"European Culture Capital 2010"

I was aware, prior to moving to Istanbul, that it had been designated (cough one of the three, cough cough) European Culture Capital of the year, an ironic title to say the least considering Turkey's 50+ year struggle for acceptance into the European Union.



But as a "culture capital," the government has been pouring funds into appropriately cultural activities- film festivals, concerts, art galas, etc. While I've been aware of some of these goings-on, I was never directly involved- until this past weekend. My coworker, Amal, had a friend with free tickets to a concert on Saturday, and asked me if I (and any of my friends) would like to come along. I accepted, of course, then hastily spent a few days rearranging former plans in order to make it fit my schedule. I also cajoled Bayram, my current significant other/local best friend, into coming along, despite that his music tastes range more towards heavy metal with a side of Johnny Cash. We agreed to meet up the street from my home at 5:30, go together from there to Amal's home for tea and such, and then at the concert by 7:00.

But oh, the best laid plans of mice and men... as usual, Istanbul traffic was something out of one of the more creative levels of hell, and Bayram called to let me know he'd be 30-40 minutes late. I managed to change clothes at least a dozen times, since I hadn't thought to ask about attire in advance and had no idea what I was getting myself into. After a bit of confusion meeting up, Bayram and I managed to sit at the bus station and watch at least two dozen buses pass by, going in the wrong direction, before ours finally arrived. A good 45 minutes late, we arrived at Amal's home, and as we entered the apartment building Bayram turned to me.
"..This is not a concert."
"No, this is Amal- my coworker's- home. We're stopping here first, then going together." I replied.
"Ah... just Amal?" he asked tentatively.
"Maybe others, I am not sure..." We had gotten to the door. Turns out, Bayram has a rather terrible case of social anxiety around adults, even though all of them spoke Turkish (and English, and often Arabic). He spent the next twenty minutes or so mostly mute, drinking his tea and glancing longingly at the exit. Oops.

We all walked together to the concert hall, a block or so away, got seats and settled in. The concert was the "Mikis Theodorakis" Orchestra, part of a Greek-Turkish friendship society. It was all very beautiful, and we were all equally lost as to the meaning of the songs. For three hours. However, I got to meet Amal's daughter, as well as her friend who was the source of our tickets- an American woman who lives in Izmir, who also brought along her Turkish/socially awkward boyfriend. We bonded.

The next day, Sunday, I had plans with Fatos to see her workplace: one of Istanbul's Şehir Tiyatroları, or city theaters. Since she works there, she had free tickets to the current performance, Bakhalar. We met a little after two and went to the theater, and I got to tour around the lighting booth for a bit and chat with the techies- turns out they use the exact same lighting system I work with at Northeastern, a very fun coincidence. We talked about different ways of working with it, advantages and disadvantages of different methods and so on. Geek stuff.
Fatos and I scrambled to our seats just in time for the lights to go down. The performance had little speaking, which one would think would make it more universally understandable... not quite the case. Only a day after that fact did I get the chance to google "Bakhalar": Turkish translation of the Bacchae, by Euripides. Now, I didn't really understand Euripides in English, let alone Turkish. There was an excessive amount of blood, sex, and violence, as well as a whole lot of oranges being thrown around, squished, and squeezed on people- which I suspect may have been a directorial decision and not an original plot point. While, similarly to the concert, I may not have understood very much of the play, the acting, directing, lighting and other technical aspects were all extremely well done. I could feel the drama- tension, elation, relief, etc, although I couldn't grasp the plot itself. Overall, a very interesting way to spend an afternoon.

