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.

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.

 

French-German Friendship Society

Yes, it actually exists. And they get together and hire Turkish musicians and throw little concerts in the German elementary school gym. In Turkey.

I would know, because I was invited to one last night- despite the fact that I am neither French nor German nor friends with anyone who is.

So amidst the rock wall and tied back climbing ropes (no, I'm not making this up), a crowd of a few hundred French and German ambassadors, their Turkish friends, two lost Americans and one very confused Russian listened to German, Turkish, and French classical music duets played by a Turkish pianist and violinist. And afterwards everyone congregated in the back of the gym- under the ceiling-mounted basketball hoop- drank wine, munched delicately on curry chicken kebabs (I have no idea whose culture that was supposed to represent- India maybe?), admired each others' finery, and generally felt prestigious. It was entertaining. Well, at least until I almost assassinated a minor German diplomat via my untied shoelace. Yes, I wore gym shoes to this event. No, no one warned me in advance that it was a suit-and-tie sort of affair. At least I wasn't in jeans (which I sincerely considered).


Anna came to our school yesterday as well, hung out with me in the office for a bit and then went to class with Alex. They left early and went to our favorite cafe/chocolatier Kahve Dünyası at the Armada Mall. I stayed later and talked for an hour with a student who wanted extra practice. A socially awkward but very nice kid, failed the TOEFL once already but reallly wants to learn English. We discussed family, music, school, his plans for the future- basically every topic I could think of.

Three classes today, only one of which was memorable. I walked with the instructor to my first class, and was caught by Zeren- one of my beloved, leather-coated flunkies- on my way in, and she knew the instructor I was walking with as well. So she hops into the classroom (not her classroom) with us, plops herself into the teacher's chair, and starts asking me about my day and chattering away in semi-coherent english. The teacher has a sense of humor about the situation but still attempts to kick her out of the room. Half a dozen entreaties later, Zeren, still all energy, yells "Going! I going! Going nowww!" at the teacher. She stands and walks past me to the door.

It is at this moment, while we are standing in front of the entire class, that this punked out, over-made-up twenty one year old girl spins around, grabs my face with both hands, yanks it to her face, kisses me sloppily on each cheek, and then marches out of the room with a triumphant grin.

In case you were wondering, they don't entirely understand the concept of the "personal space bubble" here in Turkey.


As a final note, I got my macbook charger in the mail (thank you Mom & Dad) a few days ago. And of course, in traditional TOBB style, they conveniently provided me with a crappy, secondhand Dell computer. About five days after it would have been useful. So I now have two computers and a renewed sense of befuddlement at why, exactly, anyone would ever have paid money for that thirty pound piece of crap. Which, to make the situation even MORE fun, is formatted with a Turkish keyboard and operating system. Or whatever the correct label is for a "all the instructions including the help menu are in Turkish" system. I'm considering submitting it into the Guiness Book of World Records as the world's most expensive and unwieldy paperweight.


As a final final (no I really mean it this time) note, today I broke a tooth. Apparently the cafeteria's kaşarlı köfte sandviç was out for blood. Or at least enamel.

Being 5,000 miles away really puts things in perspective.

Last night Alex and I met up with Anna, Turkner, and their friend Keith (an officer, not sure what level, in the US Army), at a bar to watch the inauguration. For once, it was convenient that Ankara is seven hours ahead of EST- the inauguration started right when I got out of work, so we still got to catch most of it live by the time we found the bar. Which of course, is nowhere nearby because there is NOTHING nearby. Anna & Turkner picked the place out- aptly named the Marilyn Monroe Bar, it's completely covered with photos and various pop art pieces of her. A little random, but okay. The obsessiveness makes more sense when you think about the average Turkish male's ideal woman:  blonde and Russian. Marilyn's close enough.

