Travels to Turkey

Penultimate Thoughts...best left for Thursday, but I suppose Wednesday's close enough.

2006-07-12T00:53:00.000+03:00

Sevgili Arkadaslar,

Gimminy Willickers, Matt's coming home...today! Shite, this is amazing. Time flies.

Tonight, finally, on my last day I get a taste of the istanbul nightlife. All of my complaints regarding no friends, lonliness, and whatnot were undone. The younger members of my office, including my buddy Tunga, went out with me to a great little kebapcisi tucked away behind Istiklal. Then, drinks and more conversation on the terrace of a bar off Nevizade Sok....FINALLY! Shite man, I'm frustrated as hell that I'm having the time of my life only moments before the twiglight of my trip.

Tomorrow will be a sad day. I've got to get packing because Yesim will arrive at 8am or so to drive me to the airport--bless her kindness.

What will be the first activity I undergo when i arrive home? I'm thinking about becoming reacquainted with my car and making a visit to ness' neighborhood and whisking her off to a club or something--I need to drown my head in Jazz. Speaking of which, the Istanbul Jazz Festival is happening...now and I've leaving it! Damn! John Scofield came on Sunday. Too bad. Ooh, I've got to make a mix CD with good Turkish songs to play for nessy.

Forgive me: there was nothing monumentally profound to deliver with this post. My mind is occupied too well with practical concerns rather than gleaning meaning from the whole experience. That's something to do when I'm home, drinking a strong cup of tea, and swaddled in American pseudo-culture again. Cheers!

Seniniz Seviyorum,
Matthew

2006-07-06T11:13:00.000+03:00

No, I did not see any camels in the Southeast--I did see lots of Donkies though! There was in fact Sand in Mardin. While I wouldn't classify the area as a desert, exactly, the sand was thick on the earth, and very fine--more like dust actually. After climbing up through the hills for much of the afternoon I did have sandy dusty stuff in my beard! :0)

"I don't want you to give it all up and leave your whole life collecting dust" (this song has been playing through my head all day!!)

2006-07-06T11:00:00.000+03:00

Ness, showed this to me in an email this morning. I can always rely on the dry wit of cartoons to remind me of the silliness of some of the things I do. For example, a couple of years ago, Parade Magazine had a cartoon with this kid, playing the piano. He asked his parents, "If practice makes perfect, but nobody's perfect, why should I practice?" I'm sure that's been said before and will be related through musician circles for all time--who isn't looking for a ligitimate excuse to be lazy? Mine is that I'm overseas; what's your's?

5 days left.

Tonight we're taking Baris' mom out for dinner after he and I explore some more old haunts. I love this city, although in a different way from Istanbul. Ankara is neat, orderly, and predictable compared to Istanbul; its nice to let the soul have a break.

I really do enjoy receiving comments from people, anyone! Not about grammar though...I'm too groggy to care about that right now.

Recollections from the Frontier

2006-07-05T10:21:00.000+03:00

I have trouble trying to recall the laundry list of moments, the hour by hour, minute my minute events that transpire in my life. I'm not like Ka from Snow: I maintain none of the obcessions that drove him to record and catalogue his experiences. This isn't laziness. What is it, then? Reluctance? Knowing I'll be called to account for my journey time after time upon arriving home--although, I can only think of a handful of people with whom I will speak at length...most will just get the cookie-cutter response: "It was really great," or, "I think I learned a lot." Maybe I should trademark a catchphrase, a tagline, something to draw out a smile, a laugh. Or, perhaps, if I put my mind to it, I can think of something smart, something really poignant that will stick in people's minds. I can't tell them how I managed through the generosity of so many, and that without the intervention of good fortune--and a touch of divinity--I would have been tossed overboard, flailing and drowning in the cold, unrelenting, ancient Bosphorus during my first week. Nor can I tell anyone how far my money stretched, not because I'm a frugal man, but due to much luck I could save my money for travel, museums, food, etcetera. No, if I tell the world these things, if I put them on my life's resume in a manner that I feel to be wholly honest, they will lessen the significance of my experience. What will I have accomplished, then?

Moving on.

The trip to the Southeast can summed up in one word: enlightening. I enjoying destroying the misconceptions of the uninformed and ignorant. The Southeast of Turkey--while, practically holds more in common with the Middle East than the imperialist Turks--is stunning, vast and beautiful in the inhospitable way that deserts are. You respect the people that make it their home because a great reserve of tenacity is required to scratch together an existence, above or below the poverty line. Urfa and Mardin are poor, dirty, clamourous towns with deep histories than expand into the depth of mankind's existence on earth as the plains that pull the the imagination south, away from Europe and the West, and towards exoticism, the Middle East. My goodness, if you could only see them...I've felt closer to God than standing atop the bluffs overlooking, Deyrul Zafaran, a 1600 year old Syrian Orthodox monastary.

The Laundry list:

The flights to reach Urfa were uneventful, save one moment: I met Baris, one of my oldest friends from my Ankara days, on the flight to Ankara in order to make my connection to Urfa. It was completely a moment scripted by the chance that his flight from NYC to Istanbul was delayed 2 hours. Its the ripple effect: dropping a pebble into the ocean that precipitates a psunami halfway across the globe. We chatted so animatedly that the 50 minute plane ride flew by in no time. Upon reaching Ankara, after a brief and unsuccessful attempt get out pass through customs in order to greet his mother, we parted ways.

When I boarded the plane in Istanbul, I was preparing myself for complete isolation. That is a melancholy thought, without question, however it's something that I practice regularly. It is my ritualistic ablution, like a fighter bracing for the punch that he knows is coming, to deflect whatever negetivity and sadness you can, taking to heart as little as possible. You have to prepare yourself for the lonliness, condition your mind so that the emotional toll of solitude and isolation that are cleaved into the heart of the lone foreigner do not become debilitating. There are moments when time alone is a pleasure, however foreign travel is not one of them considering how much effort I invest in gleaning some enjoyment from the daily life, which unfortunately by design, breeds lonliness.

Enough of that tangent!

In Urfa, the friendly and all-too-ready-to-talk-about-"Seks" guide named Aziz, picked me up from the airport on Friday night and drove me to his home where he rents out rooms for YTL 25 per night--not unreasonable. We toured around the city quickly on Saturday--I was leaving at 4pm for Mardin and there was little time to dawdle. Urfa, at first blush, reminds me greatly of Jiddah from the 1990s. The predominant culture in this area--Kurdish--owes more to, and has more in common with the Middle East than Turkey. We saw the propeht's cave, Job's pool where, so the story goes, the fire into which he was being thrown was transformed by God into water, and the wood into fish. I love believing in little stories like that, but with all of the little kids tossing food into the pool for the fish, and all the pipes arrating the pool, I wonder if the pool is not, rather, a modern conception.

Saturday afternoon I grabbed the otobus from Urfa to Mardin; a trip which lasted about 3 hours. The exciting thing about this trip was the person whom I met along the way... First, a little back story: the bus was late. Attribute it to "Turkish-Time" and an environment of near universal delay. Whatever the reason, it left me sitting in the bus station with Aziz for 45 minutes. Then, a woman walked in, head uncovered and altogether "Western" in appearance; a Turk, of course. Aziz knocks my shoulder--a little too forcefully--and maked a few of color comments about her sex appeal; she was quite attractive, but I paid those thoughts no attention.

We all left the office together and the attendant guided us to the bus. It was at this time that Aziz spoke to me in English about my trip, within earshot of the woman. She turned around, introduced herself in English and asked where I was going. We exchanged the usual introductory round of questions and responses. As we were stepping into the bus, Aziz shoved me forward saying, "She good girl. You go with her to Kiziltepe." Of course, I blushed at the thought.

I expected just a few words to be traded back and forth between the two of us: a combination of my broken Turkish and her English, once fluent, now faded. I learned that she was Kurdish and asked her to teach me a few words from her language--this is always a good way to get people talking! Her name was Melek, meaning "Angel" in Turkish. The time on the bus flew by, even after I exahusted her limited knowledge of Kurdish vocabulary--she lives in Ankara and speaks very little Kurdish. After she departed from the bus the lonliness I had been expecting from the beginning of my trip finally arrived, but it was accompanied by a real fear that something during my trip to Mardin would go wrong and I would be left to fend for myself in the fast darkening Turkish frontier.

My time in Mardin, and my trip to the Southeast in general, became the highlight of my trip to Turkey! I met up with a couple, one Canadian and one American, and together we shared a taxis to the Deyrul Zafaran. My thought was that the tour would last only a couple of hours at most. Instead, we attended Mass, dined with the priests, toured the monastary, and hiked the ruins of St. Jacob's Monastary (several hundered years older) on the hills surrounding Zafaran. The abandoned Jacob was amazing to explore with numerous chambers and tunnels carved into the rocks; it was like Cappadocia in a more central location without any pushy, photo-happy tourists.

I speak often here about time spent alone. This entire trip was proposed and undertaken with the expectation that I would feel more alone than ever before in my life. In reality, I connected with a handful of people--complete strangers--faster than ever. What does this mean? You tell me. I haven't a clue. I find it ironic that I have been more alone in Istanbul, a city of 18 million people, than in the Southeast, an area that is much less densly populated by comparison.

At the moment I am resting comfortably in Ankara with Baris and his mother. The thought that I will be strapped into a jet somewhere over the Balkans this time next week, heading for home, is bizzare, and in a way, unwelcome. My departure will be a sad one: I have become very fond of this place and I will be sad to leave, not knowing when I will return. Nevertheless, its time for me to go home. I am ready. Well, I do have to buy a little wine first to startup my collection ;0).

"Have you ever been in a Turkish prison?"

