Grammatical Errors

No, this is not a commentary on my poor blogging skills. It's yet another view of Turkey by one of my favourite Turkish authors.

ELİF ŞAFAK

Back in Istanbul in his high school days, the very first book Ömer had read, in the first English language course he took, was prosaically titled Learning English-I. That was the course book of the first semester of the very first year.

In the second semester they had proceeded to another book, Learning English-II, and so it went. It didn't give the impression of making much progress, and in their fourth or fifth semester, the kids were already making fun, scribbling on the covers of the prescribed books, Still Learning English-XIV, Desperately Learning English-XXXV, Forever Learning English CXXI.

Their teacher had told them the same series was basically being used all around the world to teach kids English, and yet, there were slight local changes here and there as each book was adapted for a different country. Whatever the grandeur of the intentions of those who had planned these series, the title and content of the books were not much of a success. They depicted the English language like something you could never really, fully learn but merely dabble in; a slippery substance you could never fully grasp but only lay a hand on. It was a swift hare you couldn't possibly catch no matter how hard you tried, an aspiration you could neither attain nor be given the chance not to aspire for.

And yet, despite the demoralizing elongation of their titles, the Learning English series could have been much more enjoyable had their main protagonists been someone other than Mr. and Mrs. Brown.

If high school kids back in Turkey spoke some sort of a crooked English with maximum attention to grammar rules and minimum competence in vocabulary, part of the blame should be put on Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and rightly so. In the Learning English-I-II-III-IV … series, they roamed the pages doing the simplest things in the most scrupulous ways, never realizing, in the meantime, the extent of the damage on whatever creativity and ingenuity their young readers might possess.

The couple had popped up in the very first pages of Learning English-I, smiling ear-to-ear in the kitchen of their house. In that initial encounter, Mrs. Brown was standing beside the counter on a mission to teach “plate,” “cup” and “a bowl of red apples,” while Mr. Brown was sitting at the table, sipping coffee with no particular duties. The following week, Mrs. Brown was portrayed in the living room, still with the same smile and in the same dress, to teach “armchair,” “curtain” or to everyone's shock, “television.” Mr. Brown was nowhere in the picture.

The couple's teaching techniques had, like their clothes and expressions, showed little change in the weeks to follow. At each particular scene at their house, Mr. and Mrs. Brown defined and taught everything around them in terms of three fundamental criteria: color, size and age. Thus, Mrs. Brown cleaned a green carpet while Mr. Brown saw a small dog in the garden, or Mrs. Brown made a white birthday cake as Mr. Brown sat in his old chair, and when the moment arose and they decided the time was ripe enough to complicate matters, they ran vacuum cleaners over small green new carpets or came across big old black dogs.

Be that as it may, it soon turned out that these indoor scenes were a temporary tranquility, in some sort of an intermediate stage, in the couple's life. Once that phase came to an end somewhere in the middle of the book, Mr. and Mrs. Brown launched a series of outdoor activities, never to be stopped again. They went to the zoo to name the caged animals, climbed the mountains to teach herbs and plants and flowers, spent a day at the beach to wear “sunglasses,” eat “ice-cream” and watch people “surf"; drove to local farms to look for “celery,” “lettuce,” “cabbage,” and to shopping malls to buy “gloves,” “belts” and “earrings,” though for some reason they'd never wear them. One other activity they kept repeating every now and then was going on long, languid, “it-was-a-nice-sunny-day” picnics: There they taught “frog,” “kite,” “grasshopper,” as they rested next to a “brook” flowing through the “hills.” Though neither Mr. Brown nor Mrs. Brown seemed to be interested in what was happening in other parts of the world, on one occasion they went to Mexico to teach “airport," “customs,” “luggage” and “sombrero.” To many a students' dismay, they quickly came back and were detected at their house once again, giving this flamboyant party to show friends and relatives their holiday pictures (each with a sombrero), while they taught past perfect tense.

Though they seemed to be in restless motion all the time, there were certain places Mr. and Mrs. Brown would never set their foot in. They never went to graveyards, for instance, and nowhere in their habitat you could come across sanatoriums, rehabilitation clinics or mental asylums, let alone brothels, where most boys in the classroom had made a visit by this time but none had yet dared to go inside. Not that they expected to see Mr. Brown smiling ear-to-ear at a penthouse teaching words everyone craved to learn, or Mrs. Brown recalling that she could do other things with her body than pointing at ducks or making big white cakes. But at least they could take a walk, be on the streets that this Ömer remembered expecting from them. As the world they depicted was so unreal and vague, the language they taught became unreal and vague too, making it all the more difficult to speak English even when you knew what you were supposed to say theoretically -- that is, grammatically.

Then preposterously, that ominous moment would come, when the bad facsimile of a happy life taught in the Learning English I-II-III … series would be grimly, glaringly tested by the unhappily real life, with its really unhappy people. Hearing their children talk in English was a source of mountainous pride for middle-class Turkish parents. They would miss no opportunity. Out of the blue, in front of relatives and friends, they could force their children to speak English, to say something, anything, as long as it was -- it sounded -- English enough. The parents' urge to hear their children speak English, even if with no definite content, for no definite purpose, was agonizing enough, and yet, how much more agonizing it could get would be unveiled the moment these parents bumped into a couple of tourists. “Why don't you speak,” they would elbow their children, “Go and speak with the tourists, ask if they need anything. You've been taking English courses for two semesters now. You can talk English!”

Sure they could. They could talk, even chitchat with those tourists, if only the scene had been a little different. Rather than being accidentally located in the midst of horns, ambulance sirens, street vendors and angst-ridden pedestrians scurrying on the broken pavements in this tumultuous city of Istanbul, had they been gently escorted to a nice-and-sunny-Sunday picnic near a brook to fatten on conjunctions and interjections while watching frogs croak and lilies blossom, and had they been asked to connect two independent clauses with conjunctive adverbs rather than the chillingly simple question of “How to get to the Grand Bazaar?” Sure they could talk, but not now, not under these circumstances.

By the time summer came to an end, kids would have already hated their English teachers, hating all the more Mr. and Mrs. Brown. The next semester would commence upon this shaky basis of solid detestation, offering such little motivation to go on to Learning English-III.

More than all the things they purported to teach, it was one simple point they declined to acknowledge that made these books so ossified: that all their instructions were correct on paper and yet perfectly falsifiable in life. So deep was the deleteriousness of these books that Ömer might still be struggling with their side effects if it weren't for his deep affection for cinema and music. It was cinema, low budget, independent, and unpretentious American/British/Australian movies as well as a multitude of punk/rock/post-punk lyrics that had taken his language far beyond everything contained in the advanced English books he was made to study.

Life – the real life of flesh and blood -- did abide by grammatical rules and yet, incessantly, systematically and fortunately managed to deviate from that ordered existence. Life did construct sentences as grammar required but then also punched holes here and there from where the gist of the language seeped out to find its own way. It was precisely this distortion, and the matchless pleasure residing there, that the Learning English books forgot to teach.