So, being a Tuesday night, the bar was literally empty when Alex and I got there. After a couple of awkward attempts to communicate with the bartender, Anna and Turkner arrived, and Turkner asked if we could change the channels (lots of big, pretty flatscreen tvs) to the inauguration- and they did. However we then had to go back and ask nicely if they could turn on the inauguration... in English. Forgot about that detail. We ended up watching BBC World News coverage. It's strange, I never cared much about seeing political events- speeches and debates, sure, but at this point everything is decided, so why bother? Or at least that has been my perspective in the past. But I realized yesterday while talking to some of my coworkers that I really wanted to see it, to experience it- that being so far away from home and from Americans makes this sort of thing much more valuable. It's very easy to forget that you're an American when you walk down the streets of Boston or New York or San Diego- not that there isn't history, especially in Boston, but it's just no big deal. Where as here, in Ankara, I am faced with my American-ness every moment of the day- I can no longer eavesdrop on strangers, I can't ask for no onions, I can't find a hardware store- or anyone who quite grasps the concept. I can't pick up an iced coffee and a bacon egg and cheese sandwich on my way to the library where I'll find thousands of books I can read, all in my language and all for free. Conversely, I find myself feeling a little more proud of where I come from, standing a little taller when I catch people staring. After the inauguration we had a great discussion about how Americans are constantly defining themselves by their ancestry: Irish American, African American, Italian American, etc. And the majority of the time, we leave out the "American" bit. I can't count how many times I've called myself Irish. Because I am! And I'm proud! And the American part, well... that's a lot less interesting. Not the case in Turkey. Turks take immense pride in the homogeneity of their culture. They insist that their ancestors came out of Asia- that they are all, individually, 100% Turkish. Which is a bit comical when you're talking to someone with blue eyes, blonde hair- and a sincere belief in his or her pure Asian ancestry. It's not okay to be part Greek or European or Arab- it's not Turkish. Having a culture, religion, ancestry, or opinion that differs from the accepted national norm is viewed as unpatriotic, and therefore unacceptable. But, (I hate myself for this, but I've gotta do it...), as Obama said last night, Americans view "our patchwork heritage as a strength, not a weakness."

Being the only people in the bar had its advantages. Commandeering use of the televisions, for one, and being able to sing our national anthem while watching Americans sing it live during the inauguration was another. I don't think I've ever taken it as seriously as I did in that moment. Four Americans, from very different backgrounds, in a little bar in a country very far from home, singing words written almost two hundred years ago about a flag that hadn't been around very long and didn't yet represent very much at all.


Y'know, despite everything, sometimes I'm rather proud of where I come from. 




Anna, Alex, Keith, Turkner, and I

Let there be light! (and other stories)

Yesterday I started teaching.


There's a weird though, huh? The last time I considered the idea of being paid to teach, I was in grade school. Not that they're paying me a significant amount, but still. I had three 50 minute sessions, with 20-25 kids in each. And by "kids" I mean 18-25 year olds, although they act much younger than I expected. Alex and I have theorized that it probably has a lot to do with the fact that they still live at home with their parents, which is the Turkish norm before marriage. And this university babies them a lot, which doesn't help the situation. Monday morning we arrived at 8:30, as usual, and we were supposed to have recieved emails with our class schedules- which we didn't- and then couldn't remember the website where the higher ups posted our curriculum for the week. We panic (okay, I panic, Alex just took it in stride), and try to hunt down said higher ups to get a schedule and the curriculum, but none of them show up before nine or so. There's a whole different attitude towards time here- they don't really "do" deadlines and timelines and things like that, there's a much more lax attitude, especially in the administration. Which is really frustrating, when I'm so used to everything being scheduled to the minute- trying to figure out when, for example, the light in my bedroom was going to be fixed was an absolute nightmare. "Semih Bay (Mr. Semih, my boss), when do you think you can get someone to fix the broken light in the apartment?" "Oh, I'll send someone. Don't worry." "...Um, well, do you know... uh... well do you think this week, or should I expect it next-" "I'll take care of it. Let me make a note." Smile smile smile.
Almost three weeks later, a guy shows up at my door with two new, boxed lightbulbs. Because apparently "The wires in my ceiling lamp snapped and it fell out of the ceiling and almost killed me" translates into "I am incapable of buying new lightbulbs." So I let this poor guy into the apartment, and pick up the lamp from where it had been chilling under my desk, and hand it to him (it's big and heavy. Not subtle). And he looks at it, and at me, and then at the lightbulbs, and then starts speaking in rapid Turkish, clearly apologizing.
"Tamam." ("alright") I nod sympathetically. Like I know exactly what he said.
"Tamam?" He grins, very surprised.
I smile, he says something else, and leaves. I threw a minor temper tantrum, because it's been nearly three weeks with a dark bedroom (I have to change with the door open at night, and I can't read or study or do almost anything in there- unbelievably frustrating), made some tea, and sulked. Happy ending to the story- yesterday I came home and didn't even realize the light had been fixed until I tripped over the vacuum sitting in my darkened room- which is definitely not where I left it. The little elves who fixed my light even cleaned up after themselves!

