Guns and Sacrifice

Latest adventures from this corner of the globe: picnicking with my students, a village getaway, and a weeklong exploration of south-central Turkey (though whenever I use the adjective “south-central”, I can’t help but think of York, PA and interesting New Years Eve traditions).

Things in Bartın are getting back in swing after a nice fall vacation for kurban bayramı (Eid al-Adha in the Arab Muslim world), the Muslim sacrifice holiday that, in Turkey, consists of Turks getting together with family, slaughtering sheep, kissing the hands of family elders, being given money by said family elders, and the young children going out and buying fake guns with the money. This particular tradition resulted in my encountering a boy holding a (fake) gun to his brother’s head as if a prisoner while leading him down a winding back-alley of Şanlıurfa last Tuesday (picture to the left). I half-shrieked and then just cursed the fact that all the children across the city were yielding these unfortunately real-looking weapons the entire week.

But back to my main point: just as the States are gearing up for (or have probably been in the midst of for weeks) the “holiday season,” Turkey is swiftly moving past over-eating and familial indulgence, and students are preparing for midterms and bucking up for the rest of the semester. Though I’m not opposed to the lack of Christmas music, it feels strange that, as the weather cools down (and it is, unfortunately), there are no Bryden Road-like lights ornamenting the fronts of apartment buildings. Not much cheer, just a semi-permanent cloud of coal particles hanging over the city.

This is a map of where I went over Bayram. This was the only website I could find that worked fairly well, so even though it looks like I flew everywhere, I really took an inter-city minibus, or a dolmuş, everywhere. These buses tend to stop every few hundred meters to pick up and drop off customers at their will, often on the side of highways or in the middle of the desert.

Bayram vacation was quite an adventure. The south had a distinctively different flavor than the Black Sea region, and I started in Hatay, which, in retrospect, had the most unique feel. (Sidenote: Hatay is technically the name of the region in Turkey, but it also refers to Antakya, the capital of the region. Antakya was the ancient city of Antioch, but since the Turks use Hatay and Antakya fairly interchangeably, I'll stick to calling it the former because that's what I heard the most.) Because of its proximity to Syria (looking at the map it almost seems like Turkey dipped a spoon into Syria and scooped it out), Hatay is home to a sizable population of Arab Turks, and the city is filled with both Turkish and Arabic. (Brief history lesson: the region was part of Syria under the French after the Ottomans, and then was its own republic for about a year before being annexed by Turkey in 1939.)

To the right is a view of Hatay from my hotel window.

In addition to its linguistic pluralism uncommon in the rest of Turkey, Hatay seemed fairly religiously liberal. There are a number of churches (some of them beautifully kept and still used) and even a synagogue (though only after much searching did I find its inconspicuous entrance). I don’t usually have this reaction to museums, but Hatay’s Archaeology Museum was pretty mind-blowing. The way it is set up allows for plenty of natural light to stream into the rooms, which are covered on all walls and many floors by intricate mosaics from the first several centuries of AD.

Inside the museum

Hatay's most beautiful church

Inside - the church still holds services

My coworker, Volkan, is from Hatay and met up with me in the afternoon to tour me around the city a bit. He took me to Harbiye (the ancient city of Daphne) and then to kebap. And look - there's hummus in Hatay! Just another reason to love this region.

I could go on about Hatay but will resist myself, but not before mentioning the wonderfully local-filled winding streets of the bazaar and the downright mouth-watering food. It’s supposedly the place to get künefe, a dessert of shredded wheat and cheese deep friend and soaked in honey common in Turkey, but I had better in Urfa and Mersin… I might get yelled at for saying that, but it’s true!

Next stop was to Gaziantep. (Another quick sidenote about the name: used to be just Antep, added on the prefix Gazi that means “War Hero” after they won an important battle during the war of independence. I will use “Antep” to be succinct.) Here I met up with Kate, a fellow Fulbrighter living here who was gracious enough to let me crash at her apartment while she finished grad school apps and final preparations for her own Bayram hiking a part of the Lychian Way. Kate was really the best guide around this town, because in Antep, the so-called center of Turkish gastronomy, it’s all about what you eat. I was taken to İmam Çardaş, a semi-touristy restaurant where one orders two things: kebap and baklava. And it really was easily the best meal I’ve had in this country. Perfectly seasoned ground lamb, tasty eggplant, and baklava… I can’t even put it into words. It melted in my mouth. (A portion of baklava from İmam Çardaş to the left.)

