Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Fulbright Mid-Year Meeting
I’m not a fan of bureaucracy.
But, my time here is chock full of it: To get a bank account, you need a residence permit, a tax number, and a number that is assigned by the government, which can take anywhere from 1-9 months to receive. You can’t be paid without this number, or without a bank account. Getting a cell phone requires a passport, a phone registration document, and no foreigner can purchase a cell phone contract. Under any circumstances.
The structure of things is comical because, ultimately nothing is orderly. Unlike the monotonus, if predictable bureaucracy I encountered in France, Turkish bureaucracy seems to be for show, and my Fulbright experience has been tinged with this flash and red tape, and it seems I’m not alone.
If you’ve been keeping up with my blogs, you’ve heard about the problems regarding Fulbright’s expansion. Essentially the American Fulbright Commission handed over everything to the Turks, allowing them full control of us without explaining this to us at any point. We slowly began to realize that we are first Turkish university employees and second Fulbright fellows. And, while I have lucked out with a phenomenal staff at an incredible university in a forward thinking city, this is absolutely not the case for many of my friends. This weekend's meeting was a bloodletting for Fulbrighters throughout the Cumhuriyet, and I have some favorite remarks:
“Its important to just remember to stay alive.”—A.S.
While addressing the Commission and fellow Fulbrighters regarding the state of our mental and physical health.
While addressing the Commission and fellow Fulbrighters regarding the state of our mental and physical health.
“Overall, I give it a rating of 280 Van cats.”—C.T.
After speaking about the feral cat population in his city, and deciding to use feral cats as an arbitrary rating system with which to rate his Fulbright experience so far
After speaking about the feral cat population in his city, and deciding to use feral cats as an arbitrary rating system with which to rate his Fulbright experience so far
“Yeah, I still have to walk 20 minutes when I want to take a shower.”—J.I.
Talking about how his situation has improved
Talking about how his situation has improved
“You’re welcome to come visit, but bring your own water or you’ll have to haul it 2 km.”—D.R.
Addressing the executive members of the Fulbright Commission, inviting them to his rural placement, where there is no running potable water
Addressing the executive members of the Fulbright Commission, inviting them to his rural placement, where there is no running potable water
“Without YÖK, you wouldn’t be here.”—A.O.
Reminding us to remain positive
Reminding us to remain positive
“Who do we work for?”—R.B.
When asking for clarification about who we actually work for
When asking for clarification about who we actually work for
“Secil, who do you like more? Us or the full grant recipients?”
“Euhhhhhhh…” walks away, thinks for a minute, returns, “Well, I will always remember this group, because we all suffer together.”—Secil Yazicioglu, American Programs Officer, Fulbright Turkey
After addressed by several inquisitive Fulbrighters regarding her undying love for us
“Euhhhhhhh…” walks away, thinks for a minute, returns, “Well, I will always remember this group, because we all suffer together.”—Secil Yazicioglu, American Programs Officer, Fulbright Turkey
After addressed by several inquisitive Fulbrighters regarding her undying love for us
“Yes, I would like you to write me a letter before you leave my country telling me what is wrong with your university.”—Dr. Yusuf Ziya Ozcan, President of YÖK (Turkish Ministry of Higher Education)
Addressing me personally after dinner, after skipping our briefings discussing exactly what hisorganization needs to change
Addressing me personally after dinner, after skipping our briefings discussing exactly what hisorganization needs to change
“Next year will never be the taste of this year, if you ask me it’s a good thing, I will only remember this year as bad… If you survive, it is enough… My job is to count heads…All the suffering is worth it, I hope I filled the 15 minutes”—Ersel Aydinli, Executive Director of the Fulbright Commission
After showing up unprepared to give the opening address that was supposed to be 15 minutes long
After showing up unprepared to give the opening address that was supposed to be 15 minutes long
The day was tipped off by a flurry of Turkish media. A dozen cameramen and reporters swarmed into the room to tape the Dr. Yusuf Ziya Ozcan’s speech regarding YÖK’s sizable contribution to Fulbright’s expansion, he then, to our collective horror, veered off saying the program will be doubled next year (can I get a hell no!) Ultimately a PR ploy, it was an unwelcome start to a very, very long day.
Next, the newly appointed Ambassador addressed us, he offered a combination of humor, respect and solidarity that was lacking from the Turkish side. Having been an English Teaching Fellow himself, my favorite comment was something along the lines of, "I only went to Italy, you came to Turkey!" And, for all the Turkish media in the room, who definitely missed the emphasis, it was meant to be a, you crazy, adventurous kids, kind of an emphasis. He’s a great man who solidified his position on my good side when he made Sam Adams beer available at the reception at his home later that evening.
The most galling thing about the entire day was that not one member of YOK stuck around for the quote-un-quote bitch sesh that went on. There was also Ersin Aydinli who, after listening to stories of homelessness, borderline persecution, and outright hostility had the balls to tell us, yes it seems the positive has outweighed the negative. Ass hole.
The one perk was staying at the Hilton Hotel.
While I have a pretty cushy apartment, and placement for that matter, many of my fellow Fulbrighters cannot count on certain comforts typically deemed a simple standard of living in the US: hot water, access to brewed coffee, TV, and 24-hour electricity to name a few. And, while it is these very experiences that equip each of us to speak authoritatively on Turkish culture, a slight bump in our standard of living, if only for a weekend was certainly welcome. The Hilton Hotel redefined comfort with a pool, jacuzzi, fitness center, attentive staff, Crabtree & Evelyn bath products, plush robes, comfortable beds and bacon.
If it was an attempt to placate us in our rage, it was too little too late, but I was happy to accept the bribe. I was thrilled to take the first bath I’ve had yet in this country, take a dip in the pool, and eat bacon while overlooking the Embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran(the Hilton Hotel’s neighbor).
Monday, February 7, 2011
Street Food
Recently there was an article I read about Turks becoming an extremely obese country. Its not surprising when witnessing the way the average Turk eats: all vegetables are drowned under an inch or so of sunflower seed oil then coated heavily with salt. Its too bad too since at the core, Turkish food is quite healthy, its a very veggie-heavy diet. And, with the increase of processed candies and things often referred to as "western" foods (I think that means cereals, cookies, etc) Turk's waistlines are expanding at an alarming rate. I have tried to be vigilant, cooking meals for myself, borrowing ideas from Turks but omitting the typical gallon or so of oil. My main enemy here, really, is street food.
So, being as enamored with food as I am, I don't know why I haven't written a post about food. I know I complain incessantly on this blog and I am sorry to those of you who continue to read despite my negativity. If I look a little more rolly than when I came here, its because of the delectable street food that is both dirt cheap and absolutely delicious.
Kokoreç is... well... I haven't actually tried it. So, kokoreç is one of those things that you're either fanatical about or you're horrified by. Its not the safest of foods to eat either, and while I want to try it, I want to really want to find trustworthy place first. Kokoreç is intestine that is wrapped up and then grilled over an open flame. After, they shave a little bit off and chop it up, throw it on some bread, adding garnish that varies from place to place. Its generally a late-night snack for the perhaps-slightly-intoxicated crowd in Istanbul though I should say, its not only for when you've been drinking. I'll get back to you when I've tried some.
Midye or mussels are probably the most dangerous thing you can eat on the street, but they're SO good. Generally sold by a scowling teenager with filthy hands, you buy and consume them on the spot, with the vendor dousing them with fresh lemon before you slurp them down. Cheap, quick, easy, and covered with bacteria. Just the way I like it.
