Or, in short, "Bism...."
This phrase, said when starting, well, anything (or, if you're a Turkish Teyze, when sitting down, standing up, cooking, or at any point during general life) calls upon the good and gracious higher power as luck or help or thanks. It seems there are endless meanings, and endless ways in which "Bism" is used. In the past couple weeks, this phrase has been employed particularly often. First, when making börek, or savory Turkish pastries, with Pelin last week. With limited supplies and an imperfect cooking space (an unheated kitchen with a folding table), we attempted to cut the yufka, the thin pastry dough-like sheet. It being my first time ever actually making börek (since just observing Sebahat Teyze - who won't let me help out - doesn't count), Pelin kindly excused my totally amateur mistakes: ripping the yufka, over-stuffing the pastry, impatiently waiting for them to be done, burning my mouth on the first one because it was piping hot from the oven. The list is endless. "Bism" was uttered every time we took knife to yufka; and, like magic (or, I guess that's what the higher power is...?), the dough didn't rip or I didn't ruin a börek.
And then today getting a ride home with Ilknur in her fantastic new car, she said it as if a prayer, calling God to protect her vehicle and those inside it, before turning on the ignition.
Again, it was uttered by Sebahat Teyze's 11-year-old neice as we huddled around the soba for warmth last weekend. Winter has come unfortunately late to Bartın - the morning it suddenly started to snow (but luckily tutmadı - it didn't stick) in the middle of class and just like that my students completely lost interest in the lesson. Vuslat, the neice, wouldn't touch her homemade mercimek çorbası (lentil soup) until she muttered not just "Bism" but the entire phrase. And then she proceeded to find a pen and pencil to write it down for me so that I wouldn't forget it evverrr. All this while Sebahat Teyze and I were pleading with her to "Eat!!" This brings me, out of order, to Sebahat Teyze'nin English Dersi (ST's English Class), which I've started in preparation for my mom and dad's visit. I cannot overstate how much I enjoy hearing ST say things in English. "Eat!" is particularly enjoyable, because she's always insisting "Ye! Ye! Ye ye ye!!" and I feel like I have the upper hand in declining if she's saying it in my anadil or mother tongue. Other new phrases for ST (transliterated of course): "Güd morniyn," "Güd nayt," "tenk yu,""Ay em veri hepi tu miyt yu," and "Vi lav yor dater veri maç" (the last one was at ST's request, translated from her Turkish). Despite the freezing showers and lack of central heating, staying with Sebahat Teyze has been one of the highlights of my year.
In my frustration with Blogger (which was blocked in Turkey for most of last week because of one blog that was streaming a Turkish soccer league game illegally... ah, Turkish free speech), I have failed to share a couple important weekends of travel. First, three and a half months late, my New Years trip to Amasya, to visit my friends Jess and Matt (Jess and Cassie, who also met us there, have made some cameos on this blog from our Middle East trip), who make up the infamous Team Amasya (rivaling Lucian and Amy in Sinop and Rachel and Hayfa in Karabük). Coincidentally, my coworker Nurcan is also from Amasya and was headed home (shh! without "official" permission from our boss) for the New Year. Nurcan's family was gracious to host me for a night and then invited my friends and me to a family member's house for the last day we were there.
Nurcan's father is an especially Turkish man... in the most charming way. He told one of my favorite Turkish jokes to date about Temel, a made-up village idiot from Trabzon oft-used in jokes. A rough translation, but here goes... "One day Temel decided to go to America even though he didn't know any English. When he returned, his friends and family asked him, 'Temel, didn't you have trouble understanding everyone?' Temel answered, 'I didn't have trouble understanding them, but they sure had a lot of trouble understanding me!'" I guess the joke really hit home as a foreigner learning a new language in a new country. I don't have any trouble understand Turks, but they (especially my students...) sure can't understand me!
Nurcan's father was also a charming yet stubborn Turkish man when it came to my name. He kept trying to address me as "Shasa" or "Shasha" and Nurcan would politely correct him (though I didn't really mind at all). He soon got tired of being corrected and decided that I needed a real Turkish name. So he named me "Süheyla" the night I arrived and called me such for the remainder of the trip. To this day, any Turk who finds out my "Turkish name" is Süheyla is totally amused. I have yet to understand its comedic value... but was amused by Nurcan's father's solution to my apparently troublesome name.