Though Antep wasn’t quite as single-female-traveling-alone-friendly as Hatay, I managed a good time. While waiting for the Ethnography Museum (I swear, ever city is obligated to have one, scary mannequins and all) to open after lunch, an old, bearded man walked out of a door across the way, looked at me oddly and then engaged me in conversation. “Oh, so you’re American? And you’re waiting for the museum? Come into my home! Really, come in. Please, enter. Yes, my wife is upstairs.” I hesitantly walked in (he promptly left behind me) to a sunny courtyard and an elderly woman motioning to me to come, come, eat, drink. I spent the next hour with Hava and one of her 18 grandchildren, Hamza, drinking Fanta and chatting. (Pictured: Hava greeting me in her courtyard.)

After Antep, I met up with Dara (current Fulbrighter in Kirklareli, Thrace part of Turkey) and Emily (former Fulbrighter, Trabzon, last year) in Şanlıurfa. (Same story with the name – Şanlı means “glorious” – and I’ll stick to “Urfa” from here on out.) We stayed at a hostel owned by a Kurdish man, Aziz, and his wife, Farida (who cooked all our meals), and had a typical hostel experience meeting other fascinating travelers (an all-blond family living in Aleppo, Syria for the year coming from Quebec; parents speak five languages fluently and three children, all under the age of seven spoke at least three). We got there just as Bayram was beginning, and I had some time to explore the neighborhood while it was still packed in pre-Bayram hysteria.

Balıklı Gölü is Urfa's main tourist drag

At night...

Urfa's great mosque

While in Urfa, Aziz took the three of us on a morning trip to Harran, a city just north of the Syrian border. It claims to be one of the oldest continuously inhabited spots on Earth (so says Lonely Planet). The remains of another claim – the first university in the world – sit in a large area that is fenced-in presumably to stop locals from using the stones to construct dwellings. It was a hot and dusty place, and mostly covered in an unfortunate layer of garbage. Here are a couple good photos I got.

At this point, I parted ways with Dara and Emily (Bayram was Dara’s birthday! And we celebrated with sweets – an excellent künefe experience), and, wanting as many travel buddies as possible, I enthusiastically got away from the beaten path and took a dolmuş to Akbez, a tiny city spitting distance from the Syrian border, and the biggest one in the vicinity of the village where my friend Lauren, another Fulbrighter, was staying with her friend Talip. I had been kindly invited to spend the night at his family’s house while I visited Lauren and met Talip’s enormous extended Kurdish family. We passed much of the evening being schlepped around the village kissing the hands and cheeks of aunts, uncles, and relatives whose relation to Talip was unclear. It was interesting to hear Kurdish being spoken, and much like the Arabic that was being lost through the generations in Arab Turkish families, the Kurdish language is not understood by Talip’s numerous nieces and nephews. Watching Kurdish satellite television from Denmark (or Belgium? Can’t quite remember), Talip cannot read his self-proclaimed “mother tongue” because education in the language has been forbidden by the national government for so long.

Talip took us to a beautiful lake made from a dam built in the area. The dam, part of the Southeast Revitalization project, basically turned a huge portion of the desert into arable land. Lauren, pictured, is obviously pumped to be so close to Syria. She is also sporting traditional "village" pants - şalvar. Super stylish.

One of aforementioned late-night family gatherings where Lauren and I sat on the floor of a relative's family room around a veritable feast. To Lauren's right is Talip, our host.

After sleeping in a living-room-turned-bedroom with Lauren and all the female members of the family, I woke up early to stand by the side of the road and flag down a bus to Mersin, my last leg of the trip. There, Onur (reluctantly) took me around to the touristy sites (the numerous and badly-treated Roman ruins that line the coastal highway) but ended up enjoying the views almost as much as I did. Mersin reminded me strongly of Algeciras with its huge port, visiting Arab population (many from Iran apparently (not all Arab I guess) – Onur’s father told me that women come to Mersin and throw off the head coverings they’re made to wear in “more conservative countries”), long stretches of beaches, and seaside feel. It was definitely not as shiny and tourist-friendly as I’m sure Antalya (Malaga, etc.) is, and a car was absolutely necessary to get around.

