noon on Saturday morning, foraged about in the kitchen for something edible, and followed that up by scrubbing all the dishes I didn't do the night before. Straightened the apartment a bit, grabbed a shower- shower head attached solely by duct tape- and then threw on whatever was convenient. Alex roused herself at some point during this sequence, performed her own weekend-morning rituals, and then we bonded over Paul Wright (musician) while making apple crisp. Refresher: I don't cook. But I am capable of cleaning the dishes she uses, since we so few cooking utensils that it is often necessary to clean them multiple times while making the same dish.
our kitchen, and the stove that tries to kill me
So I cleaned, which is my assigned half of the domestic obligations in our apartment. And I peeled the apples, because Turkey hasn't yet discovered the peeler and Alex's version of "peeling" involves hacking away haphazardly with a rather blunt knife until the apple is about half its original size. But don't worry, she gets all the peel off! So we* successfully cooked a large pan of apple crisp, and brought it to Bible study at the Vatican Embassy, which started at 4:30- "Turkish time." We got there at about five and were the fifth and sixth people in the room, which by 6:30 had about a dozen students. The students were all close to our age and African- from Angola, Mozambique, and Burundi. Intermediate English speakers for the most part, and Swahili/Portuguese natives. They could communicate with us well enough. The priest running the Bible study, originally from Ohio, had assigned us to read Song of Songs.
So after an hour or so of this immense awkwardness- we took turns reading passages, and then discussed them at the end of each chapter (it's only six chapters long, thank God). I swear, nothing but the presence of an ordained minister could have kept me from bursting out into awkward giggles. On multiple occasions. Which sounds terribly immature, I understand, but here's a (verbatim) snippet of conversation:
our kitchen, and the stove that tries to kill me
So I cleaned, which is my assigned half of the domestic obligations in our apartment. And I peeled the apples, because Turkey hasn't yet discovered the peeler and Alex's version of "peeling" involves hacking away haphazardly with a rather blunt knife until the apple is about half its original size. But don't worry, she gets all the peel off! So we* successfully cooked a large pan of apple crisp, and brought it to Bible study at the Vatican Embassy, which started at 4:30- "Turkish time." We got there at about five and were the fifth and sixth people in the room, which by 6:30 had about a dozen students. The students were all close to our age and African- from Angola, Mozambique, and Burundi. Intermediate English speakers for the most part, and Swahili/Portuguese natives. They could communicate with us well enough. The priest running the Bible study, originally from Ohio, had assigned us to read Song of Songs.
No worries, I remember thinking on Sunday, when he informed us we would be studying it. We'll all read it, and then just discuss the meaning in the study group. Doesn't need to be awkward. Yeah. No, we'll be fine. Definitely. Reassured, I didn't think much about it. Until Saturday, that is, when we walked in a bit late, just in time to hear the feminine voice of the poem praising the masculine voice- "therefore, the virgins love you!"
This priest was making this group of (male and female) non-fluent English speakers read NKJV translated ancient, semi-explicit Hebrew poetry. Aloud.
So after an hour or so of this immense awkwardness- we took turns reading passages, and then discussed them at the end of each chapter (it's only six chapters long, thank God). I swear, nothing but the presence of an ordained minister could have kept me from bursting out into awkward giggles. On multiple occasions. Which sounds terribly immature, I understand, but here's a (verbatim) snippet of conversation:
"Alright, so who's reading the next passage- chapter four, the first fifteen verses. It's a boy- you, young man, you walked in a bit late- what's your name?" the priest asked.
"Landrine" the boy responded, with a heavy Burundian accent.
"Okay, Laundry, will you please read next?"
(Stifled giggles.)
By the time "Laundry" got to the part about "breasts like twin fawns," I am quite certain I have never felt more awkward in my life. And I am an awkward person to begin with.
It finished quickly enough, as we were all eager to get past the awkwardness and dig into the food. As I mentioned, Alex and I brought apple crisp, and there were cookies and juice and other church-activity staples. We left with the two boys from Burundi, Landrine (whose name we learned over apple crisp) and Liberi (sp?), who basically held my hand and walked me through the transit system- from the bus, to Kizilay, to the metro, through the process of purchasing the AnkaraMetro equivalent of a Charlie Card, and finally through the labriynth-like subway stop to my actual waiting area.
From there, Alex and I went to the Armada mall, hung around on the internet for an hour or so, then caught a cab to Stephanie's apartment, where we met Sophie, the newest intern at the French Embassy, and walked with them to a farewell party for a friend whom I've met several times. I met one of the major Frnech diplomats, whose name escapes me, and talked with him about world events and his experiences working in Uganda, Kenya, and Turkey. If I ever had any doubts about wanting to work in the international arena, my experiences here have completely made up my mind. I also met and chatted with a new intern from Denmark, very young and arrived only a week ago. Hopefully we'll keep in touch.
We were then introduced to Anthony, who was responsible for our invitation/entrance into the Canadian Embassy party, and thanked him profusely. He seemed very fun, and invited us out to a party following the one we were at- apparently one of the US Army officers was leaving, and throwing a farewell party. So of course we accepted, tagged along with him and his female friend(?), and landed at a house party filled with military personnel, expats, and other Americans. Which was absolutely thrilling. I met people from San Diego, Augusta (Georgia), NorCal, and New Jersey, and others whose home states I didn't catch. There was apparently a fight between a few of the revelers, and a superior officer took matters into his own hands and declared the party over around 2 AM. At which point, Alex and I left with a few new friends, and ended up back at the Marilyn Monroe Bar (location of our inauguration get together), where we had fun talking with a Californian in the Air Force, a Danish diplomat, and an Irish expat. Absolutely fantastic. Two hours later, we exchanged phone numbers and last names- they promised to find Alex and I on facebook, to our great amusement- said our goodbyes, and caught cabs to our various parts of the city.
All of this- from reading Hebrew poetry with Africans, to a French dinner party, to an American house party and a Turkish bar- in one day. Not too shabby.