This article was taken as an excerpt from the novel “The Saint of Incipient Insanities” by Elif Şafak, published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Saturday, February 26th, 2004

Today we had planned to go to the school. I had a fair amount of work to do, mostly because the internet connection at the school has been down for some time now. But, when Ebru came to pick me up she had something different in mind. A surprise. At first I was a little annoyed; the often spontaneous and usually inconvenient Turkish planning was once again ruining my day. However, it turned out to be a very nice diversion.

We found Hasan and Mustafa and went to pick up some supplies. Because the day was so nice, Ebru decided that a picnic would be much more appropriate. We bought some chicken and some kebab bread and made our way a bit north to the city of Payas. This little town holds a very interesting secret: an area called the Sokullu Mehmet Paşa complex. This place is an old castle of sorts from the sixteenth century, containing a huge bazaar, and area with kitchens and dining halls, and a nice mosque with an ancient olive tree that was said to be planted the day the mosque was finished. It certainly looks gnarly enough to be that old!

There is also an old Genoese fortress with plenty of walls and rooms for scrambling around and having a good time. Apparently a famous Turkish poet Dadaloglu, and an author, Namik Kemal, were imprisoned here in around 1850 for dissent against the Ottoman Empire. I’m interested to learn more about what he wrote and did, as all my friends were very much in awe of the legacy he left here in Turkey.

We poked around for a while, then made our way to a dilapidated area by the sea that used to be a vacationing area for police offers, if what Ebru says is correct. Now it is falling apart, but people still come for relaxing by the coast. We fired up the barbeque and ate a really tasty meal by the water. It was a really great day; I’m surprised that I haven’t learned to be as spur-of-the-moment as people here seem to be. If I had disagreed I would have missed out on seeing a very special place that is quite off of the beaten path. Check out the pictures… hopefully you agree that it seems like a neat place.

Thursday, September 24th, 2005

Today I skipped work and took Ebru’s father up on an invitation to go fishing with him. This was a new sort of fishing though: harpooning! We traveled to a calm beach and went to check out the water. If it’s too busy the water is cloudy, and then you can’t see the fish. A calm sea means good fishing!

I elected not to go out, so Nihad (I think that’s how you spell it) suited up and hopped in. The water was so-so, but he decided it was worth a shot. Unfortunately, there were no fish to be had. After an hour or so we packed up and went to the grocery store to do some fishing with money! We picked up a nice batch of hamsi (sardines from the Black Sea) and a bottle of rakı and had ourselves a nice picnic. The picnic stretched into the evening, resulting in me being very full and also… sleepy. Hence the short update. The pictures might help a bit though.

Wednesday, February 23rd, 2005

Yesterday I gave my speech at the university. It was quite a surprise; I thought I was addressing a few people at the technical school but actually gave the presentation at Mustafa Kemal University, to the entire business faculty, the vice president and a few others.

It all started when the vice rector gave me an invitation to speak about my background. He thought I had studied Management Information Systems and was interested in hearing about, as he used to teach those classes. I explained that my degree is actually in Business Information Systems and was very differently oriented than MIS, but it was hard to get the idea across. After much talking with the rector, the director here at the technical school, etc., I figured that I had finally gotten the point across. But, of course, when I gave the speech they introduced me as speaking on the topic of MIS! I think they had trouble grasping the difference, as there’s really nothing like my program here in Turkey. But now they know!

My topic was my education at Goshen College. The first part focused on the school in general, the second contained what I actually studied, and the third highlighted my semester abroad in Cuba. It went over really well; everyone was incredibly interested and many questions were asked. I a number of professors then came to me and shared about their educational experiences in the US, and talked about how they appreciated my perspective. The MIS department also decided that they were really interested the structure of my program, and would seriously consider including some of my coursework in the MIS program! How flattering… at least for Goshen College anyway.

The director of the technical school, Selçuk, was incredibly pleased and took me out for a nice pide meal afterwards in the restraint area of the campus. He paraded me around, introducing me to various professors and administrators. So, it seems like I did well enough!

Monday, February 21st, 2005

Long time no talk… I know, I know. I’ve had a nice time in Iskenderun and stay out too late at night, which means instead of writing I simply lump out on my bed and sleep. I’ll try to give you a recap of my recent days.

The normal schedule is for me to show up at the school at about nine, and then get paraded around, looking at the different programs here. I try to ask questions and observe all I can. More will be accomplished later on; at this point I am enduring the tour of the facilities, show-him-what-we’ve-got thing. Which isn’t that bad.

I am still amazed by the Turkish style of doing things. I must have had at least 12 cups of tea just today.

After the day at school I go out with Ebru, and usually Mustafa, sometimes Hasan, and we have some dinner. Either at a restaurant, at someone’s house, etc. This is then followed with more tea, sometimes a beer, maybe a coffee… basically lots of chilling out.

Over the weekend we had some serious fun. Friday night we went to Mustafa’s for a huge dinner. After this we found out about a concert being given by some band from Istanbul, so we went to check it out. This was a great choice. Not only did we drink some nice rakı, but the band was really great. They had an amazing violinist, as well as piano, drums, guitar and vocals. It was a mix of Turkish as well as more western rock and was very, very wonderful music. I especially got into the more slow, eastern-sounding stuff. It was very trancelike and emotional music. On the last song the main singer started doing this whirling dervish twirl thingy that sounds cheesy but was really quite incredible. I was very impressed.

Saturday was Mustafa’s birthday, so we got together and went out for a humungous meal. We were stuffing our faces will all sorts of mezes, or starters. One was a tasty paste made from hot peppers and walnuts, another was some spicy eggplant, another was primarily liver, and, of course, some excellent hummus. All of this is eaten with piping hot pide bread. I was so stuffed by the end of it and almost freaked out when they asked what I wanted for the main course! It was too much! Fortunately, we decided to order one dish between the four of us and split it, as we had all eaten too much.

Next was a nightclub, which was surprisingly empty for a Saturday night. Rakı was ordered in large quantity, bad techno was played, and we began to dance. It was really lame and really great, all at the same time. We left at about 1 a.m., and did a tipsy walk home in the light rain. What a nice night.

Tomorrow I’m giving a presentation about my education in Business Information Systems to a group of business teachers in Antakya. I’m not sure what they’re expecting, but hopefully all will go well. I already have a presentation on the topic from my time in Cankırı, so it’s not much to worry about. I’ll be sure to tell you all how it goes.

And the other thing… the forecast is upper 60’s and lower 70’s for the next few days. And it’ll only get warmer! Mwa haha hahaha haaha haaaaaaaaa. I love the Mediterranean!

The gathering place of the djinni

Another article by an author I'm enjoying more and more...

ELİF ŞAFAK

One image that is utterly difficult to put into words when writing in Turkey and in Turkish is the image of the threshold. A zone that belongs to neither “here” nor “there,” neither “inside” nor “outside,” neither “East” nor “West”… a space of ambiguity and in-betweendom that is most difficult for a writer to describe.