Wow, so I was going to talk about my classes. Right. So Alex and I are sans schedule, running around the building trying to find anyone who knows what we're supposed to be doing with our lives. And we run into Fatih, who looks like the hounds of hell are on his tail. Which, depending on who you ask, might be an apt description of some of the persons in charge of TOBB. He all but begged us to come in and do some recordings with him immediately, because there's a lot of pressure on him to get them done quickly- an unusual situation. We agreed to help him, at least until we recieve emails telling us where and when we need to be in class. So for over two hours, we sat in his non-sound-proof recording office, reading exams. For anyone who's ever taken a language course, you know the kinds of stuff we were doing- Alex read the directions and individual questions, while I handled the long, absurd speeches on random topics. There's a couple of fun parts to all this: one, Alex is dyslexic, so it takes the poor girl like six tries to read anything correctly; two, the room isn't actually soundproof, so any noise anywhere nearby is recorded with our voices, and we have to do it all over again, and three, the building we're in is very new- so they're still designing and building the surrounding areas (landscaping, paving, etc). Which is extremely noisy. So an exam that would take me twenty minutes to read silently and twice as long to read aloud (s-l-o-o-w-l-y), takes over two hours. And some of the speeches were AWFUL- one was on the differences between Paranoid Personality Disorder and Paranoid Schizophrenia and the technical aspects of treating both. And said hellhounds in the testing department think it's clever to make pre-intermediate English language students answer questions about this stuff. Although I have to say, my favorite (there were a half dozen speeches and a few shorter bits), was one about culture shock. I started reading out loud without reading ahead of time, and when I got to the part about the "honeymoon" versus the "horror" stage of culture shock Alex and I burst out into giggles- she eventually had to leave the room while I read about exactly what we had been going through. I'm still in the honeymoon phase, while Alex is well into horror- "criticism of local culture, life, and values," "longing for the familiar," "occasional rage"... that's her. Fatih was terribly stressed out and I felt awful, but after two hours of monotone reading, we got a little loopy.

