and Everything Thereafter

Inspired

2009-09-29T20:52:00.003+03:00

When you are inspired by some great purpose, some extraordinary project, all your thoughts break their bonds: your mind transcends limitations, your consciousness expands in every direction and you find yourself in a new, great, and wonderful world. Dormant forces, faculties and talents become alive and you discover yourself to be a greater person than you ever dreamed yourself to be.
--Patanjali

Moving south, Canada recap

2009-09-19T20:10:00.007+03:00

Just a few days before my move south o' the border and I'm feeling that pre-move stress, as well as avoiding the whole packing thing till the very last minute. I'll be breakin' it down again to two pieces of luggage, a pretty monster-sized upright and a backpack.

For the most part paring my possessions down for a long-distance move isn't difficult for me, except for one category--books. If I had my way I would bring along a whole library and have nothing else in the house but shelves and shelves of them, along with a cozy reading nook by the fireplace with Turkish carpets, gigantic pillows and a nargile. Instead I'll be narrowing it down to a handful of volumes so that I don't receive cold stares from the passengers behind me and the airline desk staff while I shuffle my books around and into my carry-on in an effort to bring my luggage back under the weight limit.

Returned from Canada earlier this week. So here are some photo highlights from the trip:

View from atop Whistler

Tinikling (national dance of the Philippines) at the musical "Celebrating the Harvest"

Tugboats at a Fraser River dock

B.C. Parliament building in Victoria

Harrison Lake

Queen Elizabeth Park

PNE Vancouver

2009-09-04T03:50:00.004+03:00

I'm up in B.C. with my mom for a few weeks visiting with aunties and cousins. Yesterday we headed to the PNE (Pacific National Exhibition), an annual fair held in late summer in Vancouver's Hastings Park. The fair runs the gamut from farm animal exhibits to concerts and dance programs to modern art. And then there are the endless stalls of greasy dietary disasters which no fair would be complete without. Everyone needs a bag of mini donuts and souvlaki to keep their energy up for Playland, or so they have something colorful to puke up after taking a whirl on the Spinner.

I skipped the Spinner (along with the rest of Playland) and instead partook of the SuperDog Show, farm animal exhibition, art shows, fake Mexican food, a dance program featuring local youths, and some of the Hastings gardens.

My top 5 picks at PNE:

1. Beaver Cabinet

2. Container Exhibit: Eggshell head and masks

3. Dressy Drawers

4. Container Exhibit: Hub Art

5. The Italian Gardens

Color me happy: A summer morn in the Santa Ana riverbed

2009-08-23T07:31:00.004+03:00

This morning I threw myself out of bed at an ungodly hour in order to catch some morning light at the Santa Ana riverbed, one of my haunting grounds when I was a kid. Unfortunately, it was quite overcast at sunrise, so instead of being down there for an hour, I spent close to three hours waiting for the clouds to break.

Almost wading through the soft sand, sitting on a rock watching the clouds change shape and scaring a whitetail rabbit out of hiding multiple times ... back then, my best friend and I once built a life-size sand sculpture of a naked man right by the north embankment, my brother and I traversed the defunct, rickety railroad bridge, an el nino year brought us enough water for topsy-turvy tubing rides.

Nowadays a monstrous power plant built nearby has spoiled the once quiet ambiance of the riverbed and a sprawling grocery warehouse obstructs some of the view of the mountains to the north. But despite the city's misguided attempts at urbanization around the river so much beauty still lies within these banks.

Cleansing in Cali

2009-08-20T01:07:00.003+03:00

California. It's been a couple of weeks since I flew in from Malaysia, and the first order of biz -- cleansing. Any decent nutritional habits I have tend to go out the door when I'm traveling. What kind of trip would it be if I weren't trying all manner of tasty cuisine along the way?

And not just my GI tract needed a good cleansing. This is a transition period when I'm weighing what I want to put my energies into next, where I want to live and with whom I would like to surround myself. For these decisions, I wanted my mind to be in the clearest state possible, so 10 days ago I embarked on the Master Cleanse, a liquid fast//detox developed in the '40s in which one consumes only lemonade (from freshly squeezed lemons) with pure maple syrup and cayenne each day, along with doing a saltwater flush.

I skipped the recommended three-day ease-in period and went straight into the liquid fast on day 1. Surprisingly the lemon/maple/cayenne mixture was quite tasty, especially since I enjoy spicy things. The cayenne provides a nice kick to the drink.

For the first two days my energy levels dropped significantly, I felt like a slug. I realized how automatic it is to go in and grab a snack during the day and how much mealtime is part of daily ritual. So the first few days were spent retraining my mind out of that auto response and replacing mealtimes with other activities.

On days 3 and 4 I began to feel much better, with my energy levels building. It became easier to be around food without wanting any. The making of the lemonade in the morning had become part of my daily ritual. However, drinking the liter of saltwater for the bowel flush didn't become any easier. I would try to guzzle it all in one go, but it usually took three or four. Yick! I'm cringing at the mere thought.

Being on the cleanse also meant turning down several invites from friends for lunch or dinner. Yet this also meant that I was able to focus inward, meditate, find clarity without distractions.

By the weekend and day 7, I thought I had this in the bag, but I awoke that morning with a nasty headache, which hung around till noon. My energy levels dropped once again and I felt light-headed when I went out to exercise that evening.

Days 8 and 9 saw a peak in energy and clarity. And today, the tenth and final day of the cleanse, I feel great, and not just because I won't have to drink anymore saltwater. Other perks that have come along with the cleanse: my allergies have hardly bothered me at all, I've experienced much better sleep and wake up feeling rested, and I've lost almost seven pounds.

Now that I've reached the end, feeling light, clear and energized, I'm thinking that this is something I would like to integrate into my life on a regular basis.

Fear and loathing on the road to Bang

2009-07-28T14:59:00.005+03:00

A bead of sweat emerged on my right temple and trickled down my cheek, with several more to follow. Next to me on the bus sat an elderly man with a bird's nest of white hair, large, square, plastic glasses and a crisp, white sports shirt. He smelled of a not unpleasing mixture of coffee grounds and Old Spice.

"Long ride ahead of you, going to Bangkok, right?" he said, grinning.

"Indeed, I am. You, too?" I asked. He nodded.

In fact I was unsure as to how long the ride would really be, having heard or read everything from 12 to 17 hours.

I learned from my seat mate that he spent most of his time between Costa Rica and Chiang Mai, in northern Thailand, but this time had decided to detour and check out the Cambodian coastal town of Sihanoukville, where I'd spent the last week.

Moments before the monsoon rains hit. Sihanoukville, Cambodia

"So, what did you think of the place?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know if this will make sense ... it had a very low energy, ya know, compared to Chiang Mai. Up there the people are so different, high energy," he said, adding: "I guess after having a million of your teachers, doctors, your educated, killed off, that does something to you. I think it's affected the gene pool. It will take some more time to recover, I suppose."

The bus grew hotter, idling in the sun with the AC blowing weakly from the vents above. We weren't sure what we were waiting for and no one had bothered to ask. Finally, after another half hour had passed and the conversation had shifted from Buddhist meditation to goats on bush taxis, a young French couple rushed onto the bus and plopped down in the front seats. They were both sweating and looked frazzled. Minutes later the driver appeared and we finally hit the road.

Five hours later, after a lunch stop in the border town of Koh Kong, we arrived at the the border post in the same town and were promptly dumped off. The Cambodian immigration line, though slow, moved steadily. From there it was a short walk to the Thai immigration office, which processed everyone much quicker than its Khmer counterpart.

On the Thai side there were a series of minivans with their drivers recruiting people to their respective vehicles. Other men had brought our luggage over on large pushcarts. We soon realized that we would not be able to leave until our van was full -- 10 people. Luckily, our driver was zealous in his recruitment tactics. We ended up with the late French couple, a Dutch couple, a Frenchman with a blond toddler in tow, my seatmate from the first bus and two Khmer girls.

The driver's helper came to check everyone's tickets, at which point the Dutch and French couples claimed to have given their full tickets to the boy on the first bus. The ticket checker stated that they could not take anyone without a ticket. So both couples began sifting frantically through the contents of their pockets and packs. After a few minutes the Dutch exclaimed in triumph, producing their tickets from a backpack, whereas the French looked on dejectedly, not able to find theirs. The French couple told ticket man that they had their receipt and stickers for Bangkok, but no tickets; however, the man was adamant about having the tickets and declared that he would need 200baht from them so he could cross back through the border checkpoint and call the ticket office. The French lamented having no baht on them, but the Dutchman quickly came to the rescue and produced 200 baht, to the profuse thanks of the couple. All the other minivans were long gone by this time, and the French couple seemed to sink a little lower in their seats, embarrassed at being the ones to make us late for a second time that day.

The AC was again inadequate, with the Dutch couple and I suffering in the very back. At regular intervals the Dutchman would doff his baseball cap and stick his balding head directly beneath the vents. The Frenchman, meanwhile, seemed to miss the fact that his child was suffering in a thick, long-sleeved jersey.

After zenning it thru this ride for another few hours, we made it to Trat, where at a gas station a lone, white super-minivan was awaiting us. This wonder had high ceilings, twice the space and a freezing AC.

For this final leg of four and a half hours, we all stretched out in cool comfort, thinking that the rest of the trip would be smooth sailing into Bangkok. After being on the road for about an hour we reached a police checkpoint. Most vehicles were waved through quickly, but when we made it to the front of the line a cop gestured for us to pull over. He first asked for the driver's documents, then told him to get out of the van and come with him. No one in the van said a word, but the big UH OH in everyone's minds was almost tangible. We looked on helplessly as they took him to a table and began questioning him.

A little later another officer opened the van's sliding door and peered in, rather menacingly, at all of us. He then ordered the two Khmer girls out and slammed the door shut after they had climbed down. We watched as he questioned them while studying their passports closely. At this point all manner of scenarios were running through my mind and everyone was gazing at each other quizzically.

After another half hour had passed our driver returned to the van. It was hard to tell if he was crying or just sweating profusely, perhaps both. He certainly looked dejected, but he got in without saying anything. The van was eerily silent, not even the toddler was babbling as if he understood the mood. We pulled out of the checkpoint and continued on our way as if nothing had happened.

Around 60 songs later the lights and skyscrapers of Bangkok came into view, with the Frenchman stretching giraffe-like toward the windows to take it all in. After a mere 12.5 hours we had made it to the Bang.

The little temple

2009-07-22T16:08:00.006+03:00

Rewind to July 7-13, when I was in Siem Reap to visit the Angkor temples. There is, of course, the most well-known temple complex, Angkor Wat, which is the most extensive. But there are actually over 1,000 different temple ruins of various sizes at the site.

One of my favorites was a smaller temple called Banteay Srey, which lies about 37km from Angkor Wat. The morning light brings out the range of pink, red and yellow tones in the stone and when the temple first came into view it reminded me of something straight out of a fairytale.

Phnom Penh: Top 5 with the Vibe

2009-07-19T15:43:00.011+03:00

This is my last day in Phnom Penh before heading south to the beaches. In some cities a number of elements come together to create the Vibe. They are places where soon after arrival you feel perfectly comfortable. Places where you want to sit back or stroll around and stay for awhile. I wasn't sure what to expect from Phnom Penh, but I bused in a week ago from Siem Reap and began to feel the Vibe.

1. Monkeys around Wat Phnom
These guys hang out in the trees and grass surrounding Wat Phnom, a Buddhist temple on a hill.

2. Pajamas on the street
A common scene when you're out and about in Phnom is the bright pajamas worn by women and children. Comfy cotton in fiery colors, often with cartoon characters dotting them, a strong contrast to the all-black models that were required when the Khmer Rouge was in power in the late '70s. Nothing says laidback comfort like a pair of cotton PJs.

3. Courtyard gardens at the National Museum of Cambodia

4. Architecture, Psah Thmei (Central Market)
The overarching theme in Phnom architecture is French colonial. But examples of other styles such as this 1930's art-deco market can also be found in the city.

5. A true center, Wat Phnom and park
The circular park below Wat Phnom is the soul of the city. People gather here to talk, recreate, relax and escape the sun.

"No regrets" about deaths

2009-07-16T15:18:00.004+03:00

Yesterday I visited the site of one of the Killing Fields in Choeung Ek, where a memorial lies to commemorate the many thousands of Cambodians who were executed by the Khmer Rouge from 1975-1979 in these fields. The mass graves at the site have all been excavated so there are now large pits covered with grass and flowers. Some of the larger pits have thatch canopies over them and signs describing what demographic was buried there, such as just children, or just women and children.

The memorial at Choeung Ek is in the form of a Buddhist stupa. Behind tall windows on all four sides are thousands of skulls from those who were executed here.

After walking the perimeter of the site, which also has a large pond at one end, and a path through the graves, I sat down across from the memorial. Nature has reclaimed the area. It was difficult to imagine the atrocities that were carried out there. And yet this is a part of very recent history. Something that was happening when I was a toddler.

I closed my eyes and tried to project myself into that scene -- children bound to trees and beaten, all being starved, some being forced to dig their own graves, being executed by a hammer or ax to the head. How does one go about adopting an ideology that could justify such acts? An ideology that leads to a complete loss of one's humanity?

After the Killing Fields I continued on to the Toul Sleng Genocide Museum, the site of the infamous S-21 prison during the reign of the Khmer Rouge. Torture was routine at S-21, including the practice of waterboarding which we all became refamiliarized with in the former US administration.

