Adventures in Turkey pt. 9: Reflections on the Longest Flight Back Ever

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Well, I was right about there being tears today.

In addition to being tired and already emotional, we had quite the adventure going through customs this morning…or should I say, TRYING to go through customs this morning.

We entered the airport, ready to go through the usual process of removing our shoes and going through security. I was personally in a “Let’s go,” mode; if I HAD to leave, I wanted to just be back in the States already. We asked for where we were supposed to go, were escorted to our place, and waited patiently in the long line, only to be told when we reached the front of it that not only were we in the wrong line, we were in the wrong part of the airport. We were given directions and trooped over there to wait in yet another long line. We had snaked through half of that line when a worker came over and asked us where we were flying to. “Chicago?” he repeated incredulously. “Why are you here, then?”

“We were told–”

“No, no. You’re not even in the right part of the airport. Follow me.”

Trailing behind him like a pack of lost, sad, American puppies, we joined the end of yet another long line. My patience was thin at this point, and judging by the faces of my silent friends, they were feeling the same. We finally reached the front of that line, where a very disapproving worker informed us that we needed to trek to the other side of the airport.

Reaching that designated area, Dr. B asked a security guard before we even got in line if we were in the right place. He checked our passports and shook his head.

I reached a low point.

“Are you kidding me? Is this for real?” I demanded, turning to Natalie, in line behind me. Her lips had tightened into one thin line and frustrated tears ensued from some. If we had been in the wrong place because of our own ignorance, that would have been one thing, but we had been taken not once, not twice, but three times, to the wrong place.

Finally, we found the correct spot, and worries churned inside me as I looked at the clock while remembering the time we were supposed to fly out. Thankfully, flying out of Turkey was less of a hassle than flying out of America; we breezed through security and customs, waited at our gate for a few moments, and then boarded. Seated by Natalie, I settled into my seat and turned around to peek several rows back at Beth, Dram, and Bayleigh, who all gave me a thumbs up, seemingly just as relieved as I was to finally be on the plane. Allyson and Caleb were seated several rows ahead of us.

Once we were in the air, I was able to lean back in my seat and relax (I’m not afraid to fly anymore, but I still get nervous on take off) but I found myself becoming restless. Since we flew out of Chicago at 10pm to get here, I slept the whole flight; flying back in the middle of the afternoon was a different story. I scrolled through some pictures I had taken, tried to do some homework that’s due tomorrow when I get back, and played peek a boo with the adorable 10 month old in the seat in front of me, but time is crawling by as I sit here writing. It’s surreal to look back on the time I’ve spent here and all of the experiences I’ve been able to have. I admit that I’m still a little on edge (aka crabby) but I am excited to tell all of my stories when I get home.

(Later)

We landed in Chicago at 7pm, disoriented and COLD. (It was nice to escape the Michigan winter for Turkey’s warmer climate.) As the plane taxied onto the runway, Natalie turned wide-eyed to me and said, “Turn your phone on.” I did so, only to receive text multiple text messages saying something along the lines of, “I know you’re not flying Malaysian Airlines, but I’m still nervous…please text me when you’ve landed back in the States.” I turned back to her with eyes just as big and asked, “What happened?”

She shrugged. “My mom said that we don’t even know all of the details yet, but apparently there’s a plane that’s just disappeared. I’m thankful we flew Turkish Airlines and not Malaysia.”

(A note several months later: I still get chills sometimes when I think about what could have happened had it been our plane, or had we been flying to Malaysia.)

Happiness over being home warred with the sadness of being home as I loaded my bags onto the bus and climbed in the seat. We have a loooong drive back to school now.

(Later)

We got back to school around 2am. Mom and Dad picked me up (and went to bed shortly after we returned home) but I’m wide awake, unpacking, doing laundry, and reliving my experiences rereading through this journal. Words are insufficient to express the gratitude I possess over having this opportunity. I’m so blessed.

If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 8: Dealing with Prejudices, Mustaches, and Bargaining

Adventures in Turkey pt. 7: Eat, Pray, Love

Adventures in Turkey pt. 6: Exploring More Ancient Cities

Adventures in Turkey pt. 5: EPHESUS

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

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Adventures in Turkey pt. 8: Dealing with Prejudices, Mustaches, and Bargaining

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We started out the morning at the Journalist and Writers Foundation, and my heart (which dearly loves both of those things) felt as though it would burst. After a tour and a Q and A session during which they served us chai, of course, our host gestured to the books behind him and told us we could pick something out. I picked “Toward a Global Civilization of Love and Tolerance” by Fetullah Gulen himself, and as I flipped through the pages on the bus, I was particularly captured by his statement on 9/11, a mere 24 hours after the attack (that’s before our own President even released his statement, folks):

“I would like to make it very clear that any terrorist activity, no matter by whom it is carried out or for what purpose, is the greatest blow to peace, democracy, and humanity. For this reason, no one—and certainly no Muslim—can approve of any terrorist activity. Terror has no place in a quest to achieve independence or salvation. It takes the lives of innocent people.

Even though at first sight such acts seem to harm the target, all terrorist activities eventually do more harm to the terrorists and their supporters. This latest terrorist activity, which is a most bloody and condemnable one, is far more than an attack on the United States of America—it is an assault against world peace as well as against universal democratic and humanistic values. Those who perpetrated this atrocity can only be considered as being the most brutal people in the world.

Please let me reassure you that Islam does not approve of terrorism in any form. Terrorism cannot be used to achieve any Islamic goal. No terrorist can be a Muslim, and no true Muslim can be a terrorist. Islam demands peace, and the Qur’an demands that every true Muslim be a symbol of peace and work to support the maintenance of basic human rights. If a ship is carrying nine criminals and one innocent person, Islam does not allow for the ship to be sunk in order to punish the nine criminals; doing so would violate the rights of the one innocent person.

Islam respects all individual rights and states clearly that none of these can be violated, even if doing so would be in the interest of the community. The Qur’an declares that one who takes a life unjustly has, in effect, taken all the lives of humanity, and that one who saves a life has, in effect, saved all the lives of humanity. Moreover, Prophet Muhammad stated that a Muslim is a person who does no harm with either the hands or with the tongue.

