"I'll take Turkish Potpourri for $500, Alex."

There are a bunch of noteworthy things about my trip to Turkey that don't fit into any particular category such as Sightseeing, People, or Food. ("Wait--Food?" you ask. ...That's right, there's more! You still have yet to hear about the food or the wonders of Cappadocia. But I digress.) Thus, I've decided to put my miscellaneous experiences into the category of:

Turkish Potpourri


Rebecca Horts:

I arrived in Istanbul shortly after 11 pm. By the time I got through the line to purchase my entry visa, and then through the line for passport control, it was well after midnight. I'd pre-arranged an airport pickup with the hostel, so when I stepped through customs and into the arrivals hall, I spotted my cab driver waiting for me with a sign labeled "Rebecca Horts." Not only did it amuse me that I was one of the people on the signs, but the creative spelling of my name was pretty amusing as well. (Though not as amusing as this classic booking from my OZ 08 trip through Australia last year.)

The Call to Prayer:

I first heard a call to prayer on a fieldtrip to the Richmond Mosque in my 9th grade world history class. We'd spent a whole semester learning about Islam, and this was our practical application. I remember that the trip made such an impression on me at the time--as a 14-year-old WASP from the 'burbs I'd never had any interactions with Muslims--and for years afterwards I appreciated that trip and our Q&A session with the imam after the Friday prayer service for broadening my horizons beyond everyday Chesterfield County. That being said, I was 14 years old and had never heard a call to prayer. And I won't pretend that my first reaction wasn't to suppress a giggle at the weird foreign sounds of the chant. But fortunately I managed to stay composed, and by the end of the call to prayer I wondered how I could have even wanted to laugh.

The second time I heard a call to prayer was in Istanbul.

Just as the church bells in Austria chime at regular intervals 3-5 times a day (depending on the day), the call to prayer rings out through the city 5 times a day. Even my earplugs weren't enough to mute the 5 am call to prayer, a much earlier alarm than its 7 am churchbell counterpart in Austria. When it's time for a call to prayer in Istanbul, all the different mosques send out a live transmission on loudspeakers secured on the minarets, and pretty soon you're surrounded by a round of calls to prayer. At first it was a little strange, just because it is such a different noise than what I'm used to--it was a regular reminder that I was a guest in a country whose culture is far different from any other country I've experienced; however, gone was the 9th grade propensity to giggle. I came to enjoy the calls to prayer and found them melodic and interesting, especially when we found ourselves in a particularly interesting part of the city when it happened, like the video below.





The Turkish Flag Challenge:

It didn't take us long to realize that there is a Turkish flag from nearly every vantage point in Istanbul. It is omnipresent. (...And you thought Americans were patriotic...)

When we realized just how ubiquitous the flag really is, we decided to initiate a challenge: the Turkish Flag Challenge.

Participants: 2 or more players
Equipment: A Turkish flag and a buzzword
Preparation: As a group, determine a mutual buzzword (for example: "Strudel"). Any player may initiate the Turkish Flag Challenge at any time.
Rules: When out and about in Istanbul, any player can call out the buzzword (ex: "Strudel!") at any time. The other players must stop in their spot and search for a Turkish flag within eyesight. The first player to point out the Turkish flag wins that round.
Winners: There are only winners, never losers.


Türkçe konuşur musunuz? *

Before I left for Turkey, a few friends had given me some helpful phrases in Turkish, such as: "Hello;" "Thank you;" "How much?"; and "I want to get off the minibus!" But I always try to pick up as much of a foreign language as I can while I'm in the country, so I made it a point to constantly ask friends, the hostel proprietor, and pretty much anyone else I was dealing with how to say things in Turkish.

But it was hard, man. Turkish is tough. It was really difficult for me to distinguish the different sounds, let alone the different words. Once I had a better understanding of how to pronounce written Turkish, it made it a little easier to order things. And it was the little victories--the baby steps--that made it so rewarding. Sometimes it helped to use pneumonic devices; for example, the Turkish word for "thank you" is Teşekkür ederim, which sounds very similar to "tea sugar dream." (N.b.: Similarly, some visitors in Graz have found the German word for "excuse me"--Entschuldigung--to sound like a mumbled "I'm chewing gum.")