Earlier that morning I had read an article on a top Khmer Rouge interrogator. In his testimony, Mam Nay "expressed no remorse for the killings of thousands of Cambodians who he said had all committed crimes."

"Asked about the deaths of innocent people, Nay, 76, said: 'None of them was innocent -- those people committed offences, either minor or serious.'"

Kapaleeswarar temple

2009-07-12T07:37:00.002+03:00

Mylapore, Chennai

Theosophical Gardens

2009-07-12T06:48:00.006+03:00

While in Chennai, India, in late June I spent a morning strolling the paths of the Theosophical Gardens. On the same grounds lies the headquarters of the Theosophical Society. There are examples of the places of worship of all world religions scattered throughout, but the gardens themselves were what I came for. Unfortunately, the hours that the gardens are open are limited, only a few hours in the morning and another few in the afternoon and the men at the gate are pretty strict about this, though I doubt anyone would come hunt you down if you didn't leave at the set times.

A highlight of the gardens is one of the world's largest banyan trees (pictured below), which is over 100 years old. The tree takes up a sprawling area and there is a weathered archway before which you can sit and ponder the tree, 100 years, life or nothing at all.

Small section of the giant banyan tree.

Annapurna Circuit: Lassis by the lake

2009-07-06T12:59:00.005+03:00

And then, it was over. I was sitting across from the lake in Pokhara sweating and drinking all the lassis I could keep down, later having cold cocktails with Purna as they filmed a Nepalese movie at the lake park.

This was all after our final three-hour hike from Ghandruk to Naipaul, from where we took a taxi to Pokhara. Or rather we tried to take a taxi, but the vehicle broke down after only about 15 minutes. After our driver tried in vain to fix it, he walked down the road and came back with a friend, who ended up taking us the rest of the way. This driver appeared to be around 16 and I wished a couple times his taxi would break down too before we hurled off the mountainside or into the next tractor around the bend.

Annapurna Circuit: Part 7

2009-07-06T12:25:00.005+03:00

June 15: Ghorepani to Tadapani

Tadapani to Ghandruk

The rains are coming down this afternoon, leaving the rice and corn and other crops happily soaked, but all the humans wandering around restlessly.

The Annapurna Guest House where we are staying tonight has an outlook tower from which Purna and I watched the rain. Up in the tower I had the sensation of being in a lighthouse, though instead of looking out over endless ocean, there was a sea of clouds and forest, constantly shifting in wind and rain, at one point with the fog encompassing the tower like a misty embrace.

Now it is thundering and the clouds have obscured the view, leaving only an outline of the tree-lined mountaintops. Water is pouring from the roof gutters in a steady stream and sweeping down the stone walkways, creating a river of its own.

Annpurna Circuit: Part 6

2009-07-06T11:36:00.008+03:00

June 12: Marpha to Ghasa

Today's hike was close to six hours, with a break for lunch in Kalopani. The terrain was far different from yesterday's dry brownness. We entered a region of fir forest, swiftly moving fog and crashing rivers fed by clear streams.

Locals told us it had been raining every day for the past week, but today was precipitation-free. Kalopani was one of the most attractive villages I've seen, with well-designed stone brick lodges, a school that looked like a mountain retreat and lovely gardens. Purna said not many trekkers stay there anymore. Seemed like it would make a great place to live/run a lodge/trekking business.

Ghasa to Tatopani: Today was a descent into what looks and feels most like a tropical rain forest, with banana trees, towering canopies, ferns, waterfalls, and, of course, steamy rain.

June 14: Tatopani to Ghorepani

This was the final all-uphill struggle of the trek, close to six full hours, most of which was on stone steps in steamy jungle heat. The water buffalo looked much more content with themselves, wallowing in their muddy holes and thus keeping cool as sweat poured down my face and sun blisters appeared on my forearms (as I am allergic to sunscreen).

We broke for lunch and were soon joined by an Aussie and a girl from Denmark, along with their guides/porters. Apparently the Dane and another guy who had been traveling with them originally were hit by altitude sickness on their attempt at Thorong-la and had to descend to High Camp. The guy decided to turn back, while the two women made a successful attempt the next day. The Aussie said she is heading to Turkey (yaaaaaaay) and the Middles East on a six-month trip after this.

Even Purna, who seems to have boundless energy, was waning as we neared the top. The noodle soup he'd had for lunch just wasn't enough to power him through. Should've stuck with dhal bhat.

Annpurna Circuit: Part 5

2009-07-06T10:53:00.006+03:00

Muktinath to Kagbeni

The wind is blustering outside as if it would like to cleanse us all from this earth; but instead the prayer flags are being shredded, the muddy river is rippling and the hay is blowing into faces and up noses.

The hike from Muktinath this morning took only a few hours. It was a rather desolate trek down a winding, dusty road on which we would sometimes have to hop to the side and wait for impatient, packed, white jeeps to speed by, honking even though we clearly weren't in their way.

The terrain reminds me most of Nevada, except perhaps with even less vegetation growing here. I saw only one hint of life on the way, a tiny lizard skirting its way across the road to again hide itself amongst the rocks and sand.

There are several lodges and little shops, one with an authentic-looking 7Eleven sign, in this village. The architecture reminds me of a that in a Mexican town, with colorful outer window dressings, wood piping and white exteriors.

After trying the dense Kagbeni bread with some mushroom soup we ventured out into the wind and walked to an overlook of the muddy, sluggish river. But after reaching the other side of the village, with debris blowing up into our faces, Purna had had enough and we returned to Shangri-la (the name of our lodge).

Kagbeni to Marpha

Thus far, today was my least favorite hike. The wind was gusting directly against us the entire time and we had to constantly jet to the side of the road to avoid oncoming jeeps and motorcycles, which left a cloud of dust in our faces. My nose is so dried out it feels as if the slightest twitch will set it to bleeding. My face is unevenly tanned as the winds kept blowing the flaps of my hat up, so I appear rather like a charred alien at the moment.

The terrain -- in a word, austere. Dusty riverbeds, dry, rocky roads, sun beating down, gusts never ending. We hit the town of Jomsom around 11am, a fairly large town but not much to it. There was much construction going on and many lodges, as several treks in the region start from here. It also has a stone slab road running all the way through it, but nothing to distinguish it from any other dusty, gray frontier town. From Jomsom it was another hour to Marpha.

Tried some of the regionally popular Marpha Apple Brandy. Let's just say I wouldn't recommend it, unless you're feeling desperate and there's nothing else around.

Annapurna Circuit: Part 4, Thorong-la Pass

2009-07-06T10:10:00.005+03:00

June 9: Thorong High Camp to Thorong-la Pass to Muktinath

I conquered Thorong-la Pass today at 5,416m (17,769ft.). The climb was not as difficult as I had expected. I was lucky to have no signs of altitude sickness, though breathing was a chore. Though breathing deeply, it still feels as if one is not getting enough air, perhaps something like suffocation.

We were the first to leave the High Camp this morning at around 5:40am, though the Chilean and his guide and an Italian/Spaniard pair I had met last night soon followed. I thought they might catch up at some point but surprisingly neither pair ever did. So when we reached Thorong-la, welcomed by the well-known sign with prayer flags emerging from a stone pillar, we had it all to ourselves. We dropped our bags and headed up the slope for a better view, from where we could see glacial lakes and a 360-degree view of the surrounding peaks.

The descent was actually more difficult than the climb since after a few hours, even with trekking poles, hip sockets and knees have just had it on the steep, rocky terrain. But we forged ahead without breaks and made it to Muktinath before noon, with a donkey train tromping in right behind us -- they always seemed to find us.

After some rest and a hot shower that felt like salvation we walked up the hill to a Hindu temple complex. Surrounding the temple, where many Indians go on pilgrammage, are 108 taps in the shape of boar's heads along the wall. In the front courtyard are two holy pools. A path leads along the full perimeter amongst shade trees. It was interesting to see the mix of Hindu and Buddhist elements, such as the prayer wheels, there. And above the perimeter wall stood a number of stupas.

The lodge where we stayed, called the North Pole, had the best enchiladas I have ever had served on a sizzling iron skillet. I was beyond surprised to find this Mexican dish done so well in the Nepali frontier.

Annapurna Circuit: Part 4

2009-07-06T08:21:00.006+03:00

June 7: Manang to Yak Khakar

Today was a mostly easy three-and-a-half-hour hike from Manang, though there was some climbing at the beginning. We passed the Chilean (what me and my guide, Purna, had taken to calling another Circuit hiker that had started around the same time as us, whose actual name was Jean-Paul) for the second time that day; he looked rather winded though we had seen him only around 10 minutes ago having a tea break.

Yak Khakar is a strange little village with a lot of Nepali people just camping out here, hiking up the nearby mountain every day to collect semi-precious stones, and returning each evening to their camp. Once we got here, Purna and I walked down to the river and found comfortable boulders for lizard lounging in the sun; if it weren't so windy, I would've quickly fallen asleep, sombrero over face to prevent a bad burn.

No lights at the tea house here and water quite scarce. Toilets have been locked for the low season. Purna said this was to keep the Nepali campers from using them.

Yak Khakar to Thorong High Camp

I am writing this with gloves on, wearing a down jacket and sitting in my down sleeping bag, with a hat on. Outside there are snow showers falling on and off, though earlier it was clear and sunny but with a definite chill in the air. I hiked up here with just a Capilene zip-T -- and what a climb it was, a precursor to tomorrow I suppose. Just ahead of us was a mountain biker and his guide, who both had to lug their bikes up this section cause it was way too steep to ride.

The High Camp lodge is pretty basic, all of stone and mud and plaster, but the windows are pretty well sealed compared to yesterday's digs. The camp is a series of low-slung quarters that appear almost like army bunkers.

Tomorrow morning have to be ready by 5am so we can breakfast and hit the pass (Thorong-la Pass, the highest point on the Circuit) before it gets too windy. The elevation here at High Camp is 4,800m (15,748ft.). Feels kind of like a frontier ghost town as most people are holed up in their rooms resting up for tomorrow, and there are also those who made the attempt today but got altitude sickness and had to return.

Annapurna Circuit: Part 3

2009-07-05T07:47:00.008+03:00

Pisang to Manang

Today's hike was only around four hours, with a two-hour layover at lunch because of the long prep time for dhal bhat (the Nepalese national dish of rice and lentil soup, usually with a side of veg) in Braka Manju. Nothing to strenuous, though we did gain some elevation. Manang is at 3,519m (11,548 ft.). Since we got in early we took off again to see Gangapurna Lake, which lies on the outskirts of Manang and was formed by a glacier.

Manang is an attractive town of stone brick homes and tea houses and an older section that looks like a sprawling stone fortress. After hiking up to the ridge above the lake and sitting in the sun for awhile, with great views of Gangapurna Glacier above, we headed back down and then climbed up the hill behind the tea house to a stupa.

Manang to Ice Lake

The purpose of today's hike -- which actually took us backwards on the trail we came up yesterday, then cut up into mountains on a very steep grade -- was acclimatization, with Ice Lake located over 1,000 meters higher than Manang at 4,600m (15,091ft.). We started out at 8am after a breakfast of mueslix and hot milk. After walking back to Braka, which is where we had lunched yesterday, we joined the trail head and it was all pretty much up, up, up at more than a 45 degree grade for the next three and a half hours, with only the last 15 minutes or so providing some respite.

When we climbed over the final ridge, the punchline appeared -- an itty-bitty nondescript excuse for a lake, surrounded by no vegetation whatsoever. Next to it stood the remains of a temple, now only a square of stacked stone on a foundation. It was also quite cold and my fingers quickly went the way of numb. So after eating our packed lunch of chapatis and eggs, we sat for a bit, but the temps. cooled even further and we soon were making our way back down.

Annapurna Circuit: Part 2

2009-07-05T06:36:00.006+03:00

Temang to Chame

Chame to Pisang
Clockwise from left: Buddhist prayer stone, Annapurna II, temple in Upper Pisang, Pisang

The light in the tea house is dim, waxing, waning. The roar of the river is farther off than I've become accustomed to, with the sound usually putting me right to sleep every night. Today's hike was around five hours. When we got into Pisang village, we soon after took off again and walked the dozens of stone steps to Upper Pisang. At the top is a temple, where an old man sat grinning in a corner out front, looking as if he'd just been sitting there enjoying the view of Annupurna II all day.

Annapurna Circuit: Excerpts from the trekking journal, Part 1

2009-06-30T17:10:00.008+03:00

Okay, so this is a little late in coming since in the interim between the trek and now I've also been to India and am now in Malaysia. But the 21-day trek was an amazing start to this trip and was chock full of sights and sounds that I will not soon forget. So here are some snippets from the journey to provide you with a taste of the diversity of terrain that the circuit covers.Purna, my guide/porter, near the beginning of the Circuit

Day 3: Ghernu Phant to Tal

The theme of the day was donkeys, known in Nepalese as "kajar." Though we hardly saw any yesterday, today it seemed as if they were snaking down or up every path and cable bridge. In the afternoon we had donkey trains both in front and behind us at one point and later had to stop several times so such trains could pass on the narrow trail. Some packs had around 60 animals, with some carrying steel cables and others sacks of rice.

Day 4: Tal to Temang

Today we left the humid warm lowlands and made the long, steep climb to alpine country. Here the clouds roll in every evening, covering the surrounding peaks, one of which is Manaslu (the eighth-highest peak in the world). The cooler weather made the climb easier but an earlier one -- a makeshift trail due to road construction -- was a series of steep switchbacks on an exposed ridge, in other words, grueling.