2006-06-27T13:49:00.000+03:00

A preface: I'm suche a newbie when it comes to the whole blog scene. I still can't figure out how to insert pictures into the text--perhaps because the interent is so damned slow, I'm too impatient to wait for trial and error to reveal the procedure to me. I'm disappointed that my blog is so visually sparce, so dry. (I spoke too soon ;) )

Last night was fantastic! I met with two of my professors--Dr. Essid and Dr. Grove--along with Dr. Essid's wife. After a brief hickup between our cell phones, I met the three of them at their hotel in Ortakoy. We chatted, and cought up with our various summer activities. Then we went out to dinner where we met Dr. Grove's two children. I almost forgot about the entire engagement. In fact, I was about to leave the office for Anadolu Hisari when Dr. Grove called.

Visiting with professors outside of the classroom, socializing with them on an equal level, is a very new experience for me. At some point in the past I once said that teachers and students play roles equivalent to an office manager and an cubicle-bound employee: the best relationship is a friendly one, but never really moving socially outside of the office. I take it back.

So...two days before the conference, and what am I doing? A germane question. Nothing. Well, updating a blog. I guess that only proves I'm distracted and idle. I hope that no one from ARI reads this as it well become enlightening how little I'm able to do in the office. Enough of that idle blabber.

Sanliurfa, Mardin, Diyarbakir...I'm chomping at the bit, I'm like a starving dog with a steak dangling before its nose. Everytime I tell someone about the details of that trip, an expression of surprise registers across their face: they ask, "WHY?" and, "Aren't you concerned about your safety?" The more I hear these inquiries, the more I long to go, and the more I look forward to erasing their misconceptions. And, if their concerns are justified, I will at least have some great stories to tell! Like in the film, Airplane: "Have you ever been in a Turkish prison?" Hehehehe. I should stop. That's no funny matter. I certainly would not be pleased to find myself behind those bars. But, I must admit, there's something attractive, alluring, exciting about going somewhere that has such a reputation preceeding it. Neither of those three cities will be like the Kars of Orhan Pamuk's book, Snow--which I'd recommend to anyone reading this, by the way. I find it fascinating to read the text--one among many--that caused enough controversy to make life difficult, shall we say, for Pamuk Bey.

6 weeks since I've been home!! :0)

Sloppier than usual...

2006-06-26T16:06:00.000+03:00

06/25/06 13:08

What causes people to become friends?

I was riding the vapur yesterday between Besiktas and Uskudar after seeing a film in Mecidieykoy—where I was alone, I might add. The ferry was packed with people—bodies, minds, and voices each with stories to tell. My first thought: if I could speak Turkish well enough to engage others in conversation I could reach out to someone; I would reach out to someone. I turned left and right in my seat and saw no one speaking with their neighbor. The same is true of the people of busses, trains, as well as ferries. It doesn’t matter if you’re in Istanbul, Richmond, New York: no one engages their neighbor. No one reaches beyond their comfort zone to meet someone new. What does language have to do with any of it? Speech is just one tool used to express language: thoughts, emotions like love, empathy, loathing, contempt, jealousy exist well enough without language.

There was the complaint about my poor Turkish knowledge, veiled as an informed, critical observation of the world.

Back to friends: how do we meet, by chance? Fate? Does it make any difference that I prefer frequent jazz clubs, or drink good red wine rather than “Beast?” Of course it does. Our preferences or manners determine where we live, work, where we go in need of a respite from the real world. Drop a pebble into the Bosphorous. Watch the resulting ripples radiate outwards. They’re paths are interfered with, interrupted by everything from the water churned up by oil tankers to the water’s prevailing current. Our entire lives: social, professional, romantic, all are subject to our own choices as well as “fate” created by the world at large.

I want to understand why relationships just seem to click with some people, and can feel utterly hopeless with others. Why am I making more friends 10, 20, 30 years older than myself rather than with men and women my own age? Why can’t I find the Turkish girlfriend I need to help practice the language—everyone tells me, that such a person is better than even the best text book. Throughout the last few days I’ve longed for my friends more than ever….

…Yech, my thoughts wander as my drink losses its chill..grr

Sans

2006-06-23T20:36:00.000+03:00

06/23/06 19:29

Sans Restaurant for dinner: this will be a lovely evening! Tonight it feels completely the opposite from when I drop by at 1pm for lunch. There is only one other group of guests here. There’s no pressure—not that there ever is from the staff, I’m thinking just the pressure of being amongst a crowd of people. Niso was right: this place really is known as a business lunch spot, not a dinner place. I would expect 7:30 on a Friday night that this place would be hopping. But, it’s not, I’m here and I’m enjoying it all the more because of the relative solitude that I’m afforded. It’s easier, I find, to set my mind at ease and relax when I’m alone—or in the company of a close friend.

Ouf…I’m stuffed already yet I’m moving on to dessert. I just had the most complete un-Turkish meal I ever plan to have: grilled quail, grilled veal steak w/ fries, crème brulee, and an espresso. No more kebap for me! :0) Though at this point, I can hardly make any health arguments for straying from kebap.

I’m feeling so lazy all of a sudden: arriving at work late, eating at cushy restaurants…I’m even thinking of getting a taxi again from Korfez after I get off of the bus. Or, maybe not…I do have some shred of decency. At least I’m not going to hire a taxi from Levent all the way to Anadolu Hisari, that would be an expensive, unnecessary choice. I am a little reluctant to leave and that’s certainly in no small part due to the presence of the free internet service here.

On another note, it’s wonderful to finally be finished with classes at Dilmer! I came away with a grade, although a little lower than I hoped for, is representative of difficult material learned within a very narrow window of time. It’s mind boggling to recall that I began class 4 weeks ago. I’ve learned a lot! Nevertheless I’m still nowhere near comfortable to engage in conversation. I want nothing less than to continue studying yet I accept the fact that it will be difficult to find the resolve and actually maintained everything I’ve learned this month.

Oh goodness, there’s a huge party of cackling, chatty women approaching. I feel like it’s time to bounce…ciao! Well, maybe in a few minutes… ;0)

This is the point where I begin to talk about my plans for the weekend: none. I mean, I have a few dancing around my mind. If you know me, you’ll know that there’s always something brewing. However, I’m just going to float where the wind takes me. I’d like to go up to Kariye Muzesi, check out Fatih and that older section of town. Constantina, a woman from my class, took a similar trip on foot and love it. Perhaps that’s what I need. To tell the truth, I’m becoming a little tired of Istanbul. Work and school together have kept me from sight seeing. Nevertheless, the sights here have grown old and I’d like to have a change of scenery. I am certainly going to fulfill that request when I travel East, yet, I’d like to stay local this weekend. Ciao for real this time!!

"Crack the dishes smash the plates, that's what Bilbo Baggins hates..."

2006-06-23T16:28:00.000+03:00

06/22/06

My host and his girlfriend just arrived home; I wasn’t expecting them, he told me they probably wouldn’t come here tonight. So, I made no effort to clean up the mess I made from dinner. I know, its kind of a petty thing, but if you come home late at night, the last thing you want to see is a house scattered in disarray. The last thing I want is for them to think of me as inconsiderate, slovenly, unappreciative of their home. Maybe I’m just overreacting. Maybe I’m just poor at reading people’s expressions. Maybe I’m confusing fatigue in the general sense with frustration stirred up by a specific issue. All I know is that tomorrow morning I’m going to wake up early, march down there and make do those dishes!

No matter how comfortable or welcomed I a made to feel here, the fact remains that I am a guest. Hospitality has its limits, even in Turkey. I can’t deny myself the feeling that I’m beginning to overstay my welcome. I wish I knew these things for fact, however, they’re not the sort of thing that people make readily aware to others. If someone has a criticism of me, of my manner, my behaviors—I want to know. I would enjoy being informed, rather than remain unaware of my bad manners.

I became complacent. This is not my home, so, I must show it more respect.

playing catch-up

2006-06-22T10:57:00.000+03:00

06/21 22:32

The time between each one of these posts has widened significantly since my arrival here in May. It has been an awfully long time since the nights where I would write a post once a day, if not more on occasion. It was one of those “crutches” that I spoke of earlier. Without class, or travel, or work I had to find some way to occupy my mind in the time available—24 hours can be a lot of time in a day without much to do.

Work has finally picked up! I can feel comfortable saying that, for the first time, I was busy at the office today from the moment I arrived—of course, after lunch that is—until I packed up my computer to leave the office. Emily can verify this fact if need be: I barely spoke with her today on AIM, which had otherwise become a daily routine for the two of us.

The trip to Aydin was, simply, amazing. Tugce’s family embraced me more closely, in spite of the language barrier, than I ever imagined. I saw some wonderful sights: the ruins at Efesus, the quaint wine village of Sirince, the beaches and bustling shopping district of Kusadasi…It all made for a wonderful time. The pictures should be up by the end of this week, or the beginning of next week—being busy at the office has prevented me from really focusing on the photo edits.

Speaking of photography: last week I took the plunge and purchased a Nikon D70 kit from Ebay with Nikon’s kit 18-70mm lens. It was a good price, and although a sudden purchase, one that I needed to make soon anyway. This past weekend was father’s day and I gave my dad a carte blanche to use the camera, have fun, and make certain that it works…and does it ever! The only thing better would be a D200, but only when I become a professional and people actually buy my shots.

The call to prayer has sounded, as it does every night a little after 10:30pm. I’m going to miss this when I return home. If I can find a microphone somewhere I’ll try to record the prayer call one night from my balcony here in Anadolu Hisari… 3 weeks from today and I’ll be home. My goodness, that is an impressive fact. I’ll be able to cap off my resume with an amazing summer internship, I’ll return to my family and friends, and my material possessions (camera and car :0) ) I really do miss my car, by the way. That’s so materialistic and American of me. I know I’m not the only one who might feel the same.

Now I know why I haven’t updated my blog frequently: this thrives as a repository for my negative thoughts, the moments when I feel sad, alone, when I miss family, home, when I loathe the city and its people…all for a moment. I turn to the writing when I’m trying to wrestle one of those devils. When I’m content, there is no need to write. Or, perhaps I’m just tiring of it altogether.