First I ordered, "Three teas, please," at a teahouse when my companions had left the table. I was able to throw in the numbers 1-3 in any setting, actually...but mostly where drinks were involved. When haggling, I could even use a sad-looking, "No, too much." But my crowning moment in Turkish was after my oil massage in the Turkish baths: I was able to whip out a confident, "Thank you. Good. Super." ...I mean, what more can you really say about a good massage? Finally, I went to meet a friend in Istanbul on my last afternoon in town. I was alone and took the tram to her stop. When I got off, I felt a tap on the shoulder, and I turned around to see a Turkish bottle blond who immediately said, "Pardon..." and then a bunch of Turkish I didn't understand. This was it--this was my moment. My moment to use a real sentence and say, "Sorry, I don't understand," or "Sorry, I don't speak Turkish." But when the words came out, it was a very English sentence and I'd lost my chance to use a real Turkish sentence in a real-life situation forever. But I was flattered by being taken for Turkish.

*Click on the link to hear the phrase "Do you speak Turkish?" in Turkish.

I Scream, You Scream:

We all scream for Dondurma!

I am a huge fan of ice cream. Forget chocolate, just tell me where the ice cream is. In Rome, I had the gelato at least once a day. In Graz, I can hardly get out of town without visiting one of the ice cream shops placed tantilizingly on every street worth walking on. And in Turkey...well they have ice cream too. And I couldn't wait to get my hands on it.

I first became suspicious of the Turkish ice cream when I went to give my order and the ice cream man pulled out a long-handled metal paddle. Now that's odd. And then when he put my two scoops on the cone...something wasn't quite right. They seemed to glisten unnaturally, and although mine was the first to be served, it hadn't started dripping down the sides of the cone by the time my two friends got theirs. And then we all tasted it.

It was cold. Now's that's familiar, I'm feeling it. But wait! It's...it's...chewy?! Yes, Turkish ice cream is downright chewy! It's got the consistency of a marshmallow turned into ice cream, which is an odd sensation indeed. The Turkish consider this type of ice cream "normal;"our stuff--like gelato, soft serve, and what you and I consider normal ice cream--isn't real ice cream from the Turkish perpective. And after more investigation, I was happy to find out that my first impressions of this Turkish ice cream were right on: the special features about dondurma are its texture (chewy!) and its resistance to melting. Very weird, but very cool. If you ever find yourself in Turkey, this experience should not be missed.



Squatty Potties:

I am so glad I was forewarned about the Turkish toilets. So glad.

As I mentioned before, being in a new country with a new culture brings new experiences. Such as squatty potties. Those of you who have spent time in Asia are probably laughing at me right now, and rightly so. But I am a spoiled, modern Westerner who values her clean, porcelain toilet bowls very much.

I was only able to avoid the inevitable for one day. Then, on my second day in Istanbul, I just had to go. The good news is, there's any number of public restrooms all throughout the city. In fact, just find a mosque (which is pretty much at every turn) and you've found yourself a restroom too. The bad news is, they are almost all squatty potties. Oh, and the other bad news is, you have to pay to use them.

The funny thing is, in places like Vienna, I will rather hold it in that pay for a public restroom...either that, or I spend way too much time searching for the nearest McDonald's, which is universally gratis. However, in Turkey one has no such luck. Sometimes you luck out when paying the bathroom attendant the 50 kuruş to 1 lira (30¢ - 60¢) "entrance fee" and you'll also get some toilet paper as part of the service. (Although I use the term toilet paper loosely: this could mean anything from a napkin to a couple sheets of actual toilet paper.) This is why the well-informed traveller carries travel tissues at all times. The actual device one uses to complete one's business is basically a glorified hole in the ground. A porcelain hole with ridges on either side to provide traction for your shoes, but a hole nonetheless. In the corner of your stall is a waste bin to throw in the used paper/napkin/whatever-resourceful-thing-you-find-in-your-purse-to-do-the-job, and in the other corner is a spigot and a small plastic container, for what I can only assume is rinsing off a sticky load. Ironically, although you hardly ever find toilet paper in a public restroom, I found that--without fail--there was always soap.

