Bismillahirrahmanirrahim

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!

From Sea to Shining Sea

Last week I returned to Bartın from a three-week semester break during which I traveled to Lebanon, Jordan, and along the Aegean coast of Turkey.  The whole trip was incredibly interesting (if not terribly relaxing) and I was lucky enough to spend it with some awesome people.  In response to feedback I've gotten about past posts, I'm going to narrate this one mostly through pictures, since I took so many (and since many of my friends just scan through the pictures anyway!).

This is going to be a long one, I'm sorry!  But it's worth it: I hit Petra and Ephesus, and a lot in between.

My trip started in Istanbul in mid-January, where I met up with friends and Fulbrighters to celebrate the end of our first semester of teaching.  Austin, a friend from GW, came to Istanbul with his cousin Phoebe after their Birthright trip to Israel.  I was happy to be in Istanbul again, though this time I stayed far, far away from the touristy Sultanahmet neighborhood that makes my head spin.

Suleymaniye Mosque is the first of three Mimar Sinan mosques I saw during my vacation. It is massive inside, recently renovated, and downright regal, with huge grounds around the building (including the celebrity Mimar Sinan's tomb) in the heart of the Golden Horn. 

We wandered from Suleymaniye around the neighborhood in search of a traditional Turkish drink.  Credit to Amanda Pearson for this excellent view of Vefa Bozacısı, famous in all of Turkey for the boza it produces (en masse, as you can see).    In the background you can also spot their one other product: vinegar.

You can either buy boza by the liter (or 3 L or tub, as seen in Amanda's picture above), or, for the sit-down customer, by the glass with cinnamon sprinkled on top.  Austin didn't much enjoy the his, but he was a great sport and tried it anyway.  Blurry on the right is my friend Dane, who lives in Gümüşhane and loved boza as much as I did.

One thing I've missed most since coming to Turkey is soccer.  In Bartın, there aren't any prospects for really playing (other than my friend Ilknur, who has shown some interest and and Onur's empty promises that we'll play (so cruel to lead me on!)), and I long for the day when the pile of dirt outside my office window finally turns into a "football pitch."  So when Austin (whom I initially met at GW playing soccer) wanted to go to a game in Istanbul, I was completely on board.  Turkey has three major teams, Beşiktaş, Fenerbahçe, and Galatasaray, and pretty much everyone who cares about the sport pledges their allegiance to one of them.  I have somehow stayed tarafsız, or neutral, and was hoping this game (Galatasaray vs. Sivaspor) would help me make a decision.  To get around the fact that tickets for the Galatasaray side were outrageously expensive, we opted to sit on the opposing team's side thinking, naturally, "Who in the world actually supports Sivaspor??"  Sivas is a large province in the middle/east of Turkey that I have hardly heard of, and I imagined only a few farmers and rabid dogs lived there.  On the metro on the way to the new stadium, we jokingly made up cheers for Sivaspor, but my casual humor soon dissolved into mounting fear.  Upon arriving at the stadium, we had to be escorted into our gate by special security, made to donate and change we had on our person (so we wouldn't be tempted to throw it at others/the field), and then realized that our seats were fenced with security lining the fences to protect Sivaspor fans from Galatasaray maniacs.  Plus, in the whole stadium of 50,000 people, I could swear we were a few of maybe 150 women.  With me above is my friend Alex, an ETA living in Tekirdağ, who came to the game with us.  She comically accounts about our experience in her blog.  Unfortunately the match didn't help me make any decision about who I'll ultimately support (though I've been told that the Sivaspor goalie is Sebahat Teyze's distant relative...?!) but it did show that alcohol isn't even necessary to make Turkish men angry - really angry - about soccer.  There wasn't an ounce of alcohol sold in the whole place... but, of course, there was tea!

Dinner at Cumhuriyet Meyhanesi - Alex, Austin, Phoebe.  This place had atmosphere - classic meze plates and traditional music played by a band that came around table to table.

Alex practicing the ancient art of fal bakmak - reading Austin's fortune from Turkish coffee grinds.

After the soccer game, we found some fast food, then sat down for one of my favorite Turkish pastimes: nargile (water pipe) and tea.  Lots and lots of tea.

January 24: I leave Istanbul for Lebanon.  Three other Fulbrighters (Cassie from Isparta, Jess from Amasya, and Lauren from Rize) and I got to Beirut the week after the country's government had collapsed and right as they were choosing a new prime minister.  And, in our tourist ignorance, we decided to tour around Beirut on the so-called "Day of Rage" when anti-Hezbollah Lebanese closed their stores and hardly anyone was on the streets for fear of violence.  We really felt like the only people in the whole city, like we were in The Truman Show walking around an empty set.  Except, of course, there were soldiers on every corner drinking tea and looking quite relaxed.