Döner kebap is hands down the most well-known Turkish food. And, while real döner kebap is nothing like what they sell in Europe, it has the same base: spit-roasted lamb. Döner ekmek is the authentic incarnation of what is found in most European kebap stands. Its a big roll of Turkish sourdough bread with ketchup, mayonnaise, tomatoes, peppers, meat and french fries which have all first been rolled around in the oil at the base of the spit. And, yes, you read that right, french fries are put into the bread. Here, for whatever reason, french fries seem to be regarded as a vegetable--like a tomato or a bundle of lettuce. You will routinely receive a plate of food with rice garnished with soggy french fries. Not many, maybe about 5 of them, but still. But back to the original point, you can get one of these bad boys with chicken for about $1.75 or with lamb for about $2.25.
And, the crowning glory of Turkish street food:
Durum is the thing that I miss most whenever I leave Istanbul. It can occasionally be found elsewhere, but I don't think any place in the world has the same concentration of durumcular as the Taksim-Istiklal intersection. Plain, Etli Durum is shaved meat (the same meat as döner) but its put in a wrap with lettuce, french fries (yes) all rolled around in the fatty drippings at the base of the döner spit. I typically ask them to add some red pepper flakes just to jazz it up a bit and, yes, the most delicious food ever. *After much research, conducted by myself and several other durum enthousiasts, we have come to the conclusion that it is the fool-proof hangover cure: one durum followed by a few ibuprofen and a bottle of water before bed. No hangover. Ever.
So, now that I've got you drooling, I'll politely add one of my favorite Turkish phrases, afiyet olsun, Turkish for bon appetit!
So, being as enamored with food as I am, I don't know why I haven't written a post about food. I know I complain incessantly on this blog and I am sorry to those of you who continue to read despite my negativity. If I look a little more rolly than when I came here, its because of the delectable street food that is both dirt cheap and absolutely delicious.
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Balık Ekmek |
Balık Ekmek is something that can be found in most seaside towns. Tekirdağ's is delicious and despite its odd literal translation of Fish Bread, its not terribly exotic or kooky, its a sandwich of freshly grilled fish on a half baguette garnished with chopped onion, parsley and lettuce. You're often encouraged to douse the whole thing with some lemon juice (a brilliant idea) and the whole shebang only costs 4TL (just about $2.50) I love hitting the boats just across from the Mısır Çarşı (Spice Bazaar) in Istanbul's Karakoy section, they've got guys dressed up all goofy, flipping dozens of strips of fish. No matter the day or the weather this place is packed with both Turks and tourists alike.
Another great, fresh refreshment can be found at stands offering fresh pressed nar (pomegranate), portakal (orange) and karaşık (mixed) juices. These vendors have a hand-operated juice press, they chop up the fruit right there on the spot, crushing it with a metal press, catching the juice as it comes out a chute underneath. They'll put it into a flimsy little plastic cup with a small costing 1-2.50 TL ($0.65- $1.25) and a large costing 3-4.50TL ($1.50-$2.75). Though in some of the more touristy areas, a pretty small glass will set you back about 5TL ($3). Its literally 100% juice and is made right there for you. Its amazing, I never realized how good pomegranate can taste.
Simit is a bagel-like bread that is covered with sesame seeds then baked. Its addictive and cheap. In small cities it costs only about 0.50TL or $0.35. Its crazy how good it is and its a great snack for the late afternoon, though most Turks regard it as a breakfast food. In addition to simit is açma, its like brioche with those of you familiar with French breads, and if not, its similar to challah, though a little oilier. Its light, fluffy and buttery. I'm drooling just thinking about it. The cool thing about the simitci (simit-seller) is that he'll walk around the neighborhood yelling out "Simit! Simit!" So, all you've got to do is duck outside with a few spare cents in your pocket. They also camp out near busstops, dolmuş stations, parks. In short they're everywhere.
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| Kokoreç |
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| Midye |
Midye or mussels are probably the most dangerous thing you can eat on the street, but they're SO good. Generally sold by a scowling teenager with filthy hands, you buy and consume them on the spot, with the vendor dousing them with fresh lemon before you slurp them down. Cheap, quick, easy, and covered with bacteria. Just the way I like it.
Döner kebap is hands down the most well-known Turkish food. And, while real döner kebap is nothing like what they sell in Europe, it has the same base: spit-roasted lamb. Döner ekmek is the authentic incarnation of what is found in most European kebap stands. Its a big roll of Turkish sourdough bread with ketchup, mayonnaise, tomatoes, peppers, meat and french fries which have all first been rolled around in the oil at the base of the spit. And, yes, you read that right, french fries are put into the bread. Here, for whatever reason, french fries seem to be regarded as a vegetable--like a tomato or a bundle of lettuce. You will routinely receive a plate of food with rice garnished with soggy french fries. Not many, maybe about 5 of them, but still. But back to the original point, you can get one of these bad boys with chicken for about $1.75 or with lamb for about $2.25.
And, the crowning glory of Turkish street food:
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| Durum |
So, now that I've got you drooling, I'll politely add one of my favorite Turkish phrases, afiyet olsun, Turkish for bon appetit!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
My first futbol maçı
So this past weekend my friends Sasha and Dane (both Fulbrighters) came to Istanbul before jetting off on their winter holidays. Sasha had a college friend also in town--Austin--who came via Israel with his cousin Phoebe.
Sunday night we all went to the Galatasaray game. Now, in Istanbul there are three big teams: Fenerbahçe, Beşiktaş and Galatasaray. There are a handful of other regional sports teams that factor in as well, Trabzonspor and Bursaspor are definitely up there in popularity, but typically most Turks (at least the ones I've encountered) have some allegiance to one of the big three teams. I have found that choosing one of these teams will likely alienate the majority of my students so I have yet to commit myself to any one team.
In any case, we went to Galatasaray because they were the ones playing at the most convenient time. It was decided that we should get the cheapest tickets possible (about $17) and the way to do this was to get a seat in the away section of the stadium. Additionally the stadium only opened on January 15th so things are still not totally finished. For example the exits are woefully under-completed. But we'll get to that.
So, on the way there, we discussed recent happenings with the team: at the stadium's opening President Erdoğan was to give an address (since it was TOKI, the government's housing and development branch, who fronted the $600 million needed to build the structure), but he was booed. Instead of addressing the crowd, he simply left. This is a kind recounting of what happened. Rumors abound that he is seeking to find out who booed him and to revoke their season passes, but again, Turks and their silly conspiracy theories.
We arrived and were prompted through two different security sections. Sasha and I were separated from Austin and Phoebe and had quite the time trying to find our section. Now, I don't know if this is a prank that the stadium ownership is trying to play on the visiting team's fans, but the section we were looking for is not actually marked and doesn't make any logical, chronological sense when looking at the map of the stadium's sections. We walked the entire way around the giant 52,000 person structure only to find ourselves up against a police barricade barring people from passing.
We showed them our tickets and, surprisingly, we were admitted. Turns out that was the section we were looking for. The section with riot police. Yes.
We made our way up, we had missed kick-off unfortunately. All four of us reunited, we took our seats and enjoyed both the match and the general hostility of football hooligans going on around us. I learned a whole hoard of new gestures that I am quite sure don't mean, "Well played, sir."