Above is Mersin's coastline and a view of the Kız Kalesi, Mersin's Maiden's Castle that was (supposedly) built by an ancient Cypriot king to imprison his daughter 200 meters into the sea.

Onur and the remains of the Cypriot king's original castle on shore. Oh, and the moon. It was 4:00 pm.

Beautiful Mersin sunset with Kız Kalesi to the left.

That night we met up with a couple of Onur's friends and took a stroll on the Mersin boardwalk - a stretch of 12 km alone the coast. Oh, what I would do to go for runs on that boardwalk every morning!

From the boardwalk to nargile (hookah) and çay. Onur, on the left, and his friend.

And at 12:30 am what more could one want (if one can't get Julia's Empanadas) than a portion of künefe with ground pistachios sprinkled on top? Nothing. Not even Jumbo Slice.

I arrived back in Bartın with a couple days to spare, enough time to catch up on sleep before classes started again. This upcoming weekend I’m headed to Ankara (an important throughway for my trip to and from the south, though omitted) for a Fulbrighter-filled Thanksgiving, a true Turkey Day in its homeland. Other exciting news: possible formal Turkish lessons in formation and an English-language movie night in the works for the students.

I enjoyed the pre-Bayram weather with my students a few weeks ago at a BBQ that went beyond my expectations. We ended up with a downright feast of grilled anchovies and handmade çiğ köfte – a dish I love in its vegetarian form and was half-terrified to see made etli (with meat), since it’s etli version uses raw ground beef. (Important note: I somehow didn’t get sick.)

Merve on the left and Erdinç on the right. In the middle: çiğ köfte.

Recep, Erdal, Harun and Volkan tending to the mangal hamsi - grilled anchovies.

And the girls get the task of making the salad. Cooking in this country is strangely segregated by gender. Elif, Gamze, and Emine from left to right.

Those who weren't cooking were playing games. Göktuğ (the troublemaker in my class), Gizem, Elçin, Merve, and İbrahim.

All of us post-meal and post-games.

And finally (though this whole post is out of order chronologically), a couple weeks ago I spent a lazy Sunday in Ilknur’s village just twenty minutes in a dolmuş outside of Bartın. We ate fresh produce from her family’s farm, walked through the village, and then ate some more, spending hours around the dinner table as her little sister taught me Turkish.

View of Derbent Köyü, Ilknur's village.

Ilknur's grandfather: the best mustache I've encountered to date.

Another lovely dinner with an adopted family. Delicious food and general goodhearted laughter at my attempts at Turkish.

If you’ve made it through this far, please email me with your address; I want to send you a postcard. You deserve something for staying with me so long. Really, email me. I want to send you something, because at least I know the post office is functioning in one direction. All my love and happy Thanksgiving wishes from across the globe, especially to Bexley, whose Thanksgiving dinners (and inevitable weekend-long meals/snacks/munches of leftovers) and everyone they involve I’m missing very much right now.

Sobalı Life

New development in Bartın this month: the sun has come out! While the forecast last month was a dreary day after day of rain, whether it be a full rainy day or intermittent showers, it seems like November is the time to be visiting Turkey... and there are still 25 days left. Any takers?

This weekend I did get my first visitor! One of my oldest friends from GW, Amanda Eller, came to Turkey from Dunkerque, France, and I met up with her in Istanbul before my first stint as Black Sea Tour Guide. In Istanbul I was very generously hosted by my oldest friend in Turkey, Amanda Pearson, who was my roommate at Boğaziçi University in 2007 and has stayed in Istanbul ever since. Amanda's apartment in Beşiktaş, a suburb of Istanbul, is quite stunning and amazingly located a 20-minute public bus ride away from Taksim, the debatable city center (depending on traffic). Amanda is working for an American lawyer and is the sole representative for him in Turkey. She is an incredible resource of information; not only has she dealt with her own struggles in finding an apartment and a reasonable job, but she's become fluent in Turkish and has a lot of priceless information for any American in Turkey. (To the left is Amanda's view of the Bosphorus from her apartment - breathtaking and a perfect place for breakfast and a book!)