While it might not be found on any tourist brochures, I had another "cultural experience" the weekend before last- Bayram's birthday. Since he is far from home, it wasn't completely genuine (unlike Kardelen's, for example), but a very standard Turkish university student house party. Bayram, Beyza (a good friend) and I went out to what I can confidently say is the cheapest bar in Taksim, and then headed to Bayram's apartment where everyone else was meeting us. "Everyone else" included his roommate, Zafer, and a handful of his oldest friends from home- Beyza, who came out with us, Cihan, and Hakan, who brought his girlfriend. A few others had planned to come and flaked, but due to the size and lack of sound insulation at Bayram's apartment, it may have been for the best. Cihan and Hakan had gone out and done some serious shopping- a drinking event, done properly, includes far more "meze" than alcohol. [Meze is the term for appetizers eaten while drinking- they show up at bars, clubs, restaurants, and anywhere else the moment one orders an alcoholic beverage.] Over an hour of kitchen prep later, the end results included a huge fresh fruit spread, veggies, pickles (by which I mean pickled cabbage, carrots, peppers, as well as the usual cucumbers), various kinds of cheeses, mixed nuts and chips. And of course, four bottles of rakı. The night was fun, but very different than what I'd except from a group of college students- after carefully buying, preparing, and arranging the food, pouring the drinks, and settling in, everyone proceeded to... eat. And talk, and drink. No raucous games, no "animal house" shenanigans, no flip cup, no keg stands. It was refreshing, although a bit disconcerting. Of course, not all was different from home: one girl still managed to drink too much and projectile launch various forms of meze onto the furniture- and was assigned couch-scrubbing duties the next day as punishment.



So it was a rather "culturally enlightening" weekend, in more ways than one. I'm hoping to see the theatrical performance of "Romeo and Juliet" when it opens in a few weeks, which should be a bit easier to understand. Also, Bayram and I are planning a late birthday dinner (vomit-free) later this week, at one of my favorite scenic overlooks of the city. Hayat devam ediyor... (life goes on!)

Wrangling Cats*, and Other Things I Wish Fit On My Resume

Well, I wish I had a terribly amusing excuse for my lack of posts recently, but I do not. Simply that life, being what it is, gets in the way of these sorts of things. So I'm finally bending under my mother continuous badgering... and updating.

So as for the title of this post- what is so difficult about wrangling cats? Well, for one thing, when you tell them to do something, they usually don't understand what you're saying- and when they do understand, they proceed to do the exact opposite out of spite. They yowl and meow and generally make quite a bit of racket when they're unhappy. When you try to organize them, they leap off chairs and dart behind you, scratching at the door. Trying to play a game? Good luck explaining rules to cats. Also, if you've ever tried to split up a fight between two tomcats, you know what a tricky endeavor it can be.

I might explain, I wasn't actually wrangling cats. Just trying to teach English to half a dozen ADHD seven year olds. The main challenge, of course, was that their english was limited to some basic vocabulary- "chair," "book," "carrot." Not included in their vocabulary? "Sit down," "don't hit him," "no you may not go through my purse," "give me back the chalk," and "don't throw pencil shavings at me," among other things.

So I'm now locked in to spending four hours on my Saturday morning (starting at 9:30) in a 15x10 foot cell otherwise occupied by two adorable girls and five questionably demonic little boys. The most success I've had so far is teaching them "I'm a Little Teapot" and "Row Row Row Your Boat" in (unintentional) rounds. Did I mention this is volunteer work?

Other than the little monsters, life has been good. My classes are voluntary "tutorials," basically extra help sessions- meaning sometimes two or three students show up, sometimes 15, and sometimes none at all. I've built up a decent rapport with the regulars, which include the arab students (two Iraqis, two Palestinians, a Syrian and a Moroccan, not generally simultaneously). Zakaria, the Syrian student, is one of my favorites- he's an A1 repeat student, meaning he's repeating the first semester of english. His vocabulary is extremely limited, but he's bright (if constantly distracted) and very funny. Working with him can be extremely painstaking, with lots of hand gestures and very simple words, and sometimes I have to simply give up on a line of conversation because he can't understand me. When we started, getting him to actually speak was like pulling teeth; 2-3 full sentences in the course of one 30 minute class was an absolute accomplishment. But he's been improving, slowly but surely.