Here are my favorite clips from the night:
This is when being a yabanci comes in handy. The four of us stayed together and I badgered a police officer, bitching in fast, slang English, a language he clearly didn't understand. Eventually, it worked, he gave in to my incessant complaining and let the four of us pass since clearly we didn't care either way who won and, as three women and one man, we were not prime targets for lunatic fans.
We got outside only to find that there was about half the stadium waiting in the big open area between the subway stop and the stadium gates. As far as I could tell, unless you wanted to climb the muddy wall up to the highway and thumb your way back to town, the subway was the only way in or out of this place. We went back inside (the Galatasaray section) since it began raining and was absolutely freezing. About a half hour later we went back out to find the line significantly diminished, though the rain had really picked up. We squeezed our way through throngs of people and pushed our way onto the subway.
About 3 hours after the game ended I got home.
Sunday night we all went to the Galatasaray game. Now, in Istanbul there are three big teams: Fenerbahçe, Beşiktaş and Galatasaray. There are a handful of other regional sports teams that factor in as well, Trabzonspor and Bursaspor are definitely up there in popularity, but typically most Turks (at least the ones I've encountered) have some allegiance to one of the big three teams. I have found that choosing one of these teams will likely alienate the majority of my students so I have yet to commit myself to any one team.
In any case, we went to Galatasaray because they were the ones playing at the most convenient time. It was decided that we should get the cheapest tickets possible (about $17) and the way to do this was to get a seat in the away section of the stadium. Additionally the stadium only opened on January 15th so things are still not totally finished. For example the exits are woefully under-completed. But we'll get to that.
So, on the way there, we discussed recent happenings with the team: at the stadium's opening President Erdoğan was to give an address (since it was TOKI, the government's housing and development branch, who fronted the $600 million needed to build the structure), but he was booed. Instead of addressing the crowd, he simply left. This is a kind recounting of what happened. Rumors abound that he is seeking to find out who booed him and to revoke their season passes, but again, Turks and their silly conspiracy theories.
We arrived and were prompted through two different security sections. Sasha and I were separated from Austin and Phoebe and had quite the time trying to find our section. Now, I don't know if this is a prank that the stadium ownership is trying to play on the visiting team's fans, but the section we were looking for is not actually marked and doesn't make any logical, chronological sense when looking at the map of the stadium's sections. We walked the entire way around the giant 52,000 person structure only to find ourselves up against a police barricade barring people from passing.
 |
| I didn't take any pictures of them, I was too busy shitting my pants. Just picture this at night, at a rowdy football match, and some with machine guns. |
We made our way up, we had missed kick-off unfortunately. All four of us reunited, we took our seats and enjoyed both the match and the general hostility of football hooligans going on around us. I learned a whole hoard of new gestures that I am quite sure don't mean, "Well played, sir."
 |
| "Ah, yes, bravo sir, well played sir." |
Here are my favorite clips from the night:
- When a Galatasaray fan somehow gained access to our double-barricaded, police surrounded section and was promptly taken down by the police who were in turn, taken down by the Sivaspor fans who just wanted to get their hands on the Galatasaray fan. All in good fun I'm sure.
- When the gigantic Sivaspor banner was dropped over the balcony of our section by a bunch of idiots.
- When, after being returned their banner by stadium staff, they promptly re-dropped the banner.
- When, on the way in, security made me "donate" all of my coin money (amounting to over 7TL or ~ $5) so that it couldn't be thrown or used as a weapon(??)
- When even though I couldn't have coins, some young men lit a flare in our section. With 3 dozen police around, you would have thought someone would be on that, but nope. No worries, its just an incendiary divice. No big deal.
We made some friends with quiet and calm, undercover Galatasaray fans who had had the same money-saving idea as we. The treated us to tea at half time. And then it struck me: I'm having tea at a football game.
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| Sasha with our delicious çay |
I doubt many of you follow the World Cup closely, but for those real fans, you will have seen that Qatar was chosen for the 2022 World Cup. And, since I watch Al-Jazeera, everyone seemed quite thrilled (since Al-Jazeera is based in Doha... Qatar's capital), only when I switched to the BBC did I realize something that had been played down on Al-Jazeera: Qatar is an Islamic Republic.
Okay? What does that mean. Well, that means that alcohol is effectively banned. There are only a handful of places in the entire country where one can legally purchase and consume alcohol and, if I am correct, they are all major tourist hubs. This is a major problem for nearly all European football fans. I imagine South American and African fans as well, I don't know where East Asian fans stand on alcohol consumption, but still, imagine a British football hooligan shotgunning a cup of hot black tea. Ha. Yes. Problem.
I knew therefore, that there would not be alcohol for sale at concessions at the match, but it was actually quite refreshing to drink a tea after sitting on a cold concrete structure for an hour. It was funny though, that all the fabled Turkish hooligan hostility happens with minimal alcohol. Don't get me wrong, there were beer bottles scattered every which way on the way there, but what I'm saying is really, on average most of the men were completely sober. And they still stab each other.
I knew therefore, that there would not be alcohol for sale at concessions at the match, but it was actually quite refreshing to drink a tea after sitting on a cold concrete structure for an hour. It was funny though, that all the fabled Turkish hooligan hostility happens with minimal alcohol. Don't get me wrong, there were beer bottles scattered every which way on the way there, but what I'm saying is really, on average most of the men were completely sober. And they still stab each other.
When leaving, we decided to make moves about three minutes before the end of the regulation time only to find that we were locked into our section. Like, literally, locked in. Turns out that all Galatasaray fans must all leave before security will let any of the visiting fans out of their section. Good idea in concept, given that Turkish football hooligans have quite possibly the most violent reputation on the planet, but quite horrible in execution.
You see this is a new stadium and like I said before, the exits aren't fully worked out. Bad idea for a stadium that holds upwards of 50,000 people. Remember the Hillsborough Disaster where almost 100 people were crushed to death? Yeah, its because of idiotic contraptions like the locked barricade doors and an insufficient subway system that will cause the next one. I'm predicting it'll happen in Turkey, probably at this stadium. Well we stood there, crammed like sardines, against old men, in a stairwell, for about a half hour before they decided it would be prudent to let us out into the open rather than keep us corralled like animals. So, we went out into the parking lot, only to be greeted by riot police barricades working to keep Galatasaray fans from attacking those around us. Now, don't misunderstand me, they weren't actively trying to attack us, that would be far more intense than it really was. It was more that the police remained to deter those lingering from making their way over and making trouble.
This is when being a yabanci comes in handy. The four of us stayed together and I badgered a police officer, bitching in fast, slang English, a language he clearly didn't understand. Eventually, it worked, he gave in to my incessant complaining and let the four of us pass since clearly we didn't care either way who won and, as three women and one man, we were not prime targets for lunatic fans.
We got outside only to find that there was about half the stadium waiting in the big open area between the subway stop and the stadium gates. As far as I could tell, unless you wanted to climb the muddy wall up to the highway and thumb your way back to town, the subway was the only way in or out of this place. We went back inside (the Galatasaray section) since it began raining and was absolutely freezing. About a half hour later we went back out to find the line significantly diminished, though the rain had really picked up. We squeezed our way through throngs of people and pushed our way onto the subway.
About 3 hours after the game ended I got home.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
I am not a spy.
Every time I travel to a new place, I am always interested to see what people think about Americans. I am comfortable enough in my own identity to rarely be roused by the beliefs about my country from others. I think the US is a complex and diverse place and because of this, I can only expect that opinions will be equally diverse.