Wednesday Evening's Thoughts...

2006-06-15T13:47:00.000+03:00

06/14/06 19:02

Why do I feel so much more comfortable, almost reliant, upon this computer to jot down my thoughts? What is the difference between working this way, and writing it down by hand? Speed? When I tried to recopy Turkish notes onto this PC it was done without success: the process was slower than molasses, like frozen drool, in winter.

Disgusting bodily functions aside; I can’t stop thinking about the future: how much time remains in my trip, how long until I’m off traveling to one corner of the country or another. I’m concerned that when the time comes for me to board my plane for home I’ll have spent all my time looking forward and have missed the experience entirely.

Today I finally purchased my plane tickets to Sanliurfa. Although no real accomplishment is born from that act alone, I feel as if it’s the first step in an important direction. My trip to the Southeast, near the Syrian border is going to offer a completely different perspective on Turkey. Okay, so we all know that the culture there holds more in resemblance of the Kurds and Arabs to the South. I’m speaking more to how it will affect me: gone will be a tacit reliance upon the patience of others to work through their English to help me. My class at Dilmer will have ended and, while I’m relaxing in a restaurant under the dark, ancient shadows of Diyarbakir’s basalt walls, I will rely upon that knowledge to sustain me. I’m tired of relying upon people, however, I’m lacking any real alternatives; I have to rely to upon the largess of others, to a marginal extent at least.

No one else whips their laptops out while they are on public transport. In the US, everyone cracks open their lids, typing away: telecommuting, perhaps, it is called. It helps me to pass the time. The trek between continents has long since lost its novelty.

Several rows in front of my bench on the vapor sit four Turkish women wearing abayas (SP): black, flowing cloth covering their entire bodies, veiling themselves in piety, modesty. I wonder: do they wear these garments by choice, is it imposed upon them by their particular religious convictions, or—and even more likely—is such a habit dictated to them by their husbands, fathers, brothers, etc.. I don’t recall seeing so many women wearing the black veil while I lived in Ankara 6 years ago. I suppose that this is just another one of the changes that have taken place during my absence. Or…perhaps I simply never noticed them before.

For those of you who have had this image in your minds of me, trekking across a sea of sand—dunes rising and folding upon one another across the horizon—with a trail of camel tracks as sole evidence of my journey, I hate to admit that I have yet to see any sand…or a camel for that matter. Perhaps down in Mardin? Maybe’ll I’ll go under the radar, leave the reservation, or go native and return sunburned, dehydrated, bearded and caked in sand. Who knows…maybe I’ll even learn some Turkish in the mean time before I can realize that goal. ;0)

The lack of supervision is exhilarating. My freedom to choose—whatever, whenever, whoever, however…forever—is nearly overwhelming; I admit, it become cumbersome at times.

22:13

I’m waiting for hell to freeze over, pigs to fly, and the earth to stop turning. Am I wasting my time? How do you account for yourself?

Rainy Days...

2006-06-14T18:09:00.000+03:00

06/13/06 21:23

Update: Istanbul…weather forecasts realized with cold, rainy weather today and for the rest of the week. Conclusion: this is not how June should be. I’m speaking to quickly; I can just imagine a week from today having to suffer through an intolerable, burning heat and humidity, so thick the air feels solid, like you’re drifting underwater trying to inhale unsatisfyingly.

Into half of my 3^rd week of class at Dilmer: we’ve crammed at least a semseter’s worth of material into that space of time. I’m worried that I can’t absorb it. I’m concerned that I won’t perform well on our exam a week from Friday. Most importantly, I am saddened by the likelihood that I will forget 50% of the material within several weeks upon returning to home. A train of thought that pessimistic pulls storm clouds, swollen purple and seething in need of release, over my head. My only choice is to wait out the storm while they precipitate their melancholy after which, I’ll know if my worries and concerns were justified. Either I have it, or I don’t.

Today, while I was waiting near my office for the bus to Besiktas, the rain fell in sheets. Everyone was soaked and many people weren’t carrying umbrellas. One guy, near my age or perhaps a little older, approached me, looking as if he were melting under the pounding rain. His hair and back were slumped forward by the weight of the water. Strangely and instantaneously I felt a twist of pity for this kid. I welcomed him under my umbrella’s shadow without saying a word—I really didn’t quite know what to say since I don’t speak the language but, even if I did, a stranger has never asked that of me before; my friends don’t even enjoy sharing an umbrella. I felt terribly torn when I left him there, naked under the rain, so that I might catch my bus. This reminds me of my drive back from my grandmother’s house in North Carolina during Spring Break. I spotted a dog wandering the grassy fringe of the highway, somewhere along the Virginia border. There was nothing for me to do; I had no home to offer to a stray. Yet, I was on the verge of tears: snow had fallen several days ago and the forecast looked cold for the remainder of the week. I was overcome by a feeling, pleading with me to stop because that dog wouldn’t last the week. I didn’t stop. My only acknowledgement to that creature was the momentary drop of speed from 70 to somewhere in the high 60s as I wondered, “Can I stop?” And reassured my guilty conscience after passing it: “I can’t stop, I have to get home.” What damned selfish thought.

I’m going to visit a travel agent tomorrow to hopefully get a quote or two on plane travel out East. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they’ll be able to help me to book sleeping arrangements for three nights, in three different cities while I’m on the road. As of tonight I’m traveling alone. I’m afraid. My backbone will be stiffened with a little Turkish language proficiency; however, I still wish I had a traveling companion. Tunga, a friend at my office informed me today that he couldn’t go—his company was a long shot, but I was still holding out hope.

I made a decision today; it was an important one and long overdue. Although I should’ve acted so decisively months ago, the tardiness of my action is not that important. The choice, the making of the decision, that’s what matters, regardless of its timeliness. I’m only sorry that I’m thousands of miles away: here, far away from home, such decisiveness is negated purely by the distance.

Good night, moon.

Phone Calls from Home and Walking Death

2006-06-12T15:04:00.000+03:00

06/09/06 21:25

Cheers to loneliness, again. I was slightly over confident in my Turkish speaking skills. I went to the Varan bus office in Mecidieykoy to pick up my round trip ticket to Aydin for next weekend. I knew precisely what I wanted to say to the attendant. Nevertheless, I was starved for words, stuttering, and choking on my failure. It was really sad and depressing to be slapped in the face with the simple fact that language learned in a class does not directly translate to the real world. How dare I presume… I’m feeling that I stick out more than ever. I can’t explain precisely my thoughts but I feel them. I get into a bus, or onto the ferry and I know that I am different from the majority of that world. Man, that is a change in point of view appropriate to my life back home…No racial discussion here. It’s not so much a racial—ie skin color—line that I’m trying to draw. There are Turks from all ends of the color spectrum. I feel ever so acutely the difference of my nationality from the rest of the world, heightened by the fact that I can’t speak their language. I guess I still maintain this fantasy where I’m so well versed in the language that, upon arrival, I am unwittingly embraced into the bosom of a foreign culture because I blend so perfectly that no one even gives my origins a second thought in their minds. Language is such a damned difficult barrier…Would I feel less lonely if I could speak Turkish as fluently as English? You might spit up “yes” without even thinking. I challenge you to recall the many times you crouch into a seat on the metro and compress yourself, look down at the floor holding your bag on your lap so that you’ll not be open to conversation with the stranger at your shoulder. Would that be me instead?

Moving on…

On the ferry today two women struck my eye: absolute opposites of one another. The first who walked in looked haggard, worn, old. Her expression looked to be permanently shaped into a deep frowning grimace. Her face, scarred by deep creases—crevaces—carved not my the forces of glaciers crushing layer upon layer of rock, but the stress of a long and difficult life. Her back was stooped almost as if she were collapsing in upon herself the longer she was made to stand against the force of gravity. This woman the personification of sorrow, hardship, trial, pain, struggle, and death that will soon return her soul to God.

The other…oh my goodness was as beautiful as the crone was not. She walked into the cabin to escape the cold wind blowing outside the ferry. I watched her, unknowingly, for a long moment as she collected herself in the cabin. Her eyes were what stopped my heart: bright, aware, strong, vibrant, confident.

I wanted to take pictures of both. Why, you may ask? Because beauty and its opposite are two rare extremes in the spectrum of humanity. I wanted to hold fast to evidence of both. Ugliness is disturbing where beauty is attractive. Both implore you to look. Both extremes capture you and fascinate your curiosity. They certainly piqued mine.

Plans for the weekend? I might meet up with one of the women from my class at Dilmer and visit a museum or two. Sezgin, a Fullbright scholar from Turkey who taught at UR last year will come to Istanbul this weekend as well. If the weather is sunny and warm, we might catch a bus up to the Black Sea coastal towns of Sile or Avga to relax.

I’ve finally bought tickets for my trip down to visit Tugce at her home in Aydin! Next Friday I’m grabbing the 10:30pm bus from Uskudar for the 12hr ride down south to the warmth of the Aegean! I hope that the Varan office didn’t charge me a second time for my ticket—I had to give them my credit card and sign a receipt—because that will make for a very awkward and difficult situation to work myself out from.

23:56

I wish that it were easier to tame my faults and bad habits. Wishing doesn’t lead to success, action does. The target is to become an agent of change from within, not in response to another’s example, but because I feel it is right and healthy and good for me.

06/11/06

I love the feeling of the sun, warming my legs, as I recline looking out over the Bosphorus. There is such a feeling to peace in observation, whereas when you fall from the loft and are thrown into the city’s bustle, the feeling is more competitive: it’s madness, men and women groping in the dark. There’s no sense of personal space—sometimes a wonderful thing, at others, it becomes an annoyance.