I strongly condemn this latest terrorist attack on the United States. It only deserves condemnation and contempt, and it must be condemned by every person in the world. I appeal to everyone for calmness and restraint. Before America’s leaders and people respond to this heinous assault out of their justified anger and pain, please let me express that they must understand why such a terrible event occurred and let us look at how similar tragedies can be avoided in the future. They must also be aware of the fact that injuring innocent masses in order to punish a few guilty people is to no one’s benefit; rather such actions will only strengthen the terrorists by feeding any existing resentment and by giving birth to more terrorists and more violence. Please remember that terrorists represent an extremely small minority within any society or religion. Let us try to understand each other better, for only through mutual understanding and respect can such violence be prevented in the future.

I feel the pain of the American people from the bottom of my heart, and I assure them that I pray to God Almighty for the victims and I pray that He give their loved-ones and all other Americans the necessary patience to endure their pain.”

I blinked to clear my vision and thought about all of the prejudices and stereotypes I used to possess as a frightened, angry family member of someone who used to work at the World Trade Center. Although God began changing my heart years before this trip, the realization that I had been so utterly and completely wrong to hold such bitterness toward an entire culture because of the actions of extremists sank in completely. I don’t judge all Christians based on the actions of the Mormon church, which advocates child brides and multiple wives, nor the Catholic church, in which priests have molested young children. Friends of a friend were victims of a terrorist attack in Jerusalem a few years ago at the hands of an Orthodox Jew, but I didn’t write off Judaism after the event. Yes, there have been more events of terror done in the name of Islam than Christianity and Judaism, and I will not even try to defend them; but that means that there just needs to be a line drawn more firmly in the sand, separating the extremist Muslims from the loving, accepting, welcoming ones I have met on this trip. I realized with a start that there have been times in my life where I have been treated with disdain from Jewish friends for my faith in Jesus, or judged as legalistic from Christians who are horrified that I should “place myself back under the law”; I have received none of these attitudes from the people I’ve met here.

As we were preparing to leave, I noticed a Hebrew Bible, Quran, and Christian Bible all open and on display. Noting that the Hebrew Bible was open to the Psalms, I began reading and translating to myself, making a note to remember to tell Dr. Bowman, when our guide suddenly exclaimed, “You can read that?!” Salih piped up, “She knows Turkish, too!” and the guide began speaking rapidly in Turkish to me. Embarrassed and slightly exasperated, I pulled out my notebook and showed them the list of words Allyson and I had learned by either putting two and two together, or by English translations underneath them: a grand total of 55 words. “I am far from fluent,” I said as the guide laughed at the random list: for rent, strawberry, push, and snails.

As we were waiting for the bus, though, I realized that a word on the list did not have a matching English word; I had seen it on a billboard that had captured my attention due to an enormous picture of a man with quite an impressive mustache, but had no other reference for what it could mean. Not wanting to leave this country without my curiosity satisfied, I pointed the word out to Salih and asked, “What does this word mean in English?”

He looked at it and frowned. “Where did you see this word?”

I flushed, thinking of all of the questionable words on billboards in America and realizing that my method of writing down random words I saw on signs was maybe not the best. “On an advertisement in Downtown Istanbul…is it inappropriate–?”

“No, just so random.” He frowned again. “I can’t think of the word in English. What is…you know, the white in your hair–” he wiggled his fingers in his scalp.

“Dandruff?” Caleb offered.

“Dandruff! That’s the word,” he said. He laughed at my obvious relief that it wasn’t anything sketchy as I wrote down the English translation and closed my notebook. “Such a helpful word for you to know if you are going to teach here.”

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Afterwards, we headed to Somanyolu (Milky Way) TV station, where we learned about Turkish television and then got to tour some shows being taped, including Yesil Elma (Green Apple), a very famous cooking show here in Turkey. 1891073_449440291855929_228197443_n

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After Samanyolu, we headed to a beautiful park to enjoy our lunch on the gorgeous day. Still feeling questionable, I split a mini Turkish pizza with Natalie and Beth, and we mostly picked at it and gave bites to the cats roaming around our table.

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As we explored the park after lunch, the call to prayer sounded, and I had to get it on video, though I’ll always remember the sound. There’s something haunting and beautiful about it, almost reminiscent of the Torah being chanted in synagogue.

After lunch, it was finally time: the Grand Bazaar. Dr. B tried to explain bargaining to us, but Bayleigh and I just got more and more anxious the more he told us the do’s and don’ts. “Pick a price and try to have them reach it, but don’t insult them. Remember that everything’s priced up to 75% more than it should be so don’t get ripped off, but remember that they’re trying to support their families. Don’t waffle, but be willing to pay more than you had originally wanted if they won’t budge. Judge what you want before you walk up to the owner; if you linger too long and don’t buy anything, that’s insulting. Oh, and don’t get lost. It’s an enormous place. Remember this gate, because it’s where we’ll meet at the end of the day.”

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I decided right then and there to stick with Allyson, who has bargained everywhere from China to Japan to Turkey, and we trooped off of the bus and into the market. It was overwhelming at first. There are so many people selling everything from two lira trinkets to Turkish rugs worth tens of thousands of dollars. One man kept pestering Caleb to buy a large, elaborate one, but we didn’t think it would quite fit in his carry-on.

I noticed a t-shirt that said “Tin Tin in Istanbul,” and immediately thought of my little brother. As I watched Allyson haggle over a t-shirt for her Dad, I listened to the price of the shirt, how much she was actually willing to pay, and how much she fought for it. Preparing myself for the same experience, I held up the shirt and asked, “How much?”

“Five lira.”

“Oh!” $2.50 for a t-shirt? Allyson’s had been more, but it made sense that a child’s shirt was cheaper. “Okay, great!”

He raised an eyebrow slightly but whisked the shirt away to bag it up before I could change my mind, and it was then that I realized I hadn’t even attempted to bargain the price down. Slightly embarrassed, I accepted the bagged shirt and made a note to do better with my next purchase: a Turkish scarf for myself. I scoped out the place I wanted, where there were a variety of different colors and styles. Narrowing those choices down to three, a purple, red, and blue one, I finally decided to go with the blue one, and turned to the owner. “How much?”

“60 lira.”

I blinked, not expecting it to be that much. Remembering that Dr. B had said things were priced 75% more than they were worth but also remembering not to go so low as to insult him, I went a little higher than 50%. “35 lira?”

He took the scarf from me, folded it up, and placed it back on his pile. “You insult me.”

Things were not going much better than the Tin Tin t-shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said sincerely.

“I have family to feed–”

“I’m sorry. I meant no offense.” My heart was pounding and my face was hot, but I was not going to slink away. “I do love the scarf. It’s very beautiful, and I would like to reach a deal with you. Name a fair price?”