The cultural distrust of thresholds extends back in time and has a historical background deeply embedded in our subconscious. After all, the Ottomans were profoundly suspicious of thresholds, which they regarded as “the gathering place of the djinni,” perilous, elusive and unreliable. When entering a new building, for instance, or going to the bathroom at night or simply leaving your house to go outside on the street, whatever you did you were strongly urged to take utmost care not to step onto a threshold and to utter a prayer if you had to do so. Thresholds were designed for Allah's uncanny creatures while choosing sides and remaining solidly anchored therein were deemed of human beings.

What happened to the thresholds as Turkey threaded its way from a multiethnic, multilingual, multifaith empire to a supposedly monolithic nation-state in 1923?

The transformation to a secular, modern, nation-state has hitherto generally been interpreted as overall progress in almost every sphere of social and individual life. Westerners and Turkish scholars alike have oftentimes automatically associated modernization with the emergence of civil society, with the liberation of the individual from the yoke of traditions, with political equality, democracy and dynamism. According to the dominant discourse in Turkey, the shift from the Ottoman Empire to the Turkish Republic has been a radical change from traditional to modern, from religious to secular, from static to dynamic, as well as from a multiethnic empire to a homogeneous, united nation-state. Likewise, the renovation that took place in Turkish history has also been interpreted as a move from a patriarchal society into one in which women were emancipated. Leaving all these points of emphasis aside for a moment, I am going to propose seeing the construction and consolidation of the modern republican regime as a move from a threshold-suspicious society to a threshold-intolerant state.

One of the very first things the Kemalist elite achieved in Turkey in order to modernize, Westernize and secularize the society from above was reshaping the Turkish language. Language and literature were given a privileged position in the project of culture building. Turkish language was reviewed, recreated and remolded. The alphabet being completely changed, Turkish society became unable to read its tombstones. Words of Arabic and Persian origin were purged; concomitantly, countless expressions of folk and mystic origins were sent into exile. Although oral language could not be easily controlled and thereby managed to retain its autonomy, the written language was systematically centralized, homogenized, Turkified. Different languages of the numerous minorities could not find a voice in written culture. The “modernization” of Turkish language went hand in hand with “linguistic cleansing” and “linguistic homogenization.” Confident of their role as “social engineers of the new system” the reformist/Jacobinist elite of the new Turkey failed to see that we do not make language, language makes us.

Within this scheme the novel, as the genre of Westernization and modernization, as the locus of transformation, gained unusual importance and the novelists were given a special role as “fathers” of their readers, fathers expected to tell their sons the right from the wrong. The mainstream language of the Turkish novel became a disenchanted language and remained as such. The novel was regarded as a mostly, if not completely, cerebral and rational activity devoid of emotions. The father-novelists oftentimes acted as if they were operating above their readers, above their texts, above their characters, aspiring for total control of the process of writing. By using a disenchanted language, defining the position of the novelist as a father or teacher and associating the novel solely with masculinity and rationality, the genre of the novel was defined as a basically Apollonian art and not as a Dionysian art.

As a writer who happens to be a woman and attached to Islamic, as well as Jewish and Christian heterodox heretic mysticism, I reject using the rationalized, disenchanted, centralized, Turkified modern language put in front of me. Today in Turkey language is polarized and politicized. Depending on the ideological camp you are attached to, e.g., Kemalists versus Islamists, you can use an either “old” or a “new” set of words. The fact that my writing is replete with both “old” and “new” words and Sufi expressions has been extensively criticized by the conventional cultural elite. I refuse to choose. I refuse to pluck words out of language. I feel like a language orphan. Borges had oftentimes remarked that his grandmother's dry English was the origin of his concise style. My experience is quite the opposite. My grandmother's language, which is a mixture of women's sphere, oral culture, folk Islam, superstitions, supernaturalism and spirituality, cannot be directly ferried to the highbrow genre of the novel. Images are lost on the way because there exist no matching words.

I wrote my most recent novel in English. Switching from writing fiction in Turkish to writing fiction in English has been painful and challenging. I wrote with an instinctual resistance to a sense of loss, as if I had a phantom limb. And yet at the same time, I very much enjoyed writing in English because it gave me more space for ambiguity and flexibility. As soon as my novel was out in Turkey, I was extensively criticized for abandoning my native tongue, for committing some sort of a cultural betrayal. While my nationalist critics kept asking where would I now belong, “either to Turkish or to English literature?” I believe their question is wrongly and rigidly formulated. I believe it is possible to be “both … and…” instead of “either … or” in this world, or at least in the world of fiction.

Writing fiction necessitates thresholds. Literature thrives upon the desire to transcend, to move far beyond our boundaries – be it in terms of national, ethnic or religious or gender identities. The ability to transform, to be as flexible and fluid as water, to step onto the thresholds is today, as it was in the past, what constitutes the core of the art of fiction.

Tuesday, February 15th, 2005

Today was a very eventful day. I woke up at 8 a.m. (nice), ready to meet some guy that I’d never talked to before. Apparently I’m living at the guest house of the city engineering department. It’s located on their “campus” which also includes offices, storage, and probably lots of other stuff. This guy (I can’t remember his name) is a civil engineer here. Well we met up and heading off to the office building to have breakfast. He knows a bit of English, and I know a smattering of Turkish, so we made due. He was so pleased to have me there and took me around the building to meet all of the engineers. The funny thing was that I thought we were going to his house for breakfast, and so I was still in my pajamas! I don’t think anyone cared… or at least it added to my novelty value.

Ebru showed up at nine and we took off for the school. I met with Selcuk, the principal (head honcho) and we had a nice lengthy chat over a few cups of tea. I had met him once before in Nevşehir, but we never really talked, so it was very good to get to know him. We then moved on to a larger meeting where many of the professors came to say hi. Turkish hospitality is really something… I felt like I was a visiting prince or president or something.

After this Ebru and I did some hanging out and chatting, then went for some lunch. In the afternoon we drove to Antakya and met with the rector of Mustafa Kemal University. Quite an honor! He didn’t speak any English but still managed to let me know that he was very glad I’m here. Antakya was nice enough; apparently it’s a much more historical city than Iskendrun, but I think Iskendrun has much more charm. I’ll get to spend more time here later, and even make a presentation to the Business department about my education in the states. Nice!

In the evening I went out with Ebru, Mustafa and Hasan. We had some lovely dinner, drank tasty drinks like salep, which is a hot beverage made from salep root (whatever that is), sugar and cinnamon. We also talked about politics and the way the world works. They really appreciated my humanistic view of things… I know this because they told me about 700 times! I guess we’re kindred spirits.