*Alex and I have coined a new grammatical term: "The Turkish We." Because we refer to ourselves in the plural on a near-constant basis, (in case you hadn't noticed), even when telling stories that are clearly individual- i.e., we thought or we were going to wear or we didn't like. We spend 98% of our time within shouting distance, so it's understandable.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Side note:
To be added to the list of things in my life that are too absurd to happen to anyone else on the planet:
- Held a serious conversation about the history of the plastic prosthetic hand of an imaginary pink kangaroo that lives outside of Canberra.
- Held a serious conversation about the history of the plastic prosthetic hand of an imaginary pink kangaroo that lives outside of Canberra.
All of a sudden, I've got opinions!
So, in the course of any given 50 minute lesson, there are often times where a class finishes an assignment early and there's dead air. Some classes have no issue occupying themselves.... others sit quietly and stare at me, as if at any moment I should start jumping through flaming hula hoops that I produce from my Mary Poppins bag. Which is an extremely uncomfortable position to be in, since I have neither the bag nor the hoops nor the technical skill required. Since my job description is, in full, "Conversate!" I come to a decisive crossroads: Put my head down on the desk and play possum, or try to force people to talk to me. Possum hasn't been working so well (don't think I didn't try).
Trying to talk to strangers isn't an easy task to begin with. Add a layer of ill-fitting authority (I'm their age, but still in charge... but unable to enforce anything), plus some general young adult awkwardness, and just a pinch of cultural resentment- and throw all that over a language barrier that rivals the Great Wall. And now imagine encountering the same students weekly, without having the memory retention capabilities to recall their names or almost anything about them.
In response, I've come up with all sorts of opinions I never knew I had. Not only am I required to have an extensive, yet easily explainable, opinion of every political event in the Middle East in the past decade, as well as the basic history of Ataturk, and the previous Ottoman Empire, I ALSO needed to invent loyalty to NBA, NHL, and National Turkish Football teams. None of this would have been necessary had "possum" worked out as a viable alternative, but since it hasn't, I've discovered- through trial and error, naturally- that saying "Uh, I don't really watch much football (soccer)" is a bit of a conversation killer. And then they recommence staring in near-perfect silence. I've never felt more like I should have a glass barrier in front of me in my life- "Please don't feed the native speaker." Anyhow, so having already magically produced athletic loyalties (under duress), I suppose I should state them now. Mostly just to horrify my younger brothers.
NBA- Boston Celtics. They've won something big recently, right? And I go to school in Boston. It's logical.
NHL- Devils? This one was only asked two or three times, and I was able to turn the conversation back to football, which they thoroughly enjoy shouting at each other about. Not usually in English, but the staring stopped, so I don't care.
Turkish Football- This is the risky one. Loyalties between the top teams are divisive and brutal. Which meant that it was absolutely imperative that I choose a team- they needed to know where I stood on such an important issue. After asking several classes which team was the best, letting them shout for a bit, and then asking why, I've basically gotten this much: Galatasaray is the top dog, Fenerbahçe is the weathly younger brother with the most obsessive fans, Sivasspor is the little engine that could (and did- recently won a match against Galatasaray), Beşiktaş is the outsider, and Ankaraspor (local team) is the joke ("Why are they good? Why do you like them?" I asked one student. "Cheap tickets!" his friend laughed). There are tons of other teams, of course, and my info might be completely wrong- it's all mostly impressions, with bits of Turkglish thrown in around the edges. But, having had to choose, I've thrown my lot in with Fenerbahçe. My logic is rather lacking, but here's what I've got: most of my classes had at least a few Fenerbahçe diehards, even in classes filled with loud obnoxious Galatasaray supporters, and they didn't mind being the minority. "Fenerbahçe," one girl explained to me, "their matches- there is very much feeling, very much- passion! The fans, they are very..." she smiled. (they drift off a lot, especially once they think I've got the gist.) So even though they aren't quite the underdog, and they do have too much money to throw around, I'm a Fenerbahçe-ian. Fenerbahçe-ist. Whatever. Now I should probably go watch a game.
Trying to talk to strangers isn't an easy task to begin with. Add a layer of ill-fitting authority (I'm their age, but still in charge... but unable to enforce anything), plus some general young adult awkwardness, and just a pinch of cultural resentment- and throw all that over a language barrier that rivals the Great Wall. And now imagine encountering the same students weekly, without having the memory retention capabilities to recall their names or almost anything about them.
In response, I've come up with all sorts of opinions I never knew I had. Not only am I required to have an extensive, yet easily explainable, opinion of every political event in the Middle East in the past decade, as well as the basic history of Ataturk, and the previous Ottoman Empire, I ALSO needed to invent loyalty to NBA, NHL, and National Turkish Football teams. None of this would have been necessary had "possum" worked out as a viable alternative, but since it hasn't, I've discovered- through trial and error, naturally- that saying "Uh, I don't really watch much football (soccer)" is a bit of a conversation killer. And then they recommence staring in near-perfect silence. I've never felt more like I should have a glass barrier in front of me in my life- "Please don't feed the native speaker." Anyhow, so having already magically produced athletic loyalties (under duress), I suppose I should state them now. Mostly just to horrify my younger brothers.
NBA- Boston Celtics. They've won something big recently, right? And I go to school in Boston. It's logical.
NHL- Devils? This one was only asked two or three times, and I was able to turn the conversation back to football, which they thoroughly enjoy shouting at each other about. Not usually in English, but the staring stopped, so I don't care.