Anyhow the email finally came, and I had my first class at 11:50. The curriculum included an icebreaker, where I put a long word on the board and told the kids to make smaller words out of the letters of that word. "Precipitation," in case you're wondering, has at least two hundred possibly shorter words. Alex and I found about 120 before I went to class, where the kids promptly came up with stuff like "pirate" and "reaction" and "petition" - while our words were things like "cat," "one," and "rain." But the kids kinda got into the game, shouting things out as I wrote them on the board. With my classes today I made it a competition, splitting the class in half and letting team leaders write words on the board. Very successful in most classes. Then we moved on to an extraordinarily lame activity, in which the curriculum instructed me to write quotes on the board and then explain them. I picked one of the suggested ones and one of my own ("A candle loses none of its light by lighting another candle" and "A cynic is someone who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing," respectively) and wrote them out and talked. The problem with this is the whole point of my class is to get the kids to speak in english- which they weren't doing while I babbled about the differences between "price" and "value" and the implied meaning of "light." Obviously. The only time this activity didn't suck was in one of my classes today. It was an extremely competitive group, already split pretty evenly and with two opposing ringleaders- I wrote the quotes on opposite sides of the board and told them that each team had ten minutes to come up with an explanation for their quote, or "idiom" as they kept referring to it. Both teams got the meanings very well, despite Turkish outbursts every so often. At one point, while Anil, team B's speaker, was presenting their explanation, team A's speaker, Memmit, kept razzing him- and so Anil tucked his arms behind him and turned his back- at which point Memmit stood up and started yelling at the top of his lungs, finally sputtering out that it was "very re-rage-re-redspectful!!" (disrespecful). Judging from the reaction it must be a pretty extreme insult. So with that class, we barely finished the second activity in the fifty allotted minutes. In all my other classes, we moved on to the third activity, where I picked on whoever was the most obnoxious and talkative (usually a boy from the back left corner of the room- Alex and I have both noticed it's a problem spot), and made him write on the board while I asked people what their favorite football (soccer) team was. Galatasaray and Fenerbahçe were the alternating favorites. Then I made individuals explain why their team was the best, who their favorite players were, etc. If there was time left over I asked about movies, and made them name movie genres, and then asked each student about their taste in music, favorite groups, etc. In each class at least one kid was a fan of "Turkish folk music," with one of them playing some for me- a Turkish military band, all instrumental and very patriotic. And there were also usually a couple jokers who shouted out "Arabesk!" (arabesque), which is viewed sort of the same way people in the Northern USA view country.

Altogether, things have been good. I've been picking out a couple kids from each class, ones who are most willing to take risks and speak and who are also well liked by their classmates, and use them to motivate everyone else. I'm also learning names, although it's slow going. Memmit, Anil, Beyza, Zeren, Amr, Halil, then coworkers like Mehtap, Aslı, Özge, Nesrin, Nurcihan, Farouk, etc... not easy.

Currently planning on going out with Alex and Anna tonight to watch the inauguration somewhere, and Anna is also possibly coming to visit our classes tomorrow. Should be interesting.

Spanish dance, French faith

So Friday night was Anna & Turkner's dinner party. "We" included Marina this time, a) because she's a sweetheart and I adore her, and b) because she speaks fluent Turkish and without her we (Alex and I) would pretty much die. All the time. Not that we use her or anything. Anyhow. So of course, we had trouble getting to the apartment because the cab drivers here are awful- as someone explained to me later, most of them aren't "career" cab drivers, so they know only their small area of the city.

We arrived at the apartment around 20:30, enjoyed Anna's incredible homemade Mexican food- chimichangas were fantastic- and of course some Turkish food too. There's a tabbouleh-like dish here named kısır (kussur) that is fantastic- my officemate brought it in and shared it with me during my first week, and I absolutely fell in love. She's offered to not only give me the recipe, but actually come to the apartment and teach me how to make it! And apparently it's easy to make and very healthy- unlike everything else here. They take their chocolate and pastries very seriously. But to get off the rabbit trail... The gathering was very informal, not so much a "dinner" party as a buffet-style set up in the kitchen and then everyone gathered in the hall or sat on cushions on the living room floor. Different, but I liked it. I met some fun people, including a youngish (as usual, everyone was at least 5-10 years my senior), Canadian guy who teaches English at Bilkent, another university in Ankara- a MUCH larger one. And I had a conversation with a man who went to Boston University for grad school, and we had a great time trading stories about the area. So a couple hours go by, and everyone starts to shift towards the door- and we're invited to join them for tangoing! Everyone carpooled and we ended up at a bar/dance hall at the base of the Sheraton Hotel, which, of course, is THE place to be if you're a Turkish tango enthusiast (note: not the "Turkish tango," which does not exist, but rather Turkish (origin) and a tango enthusiast. Ahem.) And the place was like something straight out of a classic black and white film- dim lights, beautiful marble columns, and incredibly talented- and serious! - dancers on the floor. So Alex and Marina and I basically sat and watching, jaws open, for a solid two hours. They were absolutely beautiful. Anna had a great comment- "Tangoing, when it's done right, should feel like a very short, intense affair." And it really was. So Alex and I have set our minds to learning the tango as soon as humanly possible. We gathered business cards from everyone within arm's reach before we left, and have been shooting out emails and such since yesterday- we have no internet in the apartment, so we had to wait til Monday.