The week after my Şubat Tatili (February break), I decided at the last minute to accompany some friends to Bursa, a famous old Ottoman capital (yes, now I've been to three - Edirne and Istanbul, of course). The day-trip to Bursa, which is not particularly close to Bartın, meant taking two overnight buses, but since we were going on a traditional Turkish Kadınlar Tour (I'll explain more in a minute), at least we didn't stop every fifteen kilometers to pick up or drop off passengers and/or packages. Ah, the informal Turkish postal system.
Rana, who just turned nine, and her mother Şukran, are the granddaughter and daughter of Sebahat Teyze's former neighbors, if that makes sense, and I've been enjoying getting to know them (and celebrating Rana's birthday with a dozen nine-year-old Turkish girls) for the past couple months. Somehow Şukran and her knitting class (?? some things definitely got lost in translation that weekend) set up this tour through a local bus company to privately take us around to, from, and around Bursa. This tour (me, Rana, and forty middle-aged women) stopped at the expected tourist destinations (mosques, Ottoman sultans' tombs, the covered bazaar, etc), and then also some extras: the Bed, Bath, & Beyond of Turkey and for Iskender Kebap, meşhur, a local specialty in Bursa.
One picture I'll leave you with captures a situation I encountered while attempting to board the bus to Ankara for the Fulbright Mid-Year Meeting (how is it already the second half of my grant?!). In Turkey, military service is obligatory for males, and while many men delay it by going to university (and I'm pretty sure that's the sole reason some students are in my class), a huge number enter in the year+ of service as 18-year-olds. Because of the strong role (extended) families still play in daily life in Turkey, this departure, the first time a son is away from his mother, is quite emotional. Families in more rural areas come to the send-off bus in clans of dozens, and since there are many nascent soldiers leaving at the same time, this creates quite a hubub at the bus station (and on the way from the house to the bus station when a train of cars covered in Turkish flags honks... then entire time). The bus that leaves Bartın for Ankara must go partway around a roundabout in order to get on the correct road, but the families created a human roadblock, forcing the bus to circle the roundabout five times before it stopped right in front of the families and everyone saluted the bus and sang the national anthem. Talk about patriotism!
Because of Blogger's obstinance, I have to share my pictures with you via a Facebook album. You can access the album here.
All my love to everyone. Hope to hear from you soon!
This phrase, said when starting, well, anything (or, if you're a Turkish Teyze, when sitting down, standing up, cooking, or at any point during general life) calls upon the good and gracious higher power as luck or help or thanks. It seems there are endless meanings, and endless ways in which "Bism" is used. In the past couple weeks, this phrase has been employed particularly often. First, when making börek, or savory Turkish pastries, with Pelin last week. With limited supplies and an imperfect cooking space (an unheated kitchen with a folding table), we attempted to cut the yufka, the thin pastry dough-like sheet. It being my first time ever actually making börek (since just observing Sebahat Teyze - who won't let me help out - doesn't count), Pelin kindly excused my totally amateur mistakes: ripping the yufka, over-stuffing the pastry, impatiently waiting for them to be done, burning my mouth on the first one because it was piping hot from the oven. The list is endless. "Bism" was uttered every time we took knife to yufka; and, like magic (or, I guess that's what the higher power is...?), the dough didn't rip or I didn't ruin a börek.
And then today getting a ride home with Ilknur in her fantastic new car, she said it as if a prayer, calling God to protect her vehicle and those inside it, before turning on the ignition.
Again, it was uttered by Sebahat Teyze's 11-year-old neice as we huddled around the soba for warmth last weekend. Winter has come unfortunately late to Bartın - the morning it suddenly started to snow (but luckily tutmadı - it didn't stick) in the middle of class and just like that my students completely lost interest in the lesson. Vuslat, the neice, wouldn't touch her homemade mercimek çorbası (lentil soup) until she muttered not just "Bism" but the entire phrase. And then she proceeded to find a pen and pencil to write it down for me so that I wouldn't forget it evverrr. All this while Sebahat Teyze and I were pleading with her to "Eat!!" This brings me, out of order, to Sebahat Teyze'nin English Dersi (ST's English Class), which I've started in preparation for my mom and dad's visit. I cannot overstate how much I enjoy hearing ST say things in English. "Eat!" is particularly enjoyable, because she's always insisting "Ye! Ye! Ye ye ye!!" and I feel like I have the upper hand in declining if she's saying it in my anadil or mother tongue. Other new phrases for ST (transliterated of course): "Güd morniyn," "Güd nayt," "tenk yu,""Ay em veri hepi tu miyt yu," and "Vi lav yor dater veri maç" (the last one was at ST's request, translated from her Turkish). Despite the freezing showers and lack of central heating, staying with Sebahat Teyze has been one of the highlights of my year.