He scratched his chin, looking thoughtful. “38 lira.”

Relieved, I accepted, counting out the money and handing it to him, and he relinquished the scarf. It was only as I was walking away that I realized he had only bumped up my “insulting” bid $1.50 more (American). Allyson gently informed me later that he could tell I was new to all of this and wanted to have some fun intimidating me. Well, I don’t care. I have my scarf, and she did admit that 38 lira was a fair price for it.

As we walked on, shopkeepers began asking us where we were from, guessing England and Germany most often, interestingly enough. When we would say America, we would get a wide range of responses from everything to, “Ah! Of course,” to, “Oh! I know Bill Clinton!” to “Ohhhh, Spice Girls, yes?”

I bought presents for everyone back home, saving a beautiful pocket mirror and scarf for myself. As our time began winding down, I had one more person on my list, and noticed a bracelet that would be perfect. “How much?” I asked the owner.

“Normally, 20 lira, but for you, pretty lady….15.”

Knowing that he was only using shameless flattery to get my business, I have to admit that it worked anyway. Still, I shook my head and extended the seven lira I had left in my hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have enough left. Thank you anyway. It’s very beautiful–”

“I will take seven, then, since you like it so much.”

“But that’s not even close to 20–”

“It is good. I will get to tell my family I gave a good deal to a beautiful American. Take it.” He began wrapping it up before I could protest further.

I handed him the last of my money, thanking him, but as I walked away, he called me back. “You’ve given me too much. This coin is not a lira.”

I resigned myself then to the fact that I would never be a professional–or even remotely successful–bargainer. “Isn’t it…the one worth a half a lira?” I asked, hating myself for forgetting the name and appearing so stupid.

“No, no! It’s worth several lira.”

Nice job, Kate. I shook my head and gave an embarrassed smile. “Well, keep it, anyway, since the bracelet was 20 originally–”

“We agreed seven, and I will only take seven. You can buy something else with this. Enjoy the rest of your time in Istanbul.” He wouldn’t take the coin back.

Reunited as a group once more, we all excitedly began comparing purchases and swapping bargaining stories as we headed back to the restaurant we had eaten on our first night here (which seems like an eternity ago) to meet up with Professor Saeed and his group. I have to admit I was slightly envious of them and the fact that their trip was just beginning and ours was rapidly coming to an end. On the bus, I rearranged my packages, pulling out the necklace I had bought for my sister to admire it once more.

“How did bargaining go for you?” Salih wanted to know.

Proud, I named the original price of the necklace and then the price I had bargained for, a fraction of what the owner had originally asked. I was surprised when Salih raised an eyebrow. “So much?”

I blinked. “I thought it was a good price. 75% off. I didn’t want to insult him–”

“Things are priced about 90% more than they’re worth in the Grand Bazaar. He saw you coming,” he said bluntly.

I wrapped the necklace back up and sighed. At least I can comfort myself with the fact that I love what I got for everyone, and I don’t feel like I paid more than I should have.

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After another amazing dinner (Mercimek Köftesi is my absolute favorite) we prepared to say goodbye. Words were insufficient to thank Salih and express our gratitude. Laughing over our pose with Salih and his broken arm, there was no time for tears (it’s a miracle that I didn’t cry, really) although I suspect there will be some tomorrow. I felt an aching emptiness as I packed up my things in the room that had become my home over the past week and a half. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to leave tomorrow.

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If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 7: Eat, Pray, Love

Adventures in Turkey pt. 6: Exploring More Ancient Cities

Adventures in Turkey pt. 5: EPHESUS

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 7: Eat, Pray, Love

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We’re back in Istanbul!

We started off the morning by visiting The Jewish Museum of Turkey. Turkey is the only predominantly Muslim country in the world to have a Jewish museum, so Natalie and I excitedly trooped inside to take everything in. I learned that sultans took in Jews who were fleeing from persecution during the Spanish Inquisition; 95% of the Jewish population here consists of Sephardic Jews. Former President Ataturk (who, admittedly, had his shifty moments) also invited Jewish doctors and scientists to come to Turkey during World War II to seek asylum and continue their education. Pictures weren’t allowed inside (although I took some, anyway) but Natalie and I had to get a picture together outside of the former synagogue turned museum.

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After buying some souvenirs in the gift shop, we gathered in the alley to wait for the others. As we stood there, I suddenly had the feeling that someone was watching me; I whirled around to find a displeased looking German Shepherd hiding in the shadows. As someone who’s not a huge fan of dogs anyway, I looked around cautiously to see what I should do. The owner appeared, smiling and speaking Turkish in a pleasant tone, so both the dog and I relaxed. “Nice? My dog,” he told me, and I nodded, able to agree now that the intimidating animal was wagging his tail at me. He said a Turkish word and pointed to the dog, and, determined to add more Turkish words to my dictionary, I pulled out my journal and wrote down what (I thought) he had said, pleased with myself and my use of Turkish accents and odd g’s that are pronounced as w’s. Looking at my writing, he furrowed his brow and shrugged. “Dog?” I asked, pointing first at the word and then at his dog.

He hid a smile, shook his head, took my pen, and scratched out my word, rewriting a completely different one. I’m not sure that I left a lasting impression about the intelligence of Americans on him, but he was gracious nonetheless.

After the Jewish museum, we went to Taxim Square, the site where all of the protests last year occurred, resulting in tear gas, water cannons, and the famous woman in the red dress photo. The protests started after it was announced by Prime Minister Erdogan that Gezi Park was going to be renovated into a mosque and shopping mall. Although the people’s objections were more about Erdogan wielding his power than conserving the park’s natural landscape, these protests went on for over a month, increasing further with the police brutality. Dr. B told us that the situation was more like the Occupy Wall Street protests here rather than the atrocities going on in Syria, the country right next door, but it was still sobering for me, a sheltered, protected American, as Salih pointed out the many police officers standing by tanks with water cannons. He told us that the park gets closed down on the weekends because people will come protest again when they don’t have work or school.