Yesterday I did manage to meet up with Sezgin, however, we did not end up going to the Black Sea as I had hoped. He and I met up in Mecidieykoy and took a bus all the way down to Bakirkoy, down by the Maramara. The town was great to see—there was nothing of unique cultural/historical value, however, it was fun to stroll along the waterfront and chit chat with Sezgin.

I was supposed to meet several women from my Dilmer class today to go to the Prince’s Islands. They’re very nice women, but I had little desire to wake up early to meet them out at Eminonu. That trip alone would’ve taken an hour! The Prince’s Islands are well known for the fact that there are no cars on the islands. They’re very quiet, relaxed, etc, etc. I’d imagine that’d be a great day trip if you’re looking to relax, with a lover, away from the city. I suppose I still have some trouble seeing sites/museums with others. You want to do your own thing, but what then would be the purpose of getting together with someone at all if you were to walk through and experience something separately? There’s no togetherness in walking several meters apart from one another, in parallel. That’s similar experience, not a shared experience. Those are the times when, my preference is for less space between people, not more.

Tomorrow: morning classes then, more boredom while I sit and surf the internet at ARI. This internship is not turning into the experience I had anticipated. Worse still, I’ve become lazy: because I’m not doing work, and I’ve gotten so used to doing my own thing, I fell almost no motivation to work on this darned research/position paper. A genuine part of me could be happy just ditching the office and sightseeing for the remainder of the summer. Then, I recall my internet access there, and my classes at Dilmer, oh and of course my grant. It’s not my fault if there is nothing for me to do, is it? I’m just trying my best to make it worthwhile however I can—travel and language courses. All I can try to do is take one day at a time, make the most of them individually, and then look back knowing that this trip was worth it. It’s difficult to feel idle…

20:54

I always look forward to calls from my parents so much. Sometimes, I feel as if those phone calls are one of the things that help to link me back to life back in the US—are those calls a crutch? Would my experience be more genuine if I were alone and without contact back home? Perhaps, but I don’t want to become detached. There was once a time during this past spring semester where I wanted nothing more than to disconnect from my home, family, and friends; I wanted to completely jettison my life and start again. Here, I have my first opportunity to do precisely that and I am unwilling. I think, when I look back upon the experiences gleaned from this trip, I will appreciate the time spent living in another country. I will be happier, though, from the simple fact that my distance from home has motivated me to realize how dearly I miss home, and I much I took my family for granted during the last 6 months.

This Wednesday will be my four week anniversary: 3 weeks and 6 days until my departure; 12 more work days; 7 more days of class at Dilmer…the halfway point. So much has changed since I was here. That night my first weekend here where I was alone, frightened, and feeling overwhelmed rests in the back of my mind like a distant memory. Cheers to the road ahead!

Word by Word

2006-06-08T15:12:00.000+03:00

06/06/06 21:48

I can’t believe that I’m feeling exhausted already and it’s just before 10pm. Is this what my parents feel everyday after work? I mean, if my mother didn’t go to work at O’Dark 30 every morning I’m sure our work hours would begin to coincide a bit more closely. Then, perhaps, I could be in a better position to compare the two of us.

Today I was handed my first real assignment at work. I was asked to proofread an English text that had been “mot a mot” translated from a Turkish one. “No big deal,” I thought as I opened up the document, that was until I read the first lines of text: “General elections on November 3, 2002 have ended up with the liquidation of settled political parties, their leaders and their staff. Voters reacting against the former understanding have brought today’s party in power, which is alleging…

It goes on…and well, you can imagine I had fun with that one! I never actually finished the proofreading. Perhaps I spend too much time rewriting, and not enough time just pointing out the mistakes. Truth be told, the English syntax, diction, everything was completely unpublishable. There I was trying to rewrite the damned thing without really understanding what was being said. I approached that line where I wasn’t editing the existing paper, I was altering it to become my own. That was not my task. I’m not looking forward to my office time tomorrow and explaining my revisions. I only have a page and a half left, so, that’ll take me around 45min to 1hr and after that the document will be behind me. Ouf! I am not criticizing the authors or translators of this article. There is no way in hell that I could pull off a translation. All I’m venting about was the job to give structure to a word by word translation that, accordingly, was difficult to follow.

What now? Reading, I suppose. I’ve torn through two books already since the summer began. Anyone have any recommendations?

Somebody's got a case of the Mondays

2006-06-05T15:59:00.000+03:00

06/05/06 16:08

Well, not really that badly. Still, I'm feeling very unenergetic at the office today. Do you think this is developing into a trend, or is it just a normal part of the adjustment period still? You know, I don't imagine that I will have finished adjusting by the time I leave this country. There's so much for me to learn and not enough time in which to do it.

Tonight's plans? Well, provided that I can grab the 6:05pm ferry out of Besiktas, I'm going to hit the local grocer and buy some fruit, bread, and--argh--more tomatoes, maybe some other vegetables too...peppers! Mmm...and maybe some kofte or sosis, who can be sure? Some more Efes (beer) and perhaps a cheap bottle of local wine--I do need some variety in my diet. My meals consist of three things: proteins (eggs, meat occasionally, cheese, yogurt), starches/carbs (pasta, rice, ekemek/simits), fats (olive oil), and Tomatoes. Yes, I consider them a part of their own food group now. Tomatoes are the ubiquitous food; I eat them regardless of the time of day, or the meal: certainly with pasta, with eggs? WHY NOT!? :0)

Sunday I spent the majority of the day in the house--I'm lazy when I have a good book to read. So, I decided to try and make cookies. I had in mind a great batch of cinnamon sugar cookies. Isn't your mouth watering already? Well, I succeeded without burning the house down and there is certainly something notable in that statement. However, my cookies were more like pancakes, only baked. I was about to throw them out, but, I found some orange marmalade in the fridge and it makes for a nice addition to breakfast. Jam: another item to add to my extensive grocery list. I'd better get this all written down before I forget. Oh, anyone have any good recipes for cookies which they'd like to share? I'm going to try and bake some more ;0).

My weekend in review

2006-06-05T15:44:00.000+03:00

06/01/06 18:25

Sitting at the Iskele, 30 minutes in advance of the next vapur for the simple reason that traffic in this city is intolerable. 40 minutes to travel a distance which, if I was not burdened by my laptop—the wonderful piece of technology that permits me to write wherever I choose—I would be able to run in well under that time. Never trust the tourist books: Lonely Planet is not an authoritative guide to life in a foreign country. Nor, I might add, do I desire to make the highlights of my trip shopping excursions or venerate my favorite restaurant. The best way to experience a place like this, and take away memories that are unforgettable, is to share the experience with another person. “Take only photographs and leave only footprints,”: a good motto, but what does it matter if there is no one to share the memories with when perusing the photos years later? I wonder, sometimes, what is the benefit in producing my camera for the “perfect” shot. When I am with others, the pictures are not for me; I believe they are for the group. Taking pictures brings me pleasure, saving and storing them does not—pictures are for others to enjoy and critique, I’m just the photographer.

After having missed the first ferry, knowing that there is no alternative to wait for the next, I am permitted to enjoy one of my new pastimes: that is, watching others scurry across the marble floor of the iskele, like rats on a sinking ship, desperately hoping that they’ll make their ferry. I know that’s cynical and perhaps even competitive of me to think so. Nevertheless, I enjoy retaining an attitude free of unnecessary stressors. Who cares if I miss my boat, there is another one to catch in a little while. I can’t help feel pity—and empathy--for the people who allow stressors like time to make mincemeat of their lives. There was a time when it used to define my actions; it confined them within finite space and restricted me. I'm happy that this is becoming less the case.

Writing, like reading, helps to pass the time. I can stand back from what I’m doing and say that the experience is an active one: creating my own space with my own words rather than following the linearity of others’ works. I’m not a good writer, I am just being honest, and laying down in words what comes to mind. “Never write as you speak,” teachers preach to the masses. If being a good writer requires that I develop my own voice, then why can’t I capitalize with the tools nascently at my disposal: I already make damn fine use of my voice, I’ll just polish it up a smidge here and use a few larger, more impressive, didactic words like imbibe. Yeah, imbibe is a superb word, a super-word if I might be so bold. Now I’m being REALLY dumb :0)!

Can you tell it’s the boredom really settling in? It’s like a dog, shaping its space by scraping into the bed with its paws, fluffing the pillow, then chasing: head after tail, to find the absolute perfect arrangement and direction……

I’ve lost my words on this computer due to haste. They were perfect and now, beyond my ability to recover. WHY!? Damn, I hate when something so stupid as one poorly placed keystroke can ruin my train of thought. This is supposed to be a technology to enable the mind, not rob it of its achievement.

On the ferry: the sun sets into the West, beyond the stern of the ship. The tea is warm, and strong, and sweet. Maybe here I can find the words I lost. I can scribe until, like Chris, my fingers bleed from the unnatural stress, but I can never recover perfectly thoughts such as these when they’re lost. They are born in a moment. They are as much a part of my soul as the time and place that serve as the midwife of my pregnancy of thought.

So, what was I going to say before about dogs and their dreams? Something about minds moving paws in dreams, fantasies of passion, of gluttony and greed, of successes and never failure, happiness and never melancholy

…..from which there need not be a call to arms, no motivation to stir the body from its repose. Rest, more beautiful, more real—seductive—awaits and waking and hopeful eyes; never will there be competitor. No, my friend, you did not win the battle. There will be no victory marches playing your tune to the sea of humanity that isn’t going to fall to your feet in veneration. There will be no long strolls under the dappled sunlight of well hewn and tended avenues.

You are alone. The dream, the fantasy, they are your’s alone. Your tune is played on an empty stage to the vacant audience whose applause echoes back to your ears in pure, glorious, silence. Silence so whole, rounded, full and shaped with expression that if it were sound its melody would never be forgotten. But, wait: there is perfection to be found here. You just drew the empty, soulless kind because your desire to sustain the dream was at the expense of reality. You could not write symphonies to fill gilded halls. Your perfection is the antonym: perfection in the silence, the absurd and deafening silence.