**As I'm falling asleep since I was on a red-eye flight from India to Kuala Lumpur last night and thus got no sleep at all, I will continue this tomorrow.

The long goodbye and Blahrain blues

2009-05-27T21:35:00.005+03:00

Bahrain International Airport: After 3 hours of a 6 hour stopover on my way to Kathmandu this airport has lost the allure of newness. I have strolled from end to end a few times now, once on a search for power -- a plug near seating for my quickly waning netbook. I thought I had scored over on the quieter side of the building, only to realize that I couldn't connect to wireless there.

Earlier today I had lunch with my ex. I don't like how that sounds, EX, just like I don't like other ex- words, particularly expatriate. We've seen a lot of each other since I returned from the States, since the divorce. Going on a brief vacation with him right after we left court, well, some friends say that is just plain weird. But, in fact, it felt completely natural. We had the beach in Iğneada pretty much all to ourselves since Turks seem to avoid beaches, esp. those on the Black Sea, till it's scorching hot. Also spent time in the mountains, going to an amazing cave called Dupnisa outside of Demirkoy, and afterward picnicking in the forest with one of Ev's old friends.

But back to today. We had an early lunch at Tike and then headed to the airport. After I checked in, we were heading to a somewhat isolated cafe for tea when the tears began, waves of emotion, of loss, swept over us both. We'd been in this airport and others, said so many goodbyes, but always with the guarantee of soon return.

I can't write this without those feelings washing over me again. I'm not sappy, not usually sentimental, avoid crying in public, but this loss is still very much a gaping wound, one that may not soon cease to completely overwhelm me. The intensity of these emotions has surprised me. I'm unsure what to do with them.

Zoom

2009-05-21T17:39:00.003+03:00

I must do some speed blogging as my battery is about to run out and the power cable is not with me. So first, an update on the Indian visa fiasco -- I returned to the consulate yesterday, and the same woman who had treated me so curtly on Monday was suddenly much nicer when she noticed my Turkish residence booklet. "Oooh, you have Turkish residency, why didn't you tell me that before?" she asked. Well, perhaps you didn't give me a chance, didn't even bother to glance at my application, and only kept asking what my nationality was. End result, my app. was accepted, she barely even glanced at the rest of my paperwork, and told me my visa would be ready Tuesday.

Today was my day in court. I had never seen a courtroom before today and hope to never see one again. After waiting way past our appt. time, we were beckoned into the courtroom, where a female judge was presiding, something that made me feel slightly better. The proceedings were somewhat of a blur. I just remember saying, "Evet, evet" to a lot of things, most of which I only half understood, and when it was all over I was officially single.

Now, my ex and I agree that we need a break from the Bul and are heading out for a few days in Iğneada on the Black Sea coast. Yeah, it may sound bizarre that we're going on a mini-tatil together, but what the hell. We don't hate each other, far from it. Who knows what our relationship will look like in the future.

The Indian visa fiasco

2009-05-19T17:50:00.007+03:00

Yesterday morning I set out for the Consulate General of India in the Elmadağ district of Istanbul to submit my application for a tourist visa. After hopping a taxi since I wasn't familiar with this district, I found only minutes later that I could've easily walked from Taksim.

Photo courtesy of Jon Rawlinson

As Americans, many of us take for granted how easy the process normally is for us to enter or acquire visas for other countries with our Holy Book -- the US passport. I breezed through security, confidently telling the guard that I was headed up to the Hindustan Konsolosluk. He smiled and directed me up to the 7th floor.

I rang the bell next to the consulate door, which struck me as very residential, and was promptly buzzed in. A middle-aged Indian woman welcomed me, asked what my nationality was, handed me number 13 (was this another omen?), and directed me to wait with the assortment of mainly Turks and two Brits.

As I waited she came over and handed me a verification form for non-Turkish applicants. I had all the other paperwork prepared. After waiting another 15 minutes or so the woman returned and inquired as to my nationality once again. When I told her again, she beckoned me over, saying, "You will need a letter of recommendation from the US Consulate with your application." A letter of recommendation? This wasn't something that had appeared on the list of requirements on their Web site. Since I knew the Indian Consulate only accepted apps. between 9:30 and 11:30 am, there would be no way to get all the way across town to the US Consulate in Istinye, get the letter and return to this consulate in time. Then the woman reminded me that tomorrow was a Turkish holiday, and thus they would be closed. I inquired as to why this letter didn't appear on the list on the consulate's Web site, and she just shrugged and replied that it is something they require.

Feeling a bit frustrated, I ran down the seven flights of stairs and took the long ride to Istinye and the US fortress on the hill, a building that I have for the most part been able to avoid for the past three years. When I arrived, I took in the snaking line of mostly Turks waiting at the entrance. After doing a passport flash, I was told to wait at the front of the line (feeling the icy stares at my back from those who had been waiting for who knows how long). In minutes I made it to the little room for American citizen services. When my number came up, I went up and told the woman what I needed. She gave a rather grim smile and told me she would give me an affidavit to fill out since they don't provide such letters. She said the Consulate of India had been problematic with giving visas to Americans.

I filled out the affidavit, basically just stating that I was applying for a visa and that my purpose for travel was tourism. I asked the woman if I should add anything else and she replied that what I had was fine. After shelling out $30 I was called up by a redheaded man and performed my swearing with the right hand raised to the truth of this statement. He explained that the Consulate of India has been making it difficult for Americans to obtain visas by requesting a letter that the US Consulate can officially not provide. He then handed me a letter for some further history on the matter, dated from November 1995. Here's an excerpt that sums up the official stance (with a strong dose of attitude) of the US on the issue:

The possession of a United States passport by the individual named therein is proof of that person's citizenship and of the fact that United States Government has no objection to the travel of that citizen outside of the United States. Neither this Embassy nor Consulate in Adana or Consulate General in Istanbul will provide additional documentation or statements to private American Citizens stating that the United States Government has no objection to travel.

So my own consulate had just provided me with a form for 30 bucks that they knew would not suffice for the Indian Consulate. And I was seemingly caught up in the midst of some longstanding row between the two. The redhead handed over my useless form and wished me luck, also noting that other countries' consulates are beginning the same practice, such as Saudi Arabia. Luckily not on my travel list this time.

After this I headed back to Taksim and did a search to find similar stories. Here's a sample of what I found:

Indian Tourist Visa in Turkey (for Americans in Istanbul)

The Indian visa saga

Hell gets hotter

So now, what to do? No time to head to Ankara as these bloggers recommend. I've got court here on Thursday and the process in Ankara is said to take at least 4 business days. I leave for Nepal on Wednesday.

Tomorrow I will return to the Dortler Apartments, No: 18, with all my papers, including the useless affidavit, I will summon all the politeness and charm in my being and I will wrangle that visa from their hands. At least, that's the plan...

Welcome back, you're homeless!

2009-05-18T20:06:00.003+03:00

Arrived back in the Bul on Saturday. Note to self: never fly Delta on international routes and avoid on domestic ones too. Suck it up and pay more for competent staff, newer fleets and leg room.

As always, Istanbul had some surprises in store, with my soon-to-be-ex announcing soon after my arrival that our landlord had insisted he clear the apartment so he could re-rent it immediately, though he had previously said I could stay till the end of the month. So after 4 legs of flying (Asheville-Atlanta, Atlanta-WA, WA-JFK, JFK-Istanbul) and my lack of ability to sleep on planes I got to figure out where I was going to spend my final week and a half here. Nevermind trying to find the stuff that I will need for my trip, which was boxed and distributed between Ev's offices and the flat in Beyoglu.

So here I am at an interesting little establishment in Taksim, waking up to the sound of jackhammers every morning. It's at least a great location, where I can easily reach the various consulates I need for my trip visas. And the court date for the divorce is coming right up on Thursday at a location that is also nearby. After that I will certainly reconsider accommodation options. And if I feel like observing the stream of global life that is Istiklal, all I have to do is walk about 20 steps from the hotel door, and voila!

Yesterday, wandered down to the waterfront at Dolmabahce and just watched all the boats float by. This morning headed out to apply for my Indian visa, or shall I say attempt to apply. That is a story for another day...

Basking in green: Accokeek, Asheville

2009-05-18T19:40:00.005+03:00

Alexia and Brett's wedding, Accokeek, MD

My bro and I at Tom's Creek

Me & Mum

My niece playing in her sandbox

Jerry at The Light FM

Ocean of the unknown

2009-05-07T08:44:00.004+03:00

I begin another year of my life today in the midst of several transitions. It will be a year characterized by re-s: regrouping, reinventing, relocating, renewing, rebuilding.

This month I will say a final goodbye to the partner whom I thought I would be spending the rest of my life with. I will say farewell to Turkey -- at least for now -- where I've called home for the last 3+ years. And earlier this month I worked my final day at the paper, my employer for close to two years.

The last few weeks have pushed me right up against my emotional limits. I've had to face fears that I didn't previously realize even existed within me. And this process is certainly not over yet.

The person who emerges from this process -- who will she be? Will I be unrecognizable to myself, my current self? Admittedly all of these changes coming at me all at once are scaring the heck out of me. And at times I have to remind myself to just focus on the moment, just get through what is directly in front of me; otherwise the future just looms too large, as one giant question mark or an ocean of the murky unknown.

Tomorrow I leave for a brief trip to the States to celebrate a friend's wedding and spend some much-needed time with family. Time for a breather from this situation. Then back here for another few weeks, in which the court date for the divorce is scheduled.

And so, a reminder for the moment from Ray (Lamontagne):

Don't let your mind get weary and confused
Your will be still, don't try
Don't let your heart get heavy child
Inside you there's a strength that lies

Don't let your soul get lonely child
It's only time, it will go by
Don't look for love in faces, places
It's in you, that's where you'll find kindness

Be here now, here now

Ugly sides and sleep dep

2009-04-30T20:43:00.004+03:00

Divorce can bring out the ugliest sides of people. It is a hard thing to observe, and to be the target of. I think signing the terms earlier this week finally brought home to him that this is really happening. And then came the anger, the tirade, the cruel words.

I have a hard time sleeping nowadays. Last week, went for 5 days straight without any sleep at all. Now I get a few hours, but wake around 4 and can't get back to sleep. Tomorrow, at least, is my last day at the paper. So I will no longer have to try to edit with my sleep-deprived brain, and perhaps I will finally be able to kick this cold, which has been hanging on for almost 2 weeks.

One bright spot this week was seeing the Buena Vista Social Club in concert with a friend on Tuesday night at Santralistanbul. There's nothing like dancing your ass off to make the world disappear for awhile.

Fleeting moments in the sun

2009-04-26T09:43:00.004+03:00

Fault lines

2009-04-21T17:02:00.001+03:00

Island nation,

Once a haven between cold-shouldered continents

Was it the eruption

The molten fingers diffusing across your topography

suffocating every frond in their path

Liquid heat

consuming even the fire ants

Or the tremor,

8.3 on the Richter scale

Severing the last connection of your faulty earth

A trembling even the ancient roots

could not withstand

With jagged edges

Two broken masses float apart

Lost at sea

avoiding the continents at either side

The pool of faces crammed at coastlines

hoping to catch a glance

Of this phenomenon.

Shattered

2009-04-13T06:22:00.004+03:00

Oh, the twisted irony. Only hours after writing that last post on Embracing diversity, I was faced with news that knocked me down. I don't know how you feel about the social networking site Facebook, but for me it had been a good way to stay in touch with my family and friends spread all around the planet.

And then on Friday night, it also became the herald of news that would rock my world. I received a message in which it was revealed to me that my husband has been cheating -- from the very woman he has been cheating with. I was working a late night at the paper, and of course, was simply blown away by this. In a matter of minutes we shot several messages back and forth. I further found that he had rented another flat across the city where they could engage in their liaison.

Then I headed out to the hall shaking in anger to confront him over the phone, as he was on a business trip in Italy. When I got a hold of him, he said he was coming back early -- that same night -- to "explain" what had happened.

The quickly alternating emotions I'm experiencing now have no comparison to anything else I've ever been through. The betrayal, I will never understand how he could take my love and stomp on it, take my trust and shatter it into a million little pieces. Now, I'm left questioning so many other instances, that in hindsight could have been... Where do the lies end and the truth begin?

The pain can be very physical at times. A visceral desolation, stabbing loneliness, a smashed heart. I am in turns punching pillows, crying through the night, resisting the urge to send hateful SMSs (and then not resisting).

For me, cheating is a giant deal breaker. It's the one thing that I will never negotiate on. It is the utmost disrespect. So I am now looking into Turkish divorce law and seeking an English-speaking attorney. My brother, who went through a similar experience with his first wife, has been my greatest supporter during this time, though he is across the ocean, even offering to drop everything and fly over here. Though I have a tendency to not reach out to people when I need them, I realize that this is a time when I'm going to need all the support I can get. So one by one I've been breaking the news to friends. And writing this also helps to push it further into my reality when I'm tempted to run the other way, deny that things have gone so very wrong.

To all those who have been in this position, I now have the utmost respect for you. For getting through this and somehow moving forward, making the huge mental, emotional shift. Embracing adversity.

Embracing adversity

2009-04-10T18:56:00.002+03:00

The Paris Review did an interview with author Marilynne Robinson. The excerpt below really struck a chord with me, capturing the concept that we can embrace adversity, instead of shrinking from it, as something that is an integral part of the human experience. And by doing so, also hold onto the knowledge that we are never alone in our experience, even in our darkest days.