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After Taxim Square, Salih left us and we headed off to find St. Anthony’s church. Taking in the tall, old buildings and wonderful cobblestone streets (why don’t we have these in America?) I actually wasn’t paying that much attention to how long we had been walking until Dr. B asked, “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve walked more than half a mile?” I paused, considering this, and he stopped and asked a street vendor for directions. “Oh, yes, St. Anthony’s, St. Anthony’s,” he smiled, waving us forward, so we continued on in the warm sunshine. After several blocks downhill, however, Dr. B shook his head and stopped to ask someone again. The first man didn’t speak English, so he called his business partner, who apparently didn’t speak enough English to understand us completely. He went across the street to get his friend, who repeated incredulously, “St. Antoine?!” and then turned around, pointed sadly back up the steep hill we had just descended and said, “So, so far.” We had passed it almost right at the entrance to the city, but the day was so beautiful that none of us minded. And the gorgeous church was well worth the wait.

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When we finally got to the church, Salih said he had been waiting there for quite some time and wanted to know what took us so long. Dr. B sheepishly told him what had happened, which resulted in quite a bit of teasing from our translator about how he couldn’t even leave us alone for one afternoon. He even got the men serving us lunch to join in the laughter. As we were leaving the restaurant, however, he said to me, “Want to know a secret?” Intrigued, I nodded. Salih leaned in and whispered, “I, too, walked much farther past St. Antoine’s church than I was supposed to because I couldn’t find it, either. I hadn’t even been there for five minutes before you all showed up because it took me so long to double back.” As I stared at him in delighted horror, he grinned and said, “Don’t tell John!”

Some of the girls had been complaining of tummy troubles since Ephesus, so I had assumed that maybe it was the chicken or rice that they had had there (since I was fine and I had had lamb and spinach.) After lunch today, though, it hit me, too, and I felt rather green as we walked to the Turkish military museum. Ultimately, since we had only eaten in nice restaurants where food contamination wouldn’t be an issue, we all decided that it wasn’t the quality of the food, but rather the quantity, that we had been consuming, particularly all of the beef, lamb, and chicken served to us at lunch and dinner.

Once we arrived at the museum, we settled in among several elementary schools who were on a field trip to wait for the military orchestra to begin playing, and we again were held in awe as the kids ran around us, shouting, “Hello, goodbye, I love you!” in English. I called, “Merhaba!” back and they stopped, stared at me warily for a moment, and then ran off, shouting, “Hello, goodbye, I love you!” again.

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After the concert, we had some free time, so we headed back to Midtown Istanbul on the Bosphorus. Caleb, Allyson and I walked through the alleys, made friends with some cats, and eventually joined back up with Natalie, Beth, Brynn, and Bayleigh, where we found, much to our delight, that jellyfish had washed up on the cobblestones from the waves crashing against them. We just had to poke their squishy bodies.

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We got lost (a habit of the day, it seems) on our way to our host dinner, so it was late and dark by the time we finally arrived, but that didn’t hide the fact that we were pulling up to a mansion on a sprawling estate right on the Bosphorus with an amazing view of Istanbul’s Asian skyline. Our host, a wealthy, single man, was understandably very proud of his house and property and promised to give us a grand tour after dinner.

As we sat down to eat the abundance of delicious looking and smelling food, my stomach still rebelled. Bayleigh nudged me and whispered, “Bread. Water. Maybe some rice. That’s all you and I are eating tonight. Sit next to Dramell and sneak all of the meat you’re served onto his plate; he promised me that he would eat our portions since we’re both so sick and he isn’t.”

As I slid into my chair next to Dramell, I gave him a questioning look, and he responded by stealthily removing the chicken kabob off of my plate and placing it on his own without missing a beat. Relieved, I made it through the dinner eating only a piece of bread and a few bites of rice without notice (I assume, anyway, since no one said anything), although I did drink a glass of a cool, refreshing citrus juice in addition to the water that I sipped. I don’t know how Dramell ate my and Bayleigh’s portions of meat in additions to his own (and then he asked for and received a second helping) but apparently all of the boys have escaped unscathed, since I noticed Beth slip some of her beef onto Marv’s plate, too. Natalie and I have both decided that it will be a long time, if ever, before we eat meat again.

Our host wanted to have us back to eat breakfast with him tomorrow morning, but it’s looking like we have to be at the Journalist and Writers Foundation too early to stop by before. It’s hard to believe tomorrow is our last full day here. I’m not ready to return home.

If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 6: Exploring More Ancient Cities

Adventures in Turkey pt. 5: EPHESUS

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

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In the Hilton in Izmir right now and it’s SUPER fancy. Like….unbelievably fancy. Allyson and I unlocked our door, stepped in, and stared first at the room and then at each other in amazement. I felt like a sad, American hobo. Rivaling even our fancy, luxurious room, though, is the view we have of the Aegean Sea from our window. It’s breathtaking.

We went to Fatih University this morning, ranked the 5th best university in Turkey. Salih (who I think pretty much adores me now) told the head of the department that I was a great person and student and asked if he could get me a job teaching English there. The man exclaimed, “Oh! I’ll ask!” and started to run out of the room while Salih called after him, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! She hasn’t even done grad school yet!” He replied, “Well, you recommended her, so we want her! Come back when you finish your master’s.” It was slightly embarrassing but mostly wonderful. Fatih already has amazing medical and engineering programs, even though it was only founded in 1995 or 1996 (I can’t remember which.) Salih keeps telling everyone I’m going to be a teacher, which leads to questions of, “Do you want to work here?! We’ll hire you!” I stammer, “Uh, but I haven’t even finished school-” to which Salih interjects, “But she graduates in April!” I say, “And I don’t speak Turkish–” and Salih boasts, “Do you know how fast she’s learned since she’s been here, though?!” I DID have a brief conversation with our host family this morning in pure Turkish, and it was pretty sweet. It seriously makes me so happy that they keep offering me teaching jobs, and not just because there are practically none back in America. I found myself thinking, “Maybe things aren’t going to work out between us, Michigan….”

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I found myself becoming more thankful for my home country after touring Zaman Newspaper. My former journalist’s heart skipped a beat as we walked through the building, examined the newspaper, and talked with a reporter who discussed Turkey’s free press…which actually isn’t that free. She explained to us that there has recently been a lot of scandal surrounding Prime Minister Bilal Erdogan. Since Turkey’s democratic state is fairly new and still developing, newspapers are not guaranteed protection, especially if they choose to publish truth that slanders authority. Several non-Turkish reporters were deported, we were told, after publishing articles against the Prime Minister, and one reporter was even imprisoned. Zaman is privately owned, so they can continue functioning, but face the danger of being sued by the Prime Minister. With an election coming up, we asked if it was possible for someone else to be elected. The reporter shrugged and told us that, while there are many different political groups here, none are really substantial enough to stand a chance against current leadership, so it’s unlikely that things will change. It was sobering to listen to the reporter tell us about all of these troubles, and I found myself thankful for America; though our political system is decidedly corrupt and has troubles of its own, I don’t think I’ll ever take freedom of speech for granted again.