Here's a link to a map of my trip in Lebanon.

 

Already dazed on our first day: we managed to find a hole-in-the-wall juice place where nobody spoke any English or French (I was able to speak pathetically little, my mind filled with Turkish...) but still order something delicious made from avocados, almonds, and cream.

Beirut it still recovering from years of war.  Destroyed buildings are sandwiched between or across the street from brand-new hotels and restaurants.  For me this just added to the creepiness of the city's emptiness.  I felt like we were walking around post-Armageddon...

Nobody on the streets!  No cars!  But: blue skies. Sixty-degree weather.  And...

The Mediterranean!  After the Black Sea, Sea #2 of my Sea to Shining Sea Vacation

Storm clouds rolling into Byblos, Lebanon from the Mediterranean.  Byblos had some of the most beautiful seaside ruins, and the sea looked downright tropical and inviting despite the rain.

The next day we trekked east to Baalbek, where we had the whole place to ourselves.  Over the mountains from Beirut, Baalbek is in Bekaa valley, (real Hezbollah country) which was freeezing.  More rocks, more ruins.

In the distance, the snow-capped mountains... First of many in my "Where's Lauren?" series.  Lauren=Waldo, dwarfed my ruins, or desert, or rock formations.

Biiiig ruins. Cassie's there for scale...

Really, really big ruins.

Baalbek, Lebanon

 Wine tasting for good measure!  So, maybe January isn't the best time to visit Lebanon?  There were some great outdoorsy things we wanted to do (like hiking in the famous Cedars), but they were all closed for our visit.  Instead, we got a free (?!) wine tasting and tour at Ksara Winery.

Hello from Jordan!  Even though it was cold and dreary in Amman, at 400 meters below sea level, the Dead Sea (third sea!) was a toasty 75 F. Check out Jess's awesome, awesome new shorts. 

Post-Dead Sea, Mt. Nebo - supposedly the place from which Moses saw the Promised Land.

I want to comment briefly on the timing of our trip.  Other than it being the lowest part of low tourist season, we also managed to plan our trip during the region's most pivotal political moment in decades.  We arrived in Lebanon the day violence was expected to erupt (thank goodness there were only a few blocked roads and minor protests closer to Tripoli than Beirut) in response to Hizbollah's act to dissolve the government a week prior.  It was also coincidentally the day the protests began in Egypt.  Everyone's general anxiety about the situation in Lebanon quickly developed into an obsession about what was going on in Egypt - every television was set to 24/7 coverage of Tahrir Square.  In Amman there were *apparently* also protests, though we didn't experience them at all.  Didn't even hear about them until Skyping with a freaked out Mom and Dad across the Atlantic.

  Finally we got ourselves down to the south of Jordan and prepped for the long-awaited day to Petra (you might even say that's why we came to the Middle East in the first place?).  Lauren and I woke up to catch the sunrise, and even though it was too cloudy to see much of a sunrise at all, we got the rare opportunity to wander Petra, a site that covers an incredibly vast amount of space, completely by ourselves.  No tourists getting in the way of our pictures.  It was even too early for the vendors to be soliciting our patronage.  The downside was that the weather was pretty freezing, but I think that even despite that, it was worth it for the feeling of walking through Petra, down the Siq (the path from the entrance to the Treasury through 50-meter-high rocks on both sides) alone.  There isn't a way to describe the feeling that you are the ones who have discovered this ancient treasure (that is, until around 10:00 AM when thousands of German tour buses piled in).  To the left is a view of the Treasury at the very end of the Siq.

Ok, so not completely alone.  We found just two people ahead of us who agreed to take our obligatory tourist picture (7:00 AM)

The day before our Petra expedition was my Papa's 85th birthday.  I got to talk to him on the phone from Wadi Musa, the city where we were staying.  So even if I wasn't in Boston to celebrate the occasion with all of you, I was thinking about you the whole time, Papa! And I took some pictures that I hope will someday get to be painted by Orchard Cove's master artist...

"Where's Lauren?" #2 - we "got to" take a little detour in search of the infamous monastery (8:00 AM)

But, we finally found correct signage (after being laughed at by Petra security), and trekked for an hour through winding rocks and past donkeys and singing Bedouin women and children.  Lauren, the monastery, and a cloudy view of alll of Petra.  (9:00 AM)

I was very, very cold.  And then also in awe: to my left, Petra, to my right, views of the Wadi Araba desert and Israel.

Upon our descent, the sun finally came out! (10:00 AM)

Lauren had to head back to Amman from Petra to catch an early plane Turkey-bound, so I climbed  up to the monastery again with Jess and Lauren (this time we opted for the donkey ride).  If you can spot them, here they are breaking for lunch, enjoying the Wadi Araba/Israel view I mentioned earlier. (1:00 PM)

The monastery, basking in the adoration of the sun (and throngs of tourists. Really, I cannot even imagine the crowds in Petra during high season!).