We then went shopping, and I picked up an electric kettle, some nice tea (both normal black and some sage) and of course, some sugar. After that, it was back to my flat, where we christened the kettle and laughed our heads off! I love these people; they’re so kind and hilarious. What a good combination. Ebru is my favorite by far. She’s a very free spirited lady with a great sense of humor. Tomorrow she promised to tell my some good times from when she was an au pair in England. I’m sure they’ll be way more than I need to hear… I can’t wait!

In the evening before bed I decided to explore my guest house a bit. I met up with a guy I had said hello to a few times before. After grabbing my dictionary from my room, we sat down and had a really nonsensical and wonderful conversation. His name is Hussein, he’s half Syrian and half Turkish, works at the engineering complex, loves music, and all sorts of other things. Tomorrow he’ll bring his photos of Istanbul, which will be great to see. It’s really amazing; we both speak the others language at infant level, but we still manage to get the message across. Intellectual conversation is great and everything, but our broken conversation was one of the most enjoyable talks I’ve had in some time. It’s incredible how much you can get across if you just try.

Monday, February 14th, 2004

I have made it to Iskenderun, and I must say that so far I am very impressed! It’s nice here; it’s warm, it’s beautiful, and the people are great!

My bus bulled in to the station at about 9:30 a.m. with me having clocked in a total of two hours of sleep. Not so good. The bus was comfy enough but the roads were often quite bumpy. And let’s face it. A bus, unless you’re traveling in some sort of luxury affair that I don’t even know about, kinda sucks. But I expected as much so it was no big surprise.

My contact lady, Ebru Hosgar, was waiting for me upon arrival. She’s great! Ebru is 33, full of energy and very funny. We get along quite well. She later told me that she figured I was some guy in my thirties who was very formal, due to the businessy emails I had written and some misinformation on me from someone at the school. So she was very relieved to find out that I am who I am!

We checked into my guest house, which is a bit cold but otherwise pretty cool. I have a huge bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom. There is also a large tv room across the hall with a satellite connection. And I’m the only one in the building! I guess I can run around naked and do as I please, but I’ll probably give that a few days. I took a nap for a few hours, then she came back and took me out for lunch.

The afternoon was spent wondering around Iskendrun, chatting and getting to know each other. What fun lady! I’ll be primarily working with her for these next few weeks and I’m quite glad for it. We ended up going to a café on the seaside to meet with some other friends from the school. I met Mustafa, Mustafa, and Hasan. All very friendly folk, good for laughing, joking around, and discussing serious and interesting things all in the span of a few minutes. Quality.

We ended up heading out for a huge dinner, which consisted of a huge amount of tasty starters, big piles of fish and copious amounts of rakı! I must say I was very pleased at this. After they found out I enjoy alcohol we made immediate plans to go out to some jazz club on the weekend. Yay!

People here seem to be much more relaxed then the other places I’ve been to. It must be the whole Mediterranean thing. I must say I like it. Iskenderun is so beautiful to. It’s right on the coast, with mountains running parallel with the sea. So beautiful. It remained about 55°F all day long, even though it was cloudy, and I was promised that this was the coldest day they’d had in quite some time.

I’ve got an interesting schedule planned, although I’ll find out about it in greater detail tomorrow. I think I’ll be visiting a lot of places in the area, doing the school evaluation thing, and heading out on some trips for the weekends, which include mountain hiking and maybe even some scuba diving! I’ve always wanted to do that!

So… what I can I say… Simon is very, very happy!

I’ll write some more when I can actually stay awake.

Sunday, February 13th, 2005

Well, strike one for going to Iskenderun. Don’t worry, I’m still on schedule and will arrive Monday morning. I just had some trouble figuring out what the deal is with the bus system here.

I’m traveling with ULUSOY, who are regarded as one of the best bus companies. I know this because all my friends would ask what bus I was using, and then say, “Oooh, so expensive! So good!” when I’d reply with the name. And the Rough Guide says that the seats are very comfortable, so woo hoo. It’s less than $25 for a ten hour journey, which in my mind is pretty decent.

Anyway, I wanted to make sure everything would work out smoothly, so I went to the ULUSOY office in Kızılay rather early today to check it all out. I had made my reservation earlier, so it seemed like things would be easy. But the lady working there did not speak English. We stammered around for a while; then she decided to call her friend on the phone, so that we could have a translator.

I tried to pay for my ticket, but was kept being told that I had to make a reservation first. Well I have a reservation. “Oh, ok, then come back at 6 p.m.” Can’t I pay now? “No, come back at six.” Ok, then what? How do I get to the bus station? “We have a service shuttle that will take you to the station after you pay.” Great. What time is my bus to Iskenderun? “It leaves at midnight.” Ummm… ok. Do I really have to come at 6 p.m. to get the service shuttle when my bus leaves six hours later? “I’m sorry, you must go at 6 p.m. There will be a lot of people.” Well, ok.

I went back to my dorm and hung out. I even asked my friend Mehmet about the time thing. He laughed and said, “Simon, this is Turkey. Anything can be!” Man, I have heard that phrase so many times in my half year or so here. Well, I packed all my gear, took a visit to the internet café, came back for dinner and then made my way to the ULUSOY office again.

This time the person at the desk spoke English. Everything went so smoothly, except I kept wondering why the place was empty. I paid for my ticket, and even got the student rate, saving me a whopping 3 YTL! Everything was wrapped up and I was ready to go. The ULUSOY rep. smiled and said, “Ok, please be here for the service shuttle at 11:00 pm.”

What? I was told to come here at 6 p.m. “Really?” he said. “I don’t know why they would have told you to do that. Our shuttles leave an hour before the bus departure time.”

Great.

So here I am, back at my dormitory. With nothing to do. I’ve been wandering back and forth from Kızılay all day long, and I’ve got one more trip ahead of me… in about four hours now. I guess I’ll just go surf the internet and try not to be too annoyed about it.

I keep thinking about all my misadventures here, and I wonder why these things happen. Is this normal? Is traveling always fraught with this much confusion, or am I doing something wrong? I feel like I plan things out as much as possible. I mean, I went in early today, we used a translator, I asked all the necessary questions (even double checking the information in Turkish!)… so why do these things happen? There must be some sort of secret that I’ve missed out on.

It could be worse though. I could have missed the bus, I could have bought the wrong ticket and ended up somewhere in Iran… I mean, can I really be complaining? I think not.

I’ll leave you all with better news… Iskenderun is forecasted to be cloudy tomorrow with a temperature of 56°F. I’m not even going to take my winter coat. There’s no need! If that’s the temperature when it’s cloudy… oooooh, I am one happy guy!

Why would a Turk want to go to a Vietnamese restaurant?

Here's an article by an Turkish author that was featured in today's Turkish Daily News. I really want to read her book, "House of Fleas."

ELİF ŞAFAK

"Oh, so you're Turkish!" the young cab driver jovially exclaimed as he switched from broken English to broken Turkish on the way from Schiphol Airport to central Amsterdam. "What are you doing in Holland?"