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After Zaman, we had free time for two hours so we went to a park right on the Bosphorus strait and explored. Dram, of course, had more exclamations of, “Obama!” We played around on the different exercise machines that Turkey has sprinkled all over the country, free for public use, before heading to the airport.

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We flew to Izmir, where we had dinner in a very fancy restaurant, and then drove back to the hotel. We had a good talk with Dr. B about perspective while we were waiting to board to fly out of Istanbul. He stressed the importance of understanding that nothing is or can be purely wonderful, and that it’s good to remember that Salih is organizing all of this for us, and we wouldn’t be getting the treatment we are if it wasn’t for generosity of the Gulen movement, Niagara Foundation, and Salih’s leadership. It was sobering enough to listen to the reporter at Zaman and realize that Turkey, while beautiful and inspiring, is far from perfect. Our rose-colored glasses were chipped away a little bit more as he, Marv, Caleb, and I discussed a situation that happened yesterday at Süleymaniye Mosque.

As we were walking up to the mosque’s entrance, there was a group of gypsy kids running around barefoot and with big, dark, sad eyes, asking for money. Someone had whispered to me, “Do NOT give the kids any money,” and I instantly flashed back to my translator in the Dominican Republic telling me that the majority of kids begging are trafficking victims, and that any money I gave them would just go back into the hands of the traffickers and feed the system. We bypassed them and made our way into the mosque, where we spent an hour or two before heading back out to browse through the street vendors selling jewelry, scarves, and other souvenirs. This same group of kids appeared again, with their small, dirty hands outstretched, eyes on the ground, and asking softly, “Lira? Lira?” I remembered stories of pickpockets and children being used to distract tourists while others steal from them, and I kept my wallet securely in my bag as I shook my head, smiled politely, and said, “No, sorry.” As everyone else did the same, I told myself that, while we weren’t giving money to help these kids, in the long run, we were doing more good than harm. (Ugh. My arrogance.) Marv, however, instantly reached into his pockets and gave them all of the spare change he had, to a chorus of, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” as they ran off, bare feet pounding on cobblestones. Those children’s faces (and my lack of giving to them) tormented me on the long bus ride from the mosque to Hakan and Ezra’s. (Notice I didn’t even mention the story yesterday. Ugh. My pride.)

While we were sitting at the gate waiting to board, I heard Marv and Dr. B talking about those kids, so I joined them. Marv was talking about how he simply gave because a hungry little kid had asked him for money, while Caleb was with me in that he wasn’t sure what to do, so he just played it safe and didn’t take out his wallet. Dr. B explained to us that the gypsy culture is especially prevalent in Denizli, which we would soon see, but that they could also frequently be seen outside of mosques asking for money. Then he got very serious and said, “I’m a man of principles. I like to have them and I like to stick by them. And yesterday, I was thinking about how any money I gave those little kids would just feed the system, and they wouldn’t get a job, and their children wouldn’t get a job, and their children’s children wouldn’t get a job, and there would be more generations of hungry little children begging on the streets. So I didn’t give them anything.” Then he was quiet for a long moment and he said, “But the danger in that comes when I stop seeing that little boy as a human being and only as an object to psychoanalyze. Sometimes, you have to throw your principles to the wind and just give. I’m pretty sure Jesus didn’t have the time–or the desire–to psychoanalyze people who came to Him for help.”

The four of us sat there quietly for a moment, considering this, and I felt tears sting my eyes as I thought about how I had spent over $1,000 for this trip (and had over $200 more in both American and Turkish money in my wallet) but I couldn’t give a little boy in need a lira. A lira is about $0.50 in American money. Half a dollar.

I can only pray that that group of kids ran across other people that day who had a better heart and attitude than I.

If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

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After our usual breakfast fare (minus the French fries but still with the weenie sausages and cocoa puffs for our “American food”), we made Dr. B try that horrendous carrot juice, and he was not pleased, even though he was a good sport about it. The only person in our group who wouldn’t try it was Mr. N, but we’re going to eventually break him down because we’ve decided it’s our initiation into the group for this trip.

Dolmabache Palace: We started the day by visiting a palace built in 1856 which stayed in commission until the revolution in 1923. We weren’t allowed to take a ton of pictures inside (although Dramell, of course, did) but Ohhh my wordddd was it gorgeous. Gold plated ceilings and chandeliers weighing 4 & 1/2 tons and marble pillars….Stunning. While we were there, I lost one of the slip on shoes they gave us to protect the carpets and didn’t notice until someone pointed it out so we decided that meant that I’m basically Cinderella. Natalie and I frolicked in the gardens and people laughed but we didn’t care because we decided that we were princesses and were going to live in that palace, and Fred (our tour name from yesterday) also became an acronym for the first law we’re going to pass: Frolic Regally Every Day.

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Next, we went on a boat ride on the Bosphorus. I was a little nervous as Dr. B talked about how it was once the most dangerous strait in the world and how in some parts, sailors had to sail at a 60 degree angle because of the winds and the current. Thankfully, we had no such experience; once we got there, it was AMAZING. The weather was windy, but almost all of us stayed above deck, anyway, to enjoy the breeze and view. 

View from the boat ride

View from the boat ride

 

As I peeked over the railing into the water, I noticed the abundance of jellyfish.

As I peeked over the railing into the water, I noticed the abundance of jellyfish.

While Natalie and I were sitting there silent and contemplative, a group of people came over to us gesturing with their cameras. Natalie stood up to take their picture, but she shook her head; through several hand gestures, smiles, and nodding of heads, we finally realized that they wanted to take pictures with us. As Natalie and I awkwardly slid closer to the men and girl already posed and waiting on the bench, we sat through several snapshots as all five of them each had to get it on each of their phones. Every time they took it, one of the men would say, “Good one! Good one!” even if he didn’t see it and we think it’s the only thing he knew how to say in English so were just laughing and they were laughing and it was so weird and hilarious and wonderful. We don’t know if they wanted the pic because they knew we were American, but you’d think then they’d go for blond, blue-eyed Beth, not super dark haired Natalie and I. (She has a darker skin tone and brown eyes and Dramell told me he thinks I could pass as Turkish.) Even though Natalie and I had just been sitting on the bench enjoying the wonderful breeze and sunshine, I wondered if maybe we had done something to warrant attention. When we asked Salih about it, he told us that we looked very natural and like we belonged there, so he wasn’t exactly sure why they had wanted pictures with us. Natalie’s theory is that princesses have to get used to paparazzi, especially gorgeous princesses like us. I approved of that idea.