Saturday was mellow, we mostly loafed around the apartment, and then went to the Ankamall because Marina and Alex wanted to go shopping... again. I bought a book and hung out at a Starbucks (they really are everywhere) for three hours. Everyone was happy.

So Alex had asked Stephanie, (the one who invited us to the Canadian Embassy), about the possibility of finding a Catholic church somewhere in Ankara. You know, because countries that are 98% Muslim have churches all over the place. However, to my great surprise, there is a tiny one in Ulus, the oldest part of Ankara. And we were invited to go with her and her family on Sunday morning. The only problem being that Stephanie (and her family) are French, and therefore attend the French service with other French-speaking persons. So again, I can't understand the majority of what is happening- in case Catholic mass isn't complicated enough, now I've got to deal with all the sitting-kneeling-standing-repeating stuff in. another. language. And Marina joined us again, which was very funny because she isn't Catholic either, and speaks no French- so the three of us were, for once, equally baffled the entire time. To be fair, though, between proper names (John Baptiste isn't hard to translate) and some similarities to Spanish, I got the gist of the sermon. The priest went through the stories of God calling Samuel and other Biblical occasions where God used people's names, and concluded that God is a personal being, interested in people as individuals. And the priest was inspired- it's an odd feeling, knowing that someone is a gifted speaker and feeling the emotional draw of his words, even when the language itself is foreign. The result of which was my renewed interest in learning French, something I've wanted to do for a while but never really got around to.


Walking to Mass
After church there was a lunch, with more homemade food- Turkey is going to make me fat- (...pun unintended) - and spectacular French wines. At a church luncheon. And while enjoying those, I was educated on the pros and cons of Turkish wine and what to look out for when buying it, because it is (apparently) a very hit-or-miss situation. Again, met some very nice people with whom I hope to keep in touch, and exchanged emails and phone numbers and such. Marina also seemed to have a good time- it's a bit easier to make friends when you speak the local language. Fluently.

I started actually teaching this week, always an adventure. I only have two classes today, at 11:50 and 14:35, so I'll probably fill in the details on schools stuff when I finish with that.

They throw rockin' parties in Canada.

Funny story. Very funny.

So Alex has connections. It's a little fuzzy, but I think it's her godmother (who she's very close to) who is married to the French ambassador to Turkey. Or something like that. So Alex gets an email from this woman inviting her (and me, by extension) to "a party at the Canadian Embassy," where there will be "young diplomats and fun Turks" and such. K. So Alex is a little wishy washy about going, and I pounce on the idea- for the love of God, at least there will be English speakers there! It starts at 18:00 (they go by a 24 hour clock here, so 6:00 pm, for the lazy), which is when we get out of work. However, TOBB is in Söğütözü, which is in the middle of NOWHERE. Seriously, go google maps it. There's nothing here. Except my apartment building, and TOBB (the university). So we'll have to take a cab, etc, and aren't going to be there on time, so Alex emails Stephanie, (godmother-or-whatever) back who says that's fine, and she's had us put on "the list"- because she's not going to be there herself. Right. So we're going to this thing and know NO one. Also, btdubs, ALEX is on the list- and, Stephanie explains, we'll just have to explain "the situation" (i.e., me showing up and not being on the list) when we get there. Nooo problem.