Turkish Football- This is the risky one. Loyalties between the top teams are divisive and brutal. Which meant that it was absolutely imperative that I choose a team- they needed to know where I stood on such an important issue. After asking several classes which team was the best, letting them shout for a bit, and then asking why, I've basically gotten this much: Galatasaray is the top dog, Fenerbahçe is the weathly younger brother with the most obsessive fans, Sivasspor is the little engine that could (and did- recently won a match against Galatasaray), Beşiktaş is the outsider, and Ankaraspor (local team) is the joke ("Why are they good? Why do you like them?" I asked one student. "Cheap tickets!" his friend laughed). There are tons of other teams, of course, and my info might be completely wrong- it's all mostly impressions, with bits of Turkglish thrown in around the edges. But, having had to choose, I've thrown my lot in with Fenerbahçe. My logic is rather lacking, but here's what I've got: most of my classes had at least a few Fenerbahçe diehards, even in classes filled with loud obnoxious Galatasaray supporters, and they didn't mind being the minority. "Fenerbahçe," one girl explained to me, "their matches- there is very much feeling, very much- passion! The fans, they are very..." she smiled. (they drift off a lot, especially once they think I've got the gist.) So even though they aren't quite the underdog, and they do have too much money to throw around, I'm a Fenerbahçe-ian. Fenerbahçe-ist. Whatever. Now I should probably go watch a game.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Happy Groundhog's Day
Have you ever tried to explain Groundhog Day to someone who has only rudimentary English skills? I have.
First, no one knows what a groundhog is. And it's not an easy thing to describe- basically, people either thought it was a mole or a small bear- I even looked up the Turkish word for groundhog, to facilitate the explanation of our bizarre traditions. It's dağsıçanı, by the way, which basically means marmot. And no one has any idea what a marmot is regardless- so that was useless. "Badger," "woodchuck," and even "beaver" also didn't translate. Second, they assume that the must be misunderstanding you. "Wait, its shadow? What does its shadow have to do with seasons?" - that sort of thing. And then once they realize that they understand you, they just think you're nuts. After all, what kind of a person listens to a small rodent's predictions of the future? Moreover, what kind of a country makes a holiday dedicated to paying attention to said rodent?
So this morning Alex and I discovered we were curriculum-less. Apparently someone forgot to post it online, so we had to make it up- and in honor of groundhog's day, we made it purely absurd. We made up a list of words, mostly based on classic, nonsensical Americana, and they had to use 10 or so of the list of 15 in a story. Words and phrases like "canyon," "coonskin cap," "tornado," "cherry tree," mixed in with adjectives like "itchy" and "flamboyant." Despite how much fun we had coming up with the list, the kids despised the idea. You'd think I suggested mass in-class root canals. Groans, complaints, trying to avoid the assignment... weasels, all of them. So in my first class, I pretty much forced them to do it. A group of a few (bright, hardworking) girls gave me serious puppydog eyes- "Is there another activity after this? Pleeeeease?" Of course, I hadn't planned on anything else. But I promised to see if I could think of something.
Some quotes from their stories (bolded words were from my list):
"A pink kangaroo in Australia with her baby in her pouch. It was itchy."
"Three animals were living together in the wild: a groundhog, a kangaroo, and a coonskin cap."
"A groundhog fell in love with a flamboyant raccoon with pink plastic accessories in her hair."
Flash to 20 minutes later. Remember, I started the class by explaining that Americans get their weather from moles (which was the closest animal they could come up with). Then stories involving wooden teeth and glaciers. Then I dragged them out of their desks and we played "Dilly Dally Duck." You know, the summer camp game for ages 4-10. "Theeeeee Dilly Dally Duck goes "Quack quack quack" round San Arina rinarinarina...." etc.
Pretty sure they're now convinced I'm a lunatic. But they played along, which was great, and they were all very competitive once they got the hang of it. I was continually the only one singing the song, over and over and over again, and I think everyone is familiar with my lack of singing abilities- but whatever. I had fun. Afterwards, one of the students came up to me.
"So, in America, adults play this game?"
"Umm... No." I paused. "Children."
"But, we are not children!" he protested.
"True. Adults like to write stories. So next time, like adults, we'll just write lots of stories. Okay?" I smiled innocently.
"Uh, okay okay. Forget it," he mumbled.
Success.
On a more somber note, Jude (the bunny) died on Saturday. He had had some strange sores on his mouth and stomach that we noticed the first night we got him, and Alex and I considered taking him to a vet. But over the next few days, the sores visibly improved, so I figured he would be fine. Then he went into convulsions and died slowly in my hands (he was very small) five days after we brought him home. It was rough. Alex and I cleaned everything up, threw everything out, and headed to the mall to drown our sorrows in big macs, followed by chocolate (strawberry fondue) and coffee from our favorite cafe, and the only English movie playing- Valkyrie. We then made a long list of things that are American that are awesome. The light bulb, motion pictures, microwave dinners. It effectively soothed our rage at this country for selling us a dying bunny and various smaller crimes.
Sunday we attended mass at the Vatican Embassy (Vatikan Elçilik), which was a really cool experience. A simple building, with people from all over the world- Angola, Mozambique, Burundi, various Asian countries. The regular priest, Father Oliver, is leaving for a month to teach theology in Lebanon. The interm priest is an expert on interfaith (Christian-Muslim) relations, which I plan to take full advantage of. There's also a youth group that meets bimonthly, twenty or so early 20somethings, mostly of African origin. Really friendly and welcoming. Alex and I also talked with a woman organizing a pilgrimage sometime in March to Antioch and several other places, which we hope to go on. In case that's not enough, she also works with Iraqi refugees once a month, and invited us to help out.
Only other news: Despite being told that a Moldovan girl was coming to live with us, and then not coming, and then told that a boy came and was living elsewhere, and we had the apartment to ourselves for the remainder of our time here.... we were recently informed that an adult (40something) Moldovan woman is coming to live with us sometime this week and staying for eight weeks. So I had to move all of my stuff out of my room and into Alex's, so this woman could have her own room. Really frustrating, especially since I already put a lot of effort into choosing that room, decorating it, and just generally making it feel homey.
Bah.
This post is brought to you by the word "Çekoslovakyalılaştıramadıklarımızdanmıymışsınız?"
