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.)

The Last 24

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.

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.

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.

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!