In my frustration with Blogger (which was blocked in Turkey for most of last week because of one blog that was streaming a Turkish soccer league game illegally... ah, Turkish free speech), I have failed to share a couple important weekends of travel. First, three and a half months late, my New Years trip to Amasya, to visit my friends Jess and Matt (Jess and Cassie, who also met us there, have made some cameos on this blog from our Middle East trip), who make up the infamous Team Amasya (rivaling Lucian and Amy in Sinop and Rachel and Hayfa in Karabük). Coincidentally, my coworker Nurcan is also from Amasya and was headed home (shh! without "official" permission from our boss) for the New Year. Nurcan's family was gracious to host me for a night and then invited my friends and me to a family member's house for the last day we were there.
Nurcan's father is an especially Turkish man... in the most charming way. He told one of my favorite Turkish jokes to date about Temel, a made-up village idiot from Trabzon oft-used in jokes. A rough translation, but here goes... "One day Temel decided to go to America even though he didn't know any English. When he returned, his friends and family asked him, 'Temel, didn't you have trouble understanding everyone?' Temel answered, 'I didn't have trouble understanding them, but they sure had a lot of trouble understanding me!'" I guess the joke really hit home as a foreigner learning a new language in a new country. I don't have any trouble understand Turks, but they (especially my students...) sure can't understand me!
Nurcan's father was also a charming yet stubborn Turkish man when it came to my name. He kept trying to address me as "Shasa" or "Shasha" and Nurcan would politely correct him (though I didn't really mind at all). He soon got tired of being corrected and decided that I needed a real Turkish name. So he named me "Süheyla" the night I arrived and called me such for the remainder of the trip. To this day, any Turk who finds out my "Turkish name" is Süheyla is totally amused. I have yet to understand its comedic value... but was amused by Nurcan's father's solution to my apparently troublesome name.
The week after my Şubat Tatili (February break), I decided at the last minute to accompany some friends to Bursa, a famous old Ottoman capital (yes, now I've been to three - Edirne and Istanbul, of course). The day-trip to Bursa, which is not particularly close to Bartın, meant taking two overnight buses, but since we were going on a traditional Turkish Kadınlar Tour (I'll explain more in a minute), at least we didn't stop every fifteen kilometers to pick up or drop off passengers and/or packages. Ah, the informal Turkish postal system.
Rana, who just turned nine, and her mother Şukran, are the granddaughter and daughter of Sebahat Teyze's former neighbors, if that makes sense, and I've been enjoying getting to know them (and celebrating Rana's birthday with a dozen nine-year-old Turkish girls) for the past couple months. Somehow Şukran and her knitting class (?? some things definitely got lost in translation that weekend) set up this tour through a local bus company to privately take us around to, from, and around Bursa. This tour (me, Rana, and forty middle-aged women) stopped at the expected tourist destinations (mosques, Ottoman sultans' tombs, the covered bazaar, etc), and then also some extras: the Bed, Bath, & Beyond of Turkey and for Iskender Kebap, meşhur, a local specialty in Bursa.
One picture I'll leave you with captures a situation I encountered while attempting to board the bus to Ankara for the Fulbright Mid-Year Meeting (how is it already the second half of my grant?!). In Turkey, military service is obligatory for males, and while many men delay it by going to university (and I'm pretty sure that's the sole reason some students are in my class), a huge number enter in the year+ of service as 18-year-olds. Because of the strong role (extended) families still play in daily life in Turkey, this departure, the first time a son is away from his mother, is quite emotional. Families in more rural areas come to the send-off bus in clans of dozens, and since there are many nascent soldiers leaving at the same time, this creates quite a hubub at the bus station (and on the way from the house to the bus station when a train of cars covered in Turkish flags honks... then entire time). The bus that leaves Bartın for Ankara must go partway around a roundabout in order to get on the correct road, but the families created a human roadblock, forcing the bus to circle the roundabout five times before it stopped right in front of the families and everyone saluted the bus and sang the national anthem. Talk about patriotism!
Because of Blogger's obstinance, I have to share my pictures with you via a Facebook album. You can access the album here.
All my love to everyone. Hope to hear from you soon!
