"And THAT'S progress?!"

In Bartın, I often feel like things move painfully slowly: my Turkish learning, my students' English learning, life in general, and, of course, the ridiculous bureaucracy. While I luckily have no horror stories about Turkish administration from the past month and a half, I do feel like the pace in this country is noticeably more... relaxed than the pace of, let's say, Washington, DC. However, rather than cause my legs to become restless, this way of life is growing on me. When I heard about a friend in the US recently getting a smart phone to replace his old (and obviously inferior) one, I realized that the lack of iPhones, Droids, and Blackberrys in my life in Bartın really is palpable. People here pay attention during conversations. They sip tea and don't rush to be on time. Yes, their phones are always by their sides (and sometimes are answered at completely inappropriate times - like in the middle of class - by teachers!), but the constant anxiety to find out the answer to a nagging question or check the latest sports score or Facebook update just does not seem to exist to the same extent here. And that is incredibly refreshing, and something I hadn't realized until very recently.

(The photo above is the cloudy/rainy view of Topkapı Palace, home to Ottoman sultans between the 15th and 19th centuries, the Hagia Sophia, 6th century church turned mosque turned museum, and the Blue Mosque (Sultan Ahmet Camii, 17th century) from Galata Tower in Istanbul.)

Over the last several weeks, I have begun to finally feel somewhat at home in Bartın. The title of my blog, "Becoming Bartın'lı" refers to my slow process of becoming a real citizen of my town, a true "Bartinian" while still retaining my hard-to-miss lack of Turkish language. I've done this in a few ways. First, since my last post, Sebahat (or Sabahat, depending on who you ask...?) Teyze has been at home almost all the time. While I definitely enjoy the company and, most of all, her cooking, I also am remembering what it's like to live at home again. A few weeks ago when the water cut out in ALL OF BARTIN for a few days, I escaped to neighboring Karabük to shower and spend the day with my friend Rachel touring around Safranbolu again. Upon returning to Bartın, I found a distraught Sabahat Teyze, worried sick about me because she didn't know how to check her text messages where I let her know I was off to shower elsewhere. I endure a barrage of "Herkese güvenme!"s ("You can't trust everyone!") and sometimes have to cut short an enjoyable night with Turkish friends because I don't want her waiting up for me. I don't want to sound like I'm complaining - this is definitely the most ideal living situation available; I'm really experiencing life in a Turkish household, and S.T. does adore me (and I adore her). I merely want to elaborate on my day-to-day life, and my progress in becoming a temporary resident of Bartın.

Probably the first time Hanukkah was ever celebrated in Karabük. This year for Hanukkah I tried out a series of fruit menorahs, and this Banorah (Sarah's naming) held up the best.

Rachel, my lovely hostess, relaxes in a çay bahçesi (tea garden) in Safranbolu.

A hazy Safranbolu sunset.

Other serious advantages of living with a Turkish Teyze: she makes her own everything. I came home tonight to dinner on the stove and freshly-made fig jam! Last week I found S.T. sitting on the ground peeling and de-seeding the red peppers that had been drying on our balcony all autumn. Later she cooked them and turned them into salça, a spicy tomato/pepper paste used often in Turkish cooking. In the same vein, S.T. detests anything ready-made. In my attempt to make something remotely resembling latkes for Hanukkah, I sort of gave up and ended up making mashed potatoes (doesn't it count if it's at least some form of potato?). I had to hide the bouillon cube I used because S.T. was convinced (in a Bonnie-like fashion) that bouillon will give me cancer. There are no shortcuts in the life of a Turkish Teyze! No microwaves or blenders - just a pressure cooker, one determined aging woman, and endless hours of (horrendous) Turkish soap operas.

Another step in my transformation has been learning to play the ney. Nurcan, Pelin and I bought our instruments about a month ago and have been steadily working toward making a sound since then. What I've learned so far from our teacher, a veritable neyzan, or ney master: to really be able to play the ney, one needs an Ottoman mustache and a potbelly. I don't think I'll take my transformation that far, but göreceğiz... we will see! I'd heard that just getting the instrument to produce one solid note could take months, but that didn't deter us (too much). Some weeks of practice led up to the comment referenced in the title of this post. My dear mother, upon listening to me (attempt to) play the ney in a Skype concert, exclaimed these words in the most supportive, well-meaning way possible. But it's painfully true: after several weeks of playing this instrument, I still look silly with my head cocked at such an angle and my lips ridiculously searching for the proper shape to use to blow the air to make a suitable sound. We may leave ney lessons with kinked necks and chapped lips, but we persevere! (To the left: Nurcan and Pelin watch our teacher, Emin Yalın Bey, instruct one of his more advanced students. Half of our lessons are comprised of Emin Yalın Bey serenading us/showing us how good he is and how bad we are.)

I have developed some comfortable weekly routines as well. Bartın is well known for its farmers markets, what are called "Kadın Pazarı" or women's markets because it's mostly women with scarves wrapped around their heads carrying their loads of mavrul and soğan (lettuce and onions) in wicker baskets on their backs who are the sellers. It's quite a sight - probably 100-150 women trying to market the same good at about the same price, all calling out "Abla, buyurun" ("Big sister, take a look") as I walk by eying the parsley or homemade ayran (salty milk/yogurt drink). But I go every week (even though S.T. does her own shopping with her preferred vendors) to see Ilknur's grandparents and bring them a couple simit (bagel-like sesame-covered bread) to get them through the day. Our conversations are quite short - because of her strong Bartınish accent, Ilknur's grandmother chops off the end of her words, and in an agglutinative language, it's the suffixes that make all the difference! And yet I love seeing them and love that they have their unchanging space at the market where they know all of their neighbors and probably most of the customers. Needless to say, I'm enjoying small-town life.