Clouds! Sun! Rocks! Walking down from the monastery.  I, really stupidly, fell victim to extreme dehydration and at this point could barely walk more than 15 minutes without needing a break.  Thankfully, I had the entire afternoon and evening to rehydrate and prepare for our trip to the real desert the next day.

Walking around Wadi Musa before Petra, we met and were befriended by Ahmad and Mohammad, local Bedouins and luckily owners of a travel agency that takes individuals and groups on tours of Wadi Rum.  To our immense happiness, they offered to help us get out to the remote area and take a Jeep tour around before staying the night in their camp's tents.

Wadi Rum is where Lawrence of Arabia was filmed, and it reminded me of the Road Runner cartoon.  The desert was perfectly flat, with immense rock giants ever few hundred meters emerging from the ground like in the first scene of Aladdin.  I'm pretty sure this is where the Cave of Wonders actually exists.

Jess is, of course, Moses, wandering in the desert.  Wondering, "Where the hell am I?"

Our jeep tour was probably the highlight of the entire Middle East trip.  There was one point when the driver attempted to cut through a particularly soft sandy part of desert over a dozen times, backing up and plowing through, just to get stuck in the same part of soft sand.  We honked at groups of men (supposedly relatives of the driver) who were just hanging out right in the middle of Wadi Musa.

My camera at this point died.  Between Wadi Rum and Edirne, my first stop from Istanbul after arriving back in Turkey, we also saw the Red Sea (Sea #4).  Right at the northernmost point of the sea, Jodan's Aqaba and Israel's Eilat look like sister cities, separated by a thin strip of empty border.

It felt fantastic to be back in Turkey.  Everything I'd complained about, all the small parts of Turkish culture that frustrated me, they all felt like the nuances of home.  There were women walking on the streets!  I didn't feel like people were staring at me!  I didn't feel like a tourist!  It was physically relieving.  I used my Turkish as much as I could, thankful that I had the language to communicate with locals again.

This is a map of my travel through Turkey.

And I set off for Edirne, the old Ottoman capital, historically a home to Ottoman Jews and to some of Turkey's most impressive mosques.

Edirne's old synagogue, creepily gutted with a horse and carriage parked out front.

Edirne's old synagogue.  There was also a sign describing the rebuilding efforts, but no fresh work seemed to be happening.  Possibly because it was the dead of winter (it's really freezing in Thrace - European Turkey!).

I adored Edirne's Eski Camii, built in the 15th century, for the massive calligraphy that cover its walls.

Selimiye Camii is the second of Mimar Sinan's mosques I saw.  It's widely seen as his masterpiece, "his finest work" acclaims Lonely Planet.  Its dome is supposedly bigger than even the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, and the beautiful şadırvan, or ablutions fountain, is inside, in the middle of the building.  Unfortunately, like my apartment in Bartın, Selimiye was not heated.  If it had been, I'd have stayed there all day reading.  With this view.

    

 Edirne was my northernmost (and coldest) visit in Turkey.  From there, I took a bus along the west coast of the Marmara (sea #5) to Eceabat, a tiny fishing town across from the bigger metropolis, Çanakkale, right on the Dardanelles.  I'm no history buff, and skipped the Gallipoli fields, opting instead to start to get my butt in shape, taking a beautiful run right along my second-favorite Turkish straight.  Above on the left is my view facing north while on the ferry from Eceabat to Çanakkale.  Europe on the left, Asia on the right.  The other picture above is where I parked myself and read/wrote postcards/drank tea upon arriving in Çanakkale.  (If you haven't received a postcard and would like to, please, please send me your address!)  I'd say the view isn't to shabby.  Whaddya think?

Troy (Truva) is a half hour from Çanakkale, and though I didn't get there, my friend Rachel, whom I met up with in Çanakkale, reassured me that this horse in the center of the city is far more interesting than the entirety of Troy itself.

From Çanakkale, we bused to Ayvalık, another quiet fishing town on the Aegean (sixth and last sea!).  After a fabulous run along the coast (with water so clear you could sea several feet deep to the sea floor),  we lazed around the town and then found our way to Cunda Island, what seemed like a posh, quiet escape for Istanbul'lus to flaunt their designer accessories. 

Maybe it was the clear weather, the endorphins, or the balık ekmek (fish sandwich) in Ayvalık and Cunda Island, but we arrived at our next destination, Bergama, in an excellent mood greeted by what felt like a particularly happy city.  Bergama was, by far, my favorite place in the Turkey leg of my trip.  While low-season in the Middle East meant cold weather and empty tourist attractions, low-season along the Aegean meant friendly vendors, happy people, and a clearer view of day-to-day life in the places I was visiting.  Our "hostel" turned out to be more of a homestay than a hotel: the owner's entire family hung out in the soba-heated salon while we ate dinner.