"People are frightened of themselves. It’s like Freud saying that the best thing is to have no sensation at all, as if we’re supposed to live painlessly and unconsciously in the world. I have a much different view. The ancients are right: the dear old human experience is a singular, difficult, shadowed, brilliant experience that does not resolve into being comfortable in the world. The valley of the shadow is part of that, and you are depriving yourself if you do not experience what humankind has experienced, including doubt and sorrow. We experience pain and difficulty as failure instead of saying, I will pass through this, everyone I have ever admired has passed through this, music has come out of this, literature has come out of it. We should think of our humanity as a privilege."

Heading back into the world

2009-04-09T14:09:00.010+03:00

Photo courtesy of Marina & Enrique

I keep meaning to blog and then I get home, lose the motivation, get caught up in other activities, and don't -- and now it's a full month later since my last post. So much has happened in that period, both in the world and in my own little piece of it.

Turkish local elections were held across the country on March 29 -- the ruling party again took the biggest share of the vote, though with a drop in its percentages compared to the general elections of 2007.

Obama made his Turkey visit on April 6-7, backing Turkey's bid for the EU, encouraging a speedy normalization of relations between Turkey and Armenia, and making general overtures to the Muslim world, in attempts to begin to heal the huge rift formed by the Bush administration.

As for my world, one big news item -- I gave notice to my editor-in-chief of my upcoming resignation on May 1. It's finally time to move on from this 6-day-a-week madness, though really, it's been a good experience. I've found it amusing how my mother-in-law gives me flack, usually only jokingly, about working for a conservative Islamic-leaning paper. She's a staunch secularist and thus believes the paper I work for and especially its parent, Zaman, are a mouthpiece of the ruling AK Party. She likes to mimic ripping the paper to pieces and joke that if I worked here too long I would end up wearing the Muslim headscarf and skirts down past my ankles.

I've seen many an editor and other news staff come and go in the past year and 8 months, made friends whom I'll hopefully be able to keep in touch with, and honed a skill that will likely come in useful in the future. But now, I'm just itching to get to the final day and be outa here and on to my next venture.

After a quick trip to the States for a friend's wedding and to visit family, I'll be back in the Bul briefly and then off for a summerlong trip. First stop: Nepal. Now Nepal is a place I've been trying to get to since my post-Peace Corps trip. But somehow, my traveling bud, Ingrid, and I just didn't make it. Plus it wasn't the best time to visit.

So this time I'm planning on doing the Annapurna Circuit, a classic trek that I've been enamored with ever since one of my uni. professors gave a slide show of his trip on the circuit, even if the monsoon hits a bit early. I'm ready to slog it. After Nepal I'll be heading down to southern India, then on to Malaysia to drop off my trekking gear at a friend's place. Then a free for all through Southeast Asia and up to China. Then backtrack and possibly back to India to do northern and central sections.

This trip will serve several purposes besides soothing my itchy feet for a bit. It will also be a trial break between my partner and I, as we've been going through some really rough times in our relationship. The summer apart will give us both some much-needed space to decide where we want to go from here. It's also meant to get me back to green, back to wide open spaces, particularly my time in Nepal. The Bul has gotten to be a bit much, evidenced by a flare up of rage when people bump into me or slug me with their bags on the way past and don't say a single word. I know that I need to chill, which for me means getting away from it all.

I don't have a set date for returning. On past trips it has become clear when it's time to head home. I just wake up one day and realize that I'm tired of being on the road and feel an intense longing for my own bed. And that's when I'll book a tic back to the Bul.

As for my relationship: What happens when you fall so far off the path that you had first envisioned together? How do you find your way back or to a whole new place together? Is it even possible? These are things that both of us are pondering, among others.

I'm also wondering if it is a cultural thing that my Turkish mother-in-law thinks she can come in and fix everything between me and Evren. It's not helping that she has taken sides and made known that she is against her son. I'm not sure how to break it to her (plus my Turkish doesn't cover the vocabulary necessary) that it's not possible to "fix" a 32-year-old man. And that anything that is "broken" in our marriage needs to be dealt with by us. And anyways, she and Evren are in Italy until Sunday, so I have a bit of time to figure this out.

The orange, white and blue

2009-03-08T09:43:00.004+02:00

I left my flat this morning only to find my neighborhood plastered with the orange, white and blue flags of the AK Party (Justice and Development Party), as well as meters-long banners of every candidate with their shining faces in monstrous blow-ups along all the walls. Not that there hadn't already been propaganda up before this. But now, at only three weeks before the local elections, the campaign propaganda has gone up in force (perhaps done by little AK gnomes in the middle of the night), to an excessive degree.

So imagine these flags flying over both sides of the street, attached to the top of the fencing, and then also down the middle. Then a cascade of them coming down in tent formation at every roundabout, and one of those massive banners at the end of every street with the all too familiar AK light bulb in the center.

So while it's all very festive looking (really, the only thing that's missing is a giant piñata), the ruling party's efforts, at least in my neighborhood, seem completely unnecessary and wasteful. The whole concept for my neighborhood was conceived by the AK Party leader, Prime Minister Erdoğan. His cronies and supporters make up the majority here. There's even a luxury apartment building named after the party. Thus there's really no need for the party to campaign here at all, much less drown the place in its propaganda.

In a few weeks, all their flags will be littering the streets and gutters, with incongruous pieces of orange and blue poking out of the trees and flowerbeds. And all so the party could basically say, "We own this neighborhood, look how much we could afford to waste on it."

Still standing

2009-03-03T20:40:00.002+02:00

My apologies for the weeks-long hiatus in posts. Mostly I've just not been in the mood to write in the midst of personal turmoil. In addition, my laptop was recently destroyed and while I could always blog from work, I prefer not to. This week acquired a tiny netbook to tide me over till my trip to the States in May.

These days of gray, wet, muddy Istanbul blend into one another, seemingly endless. Recent events have led me to re-evaluate my life, my relationship, my path. A major shift is coming this year, that much, at least, is clear. Much thanks to friends that have provided support in the winter of my discontent.

Keep on walkin'

2009-02-15T21:51:00.002+02:00

Arches to Mevlana Cultural Center

Each place I've traveled on this path has been a choice. Perhaps not right or wrong. Just the choice that takes me down a harder path and the one that's takes me down a path that's easier. Or one that takes me on the roundabout way and another that takes me directly, with both ending up at the same point. I keep walking. I'll consider and reconsider, the thoughts will swirl and put my stomach in knots, the pictures in my mind will speak of sheer disillusionment. The world will continue to turn and I will remain just a speck upon it, trying to find my way...

Straw poll among the Italians

2009-02-05T14:02:00.005+02:00

The other night we headed out with three Italians from D&G whom Ev does business with. With some very loud, live Turkish folk music playing in the background I began to ply the Itals with questions about the EU and Turkey. Turkey officially started accession negotiations with the EU back in 2005.

But in the last few years the government has been accused of stalling on the reforms necessary to meet EU requirements. France and Germany have both come out vocally against Turkey's bid. But there are plenty of other EU members states that have been vocal about their support. Many, however, say that Turkey's dream of EU membership will never be realized because it is just too different culturally, too Muslim, too big, etc.

So, what did the Italians have to say:

What do most Italians think of Turkey and its EU bid?

--Well, the Italians think the Turkish people are wonderful. They like them a lot. But the population is just too big. [With the current population of the EU at close to 500 million, Turkey's population of almost 70 million represents a 14 percent chunk]. It would be like Turkey taking over the EU.

But does the size of its population really weigh more heavily in Italians' minds than the fact that the country is majority-Muslim?

--Well, that is another factor. The culture is viewed as just too different from Europe. Tied to the religion, Turks see things as only black or white, whereas the European perspective has a gray area. There would be a culture clash. I meanm Turkish culture is great, but just too different.

But most EU member states already have large Muslim communities of their own...

--Yes, that's true. But having a country with a majority-Muslim population in the EU is a different story.

I'm afraid that's it folks. The results of the straw poll show that Turkey's EU bid is screwed from all directions. So what about the milieu in Italy?

What do you see as the biggest problem facing Italy today?

The Italian people are becoming more and more inward focused. The country is gradually isolating itself from the rest of the world.

OK, well, sounds like Italy's screwed, too. Great. Thanks to Giuseppe, Luisa, and Roberto for offering their opinions and for a fun night out. Well, until that last part anyway... Ciao!

Dreaming of moonlit Joshua trees

2009-01-25T10:24:00.004+02:00

Photo courtesy of Underground Bastard

Lately I've been missing Joshua Tree National Park. I have so many great memories of time spent there -- midnight hikes in the moonlight with friends, falling 40 feet while rock climbing without breaking a single bone, the first time I saw the springs, camping at Jumbo, photographing morning light at 4am.

Joshua Tree was also the place I would head to when I needed to figure things out or work out anger issues. Something about the desert space and these narled yuccas was able to clear my mind and help me find answers. It was a place of catharsis, where I could let negative emotion flow out of me and into the evil Teddy bear cholla.

There are several things I'm trying to work out in my life right now. And so I'm feeling the need for my Joshua trees, a space to escape to and ponder. I haven't found such a space in Istanbul and I really don't think one exists. It's so difficult to escape all the constant background noise, escape the throngs. You pretty much have to leave the city to find that, something which is currently not an option.

Religion

2009-01-14T20:23:00.003+02:00

Here's part 5 of a blogger community writing exercise started by Mambinki.

I left religion behind in my early 20s, the only one in my immediate family to do so. After studying world religions, I realized that I wanted to set out upon my own spiritual journey, outside of organized religion. Of course, this realization didn't come in a sudden epiphanic moment, but rather over the course of time and experience.

A bit ironic that I'm now living in a majority-Muslim country, surrounded by religion on every side in very visible and tangible ways. And my neighborhood of Istanbul is packed with those who practice a more conservative brand of Islam, which, for one thing, means a mosque every 50 meters or so and that alcohol is pretty much impossible to find.

My interest in Islam and other world religions is on the level of anthropological curiousity. I can't imagine ever practicing one again. I guess my childhood in the Seventh-day Adventist Church wiped that desire right out of me.

to be continued. . .

Issız Adam (Lonely Man)

2009-01-07T13:31:00.005+02:00

C., my unexpected houseguest, and I went to see the Turkish film "Issız Adam" last night. C. had high expectations, but mine were rather low to nonexistent as I'd heard everything from "So good I saw it twice, it's my movie" to "Hated it. Typical Turkish love of the tragic."

At the beginning of the film, we find the main character, Alper, heading out to see a prostitute, and what's worse, an older and not-so-good-looking prostitute. Soon after Alper meets the fresh-faced, wholesome Ada at a bookstore and basically ends up stalking her, which she a little too good-naturedly allows. A relationship quickly develops between them, which could be best described by love/hate between them and self-hate, particularly on Alper's part.

Alper, though we are meant to sympathize with his character, was simply unlikeable. One moment he decides he's deeply in love with Ada and wants her to meet his mother, the next he's heading off to meet another old prostitute and being a complete ass to Ada. In one scene, at the restaurant he owns, he yells at his mother, visiting from the southern province of Mersin, ostensibly for spilling her drink, then proceeds to be rude and angry to both Ada and his mother for the rest of the night. While here I think the director was wanting the audience to think, "Oh, poor Alper, his repressed emotions are bubbling up and he's taking it out on the people close to him cause he just can't control himself," instead I was further convinced that Alper was just a complete asshole, a spoiled bachelor who hadn't at all figured out what he really wanted in life.

As expected, Alper eventually dumps Ada, in his kitchen, where he had first endeared himself to her by showing off his top chef skills; she is brokenhearted but moves on. He returns to his decadent bachelor life, complete with a new array of even older prostitutes -- yes, the recurring theme of a serious oedipus complex. In the final scene Alper runs into Ada, who has since married and had a child. They catch up on each other's lives, which means basically that Alper is back where he started at the beginning of the film and Ada is happy without him. They go their separate ways after shaking hands, only to, in a classic dramatic Turkish moment, run back toward each other for a last, torrid embrace. And finally, some parting shots of the sad, pathetic Alper in his dark room on his own, the lonely man.

Final verdict: Save your 12 TL for some decent coffee or several lahmacuns. If you want some Turkish drama with abundant doses of angst and tragedy tune into "Yaprak Dökümü" (Falling Leaves) for free.

Holidays with the family

2009-01-02T19:47:00.010+02:00

This is part 4 of you know what, started by you know who.

There are two words that I think best describe my holidays with the family -- traditionless and random. Before I even reached my teens, my mom decided that a Christmas tree was completely unnecessary and reminded my brother and I that once it was up, neither of us would be motivated to take it down, thus it would be better not to put one up at all. Among us, my brother has always been the biggest fan of traditions and tended to fight against the prevailing lack of caring for them in the rest of the family. Yet he didn't mind putting a random twist on them either. So one year instead of an artificial or real fir wonder he lugged home a real palm tree, much to my mother's dismay.

Holiday meals were another random affair in my family. While one year Christmas dinner would feature eggrolls, fri-chik (you vegis out there know what this is), cactus salad, stuffing (ooh, one traditional food on the list), panset and lemon meringue pie, the next would see salmon, various forms of fruit salad, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and carrot cake. The same went for Thanksgiving, when we got around to celebrating it at all.