"I'm here for a literary conference," I replied. "I'm a novelist, and I live in the United States. I flew from New York yesterday."

Completely dismissing the last pieces of information he nodded in glee: "Welcome, welcome! How is the weather in Istanbul?"

So we talked about Istanbul, not the real Istanbul but, if anything, an imaginary Istanbul. The capital of the mighty Ottoman Empire, the locus of a glorious past whose reflection could provide some consolation to the miserable problems of the present; an alternative land to which we did not travel but certainly could any time, sometime; the Shangri-La or El Dorado of Turkish immigrants and exiles living abroad. The cab driver had never lived in Istanbul, not even for a year, not even for a month, and he originally was from a small village in Central Anatolia, directly migrating from his childhood village to the city of Amsterdam at the age of eight. But when he talked, he sounded as if he were an Istanbulite and knew the city so well.

"Nothing is good here. The weather, the water, the traffic, the people…" he started to pour out complaints, peppering his Turkish with Dutch words, as we waited for the light to turn green at the next crossroads. "You will be disappointed in Amsterdam because nothing bears a resemblance to Istanbul. I have been living here for 24 years now, and I still haven't gotten used to their ways… Every morning I tell my wife, let's go back to Istanbul!"

"So why don't you?" I wondered out loud.

He frowned at me from the rear mirror and shrugged, "Oh it's too crowded!"

Istanbul is too crowded, Amsterdam is too alien and the little Anatolian village where he came from is too boring. He doesn't like it "here," but then there is no "there' to go to; there is no "other" land -- a kingdom of complete bliss and delight where everything is bright and beautiful, and you don't have to work so hard to make a living. Thus until the day he can be zoomed into that fantasy space of a homeland in heaven, he keeps doing what he is best at: complaining.

"So could you please take us to a neighborhood where we can find some good restaurants?"

He heaved a sigh while flipping his hands and rolling his eyes: "Alas," he said tonelessly. "There are none."

"Are there no restaurants in Amsterdam?" I heard myself exclaim.

"No," he answered solemnly. "It's not like it is in Istanbul. They don't even have a cuisine. But I can take you to a Turkish restaurant. There's a good one nearby."

"You better not. Take us to a Chinese or Indonesian or Indian or Japanese restaurant, but not to a Turkish restaurant just because we happen to be Turks…"

He was confused. Why would a Turk want to go to a Vietnamese restaurant, unless that is the only alternative left and he is about to starve? There is a gap between us, and he can't fathom where it comes from since we both speak the same language. But do we?

I believe it's possible to be multicultural, multilingual and perhaps even multifaith. You can be "both Turkish and Dutch" rather than "either this or that." If, however, you cut yourself off from all "others" who come from a different walk of life and build walls of cultural biases all around, you might end up thinking the whole world is against you and that there are no restaurants in Amsterdam.

Saturday, February 12th, 2005

Tomorrow I’ll be embarking on a new journey here in Turkey. I’m leaving Ankara for a few weeks and heading to Iskenderun. For those of you who don’t know, and I assume it’s around 99% here, Iskenderun is located in the south-central part of Turkey, very close to the border with Syria. This coastal city was originally called Alexandretta, and was founded to commemorate Alexander the Great’s victory over the Persian emperor named Darius in 332 BC. Actually, Iskender is Turkish for Alexander, so the name has stuck around. In Roman times it was a major trading center and to this day remains an important port for Turkey. The city is very multicultural, with Christian and Jewish communities and churches being the main features of the city.

Iskenderun is also interesting because it is located in the region of Hatay, which according to the Rough Guide to Turkey, “extends like a stumpy finger into Syria.” Hehehe, I like that description! Hatay is the newest part of modern Turkey. It became a part of Turkey in 1938 after a brief period of independence. Many people in Hatay speak Arabic as their first language, and there are very close ties to Syria here. There was even some unrest in the city of Antakya in 1983 because of this, but all appears to be much better now. So no doubt I will learn about many new traditions and customs here. And, most importantly to me at the moment, it’s warm! It’s been around 20°F in Ankara recently, but in Iskenderun it has been around 50°F! I’m anticipating a cathartic burning of my winter coat when I reach the town on Monday.

“But Simon,” you ask, “why are you really going to Iskenderun? It’s not warm enough to swim, you know.” Well, yes, although I hear the temperature doesn’t stop the tourists! My real reason for going to Iskenderun is that I’m employed! Well, kind of. If you’ve been reading this thing with some regularity you’ll remember that my father works in international education. His organization has some projects going on in Turkey at the moment, which is how I managed to get my original internship here. Well, since I’ve enjoyed my time here I was interested in staying around. So, with the approval of my dad’s board I have become the official Community Colleges for International Development “Volunteer Program Facilitator in Turkey.” Heheh. Pretty funny.

Now don’t cry nepotism here, because everything goes through the board of directors, not my father. I’ll be visiting a technical school in Iskenderun that is going to participate in CCID’s exchange programs, with the goal of helping them set up the necessary components for the program to begin. This will include doing course evaluations, interviewing instructors, taking pictures of facilities, getting to know the city, etc. It’s a great opportunity for me to stay in the country for a while longer and see a new party of Turkey, as my internship has run its course. I’ve actually already been at work a bit here in Ankara, but the real deal begins when I arrive in Iskenderun on Monday.

Which will be an interesting journey in itself. I’m taking the bus, which is the major mode of cross-country travel for the average Turk. I’m traveling with ULUSOY, a company that is supposedly one of the best in the business here. My bus leaves at 11:59 p.m. on Sunday evening, and I’ll be pulling up in Iskenderun around 10 a.m. Monday morning. It should be an interesting journey, although I probably will be asleep for most of it. At least I hope so!

I doubt I’ll be tapping away on the laptop, but I’ll try to scribble down some notes on what I see along the way for your collective benefit. And that’s it… I’ll report to you next from Iskenderun!

Thursday, February 10th, 2005

I realized today that I always write about what I’ve done, but don’t write about how I feel. And then it dawned on me that I didn’t write about one of the most important things that happened to me in Switzerland. Not only did I get to see a new country and catch up with an old friend… I also got to explore a new friendship with Anja!

I said before that Andi, Anja and I all worked at the same place in England. However, by the time I got there in 1999, Anja was no longer working and just came to visit Andi when she could. She was there when I first arrived, and would come over from Switzerland from time to time, so I did know her then. However, she devoted much of that time towards hanging out with Andi, which is completely fair and right! It must have been tough being away from each other for such long periods of time.

Well, during my stay in a their home in Basel, Anja and I got to know each other much better through things like cooking tasty meals together (which I already mentioned!), walking around Basel, playing a card game I brought along (she’s quite a gamer!), basic chatting in general, and (perhaps most importantly) watching Eastenders together on BBC Prime! Hehehe… for those of you that aren’t familiar with it, Eastenders is one of the most disgustingly addictive British soap operas around. We had a lot of fun (well at least I did!) just chatting away about anything and everything. She even put up with me when I just laid in a stupor on their couch one day for a whole afternoon!