Outside of school, I've been adopted by an absolutely adorable trio of siblings. I met Bahar, the oldest girl, during the week I worked at the other prep school in Besiktas (my regular school was closed for a week's vacation, so I was loaned out- both schools are part of Bahcesehir University). We had a brief speaking lesson, and hit it off- she invited me out the following weekend, and I've been spending at least a night or two out of every seven at her apartment ever since. Bahar is in her late 20s, and lives with her sister Fatos (also late 20s) and brother Serhan (age 22). Fatos and Serhan know absolutely no english, and Bahar is on her first semester- we communicate mostly in Turkish, with some Turkglish for good measure (google translator is frequently used as well). Fatos is the best cook I know, and is slowly and patiently teaching me how to cook turkish food- very exciting. They live in Istanbul, but Istanbul is a very large place- it takes a 10 minute subway ride and then 30 minutes (or more, depending on traffic) by car to get to their apartment, which is part of the reason I often stay the night- between gas prices and the time it takes to pick me up and drop me off, it would be absolutely illogical to just "drop in" for dinner. Not to mention, people just sleep over a lot more here. I'm getting used to it.

What else... I took a trip to Ankara a few weeks back. I hung out with my American replacements at TOBB ETU, which was very fun, including staying in their (my?) apartment, very surreal. The furniture is switched about, and some things I left there were missing... my dictionary and Turkish grammar book being the most notable. But such is life. I met the Erasmus students, foreign exchange students from Spain, Poland, Germany, etc, a very fun group. I also dropped in on some old TOBB students/friends, which was also extremely surreal... but it was nice to catch up on their lives. This trip was over Valentine's Day weekend, and Annie and I had a wonderful Valentine's Day date (complete with chocolate and deep conversations). I've hijacked her into agreeing to be my permanent Valentine, because it was by far the best Valentine's I've ever had (and Annie- you can't get out of it now, it's on the internet! haha)... Back in Istanbul the next weekend, I got to meet all the international students at Bahcesehir while giving a brief- and completely impromptu- presentation on "the international co-op experience" (Bahcesehir is in the process of expanding its fledgling co-op program). There was a dinner and then a semi-organized night out. There were Germans, Bulgarians, South Koreans, Polish, and even a couple American girls, but I spent most of the night talking to the turkish student helpers/organizers, rather than the foreign students.

So that's pretty much all. Classes have been going well, slowly expanding as people hear about me and drop in to find out what all the fuss is about. My Turkish vocabulary has also been slowing expanding, as my social circle is almost exclusively Turks, and often ones who know very little English, at that. I can't believe it's already March- my time here is absolutely flying. So for now, kolay gelsin :) (roughly translated: take it easy!)

Turkish Hospitality: Whether you like it or not

As mentioned, there are a few student assistants who rotate shifts in my office, as well as Serap and Amal. They organize books, lift boxes, type spreadsheets, things like that. The two that I've gotten to know well are Alican (a boy), and Kardelen- a pretty blue-eyed girl, whose name means "Snowdrop." Kardelen's birthday was last Sunday, and so she invited me out with a group of her friends on Saturday night for dinner at a restaurant overlooking the Bosphorus- very posh. I accepted, of course, seeing as my social calendar has been WIDE open as of late. Since I still don't have a cell phone, she let me know the address via facebook messages, and offered to let me stay the night if I wanted, since we were bound to be out late. A little nervous about overstepping my place, I said that perhaps if it was really late, and not a problem for her- to which she promptly replied it wasn't, and her "family will love [me]!"
Because, as I had briefly forgotten, everyone lives with their family.