Beth snapped the event from the other side of the boat

Beth snapped the event from the other side of the boat while she, Caleb, and Allyson laughed at our predicament

After the boat ride, we got to explore Midtown Istanbul, which was incredible. I felt a little less friendly toward the Turkish felines that roam the streets as commonly as squirrels do in America as a cat actually tried to sabotage Natalie for her wrap with spinach and cheese. We walked up and down the winding streets as merchants sold everything from bracelets to scarves to watches to art. Keeping in mind that Dr. B had advised us to wait for the Grand Bazaar to buy most of our souvenirs, I couldn’t resist buying bracelets for my cousins, one red, one blue, with tiny imitation Turkish coins jingling from them.

I also used a squat toilet for the first time today. It was actually kinda gross and definitely not my favorite, but I feel the need to document it here.

Moving on.

After exploring for a while, we went to Süleymaniye Mosque, which is another very important mosque and we stayed there for a while, watching the men pray. I’m always very impressed by mosques. There are definite boundaries that can’t be crossed because I’m not Muslim (and because I’m a woman) but I really appreciate that as long as I’m shoeless and have my head covered, I’m welcome inside there. I also really appreciate the sense of unity and devotion that they share. Salih prays five times a day and it’s just very admirable to me to see how faithful he is. My prayer life is sadly lacking.

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After the mosque, we went to our first host family, newlyweds Hakan and Ezra (John and Esther). They were so wonderful. Salih had talked about Turkish hospitality, but we definitely experienced it first hand as they gave all of us stunning notebooks from the newspaper company where she works (which we will be visiting tomorrow). Since there were so many of us, Beth, Brynn, Bayleigh and I ate at a table on their screened in porch just off of the dining room, where they provided us with slippers to keep our feet warm. They’ve been married for eight months, and I whispered to the girls if it would be rude to ask if we could see pictures from their wedding. Since we weren’t sure (but really wanted to see it!) we asked Salih when he came in to check on us. He considered it for a moment and replied, “Some couples would not be comfortable with that, but I think they might. I’ll ask them for you.” Next thing we knew, a beaming Ezra was bringing the wedding album into the room for all of us to admire. Hakan winced and said he felt like an actor, fake and posed, in those pictures, but we all agreed that they both looked absolutely stunning.

As we were drinking Turkish coffee (which was definitely not my favorite but there was no way I was NOT going to not finish it), Beth commented on how much she loved their cups and next thing we know Ezra had gone back in the kitchen, washed them, and packed them up for her to take them home. They’re both heavily involved in the Gulen movement (which influenced the Niagra foundation) and Hakan kept saying how he loved that we we were willing to come and be a part of this and wanted to make a difference. They kept thanking US, to the point where we finally said, “YOU invited us into YOUR apartment and made all of this food and gave US gifts; we should be thanking YOU!” We gave them our Kibo mugs, Ugandan coffee and RC pens, and Hakan got choked up when Mr. N was explaining what he does and why he founded Kibo and he said, “I can’t believe you’re not only involved here, but also helping Africa. You are wonderful people” and so we all got choked up and it was such a wonderful, wonderful night.

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I also added a LOT more Turkish words to my vocabulary and as Allyson and I were reading the bag our journals came in (obviously in Turkish) and pointing out the words we knew (library, book) and trying to pronounce them, Salih said, “I didn’t know you studied Turkish before you came here!” I began, “I didn’t-” and he exclaimed, “You’ve picked all of that up since Friday?!” And I said, “Salih, I really hate the idea that Americans have of how everyone should speak English and I try to break that stereotype. Plus I love learning new languages!” And he said, “But you’ve even got the pronunciation down perfect with the different s’s and g’s. I’m amazed.” Before I could explain that I only knew that because of Allyson, who had been here before, he turned to Dr. B and said, “She’s better than you are, John, and she’s never been here before!” I felt a definite stamp of approval being given, and I loved it. I did learn that my C’s are incorrect though; C’s are pronounced as J’s, so mosque is “jah-mee” even though it’s spelled “camii.”

Jet lag is definitely taking its toll. I fell asleep at midnight but woke up at 3am and my body was like “That was such a nice nap!” I tried to tell myself, “Noooo, body, it wasn’t a nap; it’s sleeping time,” but I was up from then until after the call to prayer at like 5:30ish but I must have fallen asleep again because Allyson’s alarm woke me at 7:30. We slept on the bus on the way to Hakan and Ezra’s house, too.

When we got back to the dorms, we all expressed how thankful we are to Salih for all of this and he teared up, said, “It’s not me,” and pointed upwards. I was struck again by how even though Christianity and Islam are two obviously very different religions, our principles are the same and I respect him all the more for it. Hakan and Ezra’s character were so godly and to be honest, I’ve seen believers that don’t have as healthy, loving, and supportive a marriage as they do. I’m sure part of that’s because they haven’t even been married a year yet, but I appreciated SO much the mutual love and respect between the two of them. I guess in my biased ignorance, I was expecting the silent little homemaker wife with the controlling husband, but she told us that he had helped her with both the cleaning and cooking (since there was so much of it!) and she works as a computer engineer. He mentioned several times how proud of her he is for that and her college education. They were so wonderful.

So now we’re just hanging out, journaling, and catching up on emails. Tomorrow we’re going to visit Fatih University and Zaman newspaper where Ezra works, and then we fly out to Izmir tomorrow night, where we’re staying at a Hilton for a few days. We stay in Izmir for part of Monday and all day Tuesday, then drive to Denizli and stay there till Thursday, then drive back to Izmir to fly back to Istanbul for a few days before we have to prepare for the dreaded H word: Home.