I lived in France the year after we re-elected Bush. I lived in the Netherlands during the last Presidential election. I was once asked by a particularly rude Aussie, ”Aren’t you ashamed to say you’re from the US?” I think I’m a pretty good person with a pretty understanding outlook, but there are times where I have to take a step back and judge the opinions of others. After all, I’m not freaking Mother Theresa.
A few weeks ago a lunatic reporter thought she had found an interesting story—two Americans had been dropped in sleepy Karabuk, Americans in Karabuk. Why? They must be spies.
The journalist dug a little deeper and discovered that there were not only 2 Americans, but also that they were part of a larger group, a group known as Fulbright. These 54 (!!) Americans had been brought here to masquerade as spies; to gather intel and well, to hmm, plot an American overthrow? Why not, right?
“54 American intelligence officers were brought to Turkey. They were put into posing as English teachers in various universities”—Banu Avar
This was originally reported to the rest of us when the two women began being told by their students that they had been in the news. They sent out a message containing a link to the article with the heading, “If you want to be amused”, but things quickly spiraled out of control. Only a few days later, students began not attending classes. The governments got involved. The story was then picked up by a national newspaper, Milliet.
The Milliet story ran with a bit more of a positive tilt, with the university president defending the women and the rest of the program. He stated that the suggestion that they are spies is absurd. But this goes to the heart of a pretty interesting situation here.
Turks love conspiracy theories.
Back in the wake of the Mavi Marmara fiasco, an AKP official, Israel constructed the WikiLeaks to embarrass… wait for it… the Turkish government. The director of YÖK or the Turkish Ministry of Higher Education (essentially my boss) offered up his own alarming thoughts on genetic engineering and its potential for the future, "Professor Özcan said in one of his speeches that some are able to play with the genes of tomatoes they export to other countries thus spreading deadly diseases in any country they like. Without mentioning names he pointed to the United States and Israel." This is something that is, without any question, entirely false.
One thing I am always fascinated with is the Turkish fear that the US (or really most countries) want to take over their country. Now, I can’t speak for Iraq, Armenia, Iran, or Syria. Or Greece. Or Cyprus. But, I am pretty damn confident that Americans would highly object to the invasion and subsequent occupation of Turkey. Now, they wouldn’t necessarily object to war, or to the absorption of natural resources, let’s be honest about that. I think the general American opinion is one of, Why?
This is typically more upsetting to the average Turk than if I went around stating that I was a CIA agent who was sent here to plot our overthrow of the government. They are baffled when I offer up the true reason that this is complete hilarity: The average American doesn’t give a hoot about Turkey.
Joe Plumber (yes, a Sarah Palin reference) doesn’t know where Turkey is. All he knows is that it is a delicious meal that he likes to share with his family in late November. He would perhaps remember discussions of Constantinople but never Istanbul. Perhaps when told that the capital is Istanbul not Constantinople, he’d start humming the song. But, really, beyond that, nothing.
This is equally upsetting to me. Not so much because Americans don’t care about Turkish politics but because most have no idea where Turkey is, what language they speak or that some extremely important Christian history is contained in Turkey (yes, the Evangelicals would be surprised to hear that Nicaea—the birthplace of Christian doctrine—is in Turkey, St. Nicholas too did his work here, the Virgin died in Turkey), and on a more cultural level that the beloved Dr. Oz's family is from the conservative stronghold city of Konya.
Americans need to get their heads out of their asses. That’s what I think about Americans. But Turks, well, Turks need to get their heads out of their asses too, they need to push aside their bizarre obsession with conspiracy theories and to wisen up, to think critically, and to realize that no, I’m not an American spy and neither are my friends.
Monday, January 10, 2011
I hate the cold
My heat is broken. Or maybe its not. I don't know. Same with the hot water. And the washing machine. Normally I would run over and grab the super and (pardon my French) bitch at him until everything got fixed. The problem with my apartment is that there is no super. All we have is a 40-something year old man named Ilker who really couldn't care less about my Soviet-Russia/Bauhaus love-child gem of a building. You see, Ilker is in charge of all the university's facilities and while I guess going rent-free for a year should probably bar me from any complaining, complain I shall.
When the weather first took a turn towards winter, we had a bit of an issue with our heating. We couldn't get it going properly in all the rooms. We have radiators you see and who under the age of 65 has any idea how to work a metal radiator? As far as I can tell you have to completely open the one in the kitchen to get the heat flowing to each of the subsequent radiators. Well, some men came by, opened them up, laughed at us for our incompetence and we had heat, for about a month until three days ago when I noticed a draft in the living room. I opened them all up, my right-y tight-y, left-y loose-y system was confirmed by the soğuk/sicak markings on the knobs, but work they did not.
It got colder and colder until I was forced to wear a hat and winter jacket in the living room, not noticing a difference from the temperature outside when I entered my flat. Then I noticed, when doing a pile of dishes, that there wasn't any hot water. This happens occasionally, I think we have building-wide hot water, a rarity here, and it is often depleted at high-shower times (7-8am) but I noticed throughout the day that the water wasn't just lukewarm but unbearably freezing. And, since I hadn't showered in two days, this was going to be a problem.
A cold shower when you're in a warm apartment isn't fun, but its not threatening to your health either. A hot shower in a cold apartment can be equally shocking to the system but, ultimately its pretty benign. An ice cold shower in a 50 degree (9C) apartment is both not fun and not healthy. So, I got creative.
Or rather, I thought back to our forefathers, what would, nay, what did they do when faced with such a situation. They boiled water over a fire and then washed themselves with that warm water. And, while I didn't have a fireplace, I did have my trusty electric kettle. So, after boiling some tap water, I grabbed my pasta pot--the largest pot I own--and got into the bath tub. I carefully mixed the boiling water with the ice water from the tap. I did my best to wash my hair and while there is still a bit of shampoo residue, I deem the adventure a success.
Shower down. Next thing to tackle was the laundry. See, we have a washing machine but I have a feeling it was some factory reject the university acquired at a severely discounted price. The thing hops and dances all over the bathroom and, if you're not careful to put away the TP and anything else on top to the machine before starting a cycle, you can be sure it will end up in the toilet. This was always annoying but recently things have taken a turn for the worse. The damn thing will hop its way around, spinning 180 degrees to face the wall it came from, it makes such a racket and bangs so violently that I am beginning to worry it will dislodge the toilet at some point. It made such a hullabaloo when I used it on Saturday, I cancelled the cycle and rung out the clothes myself.
Delightful right? Well, back to the heating situation. Living in an ancient building in Turkey rarely has the charm of some reclaimed Brooklyn loft with exposed brick and wood beams. These buildings are scary and typically malfunction so often that any charm you could possibly squeeze out of anything built in the 1960s is immediately rendered worthless. The electricity just shuts off when it wants. Lightbulbs blow weekly. The circuits are tripped daily. There is some honking noise coming from the basement that Sherri and I initially and incorrectly attributed to a fog horn from the shipyard behind our building.