So, with her home as a secondary (and not genuinely anticipated as necessary) option, I headed to Taksim on Saturday night, wearing my roommate's heels (which fit!) and without a clue as to what to expect. Cansu, my roommate, was headed in the same direction and so took the metro with me. Of course, for her, getting "dolled up" involves a short-skirted dress, black leather boots up to her knees (the 5 inch heeled variety), and extensive make up that alternately resembled the work of blue highlighters and black sharpie. I've never felt less conspicuous in my LIFE. We met up with her equally pierced boyfriend, and they walked me part of the way to the hotel where the restaurant was located. I arrived a bit late, was introduced to Kardelen's boyfriend and close group of friends, and poured a glass of rakı. For the uniformed, rakı (rock-uh) is an anise (licorice) flavored clear liquor between 45-50% alcohol content. A single or double shot is poured into a rakı-specific glass, then cold water is poured over it, making the liquor turn cloudy. Ice can then be added, according to preference. It's enjoyed with large groups of friends while listening to Turkish-style music, which rapidly evolves into Turkish-style dancing.

So needless to say, I was soon dragged into said Turkish-style dancing. And for anyone who's ever seen me attempt, my sense of rhythm is... lacking, to say the least. However, since the restaurant (despite having a live band) did not have a dance floor of any kind, it was difficult to tell- dancing took place in and around the long tables, directly in the path of any and all foot traffic (waiters, bathroom-goers, etc). Turkish dancing (similar to most of Turkish culture, come to think of it) also tends to be a group, rather than duet, experience- with pinky-linked circles forming at every opportunity.

I've become convinced that dinner is really just the excuse for a group night out- and the actual meal is more of a breather in the midst of one long continuous dance. The waiter marked each person down for either fish or beef, to which I instinctively answered beef. He moved on to the next person, which is when I remembered a friend in Ankara raving about the seafood in Istanbul, and how "rakı ve balık" (rakı and fish) absolutely must be tried in unison. So I called the waiter back and changed my order, mentally patting myself on the back for my cultural conscientiousness.

Of course, I felt a bit different 45 minutes later when I looked my meal in its foggy gray eyeball and was immediately concerned that it might, at any given moment, flop off my plate, across the floor, over the railing and back into the Bosphorus where it belonged. Keeping my cool, I realized that I would be fine- I'd just follow the de-finning, de-scaling, and de-boning procedures of whomever else ordered Nemo.

At which point I realized that each of the eleven other occupants of my table were eagerly digging in... to plates of beef.

So, Nemo and I had a discussion, and I tried to make his end look as little like a flippery wet massacre as possible, discreetly spitting bones into my napkin like a five year old faced with broccoli. Sharp, painful, nearly invisible broccoli.

The night ended around 2:00 (don't worry- that's only 7:00 pm for you folks back home!), and we all stumbled out onto the cobblestones. I was clearly the only person present who was not deeply involved in an intriguing love dodecahedron, the kind commonly occurring when the same group has been friends for a decade. Not that I'm complaining. Kardelen, her best friend Ceren, Deniz (a clearly disliked member of the Dodecahedron), and I were picked up by Kardelen's father, which is when I was forced to accept the fact that it's not just the taxi drivers and college kids who drive insanely along the windy streets of Istanbul- it's everybody. It's also the point at which I realized that I was going to spend the night at Kardelen's, and I just happened to be the last person to figure it out. Kardelen, Ceren and I arrived at her home, where they sat and kvetched to Kardelen's mother about Deniz' apparently despicable behavior all night- and in case you were wondering, women complaining about other women use the same tone of voice regardless of culture. I was shown into Kardelen's room, where they insisted I sleep, as Kardelen (the birthday girl, mind you), and her best friend slept on the couch and loveseat respectively.

The next morning, while wearing Kardelen's far-too-small pajamas (these women are built like toothpicks), I was re-introduced to her parents and met her older brother, who bears an uncanny resemblance to a particular football (ahem, soccer) player- one who's married to a former spice girl. Between introduction and breakfast I hastily threw on my jeans, attempted to pull my grungy hair together, and then realized my shirt from the night before, while perfectly acceptable for dinner and drinks in a dim restaurant, was a bit too snug for the average conservative Turkish mother. I elected to hang on to Kardelen's pajama top, gray and blue with something sportsy and cliche written across it in glitter- the sleeves were nearly long enough, I reasoned, and it almost looks like something someone might wear in public...

