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