So we get off work, walk the 1/2 a block to our building, and (of course) spend an hour getting ready and going through clothes because we have absolutely no idea what we are getting ourselves into here. I changed like six times. (I don't DO that!) We finally decide on professional-ish, and if we're dressed wrong we'll just explain we came right from work. So we walk over to the Armada, the big mall that's 5-6 blocks away, because I needed an atm. And there's tons of taxis there. We get in a cab, and tell the guy "Canadian Embassy" ("they all know where it is" according to Stephanie in one of the emails). He starts babbling, very confused, in Turkish, and I realize I forgot the slip of paper where I wrote down the actual street/area the Embassy was on. Because I. Am a moron. So I say "Ka... Na... Da..." really slowly, and the guys sorta gets the idea, calls over his radio thing and asks somebody else, and then turns to us and smiles and nods and off we go. And despite going through several sketchy neighborhoods, we get there okay.

Problem number one: This is TURKEY. The Canadian embassy looks like a huge FORTRESS. I mean, we get out of the cab and my first thought is, "whoops, forgot the grappling hooks!" It's a huge concrete-brick wall, with a couple of obviously unused metal doors with bars over them. So... we decide there must be an entrance somewhere, and we start walking up the hill. And pass several more creepy-barred doors. And being winter, it's already very dark (a little after 7 pm), and creepy. And so we get to the end of the building and see an obvious entrance for cars, next to a little box with a guy in it and a sliding bullet-proof glass window. We walk up and the guy sees us ("He's an awfully tan Canadian," I think somewhere in the back of my head), and opens the window. "Canadian Embassy?" we ask.

"Libyian Embassy" he smiles.

Right.

So we turn around, walk back down the street, past where we were dropped off, and of course 20 feet in THAT direction we find the same type of entrance, except Canadian. And obviously expecting people, whereas the Libyian embassy was completely dark and silent. So the guard asks for our passports, and starts looking at the list. And Alex and I try to explain that I'm with her, and not a terrorist. And he asks who our sponsor is, which is when Alex turns to me, and explains that she never asked Stephanie the name of her friend who was at this party- the person who put Alex's name on the list. So Alex says Stephanie's name, and the guy rolls his eyes and says we need a DIPLOMAT to let us in, which Stephanie is not. And Alex and I fumble for a second, obviously panic-stricken, and the guy looks at the list again and looks at us, and says a name- clearly the name we were SUPPOSED to know. And we nod furiously. He goes inside to ask this guy if he actually knows us, and Alex and I break out into giggles. I felt like a high schooler that wandered into a frat party- you know, "Uh, mike! Of course we know Mike! Everyone knows Mike!"


Forgot my grappling hooks. Damn.

The guy comes back with our passports, hands them to us, and lets us in. We trail these two girls (mid twenties), who obviously know where they're going, and hang up our coats and take a minute to breathe, then walk in.

We were, by an average of 25 years, the youngest people there. I mean, some of these people had grandkids. A lot of them, actually. And all of them had finished grad school, at the very least. And we clearly professionals, adults, "real people" with experiences and salaries to prove it, and they were all very intentionally getting smashed. In a hurry. So we stand there, gawking, and then grab funny-named canadian beers (sorry, mom and dad), and stand in the corner. Very awkwardly.

HOWEVER, less than 15 minutes after we position ourselves as to be as unobtrusive as possible, the same girls that we followed in come up to us and start a conversation. One girl was Turkish, worked at the embassy (or some embassy, not sure- it was EXTREMELY loud by this point), and the other was an American! She was on a month-long vacation, originally from California. So the Turkish girl meets up with other people, and Alex, Anna (Californian), and I spend a good couple hours chatting and laughing about strange Turkish things and just generally being very American. Turns out she's just as socially stifled as we are, and we hit it off immediately. AND we scored an invitation to go to their dinner party tonight- and possibly go out tangoing afterwards! And they're going to Capadoccio (spelling?), in a week or so and invited us to tag along for the weekend. They left around nine, and Alex and I chatted about politics and such for an hour and went home. Overall, an epic success.


And now I can say I've partied in Canada. In Turkey.