If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

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Today was seriously PACKED. It’s a huge blur as I look back on the day. We had breakfast of different types of cheeses, tomatoes, cucumbers, Turkish bagels and hard boiled eggs in the morning. Salih suddenly announced, “If you all don’t like this, we also have some American food for you,” and gestured to cocoa puffs, weenie sausages, and French fries. Lol! I made sure to eat stuff from the first list because even though it was nice of them to consider us, that was one American stereotype I was NOT going to fulfill. We had coffee and tea to drink, of course, and then we were off to Topkapi Palace, where sultans lived for nearly 400 years. It’s more of a museum now but there are certain rooms and areas they’ve left untouched and it was AMAZING. It was surreal especially to walk through the parts of the palace that only the sultans were allowed in.

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The palace was inside of the old city, with Constantine’s wall surrounding it. I ran my hand along the stones of the wall and tried to fathom how old it is. After we went through the grounds and looked at old swords and other relics (where we weren’t allowed to take pictures but Dramell was sneaking some, anyway) we got lunch at Ottoman Restaurant, where we were served an ENORMOUS amount of food: salad, of course, and lentil soup and bread, and then we got to pick our entree from what felt like 30 different options. For dessert, they served us baklava which was AMAZING and I don’t even like baklava. We felt bad because we just couldn’t finish all of it; we did what we could but it was just SO much.

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After lunch, we started walking again when suddenly someone pointed at Dramell and yelled, “Obama!” And then all of these other people started chanting, “Obama! Obama!” which was hilarious because yes, Drammel is African-American, but unless our President has suddenly changed to a darker skinned, 6’4 college student with both ears pierced, they don’t look a thing alike. But now we call him either Odrama or Drambama, depending on our mood.

He's been stopped so many times for pictures.

He’s been stopped so many times for pictures.

Next was Hagia Sophia: oh my word. The stunning beauty of it. I could have stayed there for hours. It’s doubly amazing because it was a church before it was a mosque (and a mosque before it was a museum) so it’s the only place in the world to have Christian and Muslim art in one place. It’s enormous and gorgeous and stunning…oh my word. So old and wonderful. After various earthquakes, it had to be rebuilt three times, and parts are still under construction.

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When the Ottomans took over, the Hagia Sophia was converted from a church to a mosque. Because Islam respects Jesus, Mary, and other religious figures, they did not destroy the paintings already there. In order to be respectful, they simply covered up the Christian art with plaster and added the Islamic art. (Muslims do not have paintings or portrayals of people while they pray, as they believe it distracts them from their prayers.) The paintings, preserved from being weathered, were discovered (some almost completely in tact) when the plaster was chipped away as it was being converted to a museum in the 1930s.

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Then we went to the Bascilla Cisterns which was a little freaky but way cool; we were informed multiple times that the cistern was used during the filming of From Russia With Love. In addition to admiring yet another centuries old structure, we laughed at the giant ugly carp swimming in the water and I looked Medusa in the eyes even though our tour guide told me I would turn to stone if I did. I forget what his name was; we all called him Fred because he asked in the beginning, “What’s this group’s name?” meaning Rochester College or Niagra Foundation or something he could shout so we’d all hear him and know where to go, but Natalie said “Fred,” and he thought that was hilarious so we stuck with it. And every time he’d say, “Over here, Fred!”, a whole group of people (mostly girls too) would troop over to him and he’d just laugh and laugh.

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After picking our way through the slippery, underground cavern, we emerged to walk along the Hippodrome, an oval shaped area where horse races were held because gladiator type games were deemed barbaric. The Hippodrome was not immune to bloodshed, however; in the wake of the Nika riots (during which the Hagia Sophia was partially burned), Justinian had 30,000 of his enemies brought in, closed off all exits, and had them all slaughtered. I felt a chill run down my spine as I looked at the cobblestones covered in rain water, knowing that blood once filled the cracks.

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Next was my favorite! Blue Mosque: It’s the third holiest site for Muslims (falling behind the Dome of the Rock and Mecca) and it’s enormous and beautiful. It was such a cool and unique experience that I’ve never had before. In between the calls to prayer (during which visitors are not allowed in) we removed our shoes, covered our hair, and stepped inside. Despite religious, cultural, and ethnic differences, there was a mutual respect for everyone within the building that I so appreciated. In a religious building with people from all over the world and from a variety of different religions (if they held a religion at all), there was peace. It was comforting to my eternally optimistic heart to think that, perhaps, someday, such peace and understanding between humanity is a possibility. Regardless of personal beliefs, we all stood together with nothing but respect and admiration in our hearts for those around us. There was almost a tangible sense of unity that could be felt. A woman actually stopped me and started speaking Arabic before she realized that I’m an American. There were several other times, however, when people would walk by our group and say, “Ahh, Americans,” so I guess we’re pretty noticeable. I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing!

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It’s nearly impossible to have your hair covered and still have peripheral vision.

We grabbed dinner which was Turkish pizza an the restaurant owner was the cutest EVER. I said “Merhaba” and attempted, “Teh suchre etarim” (hello and thank you). It was hard to learn how to say thank you! Salih just told us “Sal” but that’s the informal way and we wanted the authentic way to say it. Brynn finally got us all to remember it by saying, “Tea, sugar, and a rum,” but then we all got scared we would accidentally say that.

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I know I keep saying everything is delicious but it seriously is….excluding Salgam.

After we made it back to the dorms, I showered and headed to the hang out room by the lobby to journal for a few minutes before we all played cards. As soon as I walked in, everyone bombarded me with, “KATIE, KATIE, TRY THIS JUICE” which should have been my first tip that something was off. I examined the bottle closely; it was purple, but whatever was in the basket was definitely not a bunch of grapes. I didn’t see any English words on it, so I asked, “Is it date juice?” There was the briefest pause before they all exclaimed, “….Yeah!….DATE juice!” which should have been my second tip off, but I gave in and tried it and it was VILE. I was choking as Katy took pity on me and gave me some water. Dram had no sympathy for me because he said I didn’t get a sip that was big enough; apparently, he thought it was grape juice and downed back a nice, big glass when he got back to his room. Determined to discover when I had just consumed, I searched the bottle and found tiny, English words proclaiming FERMENTED BLACK CARROT JUICE. My horrified announcement created such an uproar that Salih poked his head in to see what we were doing, so we asked him, “Salih, do you drink this?!?” He replied, “Eh, yeah, sometimes, it’s good with really salty fish dinners and stuff–” but then he noticed our traumatized faces and said, “Um, I would never, ever, drink it by itself, though. Did you guys–?” and then he just started laughing. Our mantra for Salgam has become, “Never by itself,” and several of us agreed that we’d much rather drink Ayran again than Salgam.