Meaning, in Turkish, "Aren't you one of those people whom we tried unsuccessfully to make represented as the citizens of czech republic? "
First, no one knows what a groundhog is. And it's not an easy thing to describe- basically, people either thought it was a mole or a small bear- I even looked up the Turkish word for groundhog, to facilitate the explanation of our bizarre traditions. It's dağsıçanı, by the way, which basically means marmot. And no one has any idea what a marmot is regardless- so that was useless. "Badger," "woodchuck," and even "beaver" also didn't translate. Second, they assume that the must be misunderstanding you. "Wait, its shadow? What does its shadow have to do with seasons?" - that sort of thing. And then once they realize that they understand you, they just think you're nuts. After all, what kind of a person listens to a small rodent's predictions of the future? Moreover, what kind of a country makes a holiday dedicated to paying attention to said rodent?
So this morning Alex and I discovered we were curriculum-less. Apparently someone forgot to post it online, so we had to make it up- and in honor of groundhog's day, we made it purely absurd. We made up a list of words, mostly based on classic, nonsensical Americana, and they had to use 10 or so of the list of 15 in a story. Words and phrases like "canyon," "coonskin cap," "tornado," "cherry tree," mixed in with adjectives like "itchy" and "flamboyant." Despite how much fun we had coming up with the list, the kids despised the idea. You'd think I suggested mass in-class root canals. Groans, complaints, trying to avoid the assignment... weasels, all of them. So in my first class, I pretty much forced them to do it. A group of a few (bright, hardworking) girls gave me serious puppydog eyes- "Is there another activity after this? Pleeeeease?" Of course, I hadn't planned on anything else. But I promised to see if I could think of something.
Some quotes from their stories (bolded words were from my list):
"A pink kangaroo in Australia with her baby in her pouch. It was itchy."
"Three animals were living together in the wild: a groundhog, a kangaroo, and a coonskin cap."
"A groundhog fell in love with a flamboyant raccoon with pink plastic accessories in her hair."
Flash to 20 minutes later. Remember, I started the class by explaining that Americans get their weather from moles (which was the closest animal they could come up with). Then stories involving wooden teeth and glaciers. Then I dragged them out of their desks and we played "Dilly Dally Duck." You know, the summer camp game for ages 4-10. "Theeeeee Dilly Dally Duck goes "Quack quack quack" round San Arina rinarinarina...." etc.
Pretty sure they're now convinced I'm a lunatic. But they played along, which was great, and they were all very competitive once they got the hang of it. I was continually the only one singing the song, over and over and over again, and I think everyone is familiar with my lack of singing abilities- but whatever. I had fun. Afterwards, one of the students came up to me.
"So, in America, adults play this game?"
"Umm... No." I paused. "Children."
"But, we are not children!" he protested.
"True. Adults like to write stories. So next time, like adults, we'll just write lots of stories. Okay?" I smiled innocently.
"Uh, okay okay. Forget it," he mumbled.
Success.
On a more somber note, Jude (the bunny) died on Saturday. He had had some strange sores on his mouth and stomach that we noticed the first night we got him, and Alex and I considered taking him to a vet. But over the next few days, the sores visibly improved, so I figured he would be fine. Then he went into convulsions and died slowly in my hands (he was very small) five days after we brought him home. It was rough. Alex and I cleaned everything up, threw everything out, and headed to the mall to drown our sorrows in big macs, followed by chocolate (strawberry fondue) and coffee from our favorite cafe, and the only English movie playing- Valkyrie. We then made a long list of things that are American that are awesome. The light bulb, motion pictures, microwave dinners. It effectively soothed our rage at this country for selling us a dying bunny and various smaller crimes.
Sunday we attended mass at the Vatican Embassy (Vatikan Elçilik), which was a really cool experience. A simple building, with people from all over the world- Angola, Mozambique, Burundi, various Asian countries. The regular priest, Father Oliver, is leaving for a month to teach theology in Lebanon. The interm priest is an expert on interfaith (Christian-Muslim) relations, which I plan to take full advantage of. There's also a youth group that meets bimonthly, twenty or so early 20somethings, mostly of African origin. Really friendly and welcoming. Alex and I also talked with a woman organizing a pilgrimage sometime in March to Antioch and several other places, which we hope to go on. In case that's not enough, she also works with Iraqi refugees once a month, and invited us to help out.
Only other news: Despite being told that a Moldovan girl was coming to live with us, and then not coming, and then told that a boy came and was living elsewhere, and we had the apartment to ourselves for the remainder of our time here.... we were recently informed that an adult (40something) Moldovan woman is coming to live with us sometime this week and staying for eight weeks. So I had to move all of my stuff out of my room and into Alex's, so this woman could have her own room. Really frustrating, especially since I already put a lot of effort into choosing that room, decorating it, and just generally making it feel homey.
Bah.
This post is brought to you by the word "Çekoslovakyalılaştıramadıklarımızdanmıymışsınız?"
Meaning, in Turkish, "Aren't you one of those people whom we tried unsuccessfully to make represented as the citizens of czech republic? "
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Turkish Tongue Twisters
So this week, the curriculum (as Alex and I decided to interpret it) involved two activities: making the kids say various tongue twisters, and then role-playing skits. I started each class with "Peter Piper," picking on five or six students and making them say it, then moved on to "How much wood can a woodchuck chuck," "She sells sea shells.." and the hardest one, "If two witches were wearing two watches, which witch was watching which watch?" Of course, the kids all wanted me to try Turkish tongue twisters- which I did, and they all got a good laugh out of it, and I made them translate the little nonsense rhymes into English. Some of the more common ones-
"Kartal kalkar dal sarkar, dal sarkar kartal kalkar." (something about an eagle flying off a branch)
"Şu yoğurdu sarımsaklasak da mı saklasak? Sarımsaklamasak (yes that is all one word) da mı saklasak?" (something about yogurt with garlic)
My personal favorite was "Şu köşe yaz köşesi, Şu köşe kış köşesi, ortada su şişesi." - "In this corner winter, in this corner summer, in the middle a bottle of water." The hardest part about reading these aloud is that I had to remember pronounciation- the "Ş" letter is pronounced like a "sh" sound, "ğ" isn't pronounced, but istead lengthens the vowel before it, etc- while trying not to lose my place/stumble over the sounds. Piece of cake.