A little LP background on why Bergama's important: in ancient times this city was "Pergamum, site of the Asclepion, the pre-eminent medical center of Ancient Rome."  Here they also built one of the empire's biggest libraries - second only to the one in Alexandria.  We walked all over - even up the hill to the theater - and made some friends along the way.

From the Asclepion (which really sounds more like a spa than a hospital - what with a mud bath, massage, drinks from a nearby spring, and dream analysis!), you can see the Acropolis in the distance

The road up to the Acropolis, view of lovely Bergama

We picnicked (ate pumpkin seeds) once we got to the top and marveled at the view

The Temple of Trajan in Bergama

My lovely travel companion for the Turkish leg - Rachel was accompanied by the most marvelous 60-degree sunny weather.

I would not mind going to a performance here.  That is, once I get over my fear of heights.

On our hike up the hill to the Acropolis, we made friends with some local high-schoolers enjoying their own vacation from school.  As locals they get the museum discount: free entry by jumping over the fence.  Not a bad playground, though, hm?

After an impulse Turkish rug purchase, we booked it back to the hostel and caught the first bus to Selçuk, home of Efes (Ephesus), one of the best-preserved cities of the Aegean.  Besides buses and buses of German tour groups, we also got to enjoy a relatively empty Efes.  That is, if you don't count the cats.  Maybe because I miss my own cat, the late Luna, or because I really wish Turks would treat the street cats better, but I couldn't help but adore the felines who owned the place.

Hi kitty!  Hello Efes, hello blue skies!  Doesn't s/he look like the happiest cat alive?

Or maybe this one is - inside the terraced houses, some of the "mansions" of Efes belonging to its richest citizens.

Hi Mom and Dad!  Aren't you glad I'm not in Egypt right now? (Efes library facade)

Efes theater (we had lunch on the rocks to the left)

View from the theater to where the sea and harbor used to be.  Imagine the entire town lining the street to greet Mark Antony and Cleopatra from their ship in the harbor...

I fell in love in Selçuk.  With a Turkish rug (kilim).  A friend of our hostel's owner owned a rug shop and invited us by for tea and to help me repair something I bought in Bergama.  Out of pure curiosity, I asked him, Osman, what his favorite rug was.  What followed was the most spectacular, visually pleasing presentation of rugs I have ever seen.  "Each rug has a history" was his, obviously cliché line, but I ate it all up.  They were glorious, splayed out one after another in colorful harmony.  And then he unfolded it, the most wonderful of them all...!

Rachel was a little overwhelmed.  I should have had her take a picture of me, though.  I was in kilim heaven.

And there it is! In the bottom right corner.  Masterpiece.

Finally, before heading home, I visited my friend Pelin in her hometown of Manisa, an hour east of Izmir.  She had planned an entire tour of Manisa, a lovely, quiet city where people seemed to know each other despite its being an actual metropolis.  After a day tour of Manisa, we took a bus into Izmir, Turkey's second-largest city, and visited Pelin's friend Sevilcan.  Tuğrul ("Two-rule" - ğ is silent in Turkish!), Pelin's boyfriend, also came.

Did you know Tarzan is from Manisa?  His actual title is Tarzan: Turkey's First Environmentalist and Lover of Nature.  But when we went to see his statue, he was gone!

Many cities in Turkey have their own version of kebap, and Manisa is no exception.  Pelin, however, lifetime citizen of Manisa, had, before my visit, never tried Manisa kebap! I call this one "Pelin and kepab"

A tour of any Turkish city is not complete without seeing its most famous mosque.  This one is Muradiye Camii, third and last mosque of Mimar Sinan's that I got to visit.

Some of the incredible woodwork on the pulpit of Manisa's Ulu Camii

 

Izmir wasn't quite the tourist destination I'd expected, but it did seem like a fantastic place to live.  Right on the Aegean, it boasted a looong boardwalk, fun bars, and a Western, beachy feel.  Here, Sevilcan snaps a photo of Pelin and Tuğrul enjoying the sun.

And that's about it. After Izmir, I took an overnight bus back to Bartın.  Last week, classes started (although it's "tradition" apparently that students don't show up the first week back from vacation), and I've been settling back into life here.  Last weekend I spontaneously decided to take an overnight bus and spent day in Bursa, and I still haven't posted pictures from New Years in Amasya.  Hopefully sometime in the next week another post will be up, though given that it's taken me a week to put this one together, I might take a rest.  All my love to everyone!