Turkish breakfast, as a tradition, involves a huge buffet spread of cheese and salted meat, jams and pastes, fruits and vegetables, and four loaves of bread for six people. They don't do the Atkins diet here.

I was occasionally translated for or taught words and phrases, but for the most part I just got to sit and observe family- which is a very different sight in this part of the world. Relationships, respect, love, and physical touch are all very culturally dependent, which is something I knew rationally but had never had the opportunity to watch "in action."

After breakfast, instead of heading home to shower and decompress (like I might have hoped), I got to watch Kardelen show her parents her gifts from the night before, and then several cousins and aunts and uncles arrived and there was cake and sparklers and more gifts. I was shown off to each person in turn, as the random (generally confused) American in their midst. A minor crisis was just barely avoided- Kardelen and Ceren scrambled into the kitchen, Kardelen barking into a cell phone while Ceren explained to me that her boyfriend was on his way over- not good. "Her parents don't know about him?" I asked, somewhat confused. "Oh they know," she explained in hushed terms, "but he has not met her cousins. This is bad- he cannot come now!"

... But they sorted things out, as I stood uselessly and awkwardly confused in the middle of everything. The cousins left a bit later, and the boyfriend arrived soon after, as well as another cousin and close friend of Kardelen's brother (who apparently knew about the boyfriend, and was therefore not a concern). At this point, a bit after 3 pm, Ceren unveiled her gift: a dvd with a slideshow of Kardelen photos (set to "Only Time" by Enya... just as obnoxious but apparently less cliche in Turkey). This was followed by individual video clips of what I can only assume to be was everyone Kardelen has ever met, each giving effusive and extensive praise and birthday wishes.


Two hours later, we got to the outtakes.


Two and a half hours later, stretching and stifling a yawn, Ceren and Kardelen's boyfriend announced they were headed home, and if I would like to go... Having not seen the great outdoors since the day before, I had to force myself to NOT leap out of my chair. I thanked her parents a dozen times for their hospitality, grabbed my too-snug shirt and boots and we headed out- into the pouring rain of course, because Istanbul apparently has a twisted sense of humor.

But all in all, it was a wonderful night and meeting her family was quite an experience. The standard of hospitality in Turkey really exceeds anything one could ever imagine in the States- it defies the "convenience culture" that demands people stay only as long as necessary, and get out of the way as soon as possible. The pace is slow, unhurried, luxurious. A guest is expected to thoroughly enjoy everything the host has to offer, not be in a hurry to leave.


Needless to say, it takes some getting used to.




Rakı, Balık, & Boğaziçi (the Bosphorus)- not my photo, unfortunately

The Iraqis in My Office

& other new-office anecdotes.

As of last Thursday, I've been shown to Bahçeşehir's prep school, (where I will be working), which is just over a mile from my dormitory, met Çiğdem, my contact at the prep school through Zeynep and was introduced to Mehmet Bey, the director of the prep school. He spoke flawless English and came across as extremely straightforward, efficient, and involved- without a doubt a stark contrast to the director at TOBB. We chatted about my experience, expectations, and goals, as well as his, and I was shown to the Learning Center.

The Learning Center is basically just a large office, with two proper desks, three student-use desktop computers, and perhaps a dozen small tables pushed together to make one long one. The walls are bookshelves, each section filled with extra materials and marked for student or teacher use. Essentially, the purpose of the Learning Center is to provide a resource for students who want or need extra help learning English. Like TOBB, the university has a A and B level classification based on language comprehension, and the long makeshift table is mostly covered with stacks of extra-help worksheets neatly organized according to difficulty level, including their respective answer keys.

I've been given a murderously slow desktop PC and a "spot" - not a desk, exactly, more like a reserved chair- where I spend most of my time surfing the internet. I've tried to battle with the PC but it's generally a mean-spirited beast and the internet here is slow enough without having to resurrect Internet Explorer every six minutes.