I wish I could say, however, that the terrible heating found in our apartment could be credited to any of the following:
1. a warm climate that so rarely requires good heating that in the occasional cold-snap, people freeze (unequivocally false)
2. its a damn old building made of uninsulated concrete with drafty, mis-shaped windows (this definitely doesn't help but it's not the whole problem)
3. a lazy foreman with only a menial knowledge of building (again, perhaps true, but then, every building nation-wide would also fall into this category)
Our university opened in 2006 and, while it was originally part of Trakya Universitesi, an enormous school, many of our buildings are brand new, like really, brand new. They are still being built around us. One thing you will see throughout these buildings, however, is the space heater. Yes, the space heater. And, I'm not talking little black box of warm-ish air, I'm talking gigantic fire-breathing fire-hazard.
When the weather first took a turn towards winter, we had a bit of an issue with our heating. We couldn't get it going properly in all the rooms. We have radiators you see and who under the age of 65 has any idea how to work a metal radiator? As far as I can tell you have to completely open the one in the kitchen to get the heat flowing to each of the subsequent radiators. Well, some men came by, opened them up, laughed at us for our incompetence and we had heat, for about a month until three days ago when I noticed a draft in the living room. I opened them all up, my right-y tight-y, left-y loose-y system was confirmed by the soğuk/sicak markings on the knobs, but work they did not.
It got colder and colder until I was forced to wear a hat and winter jacket in the living room, not noticing a difference from the temperature outside when I entered my flat. Then I noticed, when doing a pile of dishes, that there wasn't any hot water. This happens occasionally, I think we have building-wide hot water, a rarity here, and it is often depleted at high-shower times (7-8am) but I noticed throughout the day that the water wasn't just lukewarm but unbearably freezing. And, since I hadn't showered in two days, this was going to be a problem.
A cold shower when you're in a warm apartment isn't fun, but its not threatening to your health either. A hot shower in a cold apartment can be equally shocking to the system but, ultimately its pretty benign. An ice cold shower in a 50 degree (9C) apartment is both not fun and not healthy. So, I got creative.
Or rather, I thought back to our forefathers, what would, nay, what did they do when faced with such a situation. They boiled water over a fire and then washed themselves with that warm water. And, while I didn't have a fireplace, I did have my trusty electric kettle. So, after boiling some tap water, I grabbed my pasta pot--the largest pot I own--and got into the bath tub. I carefully mixed the boiling water with the ice water from the tap. I did my best to wash my hair and while there is still a bit of shampoo residue, I deem the adventure a success.
Shower down. Next thing to tackle was the laundry. See, we have a washing machine but I have a feeling it was some factory reject the university acquired at a severely discounted price. The thing hops and dances all over the bathroom and, if you're not careful to put away the TP and anything else on top to the machine before starting a cycle, you can be sure it will end up in the toilet. This was always annoying but recently things have taken a turn for the worse. The damn thing will hop its way around, spinning 180 degrees to face the wall it came from, it makes such a racket and bangs so violently that I am beginning to worry it will dislodge the toilet at some point. It made such a hullabaloo when I used it on Saturday, I cancelled the cycle and rung out the clothes myself.
Delightful right? Well, back to the heating situation. Living in an ancient building in Turkey rarely has the charm of some reclaimed Brooklyn loft with exposed brick and wood beams. These buildings are scary and typically malfunction so often that any charm you could possibly squeeze out of anything built in the 1960s is immediately rendered worthless. The electricity just shuts off when it wants. Lightbulbs blow weekly. The circuits are tripped daily. There is some honking noise coming from the basement that Sherri and I initially and incorrectly attributed to a fog horn from the shipyard behind our building.
I wish I could say, however, that the terrible heating found in our apartment could be credited to any of the following:
1. a warm climate that so rarely requires good heating that in the occasional cold-snap, people freeze (unequivocally false)
2. its a damn old building made of uninsulated concrete with drafty, mis-shaped windows (this definitely doesn't help but it's not the whole problem)
3. a lazy foreman with only a menial knowledge of building (again, perhaps true, but then, every building nation-wide would also fall into this category)
Our university opened in 2006 and, while it was originally part of Trakya Universitesi, an enormous school, many of our buildings are brand new, like really, brand new. They are still being built around us. One thing you will see throughout these buildings, however, is the space heater. Yes, the space heater. And, I'm not talking little black box of warm-ish air, I'm talking gigantic fire-breathing fire-hazard.
I find it hilarious, after being fined for having a coffeepot in my school dorm because it was deemed a fire hazard, that this would be allowed anywhere near a university facility. Well, I kid you not when I say, there is at least one in every single administrative office. No word yet on how many people have been maimed by the heat these things throw, or how much property damage or many people have been killed by fires started by them, but hey the radiators certainly aren't doing it.
I'll get back to you when I track down the architect and ask why central heating was not included and also, while we're at it, why on earth the building is heated by coal. Coal that belches black, filthy, choking smog into the air and into my lungs and eyes. Coal that will be outlawed in 2 years time.
Why?
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Christmas in Turkey
Chora Church
So, I live in Turkey which means that I have to spend my holidays primarily in Turkey. And, while I am finally getting paid (woo hoo!) I am not paid quite well enough to splurge on a flight back to the States, as tempting and as cliché as it may be to go home for the holidays.
Instead I did the next best thing, I imported family from the States. While the original plan was for Kelsey, my sister, and Samantha, our cousin to join, Mother Nature had different plans in store. Since most of you spend the majority of your time on the western side of the Atlantic, you may not have been monitoring the weather that descended on north-western Europe in the days leading up to the Birth of Christ, but since one of the only two entirely English channels we have here in the 'dağ is the BBC, we heard all about it.
And, unfortunately, we had to experience first-hand the incompetency of the British Ministry of Transportation. Basically, two-thirds of flights going in and coming out of Heathrow were cancelled outright, for the four day surrounding Christmas, the four busiest travel days of the year. Major problem since its one of the world's most important air-traffic hubs. So, Samantha was stranded, at work, in Boston, at Christmas.
Kelsey and I carried on without her, much to our chagrin. After relaxing a few days in the 'dağ, we headed to Istanbul. We went to Chora Church, a fabulous gem of a place tucked a bit outside of the typical tourist section of the city. Amazing mosaics and frescoes from the 14th century are still in phenomenal condition, so we marveled at Jesus and Mary for the afternoon.
Turkish J.C. says "hi"
Later we went into the Spice Bazaar,
and we made friends with a vendor who makes, as far as I can tell, extremely expensive tea sets. He was quite the shop owner, offering us everything from historical explanations for various Turkish idioms, to rose lokum, to tales of fame and glory. Just in case we didn't believe his excellent-ness, he whipped this out,
"From Fidel Castro to Kevin Costner, the famous drink from these cups"
Upon arriving back in Taksim, we were greeted by a Worker's Party protest. Nothing says Christmas like communists, right? 
The Turkish Communist Party's headquarters overlooks İstiklal street, the capitalist center of the city.
That night we hit a fasil restaurant on Istiklal. We chowed, drank, listened to traditional music and danced. Kel and I went back to our hostel and watched the Holiday for possibly the tenth time in a week and snoozed til morning.
Friday, December 17, 2010
An end of year recap
Because the next few weeks are going to be filled with travel and holidays, this will probably be the last blog post of 2010. I've spoken with many of you in the last few days about my time here and, depending on the day you talked to me, I have both loved and loathed my experience so far.
Turkey is a very interesting country, it straddles Europe and Asia just like it straddles the traditional and the modern. While their bus system should be internationally recognized for its efficiency (I'm not talking environmental), their bureaucracy should be condemned for its arcane and anachronistic alleyways and dungeons. Its an abyss of confusion and notarized contracts.