The first time I had to use one of these, I was terrified. I am not a go-in-the-woods kind of gal. Women just aren't designed for this kind of maneuver, and I think I was jusifiably concerned over the outcome. But let me tell you--I nailed it. A perfect 10 on the first try. And by the end of the trip, it was no biggie. So...anyone ready for a long hiking trip in the woods?



Street dogs--and cats:

Lots of stray cats and dogs roam the streets of Istanbul. I was quite surprised by the number of stray cats--something I've not seen in other countries--and pretty impressed at the docile and non-agressive nature of the dogs. They just kind of went around and did their own thing. (Compared to the Romanian strays, the Turkish variety belong in a petting zoo.)

This cat had somehow turned a bluish-green...pretty funny, actually.

Women and the Workplace:

It took me a while to notice it. Almost a week, actually. But then it occurred to me: you don't see women working in Turkey. Not in the shops, the markets, the restaurants, or the info offices for the tourists. In fact, the entire time I was there, I only saw three women at work: one heavily-armed policewoman for Obama's visit in Istanbul, one reporter for said Head of State's visit, and one shop assistant in Cappadocia. That said, it should also be noted that people tend to work really long hours. The hostel proprietor was basically working 24/7, the guy behind the counter of the coffee shop at 7 am was still there at 9 pm, and the shopkeepers seemed to work at their shops every single day.

It didn't take this reporter long to spot the foreigners and ask for an interview on the day of Obama's visit.

...Ok, still with me? Good. I think that's enough grab-bag for today. Next up: more potpourri and then--oh man, my stomach is growling already--the food!

Someone Worth Meeting

One of the most interesting things about all of my travels these past months has been meeting some of the most interesting people along the way. Aside from seeing new places and experiencing new cultures, there's really something to be said for opening up a little and interacting with those around you. People have the most fascinating stories.

Sometimes you are lucky enough to live in a place like New York City where you bump into all sorts of intriguing people all the time. One of my favorite things about living in New York was learning what people did for a living--often you'd meet someone with a job you never could have even dreamed up. Not to mention that, as a city full of domestic and international transplants, everyone has a personal how-I-got-here, how-I-came-here, or who-I-was-before story.

I find that travelling opens you up to the same kind of thing, but on a broader basis. Over the past several months I've met quite a few people whose stories just floor me. Some of them have had life experiences I can't even begin to imagine. Some of them were kind people who've helped me along the way. Some of them are so inspirational that I want to fictionalize them into my next novel.

So today's next installment of the Turkey sequence is about the people we met along the way. Each interesting in their own way, and each somehow moving us along. (n.b.: Nor is this the last installment of people I've met in my travels. A few more notables from more recent travels will appear in a future post.)

The Cyclist

Our first day in the hostel, I started a conversation with a quiet looking man in the common room just as we were about to head off to bed. It was immediately apparent from the lilt in his voice that he was an Irishman passing through Istanbul. When we asked the usual questions about where he was from and what he was doing, we got the most unusual answer: he was cycling around the world. Okay, I'm just going to let that sink in a bit...

Yes, he was cycling around the world. Very few people have done such a thing, but his goal is to cross the globe on bicyle in the next two years. As we met him, he'd just cycled his way down from Ireland and through Europe into Turkey, and he was currently planning his way through Turkey into Iran and further on to Uzbekistan. In that area of the world he had to apply for entry and exit visas and time his arrivals and departures exactly, which doesn't leave much room for unplanned obstacles underway. Eventually he'll make it through all those countries ending with -stan and all the way across China before hitting an ocean and having to hop over to the next continent. As we spoke with him, he was just updating his blog.

President Obama

We also happened to time our trip to Turkey quite well with Obama's own visit on the last leg of his G-20 talks in Europe. He was pretty much omnipresent for a few days, from billboards to news shows, to the word on the street. Having wrapped up most of his business in Ankara, his trip to Istanbul was to include some sightseeing downtown at some of the major sites, such as the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque, and a few other places in the historic district of Sultanahmet. Consequently, the city decided not just to shut down these sites, but pretty much the whole of Sultanahmet itself--including public transportation in and out. Nearby businesses, schools, and even the university closed for the day, and the streets were lined with a large and heavily-armed police force.