So after they got the giggles out of their systems, we moved on to skits. I came up with a bunch on Tuesday morning, in the 20 minutes between when I got the curriculum (at 8:30) and had my first class (8:50). Panic? Just a little. So these are some of the better ones-
Waiter serving a vegetarian/carnivore couple
Disgruntled customer attempting to return an item
Business owner interviewing two people for the same position
Teacher catching one or more students cheating
Tourist and a lost/confused taxi driver (guess where the idea for this one came from)
Police officer breaking up a fight between 2+ people
Travel agent and customer
etc. etc. Pretty basic but the more creative kids came up with some funny stuff.
Now, this all seems relatively uncomplicated. Nothing controversial or risky. Right.
So in the tongue twisters, I let kids write the Turkish ones on the board, and then I'd say them out loud. In one of the classes, the kids were very enthusiastic- so while a few students were writing at the board, I talked with the others and tried to repeat the tongue twisters as they recited them for me. So one of the students, an overenthusiastic, popular 20 year old boy, had spent the whole class teasing and calling me "sweetheart" and "pussycat" (their books, a bit out of date, teach that as a term of endearment, and don't clarify it- so it's not unusal to overhear boys calling each other pussycats. A little disturbing, to say the least.) I'd been mostly rolling my eyes and laughing at him, until he called me over and asked if he could kiss me. Literally.
"Come here!"
"No. ...Why?"
"I want to kiss you- because you are so sweet!" (remember, broken english.)
At which point I began ignoring him. However, in the midst of the tongue twisters, I wasn't thinking- and repeated one as he said it. Of course, what he was actually saying was something closer to "I love Bhutan (or however his name is spelled) because he is the best" and such things. He seemed innocent enough so I'm hoping none of it was dirty, but honestly I'd rather not know. So of course, the class overheard this and roared with laughter.
Aside from that, I had a skit- three boys, with the assigned police officer/arguement skit- who reenacted the Bush-shoe incident, and a couple of kids who attempted to use English curse words (mostly just "shit") in their skits, usually in the wrong context.
But the most memorable moment goes to one of my B level classes, where a student wrote a "Turkish tongue twister" on the board that was clearly not a tongue twister. I looked at it suspiciously, mostly because half the class giggled and the other half seemed nervous.
"What does it mean?" I asked the boy who wrote it.
"Say first- meaning after!" He grinned.
"Uhmmm.... No." I guessed.
"No, no! Say! Very funny!" He insisted. I chose to ignore him and moved on with the class, and later asked the teacher what it had meant.
Turns out, he was trying to convert me. It was the line- originally in arabic, actually, but I didn't recognize the Turkish form- that you repeat in order to accept Islam. I caught that it involved Muhammed but that's not an uncommon name here, so I didn't think anything of it. The teacher explained (also in broken english) the meaning, and I had to choke back everything I wanted to say and just nod, unruffled. Apparently, despite Christian evangelism being illegal here, it is perfectly acceptable- even funny- to trick people into "converting" to the popular religion. I'm trying really hard not to be frustrated... not sure if I'm succeeding.
"Kartal kalkar dal sarkar, dal sarkar kartal kalkar." (something about an eagle flying off a branch)
"Şu yoğurdu sarımsaklasak da mı saklasak? Sarımsaklamasak (yes that is all one word) da mı saklasak?" (something about yogurt with garlic)
My personal favorite was "Şu köşe yaz köşesi, Şu köşe kış köşesi, ortada su şişesi." - "In this corner winter, in this corner summer, in the middle a bottle of water." The hardest part about reading these aloud is that I had to remember pronounciation- the "Ş" letter is pronounced like a "sh" sound, "ğ" isn't pronounced, but istead lengthens the vowel before it, etc- while trying not to lose my place/stumble over the sounds. Piece of cake.
So after they got the giggles out of their systems, we moved on to skits. I came up with a bunch on Tuesday morning, in the 20 minutes between when I got the curriculum (at 8:30) and had my first class (8:50). Panic? Just a little. So these are some of the better ones-
Waiter serving a vegetarian/carnivore couple
Disgruntled customer attempting to return an item
Business owner interviewing two people for the same position
Teacher catching one or more students cheating
Tourist and a lost/confused taxi driver (guess where the idea for this one came from)
Police officer breaking up a fight between 2+ people
Travel agent and customer
etc. etc. Pretty basic but the more creative kids came up with some funny stuff.
Now, this all seems relatively uncomplicated. Nothing controversial or risky. Right.
So in the tongue twisters, I let kids write the Turkish ones on the board, and then I'd say them out loud. In one of the classes, the kids were very enthusiastic- so while a few students were writing at the board, I talked with the others and tried to repeat the tongue twisters as they recited them for me. So one of the students, an overenthusiastic, popular 20 year old boy, had spent the whole class teasing and calling me "sweetheart" and "pussycat" (their books, a bit out of date, teach that as a term of endearment, and don't clarify it- so it's not unusal to overhear boys calling each other pussycats. A little disturbing, to say the least.) I'd been mostly rolling my eyes and laughing at him, until he called me over and asked if he could kiss me. Literally.
"Come here!"
"No. ...Why?"
"I want to kiss you- because you are so sweet!" (remember, broken english.)
At which point I began ignoring him. However, in the midst of the tongue twisters, I wasn't thinking- and repeated one as he said it. Of course, what he was actually saying was something closer to "I love Bhutan (or however his name is spelled) because he is the best" and such things. He seemed innocent enough so I'm hoping none of it was dirty, but honestly I'd rather not know. So of course, the class overheard this and roared with laughter.