So, go ahead, wag your tail. Let your tongue loll from your mouth, slightly agape, believing what you want to believe: believing that you’re living. For you, it is a belief that feels so right, so true, that you blur the lines, and for you, it is truth.

Never permit the waking mind to rule the sleeping; there is only Truth and sadness in that truth, to be found after dissolution of mind’s misperceptions.

You will never taste “the fecundity of the unexpected” because you refuse to accept Life and its inherent imperfections. True and false exist outside of your dream. But, wag your tale, I insist.

Hehe…someone’s walking a dog on the ferry! HA! The irony! I love dogs.

06/02/06

And now for something completely different…

Today I really enjoyed unleashing the inner tourist locked within! I spent, ooo, a solid three hours wandering through a museum devoted to the history—ancient history—of regional architecture: The Istanbul Architecture Museum. Normally, museums aren’t my scene. While they can, at their best, be educational while pleasurable, they often are just dead venues to poorly articulate history through icons and tokens: the physical remains of the past; its waste that never became lost to time. Not so with this place: there were a lot of really nifty carvings and sarcophagi and oooh! THE WORLD’S FIRST PEACE TREATY! Hehe…it certainly didn’t last forever as its parties intended. :0) I also took in the Basilica Cistern. It was a tourist trap, there can be no doubt about that. Nevertheless, in spite of just being the inside of an ancient, subterranean, city reservoir it was an ancient subterranean reservoir!! It even had little fishies swimming around under the water--plenty to keep the little boy in me amused for a solid 45 minutes. I’m still focused upon hitting up Dolmabace Palace and the Naval Museum this weekend. Both reside adjacent to one another in Besiktas and I probably should have seen them today because of the convenience of the Ferry but it won’t be any big deal. Today, I also took my first trip on the tramway to Sultanahmet. It was much faster than my last excursion there by bus had been; it’s unfortunate that Lonely Planet wasn’t revised soon enough to put it into print.

I criticized Lonely Planet in my last post, but I must admit its advice is generally solid. I think that they’re designing a text for someone with deeper pockets than mine, but nevertheless, I enjoy their recommendations. It’s really too bad that neither my host, nor my coworkers know the older areas of the city particularly well. I’m happy to be left to figure things out on my own, but, I would enjoy an authority at my disposal other than a book.

Not much to say tonight. Nothing deep or profound other than I am a wee fatigued and I plan to sleep in tomorrow, see a few sites, and study a good amount of Turkish! We started verb conjugations today and while it’s nowhere near as complicated as French was to learn, it’s still and ambitious—but entirely necessary—task to learn a whole new set of verbs/vocab. But, that’s what I’m paying them for! :0)

Oh, for lunch today I popped into a small kebapisci in Sultanahmet. It was the sort of place that offers no menu, bringing your food to your table before you ask because everyone order the same thing: kofte and peyaz (a white bean based salad). So, a 13 member French tourist party barges into the place! None of them speak Turkish, and only one spoke English well enough to converse with the savvy waiters. I was tempted to step in, give them a hand with my partial tri-lingual abilities; you know, in the interests of American-Franco foreign relations on a local level. But, I decided against it: I wanted to see the comedy unfold. :0) Goodness, my true colors are showing. Yes, from time to time, I enjoy having fun at the expense of others—never to the point where someone is hurt, and, only if they’re strangers. Sometimes, it’s just a lot of fun to watch the oddities of the world as it stumbles clumsily on through life.

06/03/06 19:28

Today I found my own interests to be precisely contrary to Lonely Planet’s: I spent 3 hours at the Turkish Naval Museum down in Besiktas and loved it; even more so than the architecture museum. I lingered over just about everything from the replications of an officer’s room on ship, to the scale models of period and current warships—ok, so the historical uniforms section really was a drag; I’m not a fan of life-sized wax figures modeling like mannequins…its really creepy actually. One of the mannequins’ faces had sunk down on its body as if it had melted or deflated! Oh well, hurrah for Turkish museums nevertheless! They had one section entirely devoted to the Imperial ships that ferried sultans to and fro across the Bosphorous. They were enormous! I don’t believe that a single one was under 10-15m in length. I didn’t make it to Dolmabace today, I suppose I’ll try to hit that one tomorrow morning and then the Military Museum in Taksim. Well, maybe not if I’m going out tomorrow with my host. We’ll see as these things come together in time.

I really would like to take a ferry out to Kiz Kulesi, or up to the Black Sea, or the Prince’s Islands. I know that if I would do that alone I’d only get fed up and depressed; they’re activities really meant to be enjoyed with a friend/significant other. I see enough men and women walking down the street, arm in arm, as it is already; I don’t have a deeply rooted desire to see more of that if it can be avoided.

Two Weeks down, Six to go!

2006-05-31T14:21:00.000+03:00

My goodness, it's difficult to believe that only 6 weeks remain of my internship here in Istanbul. It feels as if I've just arrived. Everyday I discover something new and wonderful about this city--or perhaps mylelf as i swim through the current.

This morning was wonderful. I arrived at the ferry port in Anadolu Hisari with time to spare. I managed to grab a bench on the port side of the ferry and spent 10 glorious minutes in beautiful silence; nothing to hear but the purring engine and the waves lapping against the hull. The Bosphorus has been teeming with jellyfish during the two weeks I've been here--I hope to never fall in!

My second day of Turkish class went well today. Four hours of class lecture manages to pass incredibly quickly--much more so than an hour and a half of lecture at U of R seems.

I'm now at the office and I expect this to be the dullest afternoon yet. None of my usual supervisors are in: two are in the US, two in Ankara, one in Cyprus. I suppose then the only reasonable option is to complete my Turkish homework and begin to recopy my notes into a more legible, digital form.

at the edge of the universe...

2006-05-31T14:20:00.000+03:00

05/30/06 22:45

Tonight a group of folks from my office met together at a café/bar in Tunel for a goodbye party in honor the two Germans who have been working with ARI for the past few months. They are the two, very friendly, gentlemen who oriented me on my first full day in Istanbul. They literally led me by the hand to purchase my Akbil. They even worked to find the proper bus for me to ride to and from work. Without their help, their generosity, and their patience in speaking English with me, I would’ve had a much more difficult time navigating the city on my weekend in Istanbul. I have no doubt that their assistance kept me out of trouble that, being a non Turkish speaker, may have been inevitable. Soon they will be gone. I am surprised, frankly, that I feel such a strong attachment to both of them regardless of the fact that I knew them for less than two weeks. They are among the many who have made this experience possible. Again, I must wonder, how my stay here would play out differently were it not for the help of others.

We are never alone. We are social by nature; clinging onto those who have traversed the difficulties before us because we believe that their example may help to reveal our own paths. All those who have supported me locally arrived in Istanbul for different reasons. I seek not to follow, but instead to glean from their experiences both their successes and their failures, not so that I may have a calm journey—such a thing is, in my mind, impossible—but so that I may ride through on my own odyssey, surmounting my own failures and relishing in the sweet few moments of success. Seeking to repeat the journey of another man before me is not only unwise, it is, at its most basic level, a futile means to search for an easy way out, a paved trail. There is no such item to be found where my experience is considered. I smile, enjoying the truth that no one from my university has come before and done these things I do. Many have come to Istanbul, that can be sure. No one, however, has come before and can share with me an experience of a similar color. This is my opportunity, for only the briefest moment in time, carve a niche for myself and declare my uniqueness to the world: “I AM A BEAUTIFUL SNOWFLAKE!”

That being said, I realize now more than ever how important it will be for me in the future to possess a working proficiency in more languages than English and French. Experience in Turkey will show that English is, undoubtedly, THE language of international politics. It is as essential and basic a tool as one can imagine. Tonight, during the party, before anyone else arrived I found myself in the midst of a conversation to which I had nothing to contribute because, simply enough, I cannot speak a word of German. It’s not my fault, I do not blame myself; I’m only 19 years old and my experience in the world has been limited. Nevertheless, it is disappointing to realize that the only limitation in communication is not a willingness to contribute or a lack of intelligence, it’s merely state of being ill-equipped—possessing the wrong tools for the job. It’s almost as if you bring a Phillips screwdriver and all the screws are flatheads. Language is nothing more than a tool in the service of communication. I feel unfortunate to have grown up in a society where learning only one language beside the mother-tongue is the norm.

Disregard the fact that English is rapidly become a universal element of conversation. If we Americans wish to bolster our image abroad, we must take an interest in learning the languages of our foreign brothers and sisters. We must demonstrate humility and respect; the symbolism in learning the language of another, even while your’s is common amongst many, is unshakable. From a self-interest standpoint alone there is intrinsic value in learning the languages of others: the United States is not destined to ride the peak of civilization’s wave forever. We have enjoyed a period of extreme importance during the last century. It is a real possibility that we may either slip off the crest, falling behind the trends. It is equally possible that wave carries us to such greatness where, when we reach climax—the pinnacle of our greatness—our fall is not only inevitable, it will be rapid, their will be no opportunity to alter our ways, it will devastate our culture, and it is sure to be irreversible: Egypt, Greece, Rome, the Ottomans, Persians, French, British, Portugese, Japanese tasted the peak of civilization and power on an immense scale.

American influence is global. Never before has any one state wielded such real power over so many. When we fall there we will know true devastation. Our dénouement will open a vacuum for another, currently emerging world power, to fill. Learning foreign languages may be seen as a preparation for this scenario. While this is a very abysmal thought to discuss, it is a germane reason to learn about the rest of the world—its basis in self interest makes it no less valid.

There: that was my rant for the night.

First day of classes!

2006-05-30T15:06:00.000+03:00

Today is officially my first day of Turkish lectures at Dilmer. My day, without a doubt, has been 100% better than yesterday. The lesson lasted for a little longer than I expected--approximately 3hrs--but it was well worth it. I have a wealth of material to review this evening before class tomorrow. I am certain that waking up at 6:20 every morning may begin to wear me thin, but I am happy to be doing something very productive!