In response to all this hubub, we encountered a demonstration on the pedestrian shopping street of Istiklal, and as my travel buddy went closer to film the protest, we--clearly foreigners--were approached by reporters. Our Turkish friend was interviewed first, but we were told to stay put as soon as our nationality became known, as the reporter really wanted to get the American opinion on the matter. Many of the Turkish people I'd talked to felt pretty good about President Obama in general and his visit to Turkey in particular, but the country was still a little wary in general of Obama for referring to the Turkish killing of Armenians in WWI as "genocide," for the U.S.' tendency to side with Israel, and for our involvement in Iraq/Afghanistan (Iraq being one of Turkey's border countries).

When it was my turn to be interviewed, the reporter asked me a series of questions about how long I'd been in Istanbul, where I'm from and what I do there, what I thought about the protests, and how I felt as an American in Turkey since politics there have become rather anti-American. I did my best to answer her questions, but it really didn't matter...when the article came out, they had strung all of my answers together and printed them out of context, such that I came off sounding like an ignorant American and where I was quoted saying things I'd never actually said.

The next day, we made a conscious decision to avoid the Obama craziness and go to the Asian side of the city. We left our Sultanahmet hostel as they were preparing to close off the streets, passing a massive police force and throngs of reporters setting up for the visit. As it happened, the friend I was travelling with got interviewed by the local news station, and we didn't actually make it out of the European side of the city before Obama came through: we ended up seeing his motorcade around noon as it raced into Sultanahmet and again later that afternoon from the ferry as it crossed over the bridge we had just passed under.

So although we didn't actually see President Obama personally, we saw his motorcade. This was exciting enough for me and stirred up a surprising amount of patriotism, as it was the first time I have acutally been in the same country as Obama since he's been president.

Obama's motorcade: He could have been in this very heavily-protected SUV!!

A Friend of a Friend

One of the best things about travel is of course meeting up with your friends from around the world, right? Although I didn't personally have any friends in Turkey at the time of my visit, I knew several people who'd either visited or lived there before I went. One friend got me in contact with one of her Turkish friends in Istanbul, and this friend turned out to be such a gem to our trip. Not only did she agree to meet us and show us around, but she took us to some of the local places, introduced us to some of the sights and the food, and generously donated her time, energy, food, money, and language as she shared the city with us. The more locals we met, the more really great hospitality and generosity we experienced--it seemed quite a welcoming culture, and we were privileged to be the recipients. We came away from it having taken our friend's friends for our own.

The Proprietor

The proprietor of the hostel where we stayed was an incredible man. I arrived in Istanbul after midnight and took a pre-arranged taxi pick-up to the hostel. From the moment I arrived, the proprietor greeted me warmly, and that was just the beginning.

Ali was all-knowing and could gladly and willingly answer any question about Istanbul, Turkey, the Turkish language, or pretty much anything else that we posed to him. And we asked him a lot of questions during our stay. He was helpful and funny and had the incredible ability to deal with every type of person who walked in the door.

I've never met a better person than Ali when it comes to sizing someone up and dealing with them accordingly. As soon as he met a new visitor to the hostel, he seemed to know exactly what kind of person they were and exactly how to deal with them. His skills would be the utter envy of customer service representatives everywhere, or anyone who deals with the public for that matter. He first impressed me when, after our first night in the hostel, a Finnish girl in the room next door complained about our "loud" talking the following morning on her way out to the airport. As Ali related this incident to us at breakfast, I was expecting a reprimand and an appeal to be quieter; instead he went on to tell us how he'd defended us to the Finnish girl, explaining to her that we were just seeing each other for the first time in years and were probably catching up late into the night. From this moment on, Ali won me over, and I watched in awe as he put the rowdy British boys in their places with a genious and effective combination of humor and shame, dealt with the highly irritable man who kept complaining about how he couldn't trust the Turkish, and every other sort of person to cross his path. By the time we left for Cappadocia, he said goodbye with a tight hug and told us quite sincerely how he'd enjoyed having us there and would miss our smiles when we were gone.