On my first day, Mehmet Bey told me he would introduce my officemates and supervisors, Serap and Amal, to me, and had mentioned that they were Middle Eastern in origin and spoke fluent Arabic. He said I should greet them in Arabic- they would love it, and they'd be more than willing to help me relearn if I was interested. Unfortunately, having been roughly a year since I put any serious effort into spoken Arabic, calling myself "rusty" is definitely an overstatement- but I figured I'd attempt the basics. However, when we walked into the office, I didn't say anything to the fair-skinned, light haired fiftysomething women I was presented to. Mehmet Bey then prodded me, telling them I had studied Arabic, at which point I realized these were the people I was supposed to say something to. I blurted out an awkward "Marhaban, ahlan wa sahlan" - they were delighted. Mehmet Bey wished me well and left, Serap offered me tea, and Amal introduced me to one of the half-dozen student assistants who rotate through the office throughout the week. Over the next few hours, I learned that they were both from Baghdad, which Serap (who is 56) left in 1982, eventually getting a master's degree in London, having a family in Istanbul, and a daughter now in Montreal. Amal is 62, (they don't have the same hang-ups about age that Americans do), and she left Iraq in the late 1950s, around the same time the monarchy was brought to an end by military coup. Her arabic is less fluent than Serap's, because she has been away longer, but her Turkish is better for the same reason. Amal has two daughters, one who is getting her masters in Poetry and Performance Art, and the other who works in Animation- she claims, however, not to have an artistic bone in her body. Serap and Amal worked together previously for 10+ years at a different university, and when Serap retired, Bahçeşehir offered her a newly-created position at the prep school. A year into her work here, she needed a second person, and Amal joined her, and so they've worked in this office for 5 or 6 years since then. They have a hysterical rapport, constantly teasing each other and laughing. Because Turkish is just as much a second language to them as English is, it's not a strain for them to joke and tease in English for my benefit. They're both kind and good at finding little things for me to do so I don't die of boredom- Serap has hunted down two speaking classes for me to substitute teach, so I've actually gotten to meet students, even though my regular work won't start til mid-February. I've also met every Arab student in the prep school, since they frequent the office whenever they have difficulty with the lessons- which is often, since they see no need to learn Turkish. Serap and occasionally Amal explain the finer points of the English language to them in Arabic, and I get to listen and test how much I can pull from the dredges of my memory.

Speaking of students, they've been a blast. Bahçeşehir students have been irresistibly friendly, openly asking all kinds of questions- no pulling teeth here. I know part of it is because I am a novelty item at the moment; unlike TOBB, I am the first co-op student here and they can all immediately tell I'm young (despite my most desperate attempts to dress "grownup"). There are a half dozen Americans working here full time, of whom I've met two, and also several Brits- so while I'm not the only "native speaker," I am the youngest and the newest. But they've been polite and fun, interested in what I have to say and willing to answer questions. I got into a great conversation in one class when a student asked me what I thought about economic and technological developments in Turkey- true, several less advanced students promptly fell asleep, but a handful of us had an interesting discussion about the differences between rural and developed Turkey, how it becomes a problem, and what needs to be done about it.

So there's my glowing report so far. Yes, I fully recognize all the dreadfully "honeymoon-ish" attitudes I have now, and between my roommate (whose hair is again a deep pink) and imprisonment by snow, I'm sure the "negotiation" (aka the "keep-your-stupid-culture-i-don't-want-it-anyhow") phase of culture shock will hit me soon enough. But in the mean time, I am thoroughly enjoying myself.

Turkey, Take Two

Well, if there's one constant in my tumultuous relationship with the Republic of Turkey, it's that my adventures always start out with a bang. And usually involve doors. But not necessarily banging doors. Anyhow.