Istanbul was a delight. It was fairly crowded because that Friday, Oct. 29 was a national holiday (the anniversary of the birth of the republic), but even walking around a bustling Istiklal Caddesi, the main drag downtown, bewildered me at how special the city really is. Over the next couple days, I explored the numerous streets jutting out in every direction from Istiklal, stopping in Ottoman antique stores, hole-in-the-wall-looking upscale clothing boutiques, and art galleries disguised as cafés. A. Peason accompanied me to the Pera Museum, whose permanent collection of art depicting Istanbul over the past three hundred years is a must-see if you are ever as lucky as I was to find yourself in the city. A. Eller and I had an interesting experience searching for and ultimately failing to find the clandestine Jewish museum that apparently exists around Galata Tower. In the process, we climbed up and down some of Istanbul's steepest hills on the first of (so far) six beautiful, clear days I've had.

My bus to Istanbul was unfortunately caught about a kilometer behind an accident and was at a standstill for almost two hours. People got of out their cars in a heavy downpour to play a real-life game of "Traffic Jam" in order to make room for emergency vehicles to get through. I was lucky to be sitting in front of nine-month-old twins from Bartın, Emre and Elif. Above is Emre, who would audibly giggle every time a made a face at him.

A. Pearson at a restaurant not far from where we had dinner; rooftop views of the city, delicious hot drinks, and excellent company. Nothing better.

View of Galata Tower (Kız Kulesi). One of many as we wandered through the city in search of the Jewish museum. Interesting, though, that there are many synagogues in the area, but the museum isn't located near any of them. Hm.

With A. Eller able to experience life in Bartın in only a few hours by sitting at a café and people-watching, the two of us headed to a more picturesque Amasra on a clear, glorious day. We spent a very relaxing couple days wandering around the empty tiny town, which adopts a sleepy village feeling during the weekday and off-season and then enjoyed a delicious fish dinner (the only kind of dinner you can possibly imagine having in Amasra). The next day we woke up early to catch all the sunlight before I had to return to Bartın for class. Here are some of the highlights...

Upon arrival at 3:00 pm. This past weekend we fell back for daylight savings, and the sun's so low all day anyway, the light was perfect for Amasra.

We hiked up the hill that you see on the right in the previous picture and got this incredible view of the city. A. Eller camouflages pretty well, don't you think?

I call this one "Shedding Amanda"

The next morning was pretty much just as beautiful as the day before. Turn your head to the right and look at the mountain in the background: I learned in 2007 when I was here that Turks believe it is the profile of Ataturk, the founder of the Republic.

As for my new living situation, Sebahat Teyze's is a fantastic new abode. She is an incredibly sweet woman who treats me as a daughter/boarder, and I already feel more at home in the apartment than I did for four months in Algeciras. Living with her has been incredible for my language skills, too; if my vocabulary hasn't expanded so much, I've increased my fluency a lot, and feel very comfortable doing basic conversing in Turkish. While the larger questions of "Why am I learning Turkish? When will this language be helpful in my future career? " often loom in the back of my head, I've gotten loads of positive feedback from Turks who don't expect foreigners to learn their language, and hearing that is reinforcement enough to continue to study and practice.

One of the aspects of Turkish life that I've been exposed to since moving into Sebahat Teyze's is the lack of central heating. In order to heat her apartment, she uses two wood/coal/old patent leather high heel-burning stoves called "sobas" - referred to in the the title of this post "Life with a Soba". The introduction of sobas into my life has increased my fear that I will lose my life to a fire in the middle of the night (but don't worry, Mom! Sobas are super safe, and I've not yet heard of a soba-induced house fire, even in these old wooden Ottoman houses). Using the stove as heating isn't very efficient, though; once it's lit, it heats the immediate area around it (in my case, a small living room) and leaves the rest of the house freezing. In addition, the heat lasts about three hours, so waking up in the morning (even in the past incredibly beautiful highs-in-the-60s-and-sunny days) has been a bit painful. I think a small bedside electric heater is in my future...

Sebahat Teyze tends to the soba.

Peppers drying on our balcony.

And finally, I'm trying my best to get the hang of teaching. I've got a variety of classes that all present their own challenges and issues when it comes to lesson-planning; some classes are around 50 students, so playing games or developing activities that both engage the students and encourage participation from everyone is tough. Others are quite small - this past week especially, some of my smaller grammar classes range from 5 to 20 students depending on how well the weather permits pickup soccer games. My speaking classes are especially tough to plan for: students' levels range from total beginner to moderate, and the class is around 30 students. Though the students mostly seem motivated to speak, they're all fairly shy, so I work on listening as much as possible. In recent activities I've created, many of my friends have had cameos: to practice speaking, Allison Holliday (who can play the cello), Bill Smith (who can do math easily), and Gabi Pelican (who knows how to swim), have all been introduced to my students, to name a few. Seriously, if anyone has ideas that might work that make 30 students speak, please... I'm open to any suggestions.