I have found Turkish hospitality to be the warmest of any country that I have visited. I have been constantly tea-ed (not wined unfortunately) and dined by new friends and colleagues who have made every conceivable effort to make our time here easier. And, in the face of what seemed an insurmountable heap of unresolved problems, they have taken time out of their chaotic lives to ensure I never feel alone or abandoned.
The locals have been patient with me and my pigin Turkish, helping me find the butter and not the rain in the supermarket, after I asked Yağmur nerede? when I should have asked Tereyağ nerede? Our constant flow of fix-it men have been gracious and kind, even when our problems are of our own making (you must turn two knobs to get the heat going.)
And, while bacon is scarce (or really nonexistant) the food has comforted me in ways that nothing else can after a rough day of misunderstandings and mistranslations. There's nothing like a hot bowl of mercemek corbası after being soaked through from a sudden rain-storm.
I'm excited to share these things with Kelsey and Sam as they come next week. I'm excited to dive deeper into Turkish culture and language as 2010 turns to 2011. Sherri and I sat eating köfte last week, doing research for an article we will be writing for Istanbul Eats, thinking back to what we were doing this time last year. I was in the middle of final exams with one semester of my undergrad left to complete. I had no idea what, let alone where Tekirdağ was and could never imagine I would be living this experience.
And, though about 50% of my day is spent keeping myself from going on murderous rampage, the other 50% has been truly rewarding. I was invited to a student's birthday the yesterday. They made great efforts to speak to me in a language that only three months ago, they did not know. And, while I personally cannot take great credit for the accomplishments of my students, I hope that I am having as positive an impact on them as they have had on me.
So cheers to Christmas and to New Year. May the next be as exciting and rewarding as this last.
Turkey is a very interesting country, it straddles Europe and Asia just like it straddles the traditional and the modern. While their bus system should be internationally recognized for its efficiency (I'm not talking environmental), their bureaucracy should be condemned for its arcane and anachronistic alleyways and dungeons. Its an abyss of confusion and notarized contracts.
I have found Turkish hospitality to be the warmest of any country that I have visited. I have been constantly tea-ed (not wined unfortunately) and dined by new friends and colleagues who have made every conceivable effort to make our time here easier. And, in the face of what seemed an insurmountable heap of unresolved problems, they have taken time out of their chaotic lives to ensure I never feel alone or abandoned.
The locals have been patient with me and my pigin Turkish, helping me find the butter and not the rain in the supermarket, after I asked Yağmur nerede? when I should have asked Tereyağ nerede? Our constant flow of fix-it men have been gracious and kind, even when our problems are of our own making (you must turn two knobs to get the heat going.)
And, while bacon is scarce (or really nonexistant) the food has comforted me in ways that nothing else can after a rough day of misunderstandings and mistranslations. There's nothing like a hot bowl of mercemek corbası after being soaked through from a sudden rain-storm.
I'm excited to share these things with Kelsey and Sam as they come next week. I'm excited to dive deeper into Turkish culture and language as 2010 turns to 2011. Sherri and I sat eating köfte last week, doing research for an article we will be writing for Istanbul Eats, thinking back to what we were doing this time last year. I was in the middle of final exams with one semester of my undergrad left to complete. I had no idea what, let alone where Tekirdağ was and could never imagine I would be living this experience.
And, though about 50% of my day is spent keeping myself from going on murderous rampage, the other 50% has been truly rewarding. I was invited to a student's birthday the yesterday. They made great efforts to speak to me in a language that only three months ago, they did not know. And, while I personally cannot take great credit for the accomplishments of my students, I hope that I am having as positive an impact on them as they have had on me.
So cheers to Christmas and to New Year. May the next be as exciting and rewarding as this last.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Christmas or Consumerism?
The other day I ran a lesson about holidays. It was our first class back from the week long Kurban Bayramı break, and I for one, wasn’t ready to dive back into school. As it turned out, my students weren’t either.
This was the week of Thanksgiving, a holiday rarely on the radar of non-American/Canadians. We discussed the types of holidays—cultural (or civic) and religious. I asked them to list a number of holidays, Turkish, American, and international. Each class did an exceptional job coming up with a broad variety, though there was one class in particular that takes the cake when it comes to a creative approach to the assignment.
When we discussed what Christmas is, they were baffled. The word, like in many European languages, is based on the latin word for the holiday, its Noel in Turkish. Once I explained that there were Christmas trees involved, they perked right up and figured out what I was talking about. When we went back over the long list I had amassed on the board to categorize the holidays, there was a unanimous opinion that Christmas was cultural. I corrected them, saying that no, Christmas is a religious holiday. To this, one vociferous student stood up and said, no hocam, its not religious. Well, actually first he clicked at me (you Fulbrighters know what I'm talking about) then he denied my statement.
I tried to explain to him that I really was quite sure that Christmas was a religious holiday, but he stood his ground. I tried to explain that it is the birthday of Jesus or in Turkish İsa but he assured me that this is not true. The whole class had chimed in, telling me that I didn't know what I was talking about and that I also had the date of Christmas wrong. Then, I thought, ha maybe they are thinking of the Greek Christmas. But no, Christmas is, according to my students, on the 31st of December.
No, that is New Year, I explained. Yes, they said, New Year and Christmas, these are the same.
Figgity-false. (That's for you Mr. Richard.)
Turks have recently imported American consumerism. And, with this has come a few extras bundled into the mix. One of these is every marketing team's wet dream, the Christmas shopping season. But, what do you do in a country that has no religious or cultural holiday that routinely occurs in late December? You bundle your plastic Christmas trees and tinsel in with the New Year's celebrations. They even eat turkey on New Year's. The problem it seems, was that nobody had bothered to explain to the Turkish people that they don't celebrate Christmas, they are celebrating something called Consumerism.
Now, don't misunderstand me. I'm loving this. I found molasses and tree ornaments at the local Migros shopping center yesterday. And, while they may not have cookie cutters, they have all the necessary ingredients to make Christmas cookies. One of my colleagues, who will probably get his own blog post at some point, sent me an email wondering where online we could purchase Christmas trees. It seems one of his friends wanted to know. I told him something along the lines of "Hell if I know, but let me in if you get to the bottom of it." I encouraged my roommate to respond to his email, "Bitch, I'm a Jew." I don't know if she did, and if she did, I don't know if he would have understood but man...
Even so, I must admit, there's no place like home.
But of course, I'm not one to roll over and take it. I fought back. I went to the Carrefour (the French version of a super-Wal-Mart) and loaded up on said molasses (3 jars' worth--I wasn't sure which would taste best so I got all of them just in case), made both sugar cookies and gingerbread cookies
went on iTunes and downloaded The Holiday and Love Actually, scrounged around for some printer paper and cut up paper snowflakes
and listened to the most amazing Christmas mix ever-- A Very Special Christmas (the first one made) featuring songs like Christmas in Hollis, Back Door Santa, and Winter Wonderland by the Eurythmics.
Dara and I made latkes and stumbled on an old synagogue in Edirne when I went to visit her in Kırklareli this past weekend. The Turkish governement is investing over 3 million TL (roughly 1.75 million USD) over two years to rebuild the building. After talking to the engineer in charge of the project, it seems that weathering did the enormous structure in. Edirne is probably one of my favorite places in Turkey (far behind Istanbul, but I mean, Paris is behind Istanbul...) it used to have an enormous Jewish population until the population exchange in the 1920s.