Aside from that, I had a skit- three boys, with the assigned police officer/arguement skit- who reenacted the Bush-shoe incident, and a couple of kids who attempted to use English curse words (mostly just "shit") in their skits, usually in the wrong context.
But the most memorable moment goes to one of my B level classes, where a student wrote a "Turkish tongue twister" on the board that was clearly not a tongue twister. I looked at it suspiciously, mostly because half the class giggled and the other half seemed nervous.
"What does it mean?" I asked the boy who wrote it.
"Say first- meaning after!" He grinned.
"Uhmmm.... No." I guessed.
"No, no! Say! Very funny!" He insisted. I chose to ignore him and moved on with the class, and later asked the teacher what it had meant.
Turns out, he was trying to convert me. It was the line- originally in arabic, actually, but I didn't recognize the Turkish form- that you repeat in order to accept Islam. I caught that it involved Muhammed but that's not an uncommon name here, so I didn't think anything of it. The teacher explained (also in broken english) the meaning, and I had to choke back everything I wanted to say and just nod, unruffled. Apparently, despite Christian evangelism being illegal here, it is perfectly acceptable- even funny- to trick people into "converting" to the popular religion. I'm trying really hard not to be frustrated... not sure if I'm succeeding.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday and Monday
Originally, this past weekend I was supposed to go to Cappadocia with Alex, Anna, Turkner, and some of their friends- but something went wrong, not enough people on the tour, so we had to cancel. Friday night was spent catching up on lost sleep (we may have stayed out rather late Thursday night... but hip-hop night at Murphy's pub was a definitely a valid excuse), and Saturday was quiet- Alex and I went to Kahve Dünyası, where we are now regulars, and just kinda hung out for a few hours.
Beypazarı street - click for larger version
Sunday we joined Anna, Turkner, and a few of their friends on a trip to Beypazarı, a little historic town about 90 minutes outside Ankara. We traveled on a bus, 5 lira each way- like $6 round trip! The weather was extremely uncooperative: rather dreary and chilly, when it wasn't pouring rain. But it was a very cool little town all the same- it was originally a major stop on the silk/spice routes between Baghdad and Istanbul. It was a twisty, hilly little place, lined with spice shops, silver jewelers, and pastaneleri- pastry shops, with quite a few hijab-wearing grandmothers making baklava in the front windows. The baklava in Beypazarı is unusual- it's 80 layers thick, instead of the usual 40. Turkner bought something from one of these little vendors, and the woman made us promise to come back for fresh (free!) baklava as soon as it was ready. No need to ask me twice! We wandered around in a jewelry shop, very pretty, intricate little things, and then went back. It was a tiny shop, the size of a large coat closet, walls covered in jars and bags and containers of strange-looking dried things and powdered things and sesame-covered things. The baklava wasn't quite ready, so the store owner had us sit on low couch that ran the length of the back wall- maybe six feet or so. She served us scoops of dried white mulberries, and some sort of pretzel-esque bits covered in sesame seeds (a trend I've noticed among... well, everything here.) As we munched, she talked with Turkner and asked about Alex, Anna, and I. Upon hearing that we were Americans, she said "Ahhh! Obama! Yes?" and we smiled and nodded. And she then brought out half a dozen more things for us to try- roasted almonds, something similar to dried cranberries, real sun-dried tomatoes, and several things I couldn't name. I tried everything, of course- and enjoyed all but one. I have no idea what it is called, but it looks a bit like a dried fruit from the outside- the shiny burnt orange outer peel was a little loose from the fruit inside, and the whole thing was about the size of my thumb from the second knuckle out. I bit into it, and was promptly laughed at- you don't eat the skin. However, the bigger surprise was the INSIDE of this "fruit." It was like biting into a small stuffed animal, if stuffed animals had black oblong pits in the middle. I mean it- it was compacted FLUFF. Almost like a really dense cottonball. Easily the strangest thing I've ever heard of anyone eating. It just didn't taste- or FEEL- like food! I ate it anyways, and Alex laughed at my attempt to compliment our hostess afterwards. "That was really- I don't think I've ever had- I mean- um, teşekkürler!" (thank you!) It was particularly comical because she didn't speak a word of English anyway.
Jewelry shop window; the snacks we were served - click for larger version
Turkner and the others bought several bags of spices and some of the snacks we had sampled, Alex bought some dried white mulberries, and I ended up getting something a bit more exotic. As usual, it's difficult to describe and has no state-side equivalent. At first glance, it looks like a dark, nondescript stick about an inch in diameter. It's made of mixed dried fruit that is made into a paste (I think), and packed around a string of walnuts. (Literally, there is a string in the middle). And then dried. You eat it by slicing off pieces, like you'd slice a carrot, then pulling them off the string. It's called "sucuk" (so-juck), but that is just the Turkish word for sausage- while this was like a dried fruit sausage. There's two kinds: one that looks shiny and pretty, with a clear sugar glaze, and the other, which looks... like a stick. No glaze- it is made with natural sugar from grapes. The natural one is a little less sweet but I like it better, and bought maybe a pound or so of it to take home with me.
A street with chickens; dried tomatoes, chilies, etc; & an old building - click
We visited a few museums- just very old, beautiful houses filled with beautiful artifacts- including clothing, which was displayed on terrifyingly unnatural mannequins set up to be "life-like" in various rooms. Very creepy. Interestingly, almost nothing was roped off or encased in glass- we wore little plastic shoe covers, but we were still treading on century-old tapestries. I physically touched clothing and tapestries and kitchenware that was not just much older than I am, but older than my country is. That's perspective for you.
After the bus ride home, Alex and I invited Anna over for dinner. We cooked chicken parmesan, apple crisp, and this thick, heavy pasta Alex bought in Beypazarı. And by "we cooked" I mean Alex cooked and I washed dishes and peeled a few of the apples for the apple crisp- I'm enough of a disaster in a kitchen, without adding the open-flame death trap of a stove that we currently possess. We have an understanding, the stove and I- I make tea, and don't mess with anything else. In return, it doesn't flare up unnecessarily and attempt to burn my hair off. Usually.