Anja has been a nurse for a fear years and has been working in palliative care for a while now. It was very interesting to hear about her job and her personal experiences. I was very interested because I have friends who are nurses, as well as a bit of familiarity with the Hospice system in the US because of family experiences. So it was quite good to hear Anja’s perspective on the work she does. She had just started some additional palliative training and found herself to be the youngest (by far) in the class. However, do not let that fool you for an instant. Anja is an incredibly empathetic and understanding person, and quite intelligent too. She has also had family experiences with death as well, and I’m certain that with all that combined she must be truly incredible at what she does!

I also got to know her dad, Andy, as well. We had a fondue together (which I mentioned earlier). He also took us out for dinner once, after a visit to a gigantic IKEA, and even had me over to his house for a lovely dinner and some fantastic beer! I had tried this beer before… Anja took me to one of the best breweries I’ve been to in my life. I can’t remember the Swiss name, but it translated to Jester Beer or something close to it. Ulie??? Help! I can’t remember. Anyway, just their standard lager tasted like ambrosia or manna or something incredible. It was hands down the best lager I’ve ever had in my life. And when we turned up at her dad’s house, he pulled out a huge jug of the stuff! Wow, he sure knows how to get on my good side!

Anyway, I just wanted to share this stuff with you all (and hopefully Anja, if she’s reading) because I really enjoyed getting to know her so much more. Before it was Andi that I really had a connection to, but now I feel that we are all equally very close, and that makes me really happy.

The only thing left is to convince Andi and Anja to come visit the USA sometime!

Wednesday, February 9th, 2005

Here it is… the final chapter in the incredible saga of my epic voyage to Switzerland. In this episode, our hero risks life and limb by hurtling down steep mountains, imbibes strange drinks that make his cheeks numb, and feels great shame after barfing on a street at two in the morning. Read on, dear viewers…

Heheh, enough of that. Anyway, one of the most incredible things we did in Switzerland was a trip to the mountains. Andi and I had meant to go visit a nice little town called Lucerne, but we never made it. (The pub was calling our names!) So when Anja had a day of we decided to really make a go of it. We took the train to Lucerne, then headed up into the mountains. I can’t remember which mountain we ended up spending our time on. I know one nearby was Ingeborg, or something… a little help here Andi?

The Swiss Alps are gorgeous. Just look at the photos. In describing them to Iowans I would say, “Think of the exact opposite of here. That’s what the Alps are like.” I was simply amazed. I love how mountains just pop up out of nowhere. The land is flat, and then there’s this giant chunk of rock just jutting upwards. Fantastic. Man… you can tell I’m a country boy, can’t you!

We headed up our mountain, through the touristy town, up a little sky-tram thing that bucked and swayed like nobody’s business, and finally found ourselves at high altitude. After a lunch of gigantor bratwursts that were oh so good, we went off and rented ourselves some sleds. “Sleds? Why not ski? You were in the Alps and didn’t ski?” Friends, skiing is all well and good, but you honestly haven’t lived until you go sledding down a 2 kilometer course on a Swiss mountain.

This was wild, wacky stuff people. I’m serious; I haven’t had so much fun in ages. You sit on a dinky little sled and steer by digging your heels into the snow at the front of the sled. The thing is, you build up so much speed that you’re constantly sticking your heels in to (a) prevent yourself from flying off a hairpin curve, (b) stop from running into someone else (or a fence, or a tree, etc.), or (c) just prevent yourself from going so terrifyingly fast! And every time you dig in, snow flies up into your face. Which is fun and crappy all at the same time. If you wear glasses like I do, you end up with nice clods of snow wedged in between your glasses and your eyes. So I was constantly taking off my glasses and waving them around to remove the slow, all while traveling at what must have been 30 miles per hour. Well… it was fast anyway.

Come to think of it, with my eyesight there really wasn’t much difference between snow encrusted glasses or no glasses at all. I wonder why I bothered?

Once I decided to just bomb it down the mountain and see what happened. I rounded the first bend, narrowly missed the snow fence and then completely wiped out. Instantly, laughter rang out over the snowy slopes. I look up and saw four different groups of people on the ski lift, all pointing and laughing. I nonchalantly picked myself up, straightened my little sled and continued on my merry way. After getting to the bottom, I told Anja and Andi about it when they showed up. “Well,” Anja laughed, “they may have actually been laughing at me.” Oh really? “Yeah, you know that snow fence at the beginning?” Yup. “Well, I ran into it. And then went under it. I almost died!”

Phew. One can only hope they were truly laughing at her almost loosing her life, and not me. Hee hee hee… I’m just kidding really. We were all pretty safe; I even launched off a curve and went down a slope I wasn’t supposed to be on and was fine. No big deal.

After our wondrous sledding adventure, we headed back to Lucerne and met up with Anja’s friend Esther. I think that was her name… my poor memory. Anyway, we went to her flat where we enjoyed homemade pizza, martinis, coffee, and played with the cutest baby I’ve seen in quite some time. It really was a great day. Actually, I think it was the best day I had on my holiday.

One of the other really fun things I did in Switzerland was drink a lot of beer. I don’t get to do that in Turkey very often for a multitude of reasons: The beer sucks, people don’t seem to drink as much (at least the ones I hang out with), and most people who are practicing Muslims don’t touch the stuff. Since Andi and I truly got to know each other through a combination of working together and nursing pints of Guinness at our local in England, we decided to keep the tradition alive. And with the power of the one hundred or so cans of Boddingtons Andi was given by some DJ staying at the hotel he works at, as well as a few trips into the depths of Basel’s nightlife, we did a pretty good job of it. I was “Simon to the max,” which is something I have not been in quite some time.

One particular evening we really went at it. We started out at Pickwick’s, which is Andi’s local. It’s a nice place, they serve a lot of British beer, and everyone speaks English. I was in heaven! They also have Boddington’s on tap, or should I say did have Boddington’s on tap. They ran out during my stay, and elected not to order anymore. Needless to say, Andi was heartbroken. After letting out a mournful Wookie cry, one of the barmen gave Andi a black armband to wear, to help him process his grief.

Anyway, we started out at this place, then went to some crappy club where a “New Year’s party for people who had to work on New Year’s” party was occurring. Finally we headed off to a random hole-in-the-wall that I thought was really big until I noticed that one of their walls was completely covered in mirrors. Gosh.

Andi and I were joined by a really nice Dutch chef that Andi knows. This guy was super friendly, joked around a lot, and spoke English better than I do. I wish I remembered his name. But anyway, we found ourselves at this last place drinking lager at some ungodly hour. I was sitting there with my eyes closed, nursing my pint, when Andi says, “Simon? Are you… sleeping???” Nooooooo, I slurred. I’m listening to the muuuuusic.

I should have known better. That was my warning sign.