There is something to be said for living in a part of the world that gave birth to the Big Three, no not Garnett, Pierce and Allen, but rather Islam, Christianity and Judaism. There is an enormous amount of historical sites here in Turkey that really are the roots of all three of these religions. I got to go to Nicaea a few weeks ago--I had no idea it was in Turkey until I was there.
I'm not a fan of spending the holiday season outside of the United States, but I guess Turkey has really come through for me in terms of holiday cheer, historical sites, and molasses.
Monday, November 29, 2010
The Trip to Trabzon Or, A polemic on the Turkish planning process
You know those weeks where nothing quite goes right? I mean, nothing really goes wrong, but man, nothing works the way it should. This has been a large part of my experience in Turkey. Moving to a new country is bound to have its emotional ups and downs and sure, each country has its quirks.
In France I was made to wait outside at 5:30 in the morning to get a ticket so I could come back in the afternoon with an unknown array of documents that nobody seemed to be able to agree upon, all just to get a residence permit that I really didn’t need.
In the Netherlands your bike could be stolen while you were still on it—well not literally but damn, you turn your back for one second…
In Turkey, nobody seems worried about paying us.
It seems the Turkish Higher Education Commission (YÖK) decided they wanted more Americans through the Fulbright program. So, they told the American Fulbright Commission that they would pay our salaries. They Americans handed us over, with only a cryptic notification, without asking it seems any questions at all. Well YÖK changed their minds, passed us off to the universities who are now telling us they don’t really have to pay us for the first month we were here because according to the paperwork that we had no access to, we didn’t legally exist. Some universities, saddled with this new salary and no increase of funding from YÖK, denied the housing we were guaranteed, ignored the Turkish lessons we were guaranteed, and are now saying they may or may not be able to pay us some time perhaps in January or February maybe before we leave but who knows maybe not. The Americans feel badly, but ultimately they can’t do anything because they gave us to the Turks.
I have spent a few weeks debating about writing this in the blog. It is a pretty sad picture of an incredibly well respected program, but it’s the truth and I believe that while this may not be the most professional thing I have ever done, it is the right thing to do. If I wanted to battle for housing, salary and general decency, I would have joined the Peace Corps. And while I have been amazingly lucky, with a staff and administration who genuinely care about our well being, who have mobilized to help us in each and every crisis, ultimately this should have never been allowed to occur.
Every conversation I have had with my colleagues seems to reinforce that this is a typical day in the office. And, while I am loath to impose my American standards on a foreign situation, I signed a grant authorization with THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT and not the Turkish one. But, I guess, this is the situation and I can complain until my face is purple, but I have found that the more I look the more I find evidence that this is not a unique situation here, it’s a cultural thing.
Take my most recent trip to Trabzon…
After a 16-hour bus ride, we arrived at 4 am. The whole thing was nothing short of a fiasco. I am still not entirely sure who was responsible for the planning of the whole week, but it seems that they did not pay any attention to several critical details. It all started on Saturday night when Selen discovered that we were both scheduled on a bus that would arrive in Istanbul the following Sunday, at 3:30pm.
Problemo numero uno.
Remember, this is an 18-hour bus ride. Remember that I must hop a bus to Tekirdağ once I arrive in Istanbul. Remember that there are thousands (literally) of students making this exact same trek. Remember that I work at 8:45 in the morning on Monday. Remember, any of you who have had the pleasure of interacting with me when I’ve been deprived of my necessary 8 hours of sleep. Problem, var.
Typically this could be remedied with a quick phone call to the bus station, or even better to the airport but, yes, it is the week of Kurban Bayrami. What does that mean? Ever tried to catch a flight anywhere in the continental US the day before Thanksgiving? Multiply that by like a thousand and you’ll pretty much have it. There are no busses. There are only planes at astronomically high prices (not 45TL one way but something more like 185TL).
Now, I have just met these people. Like, really, about five minutes ago. I am not about to complain about an important family trip that I have been graciously invited to partake in, plus they must have the anxiety of the engagement to contend with. Selen, however, is having none of it. After about an hour of going back and forth we finally decide to take the Friday tickets (initially meant for the parents of the man getting engaged) to Bursa, and then on Saturday I will take a bus to Tekirdağ.
So, like I said, we hop the bus to Trabzon, well, we try to hop the bus, but its an hour late. Not quite the ideal way to start an 18-hour trip. We get on; everybody is already in a bad mood. I believe I have talked about the quality of Turkish busses, I have stated before that typically they are quite comfortable especially considering the prices. Some even have little TVs (not that I really use them, since I don’t understand much still.) This bus was more of a Fung Wah. While it did have an attendant (all busses have an attendant who serves tea, water, and little goodies periodically) he looked sleep deprived, then Selen and I noticed the water had been stored under our seats. The bus smelled of stale cigarettes, and said attendant would take my coffee/tea before I drank it since I would let it cool longer than he felt like waiting.
My biggest fear going into this whole thing was that there are no toilets on Turkish busses. After many discussions, we have still yet to comprehend why this is. I was unsure, therefore, how often we would stop. Well, much to my surprise, we stopped at least every 2 hours, this pleasant surprise quickly soured once the sun went down and they would throw the lights on and open the two doors letting the cold night air rush in. There was, therefore, very little chance of sleeping for more than two hours at a time.
There was a man who got on the bus about half way to Trabzon who sat in front of me who had a habit of lowering the back of his seat abruptly. Each and every time he would pin my leg in a most painful way, once he smashed me in the face and even my loud yelps of pain did nothing to get his attention. My favorite stop had to be the one at about midnight or 1 am. It was probably about 40 out, windy, and there was nowhere to go. The restaurant smelled of something putrid, plus their windows and doors were all open, and the outside courtyard had a horrid mingled smell of human refuse and stale hot-dogs. I assumed the human refuse smell came from the bathrooms, but when I went to relieve myself, I found that they were particularly devoid of smell. I am still perplexed where that smell came from but needless to say, I chose not to buy any food from the establishment.
Finally we arrive in Trabzon—an hour early, even with the hour delay at the start, problem is, it is 4am and freezing. We make our way into the bus station and everyone kind of just lingers. Selen starts asking questions and I know there’s something wrong. Apparently we had reached the end of the planning. This was the end of the line. It was 4 am but nobody had thought to figure out where we would be sleeping, even though they knew we would arrive after the hotel closed for the night.
Problemo numero dos.
Selen (just please, picture this if you know her) flies into a frenzy. She’s yelling at her uncle—the plan’s architect—who it seems, was completely aware of the pitfalls and totally fine with his plan’s lack of plan. He was content to hang with the homeless in this semi-closed bus station until his sister woke up and could come rescue us from this hellhole. I was just sitting, semi-comatose, on a radiator letting it warm my backside. It was—unlike anything else that whole 24-hours—quite soothing.
Ultimately Selen won. At about 4:15 we hopped in some taxis and drove to Selen’s uncle’s sister’s house. She and her family were up to welcome us. Then we all sat down and started chatting. I noticed that nobody seemed to have any plan of sleeping. It was damn early and we could, if we got down to business, get 5 or 6 hours in before we had to do anything. After close to an hour and a half of bleary-eyed discussion (all in Turkish) I gave into the idea of sleep, it seemed all anybody needed was for one person to give in so that they wouldn’t feel bad giving in, too. I was perfectly content being the ringleader. I am foreign and was getting nothing from the conversation, especially in the state I was in. So, after two hours of a nap, I got up and started our first day in Trabzon.