MONDAY. Alex and I took off work with the set goal of getting our residency permits, which are necessary for us to stay in the country longer than 3 months. Or might possibly have to do with us leaving the country and being able to get back in. Honestly I have no idea, but it seems super important to Alex, so I'm mostly tagging along for the ride. Irresponsible and clueless as to the legal requirements of staying in this country? Hey, that's just my style. So we got up late, lounged around the apartment for a bit, and then Alex went to talk to our boss about getting proof of residency- for the residency permit- which he did not have. Of course. But we still had the day off. We decided to go to the Vatican Embassy first, because Alex wanted to get a KJV bible and find out when services were, then go to the US Embassy and register as being in the country. We took a cab, which wasn't as complicated as usual because I memorized the Turkish word for embassy in advance- "elçilik." The Vatican Embassy, like all embassies, looked rather like a fortress. We approached timidly, and were asked by an armed Turkish guard what we wanted.
"Um, we wanted to... Uh... we're Catholic." Alex stammered. The guard looked at us skeptically and waited."We wanted to talk to..." I started. "A father!" Alex finishes.
"Which father?"
"Uh..." Alex looks at me. Like I know all sorts of secret Catholic passwords that are necessary to enter Vatican Embassies. "Uh... father... fatherrr...." Alex snaps her fingers, trying to "remember." The guard is unamused. "I just can't remember his name," she clarifies. I'm carefully standing a few feet back at this point, in case the aforementioned guard decides to test the claim of Catholicism that Alex had just dumped on me. ("Who was the 147th Pope?!" "PETERPAULANDMARY!")
Still unconvinced, the guard put us through on the intercom, so a disembodied voice could have a turn at interrogating us. A minute or two into the questioning, the voice without a face asks for the second time: "Which father?"
"ANY Father!" Alex finally yells.
"No." The blinking red light on the intercom flickers off. Cheerfully.
A moment or two later, a Turkish intern walks out to the gate and tries to figure out what we want. We ask about services, and he tells us the time and place. Than Alex asks about acquiring a Bible.
"Uhmmm... I don't really.... uhhhhh...." He looked completely confused. Because asking the Vatican where one can find a Bible is totally absurd. "I mean, good luck finding one..." he trailed off again, looking slightly more apologetic this time.
Right. So, without ever having stepped inside, we left. Caught a cab to the "Am-er-i-kan El-chill-ick." So whoever designed the US Embassy to Turkey was clearly convinced someone was going to try to blow it up, and consequently the place looks like one of those lego fortress that no one ever actually puts together because it's way too damn complicated. I mean, survive-nuclear-winter complicated: a fence of huge iron bars in front of steel plating in front of steel reinforced concrete, and once you actually get past those walls it's a maze of awkwardly shaped hallways and metal detectors. And once you get past THAT, you walk into a large room with a numbered row of windows on along one wall, and otherwise occupied by lots of frustrated-looking people. It's like a sadistic reality show: "Welcome to Hell: The DMV, Ankara-style."
Alex and I skipped the lines, (it's amazing what a blue passport can do), and were told by an overworked Turk that we should really just register online. Oh, I forgot to mention- the entire United States Embassy, as far as we saw it, was staffed by Turks. And severely irritated ones at that.
Your Friendly Neighborhood US Embassy
Vatican Embassy without bibles? Check.
American Embassy without Americans? Check.
Pigs with wings? Sorry, they don't do pork in Turkey.
But the day was not a complete loss. Alex and Marina and I gained a roommate- his name is Jude. He's really cute- white, with very funny ears. Thankfully he doesn't take up much space. He's been real quiet his first couple days here but as long as we have a steady supply of carrots, he doesn't seem to mind us.
Beypazarı street - click for larger version
Sunday we joined Anna, Turkner, and a few of their friends on a trip to Beypazarı, a little historic town about 90 minutes outside Ankara. We traveled on a bus, 5 lira each way- like $6 round trip! The weather was extremely uncooperative: rather dreary and chilly, when it wasn't pouring rain. But it was a very cool little town all the same- it was originally a major stop on the silk/spice routes between Baghdad and Istanbul. It was a twisty, hilly little place, lined with spice shops, silver jewelers, and pastaneleri- pastry shops, with quite a few hijab-wearing grandmothers making baklava in the front windows. The baklava in Beypazarı is unusual- it's 80 layers thick, instead of the usual 40. Turkner bought something from one of these little vendors, and the woman made us promise to come back for fresh (free!) baklava as soon as it was ready. No need to ask me twice! We wandered around in a jewelry shop, very pretty, intricate little things, and then went back. It was a tiny shop, the size of a large coat closet, walls covered in jars and bags and containers of strange-looking dried things and powdered things and sesame-covered things. The baklava wasn't quite ready, so the store owner had us sit on low couch that ran the length of the back wall- maybe six feet or so. She served us scoops of dried white mulberries, and some sort of pretzel-esque bits covered in sesame seeds (a trend I've noticed among... well, everything here.) As we munched, she talked with Turkner and asked about Alex, Anna, and I. Upon hearing that we were Americans, she said "Ahhh! Obama! Yes?" and we smiled and nodded. And she then brought out half a dozen more things for us to try- roasted almonds, something similar to dried cranberries, real sun-dried tomatoes, and several things I couldn't name. I tried everything, of course- and enjoyed all but one. I have no idea what it is called, but it looks a bit like a dried fruit from the outside- the shiny burnt orange outer peel was a little loose from the fruit inside, and the whole thing was about the size of my thumb from the second knuckle out. I bit into it, and was promptly laughed at- you don't eat the skin. However, the bigger surprise was the INSIDE of this "fruit." It was like biting into a small stuffed animal, if stuffed animals had black oblong pits in the middle. I mean it- it was compacted FLUFF. Almost like a really dense cottonball. Easily the strangest thing I've ever heard of anyone eating. It just didn't taste- or FEEL- like food! I ate it anyways, and Alex laughed at my attempt to compliment our hostess afterwards. "That was really- I don't think I've ever had- I mean- um, teşekkürler!" (thank you!) It was particularly comical because she didn't speak a word of English anyway.