Today I had lunch at my host's restaurant, and I swear it was one of the best places I have ever been! I had ground lamb formed into little kofte and wrapped with swiss charr...mmm... and a cappucino to finish it off.

I feel like such the slacker: with class in the morning, followed by lunch, I arrive at the office with 4hrs left to the day. I must get back to work! Have a lovely day, all.

mmm...fish

2006-05-30T14:54:00.000+03:00

05/27/06 20:00

I must say, I had a very enjoyable day downtown in Istanbul this afternoon. I got a late start: arrived in Taksim to begin my weekend around noon or so. Dilmer, my language school, needs 4 photos of me for my registration, so I found a photo studio downtown off Istiklal Cad. where I got it done for cheap. I meandered down Istiklal for a little while until I ran into Galata Tower. I don’t recall what its historical significance was, but from the top, you get a hell of a nice view of the city of Istanbul. From there, I wandered back up the hill on Istiklal, back towards Taksim. I then met my Core professor, Dr. Saal, in a café along the side of the road. She and I chatted for 45 minutes or so: what had we each been up to, I asked about her sabbatical, she certainly was going to miss it upon her return to Richmond. She was nice enough to clue me into the theatre festival happening downtown this summer. I’m going to try and make it to a show at 18:30 tomorrow night. Upon Dr. Saal’s suggestion, I trekked down to the water where I found a few small restaurants, hidden in the shade the trees beyond the fish market, all selling grilled sea bass. Having never eaten a whole grilled fish before it was a slightly unnerving experience—made me miss how with kofte you don’t even imagine that the meat was ever attached to an animal. I’m a little disappointed, however. In Eminonu, you can grab a fish sandwich for 2 Lira as opposed to the 14 I paid for my whole sea bass, salad, and a coke. I am really trying to be frugal with my food purchases but I never manage to do so!

Dr. Saal has spent a good amount of time in Istanbul, although her current visit is only for ten days. I was surprised, however, when she appeared unfamiliar with the Metro (Taksim-Levent) I later learned that she has never used it, nor really gone further North than Taksim. For her, the limited scope of most Istanbul maps suits her needs perfectly. Nevertheless, I could never say that she has a narrower view of the city than I: she knows where she lives, as do I. She spends the majority of her time in besiktas, taksim, along istiklal, and in all the older parts of the city because she has been living down there. I love my gorgeous view of the Bosphorus and the relative peace and quiet that is available out here in Anadolu Hisari. Nevertheless, I wonder how my experience would change were I living in the heart of humanity, down in a cramped flat in the old city. The commute certainly would not be as much of a chore!

I was asked by Dr. Saal if I was homesick at all. The quirky thing is that I’ve not felt homesick for a week. That first weekend was really a bear to handle on my own. I learned my strengths and overcame some of the barriers that, had my host Niso been around, I may not have surmounted. I am feeling progressively more at home here in Turkey. And, thankfully, I have mastered the art of crossing the streets during heavy traffic! Turkish drivers, I’ve experienced, are far more observant of the roads than Americans and that is how they are able to drive recklessly and only inches apart from one another… or perhaps they are just more reckless, it’s not as if I conducted a statistical survey! :0)

23:03

We all maintain our own share of regrets; I am certainly not lacking mine. Sometimes, the outcomes I envision do not follow practically from the decisions I enact. Curse my faulty, poor judgment for its failings. I always want what is ‘best’ but often I lose sight of the end game. When I am weakened--becoming the slave to my emotions--my temperament, not my good sense, guides my decisions. This is the product of the passions, not of the clear-headed.

Poor choices can never be unmade. All that can be done is to remain aware when anger, joy, fear, lust, or jealousy cloud my thoughts so I can disconnect hand from brain and choose not to act on impulse.

05/29/06 21:38

It has been too long since I last updated this. I have so much that I would care to write about but subjects come and go throughout my day when I am not able to write them down.

Everywhere I travel around the city I see couples holding hands, kissing on the decks of ferries, anywhere really where they can steal a moment away from the world and focus themselves entirely within the company of each other. I’m not bothered by it. No, the air pollution and the cigarette smokers; they bother me. I look at these couples and wonder: how much longer will they last? One day? One year? When I pass them by I hear conversation without understanding it. I see body language, however, and need know no more. I see the couple sitting on the bench, late into the night, the guy slumped and gesturing with his hand. Or, the guy with the shopping bags trailing behind, in tow, his woman as she cries out demands of him. We have these back home ;0). Speaking of back home, they have honest to goodness Preps here too! I ran into one at the bus stop this morning…ouf…this morning was terrible. Two busses drove right on past me without stopping at the bus stop. Finally I managed to leap onto the third that passed, although, only after sprinting up to the door while it was in motion, grabbing hold on the hand bars inside the doorway just as the driver reluctantly stopped. My legs and torso slid under the bus momentarily until I threw myself up and into the midst of a lecture from the driver. I hate busses here. Especially the assholes who drive some of them and can’t make the effort to notice the kid waving his arm into the street…hmm I wonder what that signal MIGHT mean!? So, here’s a joke: A prostitute has two children: a police officer and a bus driver. What do they have in common?...Each is a son of a bitch! Harhar! ;0)

23:30

I should go run tomorrow morning, but since I decided to watch a movie, my sleep will be sacrificed. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever make regular exercise a part of my life. This lifestyle in Turkey certainly is not conducive to running. I wish...

Last night's musings

2006-05-25T17:11:00.000+03:00

05/24/06 20:05

Tonight I’m stuck in that space where I don’t quite know what to do with myself. It’s that bit of time, between dinner and sleep, with nothing to really occupy myself. If I had friends here, I call them up and enjoy their company. That has to be what I miss the most: a friend to call. I’m playing quite the hypocrite: at school I grow tired of the unending contact. While here, I can manage to live in a city of 18 million people and yet feel utterly alone. This has to be why my office keeps me sane, for without it, I would surely spiral into deepening loneliness and depression. Why can’t I ever be happy with either extreme, the loneliness or the friendship? I want to add how this discussion does not pertain to my experience here in Turkey. It does not discuss any of the positive aspects of my time here. Nevertheless it is a personal obstacle unavoidable, and intrinsic within my attempt to adjust to life here. I’m neither happy nor sad, simply null. But I am relaxed, and that’s an accomplishment for a person like me, typically wound up like a rubber band ball of stress.

I’ll treat myself this Friday to a slice of American culture in the gateway to Asia: The Da Vinci Code, or some other block-buster American film. I know, I should be seeing the sites and working as fervently as possible to immerse myself within Turkish culture. I’m merely dipping my toe into the pool and testing the water step by chilly step until my life back home fades into memory as Levent, across the Bosphorus, fades into the evening haze.

One week ago, today, my jaw gaped open in awe of the fact that I was finally back in Turkey. While like enjoy this country and am thankful that so many people made my return possible, it is not the home that I recall. My time remaining here is fleeting. Seven weeks from today and I’ll be flying over Europe, returning home with nothing but pictures, gifts, memories, and perhaps an additional kilo or two to my gut. I am trying desperately not to recall what those seven weeks contained last year. I can’t help myself: my mind regurgitates the memories and I have no means to stop other than just letting them pass. For an individual accustomed to change, who relishes the opportunity for new experiences, I’m having a difficult time locking into this one. This writing helps. When I collect my thoughts and jot them down it feels as if they leave and no longer remain my own.

My mind and my typist’s fingers run adrift. I want to run too, but with nowhere safe to do so I feel quite restricted and stifled.

21:33

Big personal success to report: I learned, on my own, how to use a washing machine in Turkey! Now, you might not think this a big achievement but I challenge you who think me overdramatic to use this machine; not even my host knows how to work it, his cleaning lady does his laundry for him. I win!! :0)

How do you measure a year? In cups of coffee...

2006-05-25T16:44:00.000+03:00

I´m already onto my 3rd cup of Turkish coffee for the afternoon and I can feel the caffine surging through me...mmm. The greatest difference between this office and my pervious jobs back in the States: they feed me. I mean, after lunch, the chocolate, teas, coffees, cake never stop flowing. I swear it´s got to be the best way to keep your employees happy: keep them well fed. If this keeps up for much longer I'm going to kiss my healthy, normal, median weight goodbye!

Huzzah! My laptop works again! No more odd keyboard configurations!

Wednesday morning: my one week anniversary!

2006-05-24T10:15:00.000+03:00

05/23/06 22:37

Should I complain that ARI doesn’t have a great deal for me to do at present? I am enjoying the work environment: the people are delightful and the city, well that goes without saying. Nevertheless, I recall my comments last summer: work was mind numbing; I longed for something meaningful to accomplish. Photocopying documents can only maintain my interest for so long. Last summer, I was not motivated by the “opportunities” afforded by my location—I felt as if my intelligence and creativity were being poorly used. Granted, I was and continue to work as an intern. As such an employee I cannot ever expect to be delegated tasks of crucial importance.

I hold fast to two ideas: first, that I will actually be able to produce a well researched, concise, and germane research paper for ARI’s Fall, 2006 publication. Secondly, I hope that in the process of doing so I become well traveled around Turkey and I pick up a basic proficiency with the language. These two are issues that ARI will not solve for me. If I focus on these, the purpose of my trip here to Istanbul is not so much the internship, but what I can make out of my time in this location. My success or failure to accomplish either of these two will serve as a direct reflection of the tenacity of my own initiative to accomplish personal objectives. My host is correct in this regard: I will only find work for myself if I push for it. This, here, is the difficult aspect, historically contrary to everything that “summer” has meant to me in the past: why would/should I stick my neck out into the cold unknown to find work? If ARI has work they need accomplished, they know where to find me to delegate the task. Frankly the tasks they assign, such as scheduling meetings with Dept of State officials, would be best handled by the individuals who will be traveling to Washington. I don’t believe that ARI has done as complete a job as I should have to indoctrinate me with its works and philosophies…not just “Youth is the Key,” but specifics. Perhaps, more of the responsibility to elucidate all of this information rests more heavily upon my shoulders than theirs’?