Next week I'm heading to south-central Turkey for our November break (Kurban Bayram - a week-long Muslim sacrifice holiday that gives me a week off of school). I'm planning to visit the Hatay region of Turkey and make stops in three other cities before heading back to Bartın. Hope everyone had a fun Halloween and is enjoying the foliage of fall. Things are still green around here; I'm waiting to see if we get any seasonal coloring. Anyway, all my love to everyone out there. Oh! And here's my address if you're interested:

Kirtepe Mahalle
Eskikonak Cad. No. 36/Kat: 2
Bartın, Türkiye 74100

Letters to that address should get to me... You never know, but the people at the post office know my name now, so at least they'll probably keep the letters and call me if the address is incorrect. They've got my cell phone number.

Leaving you with my new desktop background. Stunning, isn't it?

Kuru Kuru Gitmez

"It's not good without tea."

In Turkey, tea is not just a staple of daily (hourly..?) life; it is also the grease in every imaginable social and bureaucratic situation one could possibly encounter. The above phrase is one of many expressions I have been dutifully compiling over the past few weeks thanks to some very gracious and patient Turkish colleagues. Kuru kuru gitmez was uttered by Ilknur, another English teacher at the university, a few weeks ago as the two of us sat in front of a plate of börek she had brought from home and waited for tea to be delivered to our office by the downstairs cafeteria. I, of course, thanked her for the delicious snack and took a bite, only noticing moments later she'd restrained herself. Once the tea arrived, however, an invisible but palpable balance was restored, and we both enjoyed our börek and çay together - the proper way to consume both. Our office has acquired the nickname the Girls' Club because of the distinct gender divide among the language teachers. The best part (besides spontaneous dancing to Fiddler on the Roof in Turkish ("Ah Bir Zengin Olsam" - "If I Were a Rich Man" - if you were wondering)): our incredible sunset view.

Though today marks the end of my third week of teaching (my aforementioned gracious colleagues offered me a 4-day work week), I will be heading back to the university tomorrow as an English language resource and hopefully for some informal Turkish classes. Monday through Thursday I teach four hours of speaking class in the preparatory year program (hazırlık). I should really preface all remarks concerning the education system here with the fact that I am still completely confused as to how it works nationally, and only partly clear on some aspects of my university's organization. Hazırlık, a year-long curriculum of English reading, grammar, and speaking courses, is optional at Bartın Üniversitesi and only available to certain departments, but is compulsory for students at many other universities in Turkey. For this reason, I have been blessed with students who have made a serious decision to delay the start of their studies to improve their English. Teaching my hazırlık class is great but extremely challenging because, even though they have theoretically had at least seven years of English in primary and secondary school, many of them don't have any speaking skills beyond what is rote memorization ("Hello, my name is," "Fine, thank you and you," etc). Because I'm the first native speaker many of them have met, the biggest problem I've encountered is getting them to recognize the words I say (like cucumber (ju-jum-bare?) or juice (joo-i-ee-jay?)), so I end up writing much of my script on the board. I should add that I do have another English teacher, either Nurcan or Pelin, who is able to translate whatever gets lost in translation (as you can imagine, a lot). My other responsibilities are as a native speaker resource to grammar classes in engineering and business departments where I play games and talk about the differences between Kurban Bayram (a Muslim holiday in November) and Thanksgiving.

Tea has been a key ingredient in some wonderful dinners I've been (again, graciously) a part of in the past couple weeks. The colleagues with whom I work directly are mostly my age, which proves incredibly convenient because 1) they are super friendly and inclusive and 2) I greatly appreciate social interaction and need both cultural and linguistic translators to help me navigate through life here. Maybe most importantly: they like to cook, and they seem like they aren't just trying to humor me when I ask if they will teach me how to cook Turkish food.

Last weekend, Sarah and I joined the other English teachers (and members of the Girls' Club) Ilknur, Pelin, and Nurcan at Pelin's lovely abode, to make a feast from scratch that ended in not just çay, but also Türk kahvesi (Turkish coffee), and thus also some fal bakmak (reading one's fortune) from the overturned coffee cups.