Not only could Ali deal with any kind of person in exactly the way suitable to their type, but he also had the gift of making someone feel welcome and comfortable. For me, this was in very tangible ways. When I arrived back in Istanbul from Cappadocia--alone--before 8 am on a Monday morning after a sleepless 11-hour overnight bus ride, I had to ring the bell twice before he answered the door. He'd been sleeping at the office since they were short-staffed and I'd awaken him from only two hours of sleep that night. I assured him that I was in the same boat, as I'd not been able to sleep on the night bus, and announced my intention to take a nap as soon as my room was ready; however, the hostel was full and he told me I'd have to wait until after 11 am until the bed was emptied and made ready. As I settled down in his office at the public Internet/computers to wait it out, he did the unthinkable: he offered me a nap on his couch, promising to shut the door and keep guests out and only to come in himself to answer the phone. I've never been more grateful for anything in my life than I was in that moment.

When I left Turkey, it was another genuine goodbye and a sincere request to stay in touch...and we've both since followed through.

The Pigeon Guy

In Cappadocia, we visited the Göreme Open Air Museum, a complex of cave dwellings and cave churches typical of the area. Up near one of the caves, there was a flock of pigeons hanging out near a ledge, and my travel buddy went over to feed the birds some of her leftover bread from breakfast. As she was doing so, a man in the Open Air Museum uniform came out of the nearest cave entrance and told her to stop and wait there. We both thought she was in trouble, but the man returned momentarily with a handful of birdseed which he deposited into her palm and then showed her how to feed the birds. I was watching from a short distance with great amusement when the man announced that these pigeons were special pigeons. Yes, Cappadocian pigeons are no ordinary pigeons--they can roll. At first, I didn't understand him. But he made a rolling motion with his hands and repeated again that these pigeons could roll. We clearly didn't understand what he was telling us, because he then stood and told us to watch. Then, very slowly, he approached the pigeons and herded them off the ledge. As they took flight, they rose vertically, their wings making an unusually loud clapping noise; then, one of the pigeons flipped! Then another! As these pigeons rose vertically in the air, they did backflips while in flight! We were so amused by these birds that I think we in turn amused the museum employee, and he invited us into his office--the nearest cave--for a cup of tea. Tea is a very central part of Turkish hospitality, so we joined him and his colleague in the cave for tea and conversation. The man who invited us in spoke some English, but his coworker spoke only a few words here and there. Somehow we carried on a very basic conversation with a lot of repetition and gesturing and the few Turkish words we knew, but ultimately we all made ourselves understood. We stayed for two cups of Turkish tea (which I'll describe at a later time) and then left to go visit the rest of the museum. But this was the first time that someone had invited us in for tea for no reason at all--not because they knew us and not because they were trying to sell us something, but simply to be nice, to extend some hospitality, and for the sake of our company.

And finally, stay tuned...

Next up: Miscellaneous things about Turkey you've probably never considered. Oh boy!

A Letter from the Editor

Dear Readers,

I am ashamed. I am a terrible blogger, or rather, blogger correspondent. I have so many interesting things to tell you but I've let the blog fall silent for way too long.

By now I should have finished telling you all about Turkey. After that, there was a pretty nifty trip to England and Wales I could have caught you up on. Not to mention the most recent developments with my immediate plans for the summer, involving Serbia, Malta and more of Austria. I could have already reflected on the end of my two years as a TA in Austria. I could have reflected on the past two years, period. I could tell you why Graz is wonderful in the summertime, and I could tell you how--after a four-year absence from the sport--I've just picked up biking again. Heck, I could even tell you about the book club I've helped establish and the writing group I've joined.

All of this, I'd tell you, has been put by the wayside in favor of finishing my NaNoWriMo novel from November. I could feed you all sorts of excuses about how I'm spending my current stage of unemployment trying to finish the first draft and how novel-writing doesn't leave much time for blog-writing.

But I won't. It's just too much to tell you. It's too daunting.

Instead I'll just promise you that you will hear from me. Soon, even. I'm going to get right on it. Because I actually thrive on your comments. Knowing that you read my posts and actually tend to comment on them makes me feel like we're actually keeping in touch. And that's important. I won't kid you--after two years here I still really enjoy it, but I miss you guys a lot. So I'm going to make an attempt at keeping up this one-sided conversation more frequently.

My apologies, and see you on another update soon.

Yours truly,
Rebecca