I’m becoming mature. Goodness, I thought this would never happen. I can’t resist the change anymore than I can swim in the Bosphorus: both are counter productive to my life, one in a very, very tangible way. Speaking of swimming, my host’s landlady has a pool that I am able to use. I think that a daily swim will more that suffice for the problems I’ve encountered trying to find a place to run. All I need to learn, now, is how to properly swim. Hemm. But that has nothing to do with Turkey.

I took the Ferry/Boat—whatever they want me to call it—from Besiktas to Anadolu Hisari successfully today. I managed to snap a few (90) pictures in the process, some of them even of decent quality. I’m looking forward to Messenger submissions this fall; I should have some good material to provide. In a small part, I wish that some of my time here were devoted in a structured fashion to improving my photography. Every photo I take teaches me something new about my technique. I a missing, however, the constructive criticisms of informed colleagues/instructors—another reason why I am looking forward to my return and am willing to hightail it back to Richmond in July to intern with that guy at Style Weekly: whatever I can get from that will be invaluable.

I wonder if anyone is actually reading this blog. Is anyone reading it now? If you are, please do take a moment and leave a comment; I appreciate hearing from my friends and family. While this trip is an opportunity to “run away,” in a sense from life back home, I still cherish that connection.

Oh the places you'll go...

2006-05-23T12:29:00.000+03:00

05/22/06 21:11

Finally, I was able to check my email at the office. I never gave thought to the fact that I have become quite reliant upon the constant, instantaneous contact which email affords. I hope, sincerely, never to use Instant Messenger while I am here—although I won’t likely have the chance to do so; it would detract from my experience.

I had a nice talk with Ozgur today regarding upcoming work in the office. As expected, there is the significant task of helping to manage the conference that is coming up at the end of next month. Considering my work for ARI, there is nothing more important on the horizon. In the near future, however, Ozgur wants me to generate a paper topic to write for the Fall edition of Turkish Policy Quarterly. This is a big deal to me because I have never been a published author before. Granted, there is no certainty that I will be published; the opportunity is all I ask for. Further to meet that end, Ozgur has offered to arrange guides, should I desire, to accompany on my travels throughout the country. Our first potential location: Trabzon, Lake Van, and points east. I’ve never been farther east than Samsun; it would be quite the experience! I must check with the parents or the Consulate here in Istanbul to make sure it would be safe at this time. Security out in that region has been tenuous in the past and may be still.

For once I am without much to say. Nothing is bothering me particularly. For once I feel tired like I should at close to 9:30pm.

Turkish classes begin one week from today. Those will undoubtedly come in hand when I begin to travel outside of the city. Goodness, it’s difficult for me to imagine a world outside of this place. There’s home, so far from here that it has become nearly intangible. I have hardly begun to scratch through Istanbul’s surface, through its age and complexities. I imagine that, without a guide, going on excursions outside of the city would be unnerving at this point.

I’m beginning to develop a comfort zone. Does someone have a pin? Come, pop my bubble and seduce me further with the lure of the unknown.

Catch Up

2006-05-22T12:25:00.000+03:00

What follows are my attempts to maintain a journal while without internet at my host's home in Anadolu Hisari. He has been out of the country since Thursday and will not return until late tonight. My adjustment to life here has been difficult to say the least. My unfamiliarity of Istanbul is exacerbated further by my lack of Turkish language knowledge--that, however, will be addressed when I enroll in a local private language school one week from today.

All my comments are unedited. Dr. Essid, please excuse instances where poor spelling and grammar invade my writing ;0). I don't believe I used too many offensive or slang words, so, no need to worry about that.

I will say, regardless of the tone of some of my entries, I am entirely happy to be living here. This is a period of grand transitions. As such, it is inevitible that there will be highs, as well as some very depressing lows. I have certainly come to know both extremes of the spectrum.

With ALL of that in mind, welcome! :0)

05/16/06 16:58

Two hours in advance and I’m waiting at gate B41 for my plane. I’m amazed that, until 30 minutes ago, I wasn’t tendering any feeling nervous feelings. No fear of the trip, no apprehensions of the unknowns. Perhaps I’ve not really come to terms with the fact that I will actually be away from home for two months. In fact, that usual twist in the gut that arrives at the onset of any new situation—par for the course in my life—is absent. When I hugged my father and brother goodbye, I felt the butterflies flutter. No moment where thought was arrested, choked up with tears.

How much has Turkey changed? Will I recognize her? My father reiterates the obvious fact: both she and I have grown. Ankara and Istanbul both shelter more people than when we parted in the summer of 2000. Dr. Grove mentioned to me that every time she returns to Ankara, change has altered her familiar past. I am certain that, when I go to Ankara to visit Baris, I will be shocked by the change. Having traveled to Istanbul only twice—one only to change planes briefly at the airport—what should I expect? It certainly won’t be the same as in photographs. I should know, photography is a deceptive art by nature.

Regardless of that uncertainty, nothing can diminish my excitement.

Three years ago I traveled to Nice for several weeks. I flew Air France along the way, stopping in Charles de Gaulle to change planes. It will be wonderful to stop in the country again, if only for an hour and a half, and be able to say, “I was in France.”

This is the easy leg of the journey. All I am required to do—provided the sky doesn’t fall—is sit on my ass for 9 hours to Paris and yet another 4 hours to Istanbul. This segment is on autopilot; I love it this way. For the first moment this summer, my mind is free. A moment for meditation and reflection? No, not for me. I relish the moments I spend alone. My intial reactions to University life ring in my mind: I’ve grown tired of the constant social interaction and I need a respite. I love my friends. I need time for myself. The space between Washington and Istanbul, and the time needed to surmount that distance, will be my solace, my comforter for the next 12 hours.

The next time I pass through Dulles I will be a changed man.

05/18/06 23:47

More than one full day in Turkey thus far, what I have I learned? My father was correct: Istanbul is enormous, polluted, busy, filled to the brink of its capacity; the water churns with such intensity. This place is alive! The clamor of traffic and people, both seeking their own scrap of earth, shoving one another too and fro in the milieu. The traffic across Fatih Sultan Mehmet Bridge can only attest to this perpetual state of competition. Imagine the traffic on one of our major interstate highways in Virginia—they can certainly become crowded…they’re not similar in the remotest way. I love it here.

However, my praises are not without their reservations. Every feeling of excitement generated by my alien relationship with this city is countered by an equal feeling of apprehension. I am here. And even though I am well taken care of by my host and my coworkers, I am alone. I am an American. I am the minority. I am an pale face floating with the current of humanity whose flow is directed by the physical and social infrastructure developed long before I arrived. I feel helpless in such an immense, foreign place.

Today, I was beat over my head by such feelings. I’m optimistic that all of the pitfalls I have encountered—all relatively minor, I must admit—are disappointing. First, the ARI employees who I was in contact with to arrange this internship are out of the office until Monday; I coincidentally arrived in Istanbul on National Youth and Sports Day and missed the Turkish soccer finals :0(. When I arrived in the office this morning, I was relieved to have found the correct building. I ascended into the stairs, yet, they seemed quite dark. I my hear quickened as I climbed and the lights dimmed to pitch darkness. I feared the worst: “was I going to slip and fall, and break something? Had I even come to the right building?” After knocking blindly on the walls until I hit the wood of a door, I was instructed by a very friendly Turkish resident, that the lights were on a timer…hehe.

Work today was very light with only a few small assignments to complete. That’s likely a product of the approaching holiday. The men and women who make up ARI are a very friendly, warm bunch. The only criticism I have to tender is directed at myself: my dearth of Turkish language experience is a crippling disadvantage. I am able to communicate well enough with all I need to. However, I might dump these feeling of guilt I’m harboring if I managed to enroll in a class—plus, then I could flirt with the cute secretary and the girl at the ekmek counter at the grocer’s ;0). There are a few schools around: Dilmer and Tomer, to name a few. They are both private, and a little pricey: Dilmer is 280 Euros for 72 hrs of instruction over a four week course. The courses themselves don’t start up until the end of the month, so I have time to bone up on my vocab.

My summer is going to be an adventure. If there is not other indication of that, it shall certainly be portrayed by my experience with Istanbul’s public transportation system. The infrastructure in Istanbul is extensive; you can get wherever you want to go using taksis, buses, numerous railways/subways, dolmus, and ferries, or a combination of them. Today, for example, my host was adamant that I take taxis to and from the office. My coworkers were just as adamant that I stay away from them: taxis are infinitely more expensive than public transit. Although, my journey home from Mecdiekoy to Kormez did not deliver me directly to Anadolu Hisari, and the whole trip, minus a few wrong turns took over an hour, it was worth it! I felt a genuine feeling of physical immersion with these people.

When I began writing this evening, I felt lonely. I missed my family, my friends, and least of all, the familiar. I still miss all of that. However, writing this helps me put my experience into a useful perspective: I am having fun, trying new things, getting lost, being misunderstood. Above all, I am challenged. I have an internship that will provide a steady workload as assignments pickup and I am completely locked outside of my comfort zone. You remember? That cushy place that never let me to grow, and kept me from getting my IB diploma? I’m realizing now that maturity is only beginning to arrive. I can smell it, almost taste it. Its crouches in the distance, shrouded only by morning haze. Oh, I should mention that one of my coworkers, a German, is going to be leaving in less than a month. He rents a cheap, clean, safe, furnished flat near Mecdiekoy for about 250 Euros/month. He offered to pass it over to me as soon as he leaves. I am grateful to be housed for free here in the city. However, the thought of living closer to the world of the European side—transportation would be much easier, I’d only need to hop onto the metro—is enticing. I will visit his flat next week and take a look.