Nurcan, Ilknur, Sarah, and Pelin preparing tavuk ve pilav (chicken and rice)

After dinner: cookies, coffee, and fortunes. What do you see in my grinds?

Last week was a marathon of three incredible dinners. First, Ilknur invited me to her home where I met her amazing family and learned the proper way to cut chestnuts to be roasted.

Ilknur's sister Ceyda, Ilknur, and her parents

Ilknur's mother was far too patient with my knife skills. As I do with many things in my life, I blame this incapacity on my thumbs.

Final product: roasted chestnuts, çay, and a Turkish soap series in the reflection.

The next afternoon I was chaperoned around the city and province by Onur, a French teacher, and Volkan, a history teacher (two members of the alluded-to Boys' Club). After setting up my bank account (seriously, thank you Onur if you are reading this), we stopped in İnkumu, a jaw-dropping stretch of Black Sea beach about 15 km west of Amasra, before making an incredible fish dinner chez eux.

Onur in a foggy İnkumu

Cleaning fresh hamsi (anchovies)! Purchased from the fish market hours before

There is just never enough baklava in my life. The perfect ending to any dinner

I was also invited to the house of Ayşe, a German teacher at the university and the final member of the girls club. At Ayşe's, I had what is probably the best soup I have tasted so far on this trip. The pictures unfortunately didn't come out so well, which just means I'll have to invite myself back to learn the name of the soup.

Tea also helped cushion the pains of planning a trip to Sinop, where I was able to meet the two Fulbrighters stationed there, Lucian and Amy, plus Emily, who did some serious schlepping to bus from Uşak (13 hours each way). Although Turkey's bus system is seemingly complete, with buses serving far-away cities all over the country from our small town, it somehow fails to have any convenient way for me to get just one city east along the coast. During this cup of tea, I learned the phrase sabahin körü (the blindness of morning) to describe times so early in the morning that it's pitch black. Times when I shouldn't be conscious. And, evidently, the only times when buses go to Sinop. Despite my colleagues' genuine pleading with me not to go ("It wasn't meant to be," etc.), I decided I needed an adventure and last Friday made the 10-hour trip.

It was worth every hour - Sinop is like a city-sized Amasra. Located on an egg-shaped peninsula, it has ruins of fortifications from the Pontic kings, reinforced by the Romans and Byzantines, and from a NATO base that existed there until the 1990s. The city is noticeably more liberal than Bartın - while I struggle to find cafes here that are not full of men smoking and playing cards (commonly called kahvehane), Sinop is sprinkled with adorable cafes, women walking alone around the streets, and a real port town atmosphere. Amy and Lucian were wonderful hosts, showing us the best cafes and mantı restaurants. I half-wish I could say that I saw the waterfalls outside of town we'd planned to get to, but really we spent most of our time talking about Irish politics and playing Bananagrams at various locations with sea-views.

First night: Emily and Lucian are excited for fish

OK, so we played some gin rummy, too

Overcast morning on the harbor

Photo credit to Amy for the last two! Sitting next to her most of the time precluded Amy from being in my Sinop pictures

To those still with me, congratulations! I've reached the most exciting news yet, progress that has also been orchestrated with the help of tea along the way. Tomorrow morning I will be moving in with the mother of one of my coworkers, Huseyin Bey, veteran member of the Boys' Club. Just when Saft Otel got hot water! Moving in with Sebahat Teyze (Aunt Sebahat is what I'm told I will call her - also learned her first name just this morning...) is amazing and exciting but I'm very cautious about the whole situation. Our meeting for the first and only time prior to my moving in with her was successfully smoothed over by the presence of çay, but given my host-family situations in the past (Juani la Loca from Algeciras, for example), I'm still a little worried due to the cultural and linguistic gaps present. Oh, did I mention Aunt Sebahat doesn't speak a word of English? Advantage? Certainly: improving my Turkish is priority number one after teaching. Also, I hear my new Turkish aunt is an excellent cook. I will keep you updated on my feats in Turkish cuisine.

Until then, here's my favorite cup-of-çay-and-view combination of the past couple weeks. From a ways up the hill in Sinop - a view of the city from a tea garden (çay bahçesi). All my best to Ohio, DC, Boston (Aunt Lisa, no Turkish aunt could ever replace you!), Togo (!), or wherever else you may be at this moment.