We finished our beers and grabbed a taxi. On the way home I started to quiz Andi on his thoughts on marriage. I was very curious about what he has experienced during the almost four years that he’s spent married with Anja. And we hadn’t talked in person since his wedding, so really there was much to hear about. Anyway, Andi gave a great speech on the wonderful things he has experienced while being with Anja. It was truly heartwarming; I just wish I remembered it.

After climbing out of the taxi, we hung around by the gate to Andi’s flat while he finished his thoughts. I loved it. I also started to feel funny. It all culminated in the moment when Andi said, “And that, basically, is why I love my wife so incredibly much.” I smiled at his wonderful story… then wobbled… then burped… and finally turned and projectile vomited onto the street.

Classic.

Andi loved it. He kept busting up. “Oh man, that was great!” he cheered. “It went at least two meters straight out before beginning to fall!” Cool. Only a friend like Andi could make a moment like that into something positive. And that is why I love him. Two days later, when I strolled into the pub with Andi, the entire bar staff (who I had been getting to know over the past week or so) turned and gave a mighty cheer. Apparently the story had been enjoyed by many.

At least I know that a few people in Switzerland will never forget me!

Sunday, February 6th, 2005

Let’s keep with the Swiss talk, shall we? Ok then. Let’s see… the next topic is… Basel!

Basel is a beautiful city, and a place I could definitely make my home. I read somewhere that it is the third largest city in Switzerland, but don’t let that scare you. In a country of 7 million people you don’t have to worry about humungous cities. I felt Basel was very manageable. I did a lot of exploring (aka wondering around completely lost) and always figured things out with little problem.

The city is located in the “Three Countries Corner”, the place where Switzerland, Germany and France all share a border. The Rhine runs through Basel, and as a result it’s an important transportation and trade hub, as well as just being a pretty river town. Here’s a photo of what I believe is the first Rhine bridge of Basel, built in the 13th century. Please correct me if I’m wrong, Anja and Andi.

Anja and I did some walking around one day, and I also went out and explored the city on my own. I went out looking for the zoo on two separate occasions and never found it, but no matter. I had a lot of fun seeing the city! One thing I really enjoyed was the cathedral. This ancient building was located high atop a bank of the Rhine and was quite beautiful. There were many wonderful gargoyles adorning the walls, and also a great statue of Saint George killing the dragon! The thing is, look at that dragon. It’s the most piddly dragon this world has ever seen. If this is really how it was, England did not need to bother with Saint George. Hell, my old dog Cheerios could have taken out that dragon, and she was basically just a small barrel with legs. But I digress…

We also hiked around a visited the gate that marks the entrance to Old Basel. I snapped a shot here through the gate that gives a glimpse of some of the houses. I should have taken more shots showing the architecture, but you know how I am with the camera. Anyway, the center of the city is Greater Basel, with the outside bits being, ummm, Lesser Basel? On the gate (and I should have taken a picture of this) there were two little guys marching around, one going one way and the other in the opposite direction. Anja told me that they symoblized Greater Basel and Lesser Basel... you know, being the same but also different. Hmmm... I should have taken a photo.

Did I mention that you can walk around everywhere with little problem? Well you can. And you stumble upon all sorts of interesting things. Here’s a picture of a neat little whatnot I found while being lost one day. Many of the streets and courtyards are cobbled with stones. While walking I noticed the sun reflecting from something, and bent down to find this little guy! Unfortunately, it’s not really ancient or anything, but it has been around as long as I’ve been in this world! Notice the date: March 9th, 1981. I was born five days later! Bonus points for anyone who leaves a comment and gives me the exact translation of what this stone is commemorating.

Anja also showed me this shop, which has the funniest sign in all of Greater Basel! I quickly ran inside to discover the veritable horde of birth control I expected to be there… but alas. There were no condoms to be found. I have no idea how they settled upon their name, but boy do I like it. I just wish they had some merchandise to back it up!

Well, I’m tired so I’ll stop. On Monday I will highlight our trip to the mountains, and talk about all the beer I drank while in Switzerland. And then, my friends, you will be completely caught up with what I’ve been doing over here! Well, at least for a week or so anyway. I’m bound to get lazy again before you know it.

Saturday, February 5th, 2005

I’m not going to bore you with the mundane details of my weekend. They are not worth repeating. Instead I will do something that is long overdue, something I would have gotten around to doing much sooner if my bed were not so darn comfortable! (That’s a complete lie; my mattress has so many loose springs that I’ve taken to sleeping curled up in the fetal position underneath my desk.)

No friends, today I will write about my first visit to Switzerland! It’s been on my mind quite a bit, but since I’m a lazy sod it just hasn’t happened. I don’t know what my problem is… maybe I’m must becoming more Turkish in nature. Ah well…

I arrived in Switzerland on the evening of January 3rd. I whisked through the customs and made my way to the exit, where my good friend Andi Curran was waiting for me. I was greeted with a big grin and a “Way to leave this until the 11th hour, you bandit monkey!” I should explain myself… I had called Andi a while back, while I was staying with my aunt and uncle, and told him about my plans. I’ll send you an email once I book the ticket Andi, I promise. I told him it would most probably be the third. And book the ticket I did. Problem is, I was about to email him when my Aunt Liz called up the stairs. “Simon, Eastenders is on in one minute.” Woah, can’t miss that! Fast forward to the morning of the third at about 11 am… did I email Andi? Oh crud.

I literally gave the guy eleven hours of notice. I am a bad friend. But Andi knows that, so we made up and headed off to the pub!

Andi was quite similar to how I remember him. We got to know each other while working at the SPEC Centre, a youth outreach program run by the Catholic Church in a town just north of London. Except this time Andi spoke German! Impressive. But it didn’t seem to matter that I didn’t, as everywhere I went I could speak English. The Swiss are very good with languages. Andi lives in Basel, located very close to both Germany and France. As a result, tons of people seem to know Swiss-German, French, English, and probably something else that I don’t even know about. And what was really wild is that there is a decent population of Turks in Basel, and sometimes I’d hear people speaking Turkish as I walked down the street! Talk about trippy…

Anyway, we caught up over a few pints of Boddingtons, and then made our way back to Andi’s apartment. It’s not just Andi’s place; Anja lives there too. Andi and Anja met at the SPEC Centre two years before I worked there. They dated for quite a while before tying the knot in May of 2001. Which was the last time I saw them! I didn’t make it to the wedding, which was in Switzerland, but managed to be in London for the big party they had there to celebrate. So there was plenty to catch up about.

I’m not going to keep with the chronological style here, as there is simply no way I can remember the order that everything happened. Also, I spent a good 1/4 of my time in Switzerland on their couch, which would be really boring for you to hear about. So I’ll just break my time in Switzerland up into some categories and carry on for a while.