----------------------------------------------------
I am trying now to reajust my expectations, and I am making a great deal of progress. Patience is a virtue right? And I have never been one to be called patient. Its good practice and all of this has brought me closer to my friends here in Tekirdag, because they have been my sanity lifeline. But, I am no f-ing volunteer. I want my money.
In France I was made to wait outside at 5:30 in the morning to get a ticket so I could come back in the afternoon with an unknown array of documents that nobody seemed to be able to agree upon, all just to get a residence permit that I really didn’t need.
In the Netherlands your bike could be stolen while you were still on it—well not literally but damn, you turn your back for one second…
In Turkey, nobody seems worried about paying us.
It seems the Turkish Higher Education Commission (YÖK) decided they wanted more Americans through the Fulbright program. So, they told the American Fulbright Commission that they would pay our salaries. They Americans handed us over, with only a cryptic notification, without asking it seems any questions at all. Well YÖK changed their minds, passed us off to the universities who are now telling us they don’t really have to pay us for the first month we were here because according to the paperwork that we had no access to, we didn’t legally exist. Some universities, saddled with this new salary and no increase of funding from YÖK, denied the housing we were guaranteed, ignored the Turkish lessons we were guaranteed, and are now saying they may or may not be able to pay us some time perhaps in January or February maybe before we leave but who knows maybe not. The Americans feel badly, but ultimately they can’t do anything because they gave us to the Turks.
I have spent a few weeks debating about writing this in the blog. It is a pretty sad picture of an incredibly well respected program, but it’s the truth and I believe that while this may not be the most professional thing I have ever done, it is the right thing to do. If I wanted to battle for housing, salary and general decency, I would have joined the Peace Corps. And while I have been amazingly lucky, with a staff and administration who genuinely care about our well being, who have mobilized to help us in each and every crisis, ultimately this should have never been allowed to occur.
Every conversation I have had with my colleagues seems to reinforce that this is a typical day in the office. And, while I am loath to impose my American standards on a foreign situation, I signed a grant authorization with THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT and not the Turkish one. But, I guess, this is the situation and I can complain until my face is purple, but I have found that the more I look the more I find evidence that this is not a unique situation here, it’s a cultural thing.
Take my most recent trip to Trabzon…
After a 16-hour bus ride, we arrived at 4 am. The whole thing was nothing short of a fiasco. I am still not entirely sure who was responsible for the planning of the whole week, but it seems that they did not pay any attention to several critical details. It all started on Saturday night when Selen discovered that we were both scheduled on a bus that would arrive in Istanbul the following Sunday, at 3:30pm.
Problemo numero uno.
Remember, this is an 18-hour bus ride. Remember that I must hop a bus to Tekirdağ once I arrive in Istanbul. Remember that there are thousands (literally) of students making this exact same trek. Remember that I work at 8:45 in the morning on Monday. Remember, any of you who have had the pleasure of interacting with me when I’ve been deprived of my necessary 8 hours of sleep. Problem, var.
Typically this could be remedied with a quick phone call to the bus station, or even better to the airport but, yes, it is the week of Kurban Bayrami. What does that mean? Ever tried to catch a flight anywhere in the continental US the day before Thanksgiving? Multiply that by like a thousand and you’ll pretty much have it. There are no busses. There are only planes at astronomically high prices (not 45TL one way but something more like 185TL).
Now, I have just met these people. Like, really, about five minutes ago. I am not about to complain about an important family trip that I have been graciously invited to partake in, plus they must have the anxiety of the engagement to contend with. Selen, however, is having none of it. After about an hour of going back and forth we finally decide to take the Friday tickets (initially meant for the parents of the man getting engaged) to Bursa, and then on Saturday I will take a bus to Tekirdağ.
So, like I said, we hop the bus to Trabzon, well, we try to hop the bus, but its an hour late. Not quite the ideal way to start an 18-hour trip. We get on; everybody is already in a bad mood. I believe I have talked about the quality of Turkish busses, I have stated before that typically they are quite comfortable especially considering the prices. Some even have little TVs (not that I really use them, since I don’t understand much still.) This bus was more of a Fung Wah. While it did have an attendant (all busses have an attendant who serves tea, water, and little goodies periodically) he looked sleep deprived, then Selen and I noticed the water had been stored under our seats. The bus smelled of stale cigarettes, and said attendant would take my coffee/tea before I drank it since I would let it cool longer than he felt like waiting.
My biggest fear going into this whole thing was that there are no toilets on Turkish busses. After many discussions, we have still yet to comprehend why this is. I was unsure, therefore, how often we would stop. Well, much to my surprise, we stopped at least every 2 hours, this pleasant surprise quickly soured once the sun went down and they would throw the lights on and open the two doors letting the cold night air rush in. There was, therefore, very little chance of sleeping for more than two hours at a time.
There was a man who got on the bus about half way to Trabzon who sat in front of me who had a habit of lowering the back of his seat abruptly. Each and every time he would pin my leg in a most painful way, once he smashed me in the face and even my loud yelps of pain did nothing to get his attention. My favorite stop had to be the one at about midnight or 1 am. It was probably about 40 out, windy, and there was nowhere to go. The restaurant smelled of something putrid, plus their windows and doors were all open, and the outside courtyard had a horrid mingled smell of human refuse and stale hot-dogs. I assumed the human refuse smell came from the bathrooms, but when I went to relieve myself, I found that they were particularly devoid of smell. I am still perplexed where that smell came from but needless to say, I chose not to buy any food from the establishment.
Finally we arrive in Trabzon—an hour early, even with the hour delay at the start, problem is, it is 4am and freezing. We make our way into the bus station and everyone kind of just lingers. Selen starts asking questions and I know there’s something wrong. Apparently we had reached the end of the planning. This was the end of the line. It was 4 am but nobody had thought to figure out where we would be sleeping, even though they knew we would arrive after the hotel closed for the night.
Problemo numero dos.
Selen (just please, picture this if you know her) flies into a frenzy. She’s yelling at her uncle—the plan’s architect—who it seems, was completely aware of the pitfalls and totally fine with his plan’s lack of plan. He was content to hang with the homeless in this semi-closed bus station until his sister woke up and could come rescue us from this hellhole. I was just sitting, semi-comatose, on a radiator letting it warm my backside. It was—unlike anything else that whole 24-hours—quite soothing.
Ultimately Selen won. At about 4:15 we hopped in some taxis and drove to Selen’s uncle’s sister’s house. She and her family were up to welcome us. Then we all sat down and started chatting. I noticed that nobody seemed to have any plan of sleeping. It was damn early and we could, if we got down to business, get 5 or 6 hours in before we had to do anything. After close to an hour and a half of bleary-eyed discussion (all in Turkish) I gave into the idea of sleep, it seemed all anybody needed was for one person to give in so that they wouldn’t feel bad giving in, too. I was perfectly content being the ringleader. I am foreign and was getting nothing from the conversation, especially in the state I was in. So, after two hours of a nap, I got up and started our first day in Trabzon.
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I am trying now to reajust my expectations, and I am making a great deal of progress. Patience is a virtue right? And I have never been one to be called patient. Its good practice and all of this has brought me closer to my friends here in Tekirdag, because they have been my sanity lifeline. But, I am no f-ing volunteer. I want my money.
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