Jewelry shop window; the snacks we were served - click for larger version
Turkner and the others bought several bags of spices and some of the snacks we had sampled, Alex bought some dried white mulberries, and I ended up getting something a bit more exotic. As usual, it's difficult to describe and has no state-side equivalent. At first glance, it looks like a dark, nondescript stick about an inch in diameter. It's made of mixed dried fruit that is made into a paste (I think), and packed around a string of walnuts. (Literally, there is a string in the middle). And then dried. You eat it by slicing off pieces, like you'd slice a carrot, then pulling them off the string. It's called "sucuk" (so-juck), but that is just the Turkish word for sausage- while this was like a dried fruit sausage. There's two kinds: one that looks shiny and pretty, with a clear sugar glaze, and the other, which looks... like a stick. No glaze- it is made with natural sugar from grapes. The natural one is a little less sweet but I like it better, and bought maybe a pound or so of it to take home with me.
A street with chickens; dried tomatoes, chilies, etc; & an old building - click
We visited a few museums- just very old, beautiful houses filled with beautiful artifacts- including clothing, which was displayed on terrifyingly unnatural mannequins set up to be "life-like" in various rooms. Very creepy. Interestingly, almost nothing was roped off or encased in glass- we wore little plastic shoe covers, but we were still treading on century-old tapestries. I physically touched clothing and tapestries and kitchenware that was not just much older than I am, but older than my country is. That's perspective for you.
After the bus ride home, Alex and I invited Anna over for dinner. We cooked chicken parmesan, apple crisp, and this thick, heavy pasta Alex bought in Beypazarı. And by "we cooked" I mean Alex cooked and I washed dishes and peeled a few of the apples for the apple crisp- I'm enough of a disaster in a kitchen, without adding the open-flame death trap of a stove that we currently possess. We have an understanding, the stove and I- I make tea, and don't mess with anything else. In return, it doesn't flare up unnecessarily and attempt to burn my hair off. Usually.
MONDAY. Alex and I took off work with the set goal of getting our residency permits, which are necessary for us to stay in the country longer than 3 months. Or might possibly have to do with us leaving the country and being able to get back in. Honestly I have no idea, but it seems super important to Alex, so I'm mostly tagging along for the ride. Irresponsible and clueless as to the legal requirements of staying in this country? Hey, that's just my style. So we got up late, lounged around the apartment for a bit, and then Alex went to talk to our boss about getting proof of residency- for the residency permit- which he did not have. Of course. But we still had the day off. We decided to go to the Vatican Embassy first, because Alex wanted to get a KJV bible and find out when services were, then go to the US Embassy and register as being in the country. We took a cab, which wasn't as complicated as usual because I memorized the Turkish word for embassy in advance- "elçilik." The Vatican Embassy, like all embassies, looked rather like a fortress. We approached timidly, and were asked by an armed Turkish guard what we wanted.
"Um, we wanted to... Uh... we're Catholic." Alex stammered. The guard looked at us skeptically and waited."We wanted to talk to..." I started. "A father!" Alex finishes.
"Which father?"
"Uh..." Alex looks at me. Like I know all sorts of secret Catholic passwords that are necessary to enter Vatican Embassies. "Uh... father... fatherrr...." Alex snaps her fingers, trying to "remember." The guard is unamused. "I just can't remember his name," she clarifies. I'm carefully standing a few feet back at this point, in case the aforementioned guard decides to test the claim of Catholicism that Alex had just dumped on me. ("Who was the 147th Pope?!" "PETERPAULANDMARY!")
Still unconvinced, the guard put us through on the intercom, so a disembodied voice could have a turn at interrogating us. A minute or two into the questioning, the voice without a face asks for the second time: "Which father?"
"ANY Father!" Alex finally yells.
"No." The blinking red light on the intercom flickers off. Cheerfully.
A moment or two later, a Turkish intern walks out to the gate and tries to figure out what we want. We ask about services, and he tells us the time and place. Than Alex asks about acquiring a Bible.
"Uhmmm... I don't really.... uhhhhh...." He looked completely confused. Because asking the Vatican where one can find a Bible is totally absurd. "I mean, good luck finding one..." he trailed off again, looking slightly more apologetic this time.
Right. So, without ever having stepped inside, we left. Caught a cab to the "Am-er-i-kan El-chill-ick." So whoever designed the US Embassy to Turkey was clearly convinced someone was going to try to blow it up, and consequently the place looks like one of those lego fortress that no one ever actually puts together because it's way too damn complicated. I mean, survive-nuclear-winter complicated: a fence of huge iron bars in front of steel plating in front of steel reinforced concrete, and once you actually get past those walls it's a maze of awkwardly shaped hallways and metal detectors. And once you get past THAT, you walk into a large room with a numbered row of windows on along one wall, and otherwise occupied by lots of frustrated-looking people. It's like a sadistic reality show: "Welcome to Hell: The DMV, Ankara-style."
Alex and I skipped the lines, (it's amazing what a blue passport can do), and were told by an overworked Turk that we should really just register online. Oh, I forgot to mention- the entire United States Embassy, as far as we saw it, was staffed by Turks. And severely irritated ones at that.
Your Friendly Neighborhood US Embassy
Vatican Embassy without bibles? Check.
American Embassy without Americans? Check.
Pigs with wings? Sorry, they don't do pork in Turkey.
But the day was not a complete loss. Alex and Marina and I gained a roommate- his name is Jude. He's really cute- white, with very funny ears. Thankfully he doesn't take up much space. He's been real quiet his first couple days here but as long as we have a steady supply of carrots, he doesn't seem to mind us.
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