First off let’s talk about the food. My god, Swiss food is tasty. I ate incredibly well with Anja and Andi. One thing I meant to do, and didn’t, is write down the German names of the foods we had. So, I’ll rely on Andi to reply to this thing with those names… come on buddy, you can break your vow of silence now that I’m writing about you!!! Our first meal, which is pictured here, was a beauty and perhaps my favorite. We set up a nice table, cracked open a bottle of wine and started grilling up all sorts of tasties on the little contraption you see there. This thing was wonderful. On the top, you put items like bacon, veal sausage (which is glorious), mushrooms, peppers, and really whatever you fancy. Underneath the grill, there are special compartment where you can slide a spatula-esque thing with a thick slice of cheese on it. You heat the cheese until it’s bubbling, then pull it out, dump in onto some boiled potatoes, add your little grilled munchies and then snarf away! Oh my…

What else did we eat? One day, along with Anja’s father (who also has the name Andy), we had a fondue. This is another classic Swiss meal, and one that you might be familiar with. It consists of a big pot of bubbling cheese goop, which is placed at the center of the table. Every takes a pile of cut up bread chunks and cut up apple chunks and places them on their plate. Then, you take your little fondue spear, stab it into a chunk, dip it into the bubbling cheese, and then pop it into your hungry mouth! Simply fantastic.

Andi often worked until 10 pm, so Anja and I would prepare dinner for ourselves in the evening. We ate very well, I have to say! Here’s a picture of one of them: mashed potatoes with a beef and mushroom sauce, and accompanied with some ratatouille. Yum. We also at veal a few times, which is really lovely. I’d never had veal before and was looking forward to trying it. I have now convinced myself that Swiss veal is one of the best meats on this earth. If someone can prove me wrong, invite me over and I’ll sample what you’ve got.

We also at a nice meat loaf thing, which was baked and is kind of like the inside of a sausage except not really. Anja also taught me how to make my own salad dressing, which is something I’ve never done before. It’s great; all you need is a willingness to experiment and a collection of spices and oils. Also, I had the best mustard I’ve ever tasted in my life at their house. (My mother has probably fainted while reading this after hearing that I ate mustard.) It was so flavorful and not incredibly strong. Oh man. I used to run whenever I saw mustard. Not anymore…

Ok, as this is getting to be über-long I’ve decided to save the rest for tomorrow. It may even stretch into Monday. Who knows???

Friday, February 4th, 2005

Today featured much of the same, which I won’t get into, and some different things, of which I will speak. Today at AU we tested wireless access points, which was fun because I actually got to use the wireless on my laptop that I was so accustomed to in the USA. I tried to download cool programs to hack the connection with, but realized that to do anything worthwhile you really need Linux. Man, when am I going to get on that bandwagon? Probably when I get back to the states. I’d put it on my laptop, but I really don’t have enough room to do that, and have XP, and hold my extensive mp3 collection. Which is over 40 GB, after I deleted a ton of stuff the other day. But, I’m going to back everything up on one of our work computers and then repartition my hard drive, so maybe I will find some space. I doubt it though.

After work I went with Serdar and his friend Oktay to Kızılay. There we went in search of some kokareç, the sandwich made with ground up lamb intestines, in case you can’t remember. I had it once before, and this time it was even better! At this restaurant they add a bunch of diced vegetables into the mix, and it makes it even tastier. Lovely… we had two sandwiches each. Then, with me already stuffed, they had me try something else.

We had left the restaurant and wandered around until we found a guy on the street. I’ve seen them before. A guy stands next to a little table piled high with what looks to be oysters. People stand around and just wolf these things down, cracking them open and then scraping out the insides. I had always shied away because I figured they would make me sick, but after a little convincing I was up for trying some.

My observations were more or less correct. What I didn’t realize was that the oyster shells are filled with rice. I think they stuff rice in through the cracks, then boil them in spiced water of some kind. You crack one open, and there’s oyster meat along with piles of rice inside. You drip lemon juice over it, and then munch away. Each oyster only costs 10 kuruş (or 0.10 YTL, which used to be 10,000 TL!). You just stand around and eat until you can eat no more. Then the guy counts all the halves, divides by two, and that’s how much you pay! What a cheap way to eat. And as of two hours later, I’m feeling fine. Thumbs up for new experiences!

++++++++++++++

3 pm on Saturday the 5th:

Well, I’m still fine. The random foods I ate yesterday have not affected me in the slightest. So, unless I die of salmonella in a few days, I encourage all of you to try new things, even if they look really weird.

Thursday, February 3rd, 2005

I’m writing today to tell about a crazy coincidence that happened to me yesterday. I left work at about 6:30 pm and headed to the Migros department store to buy an extension cord for my room. After a few months of toggling through laptop cords, phone chargers, electric razor cords and whatever else, I felt that a power strip would be just the thing.

Anyway, after I bought it (for a measly $2) I headed out the door. A guy came out behind me and caught up with me and began speaking in Turkish. I gave him my “I can’t speak Turkish” line, which I find funny because I say it in Turkish. Anyway, he says “Well how about English?” Problem solved. Turns out he’s looking for a computer shop so he can buy a Bluetooth dongle (yes, that’s the real word) for his laptop. Bluetooth is a handy, easy to connect wireless protocol that you can do all sorts of cool things with. Anyway… sure, I know a few places. Let’s go.

So, we start walking and talking. He wants to know what I’m up to in Turkey, so I gave him the whole story. After finding out that I studied Business Information Systems in uni, he says, “Oh, that’s what I do for a living.” Well, what do you do exactly? “I’m a consultant for Microsoft.” Oh.

More talking commences. Turns out this guy is my age (23) and is probably making six figures. He coded his first application when he was nine, got to go on a World Bank scholarship to England to finish high school, and has been working in the industry ever since. With no university education! Wow.

We found his Bluetooth, and then decided to hit up a café to drink some coffee and talk. This ended up into a chat that lasted a few hours! We covered lots of stuff, including IT, what it’s like to live in other countries (as he spends time in the US, England and Germany), girls (of course!), electronic music, and what else… I can’t even remember. It was a good time.

I joked at one point that I should send him my resume, and he readily agreed! Cool… I don’t expect much from it, but who knows. He has a lot of friends in the Istanbul IT world, and if he hears about anything he’ll pass it along. I never thought about picking up a job like that here, but if it comes along, why not?

More importantly, I made a new friend who is really nice. If I ever go to Istanbul I have a place to stay there, and a friend who I share a lot of interests with. What more can you ask for?

Wednesday, February 2nd, 2005

My purpose for today is to get you to read an article from the International Herald Tribune that my dad alerted me to. It’s a very informative summary on the international political events that are happening in Turkey these days, as well as giving a view on American-Turkish relations. Quite a read… check it out!

Rice faces a key test in visit to Turkey

I must admit that I haven't heard about the book they reference in the article, but I'm going to start asking some questions about it.

In other random news, Bill Gates visited Turkey for 4 hours on Sunday. Apparently he wants to sell a bunch of Microsoft stuff to Turkey to aid in their e-education programs they want to start. Yaaaaaaaaay.