The guest list for holiday occasions was also quite random and would most always include at least one person who was a complete stranger to me. From an early age, I think my mom wanted to ingrain in us the idea that many people in the world were less well off than our distinctly middle class family, whether that be monetarily, health-wise or otherwise. Thus, one Christmas season, when I was around 12, mom invited a young girl named Carla and her mom to stay with us. Carla had a heart defect and was due to get a transplant at the hospital where my mom works. After the transplant, Carla had to go on medication to keep her body from rejecting the heart, and this medicine made her face swell up, among other undesirable side effects. Yet Carla was a trooper and from that Christmas I remember the huge smile on her face as she opened her gifts. Not long after that holiday, Carla died after her body rejected the new heart, and her death is something I also associate with holidays with my family. And not just her death, but that of my father, who died a few days after New Year's the year before that.

We have photos of our family with some of our random holiday guests that my mom had literally met only days before at the hospital or elsewhere, found out that they had no where to go for the holiday, and invited them to dinner. I doubt any of us could come up with their names at this point.

Since I moved to Turkey almost 3 years ago now, holidays have become even more a jumble of cultures and hit and miss madness. And now, there are two sets to choose from, or avoid altogether, as well as those wonderful Turkish holiday fusions that I've mentioned in the past. This year we skipped out on Kurban Bayrami (the Feast of the Sacrifice), perhaps remembering all to vividly the gory scene from last year of a ram's blood spraying all over a wall in the village when the imam cut its throat. In fact, this year almost seemed like a protest, as we even stayed away from meat in our meals, cooking a big pot of lentils instead. For Thanksgiving I got together with a hodgpe podge of Americans, Canadiens and Turks for a dinner party, with fairly traditional foods compared to my family's fare -- well, outside of the cinnamon rolls and banana cream pie, but those were in addition to good ol' pumpkin pie. As for Christmas, that was pretty much a pass this year out of necessity, with both of us working. But we did the capitalists proud by sending ourselves some gifts from America, some of which are now stuck in customs limbo.

And though I am a traditionless wonder, I still get some sort of warped, vicarious pleasure from hearing about the big Christmas celebrations my brother has each year with his wife's family, which once I got to experience firsthand and which kind of blew my mind with all the giant stockings, gift-filled basement, tree-with-every-inch-covered-in-special-edition-ornament holiday dream of every middle America suburbanite.

The unexpected guest and laughing along with the universe

2009-01-01T17:06:00.005+02:00

My mom met C. at the hospital where she works in Cali over three months ago when C. was there visiting her own mother, who was in the latter stages of a battle with cancer. C.'s mother died soon after. My mom befriended C. and had her over.

C. was left to fulfill her mother's wish of being buried in Izmir, her place of birth. She flew to Izmir to do this, staying on in Turkey after the burial and eventually coming up to Istanbul to visit friends here. In passing during a phone conversation my mom mentioned how she had met C. and that she was in Turkey.

My mom came to visit for a month and some of her time in Istanbul coincided with C.'s time here so we all got together for dinner and I got to meet C. Weeks later after my mom had left C. called and said she might not have a place to stay the following week because her friend would be going to the Asian side to visit her ailing father and wasn't comfortable with C. staying in the flat with her husband. So that is the short version of the web of events/connections that led C. to be my unexpected houseguest for this week and part of next.

Last night Ev, C. and I headed to Asla and Turker's for a New Year's gig. Fast forward through the turkey and almond pilav, raki, countdown, midnight kisses, tequila, etc. Around 3-4 I felt my energy flagging and decided it would be nice to have a few hours of sleep before work. So C. and I headed out, while Ev stayed on since he didn't have to work. A few minutes into the taxi ride I realized that if C. didn't have the keys I had loaned her, then we were keyless; so called Ev to find out if he had his, which he said he did. U-turn in the taxi back to Turker's, where we're met with the news that Ev also left his keys at home. Whoops! Back to the party, but rather unwillingly.

Later that morning (actually this morning), back in Turker's flat, Ev had a momentary flash of inspiration, realizing that his mom was in town and likely would have brought her key to our flat with her, yaaaaay, no hunting down a locksmith on New Year's! We called her, and sure enough, she had it, though probably wasn't so pleased to be woken up. Mehmet offered to give us a ride to Bakirkoy to get the key from Ev's mom. We hopped in, shivering in the early morning cold. He turned the key and the car coughed up a rather unpromising sound. He tried a few more times -- dead battery. Luckily the flat guard was awake and at his post and offered a jump. After charging up, we were on our way. At this point, I had already given up on trying to make it to work on time.

I'm not superstitious. So I'm not taking these incidents as a bad omen for 2009. I'd like to think the universe was playing one of its jokes on me and hoping I would laugh too.

Quitting

2008-12-16T18:37:00.010+02:00

This is the third part of a weekly blogging exercise in which I'm participating. Go here to find out more or join in.

I was once a California driver. I was in love with my silver Honda (and before that my unreliable Jeep Cher, which frequently left me stranded on deserted desert roads), speeding down the I15 to return to my High Desert home from the "real" parts of Cali, 11-hour road trips down to New Mexico, trips to anywhere with friends or mountains to climb or rivers to raft. I'd been hooked on cars since the age of 7, when my father first put me on his lap and let me steer our Chevy. I learned to drive long before I could get my permit and this came in handy one night when my mom woke me in the wee hours and said she was experiencing severe abdominal pain. I speeded her off to the emergency department and the doctors quickly determined that she had appendicitis.

In my 20s I became more of a rager, or to use the '90s term -- road rage(r) -- swearing up and down at drivers who cut me off or otherwise offended on the road. I also perfected my glare of death. But outside of Cali freeway traffic I still enjoyed driving.

Fast forward to before our move to Istanbul from Bursa almost a year and a half ago. I'd visited Istanbul enough times (though 1 was probably enough to realize this) to know that the traffic situation was sheer madness -- a create your own lane, break every rule free-for-all. Thus I made the decision to quit, resign my place behind the wheel for the length of my stay, however long that may prove to be. And thus my driving career came to an abrupt end...

And now? I've found that, surprisingly, I really don't miss it. Public transport offers up an endless supply of one of my favorite pastimes -- people-watching. Not being behind the wheel means a relaxing commute on the bus when I can prepare my mind for the day ahead, and in the evenings wind down and destress with my music. I also realize that if I hadn't quit driving, I would be a much more wired, stressed and angry person right now. So here's to quitting the steel and wheel habit -- for now.

Turning into my parents

2008-11-28T18:37:00.007+02:00

Photo by Teresa Prendusi

This is part two of a blogger writing exercise. If you're interested in taking part, go here to get the down low.

My mom was cleaning out the drawers and closets of her bedroom when she found a small notebook that had belonged to my father. I was a junior in university at the time and had recently returned from summer break working in Kamas, Utah, for the Student Conservation Association (SCA) and the USDA Forest Service. During that summer I had explored much of the wilderness area of the Wasatch-Cache National Forest, sometimes going on backpacking trips with my fellow SCAers and other times going solo to listen to the whispering trees and wildlife.

I returned home from classes one day and my mom said she had something that would interest me, handing me the notebook. I went to my room and opened the worn green cover and there was my father’s familiar handwriting. After reading the first page I realized this was a travel journal from my dad’s cross-country trip to his ultimate destination of San Francisco, a trip he had taken long before he had met my mom.

My dad died when I was 11 and much of his earlier life was a mystery to me. He had never talked much about the years before my mom, though he had had another wife who had died young, which to me represented a whole other lifetime. So this notebook was a direct insight into the places he had traveled and what he had experienced at each of them.

As I read on I found a section about Utah, and then, a section on the Mirror Lake Scenic Byway, which is part of the ranger district where I had worked that past summer. He talked about feeling lightheaded in the high altitude and taking in the fresh air; he mentioned his time at Provo Falls, a spot I had frequented that summer, and the soaring peaks of the Wasatch-Cache range.

Reading further, I found myself wowed by the idea that we had driven the same roads and found beauty in the same spots, perhaps even sat on the same rock looking at the same waterfall. I felt a new connection to my dad, who by that time I had lived more years without than with.

Discovering that we shared this wanderlust, this joy in exploring new places opened up a sense of wonder and possibility in me. If we shared this, I thought, what other ways had I begun turning into my father, carrying on parts of his essence?

Let's call the whole thing off

2008-11-22T14:53:00.004+02:00

This post is for a blogger writing exercise started by a friend of mine. All are welcome to join. Check out the rules here.

What happens when you ignore that little voice in your head that says "STOP, this is a bad idea, if you forge ahead with this, it will only end in disaster." The predicted disaster comes to pass, whether it be sooner or later, and you realize for the 22,001st time that the little voice is always right and that perhaps you should listen to it next time it tells you to call the whole thing off.

It was only a few months into my Peace Corps experience in The Gambia that I began to hear that little voice. I had been living in a family compound of 33 people, which included 5 brothers, their wives, children, and grandmother. Most of the family members were great and we got to know each other quickly. The exception was the oldest brother, Baccari Bah. As the oldest, he was considered the head of the family. I contributed some money each month toward food, and this money was given to him. However, a few months into my time with the Bahs, I started hearing rumors from both within and outside of the family that the money was not going to food at all, but that Baccari was using it for his own entertainment, part of which included gambling over the border in Senegal.

Our meals we're eaten in the traditional way -- large communal food bowls. Since the family I lived with was so large there were normally 2 bowls for the women and children and 1 for the men. As the months went by I noticed the portions of food becoming smaller and smaller. I finally went to some of the younger brothers and asked them straight out if the rumors about where the food money was going were true. They confirmed that they were and said that they were concerned about the food situation but were afraid to confront Baccari about it. After discussing it further they promised to talk to him about it. But after they did, the situation didn't change. Thus I decided to start buying food myself, though it was a pain to lug back every week, since the weekly market was held in another village.

This solved the food problem for awhile, but in the meantime several other problems arose. Perhaps I should have taken the green mamba that appeared on my bed one day as a sign to get out of that compound once and for all. But I continued to tell myself that things would get better, that I needed to give this family more of a chance. (Yeah, I'm pretty stubborn). My Peace Corps buds had long been telling me to get out of there and request a new family, but I would respond that I thought things could improve. Once after a trip to the city to pick up my stipend, I returned to find that a large chunk of the baobab tree in my backyard had broken off and destroyed my stick fence. The brothers said they would have it repaired soon. In the small space that made up my backyard was a concrete slab with a latrine dug under it and which also served as the place where I would take my bucket baths. For the time being I propped what was left of my fence up as best I could, but it was still leaning over so that I had to squat somewhat beneath it for my baths. And with the fence still deeply angled, little boys (and sometimes men, too) of the village would come by on donkeys almost every evening to catch glimpses of my bathing.

After close to a year with this family, the final straw came for me. Baccari had 2 wives and in the final months before my departure he had been treating his second wife, Fatma, worse and worse. One day I returned from working on my reforestation demonstration site to find him chasing her -- a woman of small build who stood over a foot shorter than him -- around the village with a whip that he had fashioned from a tree branch. Men from the village finally restrained him, but he had already hit her several times. His qualms with her were always petty things, such as not cooking the food the way he liked it. Though his brothers did talk to him about striking her, this scene was repeated. And then one night we were eating dinner and I noticed that Fatma and her 2 small children were absent. When I inquired from the other women as to her whereabouts, I found out that Baccari had told her that she and her children were banned from eating with the family and had to go beg for food from the other compounds. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, though by now I should've known that Baccari had no shame.

Following this, I wrote up a report on the situation in the compound, requesting a transfer to another family from my sector director. He agreed that the situation was intolerable and inquired as to why I hadn't requested a change earlier. During my second year I moved to another village and lived with a great family who was related to the first family. It was a wholly different experience and I was able to focus more on work without any of the crazy family drama.

I ignored the voice that first year. The situation wore on me, chipping away at my soul, tearing at my spirit -- and I allowed it. When the voice said, "Get out now," I thought, "I'm not a quitter. Things can improve. I want to give them a chance..." But deep down I knew the voice was right.

At the end

2008-11-22T14:23:00.002+02:00

A sunny Sunday in Şile

This afternoon we took my mum to Atatürk Airport for her trip back to Cali. My Auntie Espie flew back to Vancouver on Wednesday. The flat seems strangely quiet without their chatter and laughter, yummy Filipino cooking, and all the gossip about Espie's German-Canuck boyfriend -- yes, you can find new love at 73! It was cute to see her talking about him and emailing him so much.

Tomorrow, it's back to work at the paper for me. I'm kicking myself for making my return a Sunday. What was I thinking? I've fallen so out of work/scheduled mode. Hopefully my brain will snap quickly back into shape and hasn't deleted all the stylebook info. But just in case, don't bother picking up the Monday edition of TZ.

OK, don't want to think about that anymore. Let's rewind to earlier this week when we took a trip up to Şile, a little town on the Black Sea about 100km from Istanbul. I have to disagree that Black Sea towns are only for the summer season. Though you may not want to take a dip in the frigid waters, unless you're a member of the Polar Bear Club, there are still the beautiful beaches to stroll along and the great fish restaurants by the water. The town itself is very chill and the cobbled main street has many boutique shops with handmade items. We stayed at the Dedemen Şile, where we still got in plenty of swimming in their indoor pool, also taking advantage of the hamam and sauna that are part of the hotel's lifestyle center. My mum and auntie also got massages.

Tranquility

2008-11-12T22:00:00.003+02:00

Mum, Auntie Es and I arrived back in the Bul earlier this week after our two week trip southward, with the last stop being in Pamukkale. The travertines, which form from the calcium carbonate in the spring water at the site, provide a surreal view. On approach, it appears as a mountain covered in snow, but as you come nearer and then start the climb upwards you can see water cascading down and forming these pools of a pure aqua tone.