I haven't done a whole lot of traveling in the weeks since Bayram. I spent one delightful weekend in Ankara with Fulbright friends to celebrate Thanksgiving - a real celebration for omnivores, since our hostess somehow secured a holiday ham (in a Muslim country, a real feat) from the embassy's commissary. I helped out with the starches, making an excellent pot of mashed potatoes, and then working with a friend to disguise cooked pumpkin as sweet potatoes. For the whole day I was accompanied by a glass of wine, ensuring a joyous time and pink cheeks. Everyone was totally jolly and it was truly lovely to see the 20ish other Fulbrighters who'd come from near and far to eat. And drink.

Natasha, Hannah, Sarah O., Rachel, Donnie, Thu, and Cassie, laughing, being wonderful.

Really, we dined on a feast!

Cassie and I candied pecans to sprinkle on our "sweet potatoes." No one knew! (Everybody knew!)

My couple of consecutive weekends spent in Bartın existed in part to help me save up for one special, long trip to Istanbul. In my pre-Turkey hysteria of hanging out with friends and studying for the GRE, I did a horrendous job of packing, and my number one priority in Istanbul was to buy warm clothing. A. Pearson and I spent an entire day in a mall that could have existed anywhere in the US (though a LOT less busy on the weekend before Christmas), so my goal was finally achieved and, Mom, I can can confidently say that I will be able to endure Bartın's relatively tame winter. The first part of the weekend was spent discovering Istanbul's nightlife with a few Fulbrighters who were in town as well. And then Sunday my dear friends Naama and David came to visit me!! Real visitors, and we did the very touristy gambit that I ran three years ago as a summer student at Boğaziçi University, backpacker hostel and all. Some highlights from the weekend? Seeing the Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque at night, veritable gems beautifully lit for perfect evening viewing. Another? Arguably the best meal I've ever had in my life. Finally? A Bosphorus cruise on my birthday.

The Hagia Sophia (Aya Sofia in Turkish) on a beautiful evening after the rain.

Friends! Naams, David, and David's friend Ilana. The Aya Sofia again, looking gorgeous.

Basilica Cistern

Friends at the Blue Mosque!

The Blue Mosque has a halo!

Although I'd seen Topkapı Palace in 2007, this time we toured the harem, which was beautiful and pleasantly school-field-trip-free.

Naams! So good to see her. To the right of me you can see Galata Tower in the background, across the Golden Horn.

Twenty-one different meze plates. (And that was just our first course.) I realize my blog walks the fine line between travel and food. But this meal, ah, I salivate at the thought of it. David's parents, former restaurant owners themselves, treated us to a beautiful dinner at Giritli.

Finally, today I threw a New Years party for my speaking class at school. My students, who convincingly insist that Yes! We really want to learn English! Teacher, can you help me learn English? and pout in class and refuse to participate in a matter of a few hours, really got into the celebration and bought a bunch of food from the cafeteria downstairs. Sometimes I love my students! Sometimes I want to wring their necks.

Not like this is necessary, but here goes: Nurcan in the red, closest to us. Then, clockwise: Merve, Gamze (looking fairly surprised), Erdal, Sevil, Dilek and Merve (who put on loads of makeup for the occasion), Mehmet, Merve standing, Erdinç, Tanju, Bahar, Volkan, Emrah, Emine and Mürşide, Cansu, Emre, and Nur Banu.

This weekend I'm off to Amasya to ring in the real new year with some other Fulbrighters. Mutlu yillar to all! Hope everyone who celebrated it had a great Christmas, and to everyone else, hope the Chinese food was delish. Here it was a just another Saturday - no snow, no carols. I miss all of you very much! Thanks for hanging around until the end.

I'll leave you with a few of my favorite Turkish idioms. My coworkers, friends, and students all contribute to this ongoing list. The cycle goes something like this: I interrupt the silence of hard work getting done in our office at the university to ask a question about Turkish grammar. Nurcan, Pelin, and/or Ilknur begins to answer my question and, as part of the explanation, throws into the mix an idiom. The three of them proceed to jointly explain the idiom, utilizing other idioms in order to explain the original one. And then my mind spins out of control.

Misafir umduğunu değil, bulduğunu yer.
A guest doesn't eat what he wishes, she eats what she finds.
(I was told this once when I was invited to dinner at Ilknur's house. Good thing I like pretty much whatever I find in Turkey!)

Biri yer, biri bakar, kıyamet ondan kopar. (Notice the rhyme!)
Someone eats, another watches, doomsday begins(/the resurrection of the dead begins/a fight breaks out).
(Said by my boss, Emrullah Bey, on why food is always shared. This explains why I'm never offered something once, I'm offered it multiple times.)

Leb demeden leblebiyi anlatmak
To be able to finish someone else's sentences, to understand a person without having to hear the whole explanation.
Literally: Before you say "leb", I understand that you will say "leblebiyi".

Göz görmeyince gönül katlanır.
Literally: While one's eyes don't see, the heart endures. Or, distance makes the heart grow stronger.

I can say confidently the last one is true! All my love to all of you.

A Bosphorus view on my birthday!

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.