After church, family dinner, and a White Rabbit-esque mad dash to finish packing, the family and I (seven in total) loaded into the van and headed for Newark Airport. Two hours later, my flight took off; nine hours later, my flight from Frankfort to Istanbul was delayed; four hours later, I arrived in the Istanbul Ataturk Airport, met a very patient man named Cankut who had been waiting over an hour for me, and inconveniently spoke German, not English, and who then accompanied me to my car & driver (I get a driver now). We battled rain and heavy Istanbul traffic on the way to Bahcesehir University, where I met Zeynep, the Northeastern alum responsible for my presence here, and a few of her colleagues. They were very nice, especially since I'm sure it was obvious from my appearance (and smell) that I had been in transit for about 16 hours. I was then herded into another car to be taken to my apartment, with instructions that I would be picked up for dinner at 6:30.

After being directed to sign my name, date of birth, and various other details onto a paper (no idea what the significance was, might have sold my soul, whoops?), I was given a key and the desk clerk brought me up to my room.

In the dormitory.

I live in a suite with three double bedrooms, a shared kitchen and bathroom, and no living room. I was told there is a common area, which also offers a cheap daily dinner buffet, in the basement, which I have yet to see. My suite was being cleaned as I was given the very brief tour- apparently, a cleaning staff does dishes, laundry, and general cleaning at least once a week. My turkish is rusty so the details are a bit unclear. I was shown into my double room, where my roommate was woken from apparent hibernation. Whoa, that's pretty bad acne, was my initial thought. We were introduced, her name is Cansu (john-sue), she speaks near-perfect English because she spent two years studying in San Francisco. She played with her face as we talked- at which point I realized she had perfectly clear skin, and eight facial piercings. EIGHT.

She went back to bed shortly, and I puttered around on the computer until 6:30, when I dressed and went outside to wait for the car that was to take me to dinner with Zeynep. Enter culture shock. Perhaps not shock, but certainly surprise... I had forgotten, for example, Turkish Time. Meaning that I expected the car at 6:30. And by 7:15, after 45 minutes pacing on a dark dead-end street in the rain, I gave up and came inside.

I took the elevator to my floor, the 5th, and went to the 18th room, and was faced with one door, one key, and two locks. I have a rather unpleasant history with turkish doors to begin with (locked out for an hour on my first night in Ankara- and it took me a month to be able to open it by myself). After trying one lock, then the other, then the first again, I heard voices inside and so started banging on the door, hoping one of my suitemates would open it. Two girls came to the door and spoke through it, most likely asking who was there. Exhausted and completely out of patience (after 45 min in the rain), I just said "I live here" loudly and clearly. "... I love you?" one girl repeated, very confused. "No, I LIVE here." The door opened, and two girls looked at me very confused. I smiled and walked in, heading towards my room, which is when they followed me and blocked the hallway, yelling in rapid Turkish. What I forgot to mention was that no one had told them they had a new roommate. So I might have been any lost American in Sisli (my neighborhood), just wandering into the room on the far corner of the 5th floor in a student dormitory. I sighed and pointed into my bedroom (roommate still in hibernation, no help at all), to the pile of luggage on my bed. "Mine." I said. "I live here." They finally understood and laughed, and apologized for their broken English. So somehow, in my first 12 hours in the country, I managed to break into my own apartment and terrorize my suitemates.

My room phone was called by the front desk ten minutes later, and brokenly told that the car was running late and would arrive in 15 minutes. Severely frustrated, I got dressed AGAIN and went downstairs to wait. The car arrived when I was told it would, and the traffic was horrible- we traveled 3 km to the school in 45 min. Dinner had already been served and eaten upon my arrival. Zeynep introduced me to a colleague of hers, a French businessman, and Professor Erol Sezer, the vice president of the university. All were very friendly, and we were soon laughing and joking about everything under the sun. I'm not sure how, but someone made a joke about me being married off during my time here, at which point the french businessman (whose name i cannot recall to save my life) was volunteered. It became an ongoing joke, one shared with my parents due to a long distance call offered by Zeynep's coworker (yes, also cannot remember his name). We were offered the university terrace restaurant, where we were sitting, for the reception- it has an incredible view of the Bosphorus, one of the best in Istanbul I've been told. The conversation stayed light, and I got to hear all about Prof Sezer's son and daughter and their time in the US- his daughter is currently in Istanbul and I may get to meet her, while son is still living in Seattle. At one point I was mistaken for an Italian, probably because of my absurd hand gestures, and when I corrected them (Irish, of course), Professor Sezer told me about his son's irish ex-girlfriend and how wonderful she was. Apparently, he's a fan.