It's mandatory to do the walk in your bare feet. Those who refuse to comply are promptly whistled at by the guard below and then chased after if they continue in obstinance (as with one couple we observed on our way down).

Today, we made the one-hour trip to my mother-in-law's place in Cerkezkoy. I must admit that I showed up here with the thought that this wouldn't feel like part of my vacation at all, that I'd constantly be pressed to translate things (since Ev couldn't come due to work), which with my level of Turkish often feels like an unpleasant chore.

And there's also, well, I guess the closest I can come to describing it is a sort of power struggle between my MIL and I, though that doesn't fully capture it. For instance, while we were on the trip, my MIL visited our apartment and decided to do some ultra-cleaning, along with her friend. This cleaning included ripping down the screens that I had painstakingly put up at the beginning of the summer to keep out the mosquitoes. The screens were deemed too dirty and were tossed into the trash. I worked at not being infuriated when I learned about this. Decided this was not something I was willing to battle over and almost let it go.

But this time, things feel different. I've been able to relax, not over-analyze things. And mostly relations have just flowed. Perhaps it's because we're on her turf and she's more comfortable too. Who knows. I just wish that things could be like this between us all the time. Tranquility. This does feel like vacation -- good times with family, yummy food and relaxation.

Storming the castle

2008-11-04T21:26:00.006+02:00

The weather since we arrived Sunday in Bodrum has been ideal, close to 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Though the sea water is now a bit cool, probably in the 60s, it's still comfortable for swimming. We've been staying in Turgutreis, where the beaches are better than in central Bodrum, but took a day trip to see the castle and wander the waterfront of the latter. Also booked a private boat trip for tomorrow from the marina in central Bodrum, since none of the boats in Turgutreis were offering trips during the off-season.

Flags of the Ottoman Empire (L) and Knights Hospitaller

Mom and Espie

Gothic chapel of Bodrum Castle

Priene, Miletus and Didim

2008-11-01T17:29:00.017+02:00

Today was by far my favorite of the trip thus far. We hired a car from our hotel to visit the sites of Priene, Miletus and Didyma. These sites are much less frequented by tourists as they are somewhat farther from the main attractions in this area. Thus we were left to explore the ruins at our leisure, running into only a few others, outside of a group of kids from an American school in Abu Dhabi who were visiting Priene as part of their history class.

Stage at ampitheater in Priene

Must give props to my Tita Espie (left in picture above), who at 73 was navigating the steep stone steps and making her way down the switchbacks in Priene like a pro, barely breaking a sweat.

Theater of Miletus, ca. 300 B.C.

Archways at the Great Hall of Miletus

Temple of Apollo in Didim (Didyma)

Stone-carved Medusa in Didim

Closeup of column carvings

Random thoughts from Selçuk

2008-10-31T23:58:00.002+02:00

The DRC is descending into chaos once more.

The elections that once seemed so distant are coming up on Tuesday.

I miss Ev. Hope we'll be able to go to Amsterdam for the next bayram.

Mum and A. Es are shopaholics. I need to get them into a program ASAP.

Need to add new music to my Creative player.

My eyes itch. This hotel room is aggravating my allergies.

Did Idaho turn my brother into a Republican or did my brother turn Idaho into a Republican state?

Paul Simon songs remind me of Alexia and time in The Gambia.

Ran into one little Turkish girl here that had dressed up as a cat for Halloween. Where was the party and why wasn't I invited?

Blackalicious, Sky is Falling

Random play mode is not at all random.

Wending through Şirince

2008-10-31T17:41:00.006+02:00

House in Şirince

Minaret

St. John the Baptist Church, f. 1832

On the road

2008-10-30T19:37:00.014+02:00

It's a week into my month-long vacation and the main feeling here is mmmmmmmyes! My mum and her oldest sister arrived last week and after a few days in the Bul and visiting the Princes' Islands we headed south to Çanakkale, where we spent two days wandering the Gallipoli battlefields and Troy. Finally being able to see the Dardanelles strait and surroundings has added to/cemented the vivid mental map in my mind, something that only an in-person visit can do.

It's surprising to me how quickly I can forget about the routine of work and strict schedules and fall into vacation-time ease. The thought of work, that life, that chronic tiredness, is abhorrent right now. Why return to it?

Currently staying in Selçuk, where I lived for a month back in '06 while attending language school in Izmir. I had a great experience here then and not much seems to have changed.

This town just gives me the ultimate feeling of calm. I stroll the cobbled roads without a worry on my mind. And it has been a pleasure to share this place and the surrounding sites -- Efes, Meryemana, St. John's Basilica -- with my mom (my aunt had been here before). Tomorrow we'll wander the streets of Şirince and taste every variety of fruit wine imagineable. Though my mum does not usually partake of alcoholic beverages, I think we'll be able to convince her into making an exception, or several.

Mum & Tita Espie at Efes (Ephesus)

Please explain yourselves

2008-09-29T01:01:00.003+03:00

I'm perplexed. I'm feeling quite similar to how I did 8 years ago when I was in The Gambia and listening to the results of pre-election polls on shortwave radio. What are my fellow Americans thinking? And I don't know if this would be any clearer to me if I were living in the US right now; in fact, I think I might be even more confused. I've read numerous commentaries flowing out of American publications during this final countdown to the elections, but few have made me think "Yes, that's at least a piece of the puzzle!"

The following are some excerpts from Professor Jeffrey Sachs that I found particularly insightful. Read the full commentary here.

"While many factors contributed to America’s destabilizing actions, a powerful one is anti-intellectualism, exemplified recently by Republican vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin’s surging popularity.

"By anti-intellectualism, I mean especially an aggressively anti-scientific perspective, backed by disdain for those who adhere to science and evidence. The challenges faced by a major power like the US require rigorous analysis of information according to the best scientific principles."

"In the US, however, the attitudes of President Bush, leading Republicans, and now Sarah Palin, have been the opposite of scientific. The White House did all it could for eight years to hide the overwhelming scientific consensus that humans are contributing to climate change. It tried to prevent government scientists from speaking honestly to the public. The Wall Street Journal has similarly peddled anti-science and pseudo-science to oppose policies to fight human-induced climate change.

"These anti-scientific approaches affected not only climate policy, but also foreign policy. The US went to war in Iraq on the basis of Bush’s gut instincts and religious convictions, not rigorous evidence. Likewise, Palin has called the Iraq War 'a task from God'.

"These are not isolated albeit powerful individuals out of touch with reality. They reflect the fact that a significant portion of American society, which currently votes mainly Republican, rejects or is simply unaware of basic scientific evidence regarding climate change, biological evolution, human health and other fields. These voters generally do not reject the benefits of technologies that result from modern science, but they do reject the evidence and advice of scientists regarding public policies."

"In many statements, Palin seems intent on invoking God in her judgments about war, an ominous sign for the future if she is elected. She would certainly stoke many enemies who will look to their own brands of fundamentalism to strike back at the US. Extremists on both sides end up putting at risk the vast majority of humans who are neither extremists nor anti-science fundamentalists."

Scotty, beam me out of September

2008-09-15T20:19:00.003+03:00

This week I will find out if my running days, at least for the next several months, are over due to a stress fracture in my left tibia, meaning no Eurasia Marathon for me. Needless to say, I'm pretty bummed about this prospect as I've been training for this event for most of the year.

Seems like it's just been that kind of month, starting with the 3am drumming sessions for Ramadan. I don't deal well with chronic sleep deprivation and I just can't seem to sleep through the morning rhythms, another thing that I envy Ev for -- he can sleep through virtually anything. I'm sure when the 9.0 magnitude quake hits the Bul, he'll snooze right through that too. Work is bordering on harrowing as we're understaffed right now and have to meet an early deadline for Ramadan.

Please evacuate me from this month!

Farewell to August

2008-08-31T23:59:00.004+03:00

This month has been a really hectic one for me and also one that marked several important dates in my life. Evren and I celebrated our 2nd anniversary at a cosy Mexican restaurant on the Bosporus. This month also marks our first year in Istanbul and the end of my first year with the newspaper. As well, I got a promotion earlier this month, along with a very nice raise (woo hoo!).

Tomorrow is the beginning of Ramadan, at least here in Turkey. I've found that different countries figure out the date by different means, so the start date can vary up to three days in the Muslim world. Normally I would just fast along with everyone at work, mostly because I'm lazy and don't want to leave the building for lunch as the cafeteria is closed during the day for the month. But since I'm training for a marathon this year, not eating during the day is simply not an option -- unless I have some sort of death wish.

The company issues cards with money loaded on them for the non-fasters, but the options nearby are limited -- McDonald's, Sbarro or Sultanahmet Koftecesi (where one of my co-workers once got food poisoning). There are some other places but most of them don't accept the mutinet card from the company. I suppose I could always fix a lunch and bring it, but that would then require finding some place to hide away and eat it so I don't offend fasters (or have them looking at me with ravenous, animal eyes). Besides, I just don't have time for such endeavors in the morning, which is my normal running time. So yes, I will be able to create my own fast food documentary about eating at McDonald's for a full month.

Hobbling after the 17

2008-08-31T23:52:00.003+03:00

I finished a run of 17 miles about an hour ago. My thigh muscles are incredibly sore but outside of that I don't feel exhausted like I thought I would. This is the end of my 10th week of intensive marathon training. A week ago I was really questioning whether I was going to make it through after suffering from some injuries and having to cut back my mileage. But tonight's run felt pretty strong all the way through and I was able to keep a steady pace. It was just the confidence builder and reassurance that I needed at this point. Thank you body for coming through for me!

The other side of the story and trusting intuition

2008-08-14T19:23:00.004+03:00

I have some amazing friends, some of whom I met while in Peace Corps The Gambia between 2000 and 2002. One of those friends is a girl named A., who was my nearest PC neighbor in The Gambia. After reading this email from her, I asked if I could share it on my blog. Without further ado:

This is an email to share an experience I am going through right now that has shaken my world and the world of countless of others. Many of you probably have read today about the killings of four International Rescue Committee (IRC) workers in Afghanistan. If you haven't, three international aid workers with the IRC and one Afghan worker were ambushed by the Taliban. They were in a marked IRC vehicle driving back to Kabul after visiting a school when they were chased and gunned down. There are stories all over the net including CNN and BBC if you want to read more. Many of you know that I was interviewing for a position with IRC Afghanistan back in March. I was moving through the interview process with a few people who would have been my supervisors in Afghanistan. I had a feeling then that they were going to offer me the position (this feeling was confirmed just two weeks ago when an IRC worker informed me) and I decided I would accept. I started to plan out the details. My brother was going to buy my car and I knew when my last day of work in Zuni would be.

I was filled with anticipation, questions, and of course some fear. But I was certain that I was right for the position (it was a management position for an inclusive education project around the country) and this would be my entry back into international development. I was also so excited to have the opportunity to work with the IRC! It was a Monday when I made the decision I would accept and I knew they would offer it by the end of the week. What many of you don't know is that Monday night (the same day I made up my mind) I had a dream. I dreamt that I was sitting on my living room floor (in the log cabin) with papers all around me, working, when a voice said, "Don't go. You need to stay to write the book. Don't go to Afghanistan." The dream stayed with me throughout the following day. I had no idea what the book was about. Writing a book wasn't in my thoughts of plans, but I was uneasy about the message of Afghanistan.

Later that night I attended a meeting at Western New Mexico University. A group of us started a research project on Teacher Action Research. Our plan was to write/publish a paper. That night at the meeting, one of the professors (J.) said that a colleague was encouraging us to write a book instead of a paper and she asked us what we thought. The group was excited and decided to write a book. At that moment I felt like the world stopped. I couldn't quite feel the floor under my feet and tears filled my eyes. I looked at J., (she was sitting next to me) and I softly said, "I'm not going." She was confused and asked, "What?" I said again, "I'm not going. I'm not going to Afghanistan. I will go to school instead and continue our research." Later that night I burst into tears, unexpectedly, when I told my mom my decision, my final decision. I cried because I wanted to go so badly, but I made a promise to myself years ago that I would never ignore my intuition.

When I heard of the news today that the IRC workers were killed, I called a friend who had worked there until 2006 to see how she was doing. It was then (the papers hadn't released names at this point) when I was told by K. that one of the workers that was killed was a woman, Jackie Kirk, who had interviewed me. K. also told me that the woman they hired for the position I applied for was also killed. The third woman would have been my immediate supervisor. The three of them were doing a site visit at a school that was part of the project. The driver, a 25 year old Afghan male, was killed too.

Since I arrived here in Amherst, I have been thinking that I made a mistake. That I should have gone to Afghanistan and then started this doct. program a few years down the road. Just last night I was regretting my decision and wondered how the project was going. I felt the world stop again today. When I saw the picture on BBC of the wooden coffins that held their bodies, all I could think of was, "One of those coffins holds Jackie. One of those coffins could have been for me." And then I was angry at BBC. Angry that they published that horrible picture. Their parents and loved ones should never have to see (on the internet) a wooden box in the dirt of a foreign country knowing that it held their loved one. And then I thought about my parents. I'm sad that I will never get to meet Jackie. Just last week I was reading something that she wrote and thought how excited I was that I would probably one day get to work with her. I will use some of the manuals and other educational tools that she has developed over the years as I begin this education program and work thereafter. Jackie has worked in numerous countries within the post-conflict and emergency education sector. She was part of a group that developed the INEE standards for International Education which is used around the world. It is odd to know that I will never see the green checkmark next to her name in my skype account again.