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Poor Natalie entered after I did and had to have her Salgam experience documented.

After dinner, Salih asked, “Are you guys tired?” And we were EXHAUSTED because of the long day and I think jet lag caught up finally so we said, “YES,” and he shrugged and said, “Oh, never mind, John, they’re too tired for my great and wonderful idea,” so of course we said, “No! No, tell us!” And he replied, “Oh, I was just gonna suggest a night walk along the Bosphorus to see Rumeli Fortress, but if you’re all too tired….” There was no question in any of our minds; we wiped the jet-lag from our eyes and trooped out into the slightly chilly (but still much warmer than February in Michigan!) night to explore. Mehmet the Conquerer built the fortress right before he overtook Istanbul.

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After our walk, we came back and hung out because we weren’t tired by then, so we played cards and talked for a couple hours. I’m still not tired, but I should go to bed because it’s midnight here even though it’s 5pm at home. We’re going for our boat ride on the Bosphorus and having dinner with a host family tomorrow so I do know I need sleep, but it’s difficult to because I’m still so amazed to be here. It’s a life changing, amazing experience and I’m so thankful I can take part in it.

1899921_449429731856985_1777918228_nIf you missed last week’s post: Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

 

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

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I’ve really been having to fight the travel bug lately. Someone asked me the other day why I can’t just be content to stay here in the United States, and I burst out, “But how can I be when there are so many interesting countries I haven’t even seen yet?!” They didn’t understand and were slightly unsympathetic.

In order to pacify myself, I’ve been reading through my travel journals again. My stories from Turkey, especially, make me laugh, partly because the memories are so wonderful and partly because I was always in such a hurry to write everything down, my entries are jumbled with excited ranting that jumps from subject to subject. I thought about cleaning them up to be more edited and polished for these posts, but that would take away from the charm and excitement so clearly found in all of the random pages. Enjoy! (More entries detailing my Turkish adventures will be posted, so make sure you press that “follow” button!)

Despite the fact that I spent the night before I left home on the floor in front of a nearly empty suitcase fighting back tears, I’ve made it to Turkey!

On the bus leaving for Chicago; you can tell I'm still nervous here. My lips say, "Yay!" but my eyes say, "Maybe I just want to stay in the States..."

On the bus leaving for Chicago; you can tell I’m still nervous here. My lips say, “Yay!” but my eyes say, “Maybe I do just want to stay in the States…”

 

It’s seriously amazing here. Traffic is INSANE and there are cats running everywhere and literally everyone smokes cigarettes, but I love it. It’s 8am here now so we have half an hour before we have to be down for breakfast and then we take off for the old city to see the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, the Hippodrome, and an ancient palace. Jet lag hasn’t been too bad. I woke up at 3am Turkey time because it was 8pm back in the States, but I was able to get back to sleep. I’m a little tired now but that’s because it’s 1am in MI. We’re staying at an all girls boarding school and it’s the cutest place ever. We have a mineret right across the street so I woke up this morning at 5 am from the call to prayer which scared me awake (I almost fell out of bed!) but after a while of laying there listening to the chanting, I decided it was beautiful, in a haunting kind of way.

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We had a great flight (I slept almost the whole 10 or 12 or however long it was hours) and made it through security and customs with absolutely no problem. Salih (our translator) is super nice and keeps begging us to “have ourselves at home” (meaning make ourselves at home). We ate at the most amazing Turkish restaurant when we got here for dinner last night and there was SO MUCH FOOD. We literally only ate one bite of everything because it just kept coming! Dr. B convinced everyone to order Ayran, a yogurt drink that he raved on and on about….but no one else liked it. There’s just something about drinking slightly warm, salty yogurt that didn’t really appeal to us, excluding Dr. B, who drank three glasses.

I’ve already picked up a little bit of Turkish! I really wanted to so I’ve been paying a lot of attention to various signs and words and asking Allyson (who’s been here before) about it. I pronounce things wrong a lot because sometimes Gs are pronounced as Ws and Cs as Hs and Ss as Hs and Is can be a long E or a U sound depending on accents which are super confusing but I can say hello, peach, thank you, and emergency exit. I like to think these words will provide me with enough help in a situation.
Nutella is Sorelle here and very popular because Turkey is known for both Hazelnuts and pistachios (my dad would have loved the dessert we had yesterday) so both are everywhere in meals, super fresh and cheap. We drink tea all the time and it’s so good! We’re not visiting a family until Sunday because Salih wants us to be totally over jet lag for visiting.
Everyone hosting us has been amazing, despite the incident last night when I was convinced I was going to be shipped back to the States. We went up the elevator to our floor in shifts, with Salih staying behind to corral everyone up. Those of us standing in the lobby decided to go exploring in the rooms, but we hadn’t made it very far before Salih called us back, asked us all to wait in the lobby, and then he and the man in charge went in a back room and yelled at each other in Turkish for 20 minutes. Of course my anxiety kicked in, and I started telling myself that the problem was somehow with me because I’d joined the trip so last minute. Someone suggested that maybe we’d done something wrong by having single guys and girls exploring in the same bedrooms, and those of us who had done so exchanged nervous, guilty looks. After several minutes, Salih came out and asked to talk to Dr. B privately, and then we got REALLY nervous. Dr. B came out laughing a few minutes later while Salih stood behind him giving disapproving looks to the man in charge who was wringing his hands. Dr. B said they were arguing because they were worried about the room arrangements. The director had thought that we were all a huge family and had pushed all the beds together in the rooms; they were terrified that, as Americans, we would find that offensive.
Two twin beds pushed together. Allyson and I are roomies

Two twin beds pushed together.

We were just so relieved that we hadn’t offended anyone and weren’t in trouble, and I secretly vowed to not go looking around again without permission, even just inside the school. The boundaries are very clear: the boys aren’t even allowed in the back of the school (where our rooms are) unless they’re headed to the dining room for meals. We girls took the rooms with the beds pushed together and the boys got the two separate beds because Dr. B said he didn’t care if he was being sexist; he thought it’d be better for the girls to be close together because he personally did not want to cuddle with Mr. N. Allyson and I are rooming together!
It felt SO good to get here yesterday and take a shower. We’d been on a plane or bus for 18 of the last 19 hours. I don’t remember our exact itinerary but I think we’re here for three more days and then we fly out of Istanbul into Izmir, where we spend a few days and then drive to…a city that starts with a D that I forget. (Maybe jet lag is affecting me more than I realize.)