Tomorrow I’m sleeping in. Late. Then, I’m carrying my newfound courage over to the European side—maybe by the ferries—and exploring the tourist cites! Hurrah!

05/19/06 16:45

I need to use a few minutes and vent. I took a walk for a few hours today from Anadolu Hisari, following the shore until Usukdar. You can’t get a sense of how Istanbul sprawls across either side of the Bosphorus until you let your feet do the work. I’m fortunate to be staying in a less crowded quarter of the city. Tomorrow I will wake up early and try going for a run along part of the walking route I followed today. Aside from the enormous hill leading up to Anadolu Hisari I should have little trouble at 6-6:30 in the morning—a broad, generally level sidewalk along 80% of the route is quite helpful.

Ah…the venting! So, I carried my camera along on my shoulder in case I lost my apprehensions about looking like a shutter-bug tourist. Well, I thought I had taken some decent, first shots of the city when, I pulled open the camera’s menu, and saw the ISO was set to 400! I know, for any DSLR users out there, that’s no big deal. For my “prosumer” Panasonic, it rendered the vast majority of my shots noisy, and overexposed. Perhaps I’m just overreacting in the moment. Next time, I know to be more careful. Regardless, having not encountered any adverse reactions from anyone along the street, I feel more confident doing this again.

My host won’t return until Monday and I’ve got two days to travel into the old city by myself :0). Unfortunately, I lost my Akbil, less than a day after I bought it. An Akbil is the near-universally accepted, pre-paid pass for public transportation. With enough money on an Akbil, I can make the entire commute between Sisli and Anadolu Hisari. In fact, last night’s trip, including an extra ride on the metro than I will usually encounter, cost only 4YTL. Compare that to a taxi, which would be faster, but would likely cost at least five times as much.

There are still leftovers from the kofte, tomatoes, and rice that I made last night, so I’ll likely stay in tonight and build a little tourist vocabulary so that I can navigate the old city tomorrow. Hopefully, I’ll get some quality pictures this time around!

I gave in and called my mother for 10 minutes. It’s comforting to remind myself that my home still is out there. I’m nowhere close to the stage where I’ll be rid of my homesickness; I’d place that moment somewhere around the end of May when I get into Turkish classes at Dilmer or at another school.

22:07

All challenges are mental, but perhaps I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Not that it matters, anyway: I have no option but to stay until wheels up and my plane lifts off the ground. That’s a frightening thought. No choice.

The challenge is what makes this experience truly worthwhile. The call to prayer sounds from all the mosques throughout the city, replacing the raucous din of the city with something sacred--meditative. It mollifies my soul as it overshadows all. You begin to feel as if the world itself has paused; its rotation holding fast in time while you catch you breath.

When you are alone, every sound of a barking dog to a police siren prompts your heart to pound in fear. Nightfall only worsens the condition. Here I am. Without my crutches—the help from family, friends, even strangers—I would not be here. I am here, or are they living vicariously through me? Is my experience genuine? I believe that my soft, silent shivers answer that question. Here’s to a good night’s sleep.

05/20/06 22:24

Night is always the worst time of day; last night certainly supports that argument. I recall once telling someone how the calls from the mosques, simultaneously around the city—it was Ankara I was then speaking of—were a comforting presence; they lulled me to sleep and woke me in the morning. They’re more…effective…here than I recall. This afternoon, my father called my cell just after a three hour commute to Sultanahmet—YES, still in the city, it’s the part with all the pretty touristy stuff. His call coincided with prayer time. OK, I was standing next to the Blue Mosque, iconic of Istanbul. Needless to say, that conversation ended quickly, respecting the authority of the din. It felt as if the prayer call somehow had a depricative effect upon the cell phone because my ear filled with words parsed by static. Hmm… Nonetheless, I cannot deny I’d hear them much sooner than the of the Discotheques rocking hips and cutting loose inhibitions late into the night.

I had a great visit downtown today to the old city. I don’t recall it being so busy or dirty, then again, my last visit was almost nine years ago. I never saw Aya Sofya or the Blue Mosque while living in Turkey. Altough I was prohibited from entering the Blue Mosque—prayer time—I got some nice pictures of the exterior. Both Aya Sofya and Topkapi Palace were free today. Normally, they cost 4 and 10YTL respectively. At Topkapi, I was aiming to go to the good restaurant they have within the grounds. When I scanned the price list, I decided I was not willing to spend 30YTL on a main course. I skipped that and left Topkapi really without seeing it thoroughly—I have yet another reason to return to Sultanahmet.

I found lunch just down the street from Topkapi at a little place called Yeni Yildiz. While I felt a touch segregated, seated in a section that appeared to be reserved for tourists—nary a Turk sat next to me; they all were playing backgammon under umbrellas, sitting on different furniture, upon different colored carpet. Nevertheless, the food—my first genuine Iskender in six years—was wonderful, albeit a touch expensive: 24YTL for a good helping of Iskender, water, freshly squeezed orange juice, and the “house special” desert of soft pastry rounds soaked in honey…mmmmm. Too expensive. I’ll bet I can do better, or, just eat less.

My only criticisms of the day: it should not take 2.75 hrs to commute from SultanahmetàTaksimàMecdieykoyàAnadolu Hisari! I would likely have been MUCH faster if I jumped into a cab—albeit with a substantial increase in price. Next time I want to be a tourist, spending more time actually touring rather than commuting, I may just try a taxi. My other point to bitch about: Istanbul is very dirty. The sky was hazy with smog throughout the day; not great conditions for taking pictures, and certainly not good for my health. The dust, and dirty exteriors in the dense quarters of Istanbul are perhaps a product of the city’s OLD age—or, perhaps because of the preponderance of automobiles, many of which burn diesel. Dad, you were right: this city is big, it’s mean—the personalities are not quite as friendly as I was expecting from our three years in Ankara, although, my office mates and host are truly outstanding folks :0)—and it’s certainly smoggy dirty.

I think the best way to understand how my expectations of Turkey changed would be to mentally compare New York City with a smaller, still vibrant, city such as Richmond. New York, crushed with people and overflowing into Jersey, Rhode Island, and Connecticut is analogous to Istanbul—you’ve got to take literally what maps tell you about its gigantic size. I’m having second thoughts about that comparison: Ankara is, well, hundreds of years older than Richmond, for starters…

Oh! Mom, you’d be so proud of me! I made another great dinner! Basically, I’m just trying to eat up all the kofte I bought on Wednesday because I hate for food to spoil. I made penne pasta with a tomato, kofte, garlic sauce. I slapped together a salad with lots of spinach, arugula, tomatoes, cucumbers, and of course beyaz peynir. For dressing: an olive oil and honey balsamic vinaigrette with a touch of truffle-infused oil—my host’s purchase, not my own!! Now, I must clean my mess.

05/21/06 18:07

I enjoy staying up here in the hills in Anadolu Hisari. The hike up and down the hill is a bitch, no question. Yet, the pleasure of gazing upon the Bosphorus from my host’s terrace is unquestionable. Every evening I watch the sun setting beyond my vison across the European side of the city; if only there were less smog, then the conditions would be more picture-worthy.

Today was not the tourist adventure I imagined. I assumed too much regarding the availability of the ferries, not taking into account schedule changes on Sundays! D’oh!! I walked the circle from Taksim, down to Kabatas Iskelesi by the shore to pick up the ferry schedules. I knew that the right ferry to take was from Bebek, and it left at 15:30. So, I hiked back up the hill—everything is hills here, except for the Levent-Taksim corridor along Buyuksheir Caddesi. I took my lunch of lentil soup and Adana Kebap in a café just off Taksim Square. Surprisingly, I am continuing to feel less and less enamoured with the traditional kebap/doner fare that most places have. I want more fish!

Now, this is where the story becomes interesting, and of course, I lose my way. Somehow, I mistook Besiktas for Bebek and hightailed myself to Besiktas Iskelesi—even hitching an overpriced cab to get there. Well, at Besiktas I thumped my head against the wall, so to speak, in reaction to my stupidity when I realized I had rushed myself to the wrong dock. Although, two heavily accented American tourists did ask me for directions—which I provided accurately!!—so I wasn’t an utter fool. Conveniently enough there was a bus, 30A for anyone interested, directly from Besiktas Iskelesi to Mecdiyekoy. From there, it was merely my usual route home.

I don’t mean to bore with the step by step details of my mis/adventures. My memory is, well, unreliable and this is as much to inform myself of what I did so that I am less likely to forget; although, it’s hard for me now to imagine forgetting any of this later on.

Reflections? I have been here less that a week and it shows: I get “lost” everyday. Nevertheless, I know that I can never be lost beyond a faint glimmer of hope. Taxis are always a last, though wholly undesirable, resort. If I don’t take too many turns, and walk downhill—towards the water—I always can figure my location within 20 minutes of walking. If I’m going the wrong direction, well then it’s just a matter of turning my obtuse self around, walking back, and starting over again with a new path. I’m also impressed how, even while lost, the perfect solution materializes before I have a moment to panic.

Douglas Adams had it dead-on with The Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy: “Don’t Panic” isn’t just a slogan, it’s a state of being. Why need panic? There is always another solution: U-turns, a little walking, asking strangers, or maybe just getting on the bus going the opposite direction! Why do most of us panic? Speaking for myself: usually it’s regarding being late someplace. When I’m under the pressure of time, I become stressed. That stress leads me to become careless—after complacency, it takes little time to lose one’s self. Then, the heart-throbbing, throat-clenching worry and panic set in: I’m going to be late. Whatever! When you are stressed, you risk exacerbating the situation. Stress, in moderation, is beneficial--although, I am notorious for laying it on a touch too thick. I’m also in the habit of using excessive dashes and semicolons...