In the bigger picture, one needs to step back to see what this means for the country of Afghanistan and of course the rest of the world. The Taliban has proudly accepted the responsibility of their murders. Claiming that they don't support the work of the international community. And of course they wouldn't. The Taliban doesn't want all people to be educated and/or employed. Who would they recruit then? The IRC is suspending their work in Afghanistan. Around 40,000 child will no longer have educational services, even more since others will pull out. Due to an increase of violence around the Kabul area in these past few months, several agencies had begun to pull out. With this attack on the IRC, others will follow suit and leave. I would like to mention that the IRC Afganistan was there since in the 60s, through the Soviet invasion and the rise and fall of the Taliban. They were considered the most respected aid agency in the country and thus sheltered from attacks until now. Several people said to me as I was going through the application process, "It is too dangerous, don't go." My response was, "There are over 10,000 aid workers in Kabul. Only 9 have been killed this year, what are the chances?" Unfortunately, my question was answered and I have learned to never think of the odds as in my favor again.

I suppose I wrote this to you all to give a human element to this news so it wasn't just another depressing headliner that you saw when your BBC homepage opened up today. Or a runner on the bottom of your tv screen when you watched CNN. Or to bring your attention to news you may not have heard today. Sometimes we need moments like this to remind ourselves of the important work that needs to be done and to address the issues that need attention. To stop for a moment and realize how connected we are to one another. To be reminded to never ignore our gut. To change something if we feel like we aren't doing the work that needs to be done. To move in the direction that we feel pulled towards and to act.

Try this for an adrenaline rush

2008-08-07T19:25:00.003+03:00

I headed into a new area on my morning run yesterday and quickly decided that I would never be running down that particular street again because of the combined smells of various factory pollutants and sewage. On my way out of the area, I spotted three pretty large dogs on the other side of a ditch from me. They apparently noticed me too and began loping down the ditch and up the other side toward me.

I've encountered quite a few strays on my runs here and none of them has ever seemed very threatening, some, in fact, are so friendly and cute that I am attempted to take them home with me. But as these three got closer, I could see that they were ferocious looking pit bull mixes that wanted a piece of me. They were soon within feet of me when I bent down to pick up an imaginary rock, though there was nothing at my feet but dirty asphalt, and somehow this action alone had them fleeing in the opposite direction, to my surprise and relief.

This brief andrenaline-inducing incident was enough to power me up the next hill and home, resolved to stay off this street for the rest of my running days.

I know what comes next (or drama on public transport part 2 1/2)

2008-08-04T23:11:00.002+03:00

So here's the scenario: The 9:40 a.m. bus that I take to work had not appeared at its usual time of 9:50. It was soon 10 and 10:10 and the 5 other people waiting with me at the stop were all visibly annoyed. Some of them had been waiting since 9:30 as they did not realize the schedule had changed for summer in June. The next scheduled bus showed up around 10:25, and before I boarded I knew there was going to be some drama.

Sure enough, the short, wiry, middle-aged woman who boarded behind me, as soon as she hit the steps of the bus, started in on the driver.

Woman, frantic high-pitched voice: What happened to the 9:30 bus? We've been waiting for so long. What's going on here?

Driver: That's not my problem. I don't drive the 9:30 bus.

Woman, now standing near the rear of the bus: We waited for almost an hour! What do you mean it's not your problem? I want an explanation!

Driver, stepping out of his little safety door: If you don't sit down and be quiet this bus isn't going anywhere! I've had enough!

Woman: You tell us what happened and I'll sit down!

Driver: Quiet! I've had enough of you!

This went on for a while longer and I really thought the driver might just get off the bus in a huff and walk away. But they finallly both shut up and we were on our way. If it had been a man yelling at the driver I'm sure they would've been up in each other's faces within seconds and other men would've jumped up to try and pull them away from each other. As she was a woman, the driver satisfied himself with just yelling down the length of the bus.

The term road rage has taken on a whole new meaning here in Turkey. OK, so the previous incident doesn't exactly fit the category, but is somewhat related: rage over not being able to hit the road on time, I suppose.

In another incident, I was heading to the bus station in Yenibosna when I saw a man crossing an onramp almost get hit by a car. The car grazed the man's backside and in the same moment the man whirled about and banged the car's hood with his fist. The car then screeched to a halt, the driver hopped out and the men began flailing at one another. The driver had the man on the ground when passers-by ran up to pull them apart, all the while with the two yelling at each other.

My theory is that Turks, particularly Turkish men, save up all their suppressed anger for the road. While they can be perfectly sane the rest of the time, behind the wheel they become raging madmen, ready to purposefully rear end the car in front of them if it has cut them off or otherwise offended. Almost daily I'll witness men yelling out of car windows at other drivers that have performed some maneuver to bring out the rage or even pulling over to argue and do violence to one another.

This is one of the many reasons that I've chosen not to drive here in Istanbul. In this case I think avoidance is a great coping mechanism. As well, it feels much safer to be riding around in the large rectangular metal cage that is a bus than a tiny passenger vehicle. I can be fairly sure that the bus will win in any clash of the metal deathtraps.

Shell shocked

2008-07-30T20:49:00.002+03:00

ADJECTIVE:
1. Suffering from shell shock.
2. Stunned, distressed, or exhausted from a prolonged trauma or an unexpected difficulty.
--The American Heritage Dictionary

While I realize this is a term derived from combat, I think it is entirely fitting to describe how I, and much of Turkey, feel about the events of this past month. Let me first recap what events I'm referring to, in case you've been hiding from the chaos of the world, avoid the news altogether, or have some other legitimate excuse for not knowing:

July 9, Wednesday: Shooting attack outside of US Consulate General, Istanbul
Death toll: 6 (3 policemen, 3 perpetrators)

July 14, Monday: Ergenekon indictment made public
Brief: 2,455-page document charging the Ergenekon crime network of attempting to overthrow the current and former governments through various illegal activities, including assassinations of high-level officials, grenade attacks and social engineering

July 27, Sunday: Dual bombings on shopping street, Istanbul
Death toll: 17, including 5 children
Injuries: 150

July 30, Wednesday: Constitutional Court gives verdict in closure case on ruling party
Brief: The case was filed against the ruling Justice and Development Party (AK Party) back in March by the chief prosecutor of the Supreme Court of Appeals on charges that the party had become a focal point of anti-secular activities, leaving the political and economic arenas in limbo. While the court agreed that the party had engaged in anti-secular activities, it decided that the actions were not serious enough to justify closure, instead ruling that half of the party's Treasury funding be cut.

I don't feel as if I'm absorbing these events anymore, processing them. I have this sense of detachment in which everything has taken on a surreal tinge. The conspiracy theories and counter-conspiracy theories, the scapegoating. . . It exhausts the mind. In seeking to understand the inner workings of this country, I find myself more and more confused, not knowing what or who to believe.

Running inspiration

2008-07-17T21:58:00.003+03:00

So I'm in the fourth week of my training program for the Eurasia Marathon. And thus far, it's been going fairly well. I've been caught in one rainstorm, which actually felt quite good since the temps were still pretty warm and had one morning in which I was heading straight into driving winds, but, of course, on the return trip I had the wind blowing me all the way home, almost felt like flying. The days I do my longer runs can leave me quite tired at work, but I think my co-workers have adjusted to my yawning every 5 seconds.

There are some mornings, though, that I really need that extra bit of inspiration to get me out of bed at 5:30 and to keep my legs moving up the all-to-frequent hills of my neighborhood. And this is what does it:

*Rise (actually, every song from Into the Wild)

Such is the way of the world
You can never know
Just where to put all your faith
And how will it grow

Gonna rise up
Burning back holes in dark memories
Gonna rise up
Turning mistakes into gold

Such is the passage of time
Too fast to fold
And suddenly swallowed by signs
Lo and behold

Gonna rise up
Find my direction magnetically
Gonna rise up
Throw down my ace in the hole

*The Middle, by Jimmy Eat World
*Everything is Everything, by Lauryn Hill
*Try Again, by Aliyah (was also our warm up song for jazz dance class)
*Make You Feel That Way, by Blackalicious
*Real Wild Child, by Christopher Otcasek

. . .And a whole lot more. Some people, who consider themselves purists, run without music all the time, saying that you should enjoy the experience for what it is and tune into the things around you. I've gone with and without. Without music, it's just you, the road, and your mind (and the annoying minibus drivers that slow next to you and honk, the policemen who yell "Why are you running?" the men at the bus station who gawk, etc.). Lately, I haven't been able to shut off my mind and the sometimes self-defeating messages it sends. When I can "zen it" and tune into things around me and the calm of the morning, those are my best runs. However, music gives me another medium to focus on, and beyond that, to provide motivation when it is lacking or waning.

Mini-trail at the ranch and pets in Turkey

2008-07-07T20:15:00.003+03:00

On Saturday, a friend and I headed to Göçmen's Ranch in Zekeriyaköy in Sariyer, the northernmost district of Istanbul, to do some horseback riding. The drive to get there took us through some lush forest and I was surprised at how little traffic there was. Though neither of us was sure how to get there, we asked a gas station worker for some directions and for once they were actually accurate!

We brought along my friend's dog, Haydut (Bandit), since he had never seen horses before. Upon his first look at these creatures multiple times his size, he just gawked but didn't bark at all. The ranch had a little cafe, where they claimed to make great breakfasts and said we had to come back earlier next time to partake. The horses were very healthy looking, shiny manes and all. We hopped on and headed down the trail with our guide, Boris. Disappointingly, the trail was pretty short and as we had come in the heat of the day, the horses were rather sluggish. After circling a small pond we doubled back toward the stables. Boris then let us do some rounds in the arena.

Hanging out with Haydut reminded me of how much I want a dog. But I'm really not comfortable with keeping a mid-size dog in our small flat, or really any sized flat for that matter. My friend seems to do fine with Haydut in a flat, but some of her neighbors are really not cool with her having a dog. I think a lot of Turks are just coming around to the idea of keeping cats and dogs as pets, but enough still find the idea distasteful.

I want my future dog to have a yard to run around in. Perhaps this is just an American idea of space and freedom that's been ingrained in me. But is it really fair to a dog to keep it boxed up in a flat for the majority of the day? So this means I will likely never own a pet while in Turkey, at least not one that lives outside of an aquarium.

Morphing back into a morning person

2008-07-01T07:47:00.003+03:00

The early morning runs in order to beat the heat began last week. And of course dragging my ass out of bed at 5:20 a.m. wasn't the easiest thing the first few days. My body and mind were just screaming, "Noooooooooooooooooo." However, once I made it outside, the comfortable cool of the morn, the blessed quiet and the sunrise made it feel much better. I'm rediscovering the neighborhood in these early hours and finding streets/areas that I'd never seen before. After getting back and taking an icy cold shower I have an extra few hours before leaving for work. This means I can return e-mails, do laundry, have time for breakfast . . . I'm remembering what it is like to be a morning person and I like the perks.

On Sunday, the day I do my long training runs, I picked up an impromptu running partner on the last third of my 13K run. I heard someone running behind me and this small, stocky guy passed me. I headed down another street and for awhile thought I had lost him, but then when passing by the police station I heard someone coming up behind me again. When I hit the lower road the guy came up beside me and started asking questions. I thought I could easily get rid of him by announcing first that I am married, but that proved not to be a deterrent. The guy wouldn't shut up and if I had had the energy to sprint away at that point I would have. Anyways, he eventually asked where I lived and I told him in no uncertain terms that I don't give out that information. I turned into a block of apartments that wasn't mine and said this was where I lived and he thankfully continued up the hill. I don't know what the best approach is in situations like this. Perhaps just a "go the f**** away." But I really dislike rudeness and unless someone poses a real threat I don't think I would say that. There's also the consideration that I'm bigger than a lot of men here so I feel like if I were ever attacked I could hold my own. I've also taken self defense classes, but it's still hard to gauge how I would react in the actual situation.

Counting down, ramping up

2008-06-22T23:34:00.004+03:00

This week is not only the first week of summer, but also the start of my 18-week countdown and intensive training program for the Eurasia Marathon. I took up running again back in February, but the training I will begin this week will require 6-day-a-week workouts. My long runs are scheduled for Sundays and speedwork on Saturdays.

The Eurasia will have a new course this year. According to runner/writer John Crofoot:

The new course increases the scenic and historical appeal of the marathon, crossing, as usual, the Bosporus, then passing through Beşiktaş and Karaköy and following the Golden Horn to Eyüp. Eventually running along the sea coast to Gülhane Park, the 42.2-kilometer marathon will end in Sultanahmet, at the Hippodrome, one of the oldest race tracks in the world. (Today's Zaman, June 10, 2008)

Training in Istanbul presents some special problems and the biggest one for me is the poor air quality. I have allergies and asthma, which means I'll be doing a lot of my running indoors as the air grows increasingly worse, with the compounding factor of photochemical smog this summer. Of course, I would much rather be outdoors, so I'll also be trying to shift some runs to the early morning, when the air is slightly better. My neighborhood does at least offer wide sidewalks that are mostly free of the undulations and holes just waiting to wank your ankle in much of Istanbul. As well it's a pretty safe area.

Did I mention that I tend toward laziness and I've never been naturally attracted to running, which to me are both reasons driving my marathon goal. I do like to be fit, but I also need something to work toward so it's not just exercising for the sake of it. I love that fully relaxed but energized feeling after a run, and pounding the pavement or the treadmill has been a good way to sweat off the stressors of the day.