After dinner I was given a brief, partial tour of the university, and saw the engineering department, classrooms, offices, and two of the seven cafeterias- just a *wee* bit bigger than TOBB, with its three buildings in total. I arranged with Zeynep to meet her at her office sometime the next day, and we parted ways. Traffic was just as miserable getting home, and I was completely ready to pass out- but determined to defeat jet lag, I forced myself to stay up until midnight local time.

Five hours later, the turkish cell phone Alex gave me (I gave mine away to a friend who was in Turkey last semester), started beeping loudly and obnoxiously. Luckily, it didn't wake my roommate, who had woken up around 10:30 pm and was, at 5:00 am, still sitting at her computer playing World of Warcraft.

Since 5:00 am is 10:00 pm in New Jersey, it made perfect sense for my body to wake up then... and refuse to sleep for about five hours. So at 10:00 AM, I fell asleep again for another four hours, completely missing the time when I planned to go to the University and see Zeynep. By the time I was showered, dressed, and out the door, it was nearly 4:00 pm. And I got to experience Istanbul's first snow of the winter. Wonderful. I wandered up and down steep hills for 20 minutes before finding a cab, and then sat in traffic (of course) for another half hour. By the time I got to Zeynep's office, we had barely enough time to see the international office (full of friendly, English-speaking persons who know about things like residency permits, sim cards, and AKbill [public transit card]). I will meet with them again at 10:00 am tomorrow, and hopefully get started on all the technicalities of working at Bahçeşehir.

By the time I was heading home, there was a full-on snow storm waiting for me. I may have a distinct accent when speaking Turkish, but my taxi driver still managed to convince himself I understood what he was talking about. An hour of traffic later, I realized that he had NO idea where we were going (I had handed him the address on a piece of paper), and being my second day in Istanbul, neither did I. Somewhere near 19 Mayis Mahallesi, my neighborhood, he started asking questions- which of course I could not answer. He carefully explained to me (in Turkish) that he had no idea where my street was, and I should get out and talk to a local cab driver. I should get out of the taxi. I should get of the taxi RIGHT NOW.

So, I paid 22 lira ($15) to be driven to the general area where I lived, and then kicked out of the cab in front of a mall. So being a coffee addict in a country severely lacking good old American-style joe... I went into the mall and hunted down a Kahve Dunyasi, which was my absolute favorite coffeeshop/chocolatier (two in one!) in Ankara. I grabbed a few necessities from the Migros (similar to a Target), and headed out into the snowstorm. I wandered again for a while, hoping to see something familiar, then gave up and hailed a taxi. Before getting in, I asked if he knew of my street, and he said he did- and then ten minutes later asked me where it was. So in Turkish style, we stopped every fifteen feet to ask passersby if they knew of the street. We did this for twenty minutes without a single positive response, before I finally gave him Zeynep's number to see if she could give him directions. She couldn't offhand, so we drove aimlessly for a bit longer before she called back and directed him. Finally back at the dormitory, I thanked the cabbie profusely and headed in- only to be called by Zeynep, who was called by the cabbie, who told her I had left my phone in the cab. Of course.

As usual, life in Turkey is an adventure. As I head into day three in Istanbul, I can only hope things will improve... at least directionally.


Finally, I leave you with an episode of "Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations," a show in which some guy travels and eats and talks about it (no, I don't actually watch it)... this is the episode on istanbul- very funny and lots of good points about the culture and food.

http://www.ninjavideo.net/video/55522
(Note: you have to click the red link near the top which says "click here to launch the NinjaVideo Helper," wait for the little pop up to load, then click "yes" or "trust" when the security box comes up. Then click "close to play" on the ad over the video, and it should start loading immediately. It's less complicated than it sounds, I promise.)