The vampires are breeding

2008-06-09T13:21:00.002+03:00

The bane of my existence made its first seasonal appearance in my home last night. I woke up around 3 am feeling somewhat disoriented. My arms were itching uncontrollably, and then I heard it -- the all too familiar buzz of the mosquito. I thought, no, it can't be, it's too early yet. But then I recalled the rains of the last few days and daytime temperatures in the 70s (F). Perfect breeding conditions. Regardless of the fact that we live in a ninth-storey flat, they had found their way up and through my slightly cracked windows.

Though in my lifetime I've come into contact with all manner of insects that would strike fear into many -- flying cockroaches and white scorpions in The Gambia, to name just a few -- the mosquito is the only one that has burrowed into my psyche, driven me to extreme measures, and brought out my irrational side.

And perhaps this is all because the mosquito factors into my very earliest memories at the age of 3 on my first trip to my mother's homeland, the Philippines. Though we all slept under nets, somehow they still managed to invade the inner sanctum and suck our blood. And I always seemed to get the brunt of their attacks. I have an allergy to these bites and get large welts. So as a 3-year-old I had these all over my limbs and they eventually turned into dark spots. I returned to the States, to the horror of my father who had not joined us on the trip, with my own personal leopard skin.

I don't understand why the majority of flats here lack any sort of screening on the windows or even the track structure so one can install them on their own. Seems like a pretty basic consideration in constructing any sort of building in a metropolis with an out of control bug problem. So this weekend I will be sure to be found at Koçtaş -- Turkey's equivalent to Home Depot -- purchasing screening material. One of my co-workers tells me this comes in the form of rolls that you must cut down to size and an insufficient amount of velcro to attach them to the window frame -- which he has supplemented with double-sided tape.

Meanwhile, I'll be sleeping in the mosquito-free environs of my living room.

Spiraling

2008-05-12T11:41:00.002+03:00

I've faced periods of depression since I was a child, sometimes for months at a time. The peak, or what I'm hoping was the peak, was during my first 2 years at university at WWC. One particular quarter, I didn't have a roommate and thus my mind was left to its own devices. I would skip classes because I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. People would knock on my dorm room and I would pretend I wasn't there because I just couldn't face anyone. I would take long walks in the middle of the night contemplating ways to die.

Things improved through my twenties. I learned to recognize the beginning of a spiral and sometimes turn the tide before things descended further into darkness. I've never taken any of the wide array of "happy drugs" on the market, though I've considered it. I figure this is this mind I was given, and though it may not be flawlessly designed, I don't really want to alter it with chemicals if at all possible and perhaps become someone I no longer recognize.

So, that is the background of my more than melancholy disposition and here we are in the present, where Devi isn't doing so well. A wave of sadness is chasing me down, and I'm not sure how to get away this time. I wouldn't normally share this type of thing here, but perhaps that's part of my problem. Until my mid-twenties I wouldn't even share this with my closest friends, thus allowing it build, and getting so caught up in my own head that there seemed to be nothing else in existence.

Stoney encounter at Breakfast World

2008-04-29T18:08:00.006+03:00

I was picking up a few items today at my local Mis Kahvalti Dunyasi (Super Breakfast World), a store that claims to have everything you could ever want for breakfast, and was quite pleased with the selection, especially of the cheeses.

I brought my purchases to the counter, where a young woman wearing the hijab stood at the cash register. She didn't say a word to me as she was scanning my items, which I, at first, didn't think as strange. But when she bagged the items and I took them and thanked her, again there was only silence. I looked at her and saw a face of stone, with eyes refusing to meet mine. I decided to try again and wished her an "iyi gunler" (good day), which most shopkeepers will usually be the first to offer the customer on their way out. Again I received only silence.

I have to note, though I am on the receiving end of plenty of rudeness in my neighborhood because I am different (non-Muslim, non-Turkish, non-hijab or carsaf-wearing), it usually doesn't come from people working at the local shops. In fact, the pharmacists and bakers have been some of the friendliest people I've encountered in the neighborhood. So this behavior was unexpected and I was again taken aback, just as in the elevator encounter. I'm tempted to return to this store and try talking to the woman until I get some form of response. The build-up of these experiences is making me feel like I need to be some type of diversity crusader. I need to believe that things can change and that I can be apart of that change.

Weekend at Abant Lake

2008-04-28T21:12:00.007+03:00

Evren surprised me with a weekend at Abant Lake in Bolu Province -- halfway between Istanbul and Ankara. Abant is a lovely freshwater lake tucked away up in the mountains among dense stands of pine. There is a trail that wraps all the way around the lake and several trails that can take you up to the surrounding peaks. If you don't feel like hiking you can also take a horse carriage or rent a horse to take you around the lake.

Evren on the walkway over the bog.

A rickety bridge spanning a creek near Abant.

Water wheel on the edge of town.

Let's start with sharing an elevator

2008-04-23T12:33:00.013+03:00

This morning I was heading to the first floor in my building's elevator when it came to a stop at the 3rd floor. The door opened and a woman in a çarşaf (the outfıt pictured below, literally translates as sheet) glanced in, shot me a look of disdain and quickly shut the door again while mumbling something uuntelligible.

Photo: Charles Fred

Well neighbor, though I may not fit into the mould of what you think someone in our apartment, our neighborhood, or even the entire country of Turkey should look like, would it kill you to ride three floors in an elevator with me? Do you really despise my very existence that much?

I received your very clear answer with a look and the slamming of an elevator door. I don't think we all need to just get along, let's start with being able to ride in one elevator together.

The following excerpt comes from an article by Burak Kiliç:

The research was done under the supervision of Dr. Yılmaz Esmer from Bahçeşehir University, who is responsible for the Turkish branch of the World Values Survey. The survey shows that the Turkish public holds positive views about the headscarf. Only nine percent of the respondents indicated that they did not want to have a covered neighbor. However, 88 percent said they did not want gays, atheists or unmarried couples as neighbors and 33 percent said they do not want neighbors from a different religion. Esmer notes that Turks appreciate diversity as an abstraction but that they do not want to have neighbors with different identities. Turks are the most opposed to having neighbors of different religions among the 15 other countries surveyed.

Turks can no longer afford to merely "appreciate diversity as an abstraction." Diversity is here my friends, a tangible reality. Not coming to a neighborhood near you, but already living there and waiting to be treated as human.

Why I won't be celebrating tomorrow

2008-04-22T18:09:00.005+03:00

Tomorrow, April 23, is National Sovereignty and Children's Day here in Turkey. The front of my workplace has already been draped with a massive Turkish flag and a gigantic picture of Atatürk, but I'm afraid this gesture hasn't exactly gotten me into a celebratory mood. While this is a national holiday, the newspaper of course doesn't give us the day, or even half a day, off.

Nonetheless our bus service, which normally offers morning and evening transport, will have the day off so we will be left to find our own way here and home, definitely something to celebrate, don't you agree. And yes, children are being shipped here from all ends of the earth to perform and join in the festivities, but really, don't we have enough here already? I just can't seem to escape them on the buses, ferries or metros, but let me get in the spirit and celebrate their presence anyhow. No need to send hate mail, I don't hate children. And no need to file an Article 301 case against me, either, I think Ataturk and this nation are great on the whole. I just question all the hype over this day; perhaps we also need a National Overpopulation Day to balance things out.

My first futbol match

2008-04-20T21:05:00.005+03:00

This evening I escaped work a bit early to head to my first futbol match with Evren, Hakan and Cuneyt. The game was at the Ataturk Olimpiyat Stadyum between my team, Galatasaray, and Istanbul Buyuksehir Belediyespor. First off, traffic was mad on the freeway and looking around at the other cars, I realized that I was surrounded by other G.saray fans and that we were all headed to the same place. When we finally got there we had to pass through 3 levels of security, including 2 pat downs, for which I was swiftly directed to the one police woman standing in each line.

I found out that though seat numbers are printed on each ticket, no one really pays attention to that and unless you get there super early you're left to really crap seats or standing in the aisles. But then I looked around and realized that no one uses their seats anyways, at least not the G.Saray side, so it doesn't really matter. The fans seemed so caught up in chants and singing that many seemed to be missing the game altogether, which is ashame cause G.Saray played really well and scored in the third minute, this despite the fact that their head coach deserted them a few weeks ago.

A security officer came by during the first half to clear the aisles, but ended up being swooped up by several fans, including Evren, and chanting right along with them. Instead of hot dogs at the concession stands, there are what I deemed kofte dogs -- buns with pointy ends filled with little log-like koftes, onions, lettuce and tomatoes. The meat was a bit suspect but they were tasty nonetheless and part of my first Turkish futbol experience.

We cut out a early to avoid being caught in a second wave of traffic (and because we were triple parked). Final score G.Saray 3, I.B.B. zippo. oooooh aaaaay oh ay oh ay oh ooooh

Exploring opportunities

2008-04-17T17:37:00.002+03:00

My last boss in the States, who I considered a mentor, once advised me to secure and go to job interviews every now and then to keep my interview skills primed. I followed her advice and ended up being offered almost every job I interviewed for, and subsequently turning down the offers since I was happy with my position at the time.

Recently I was informed about a position at a news agency by one of my co-workers and decided to apply since the 6-day work week is getting kind of old. I was called up for an interview this morning and set up a time for this weekend. The job is only part-time and is not far from my current workplace so transport would be easy. So we'll see what happens. . .

Public transport enlightenment

2008-04-13T11:41:00.002+03:00

I've taken to pondering parts of the Tao during my morning bus commute, especially when I've forgotten to charge my mp3 player. Here is a brief passage that I was struck by this morn:

Give birth to it and nourish it.

Produce it but don't possess it.

Act without expectation.

Excel, but don't take charge.

First wedding of spring '08

2008-04-12T16:33:00.005+03:00

Photo: M. Jakirlic

Congratulations to J and R who tied the knot last weekend here in the Bul!

Back in the Bul, reluctantly

2008-04-06T17:17:00.004+03:00

It's a bittersweet feeling to be back in the Bul after two and a half weeks spending time with friends and family in the States. Got back late Thursday and was immediately thrown back into the grind, working a 14-hour day on Friday. Actually, it's not as if I was ever free of the grind, as I was working the entire time in the States -- which meant getting up at 2 am while I was in Idaho and 1 am in CA (then 12 am when the time changed in Turkey).

To say my bodily clock is completely warped is an understatement. I am pleased, however, that I managed not to get sick.

I arrived in Istanbul to an empty flat as Evren had left Tuesday for a business trip to Switzerland and Italy. Then there was the water heater, which refused to work when the only thing I craved that night was a hot shower and to fall into bed.

The sky is a morose shade of gray and instead of being able to sleep in today (after a night of waking up at multiple odd hours) like most people, I had to throw my resistant body out of bed and make my way to work. I miss my niece, little rocketgirl, and feel like I could use several more weeks of Cali sunshine.

Cruising the Greenbelt

2008-03-27T05:19:00.006+02:00

This afternoon my brother and I took a 20-mile bike ride along the Boise River Greenbelt. Though the weather was constantly changing (hmm, that does remind of Istanbul), it was a beautiful ride. We even came across three deer that were hanging out right by the path. There's more to the potato state than it gets credit for.

Not quite like riding a bike

2008-03-26T11:37:00.005+02:00

There are certain activities that if you don't engage in for awhile and then return to, you can jump right back in the saddle with no problem. I now know that skiing is, almost, one of them for me, but not quite. I am far from being an expert, my only real experience coming in a few jaunts to the San Bernardino slopes in high school. So when my brother suggested a trip up to Bogus Basin, one of the main resorts above Boise, I thought, "Why not try it again, over a decade later." Last winter I had tried snow boarding and felt I was really starting to get the hang of it by the end of the day and I recalled skiing as being a lot easier to pick up.

So yesterday I found myself decked out in an amusing hodge podge of my sister-in-law's ski apparel, long-johns, puffy socks and all. I was outfitted with the equipment at a rental shop and was soon doing the robot walk in my boots up the metal mesh stairs to the bottom of the slope. My feet tend to cramp easily and were already doing so in the strange new environment of the plastic boot. I stamped into my bindings and my brother and I made our way to the lift for the bunny slope for a test run. On the chair lift my brother provided several pointers and after hopping off the lift I was able to swish my way down without a hitch and stop at the bottom. We went down the easy slope a few more times so I could get my wits about me, then headed for higher runs.

I had gone about half-way down the next run when on a fast turn I found myself heading out of control and in the next second my body was flying forward and my face was firmly planted in a snow bank. I slowly extracted myself from the snow and my brother helped me gather my skis and get them back on. After this we practiced stopping and small S turns on steeper grades. We went on several more runs, and though I ate it twice more, it was a great time. The scenery was amazing and the weather not to cold. Good powdery conditions unlike the icy, dangerous runs of SoCal. I'm ready to hit the slopes again, but next time on Mt. Uludag.

Sleepless in Star

2008-03-24T03:48:00.006+02:00

Flew into Cali on the 17th after a horrendous 8 hour layover in Munich after which I was a complete zombie and not at all ready to do 11 1/2 more hours. Surprisingly good service on United. I always expect rudeness from American carriers but the staff was all quite good. And another point for them -- the food was above average.

Cousin Ron, mom and I went to dinner at Elephant Bar after escaping from LAX. We got to the house at around 11pm so there was no time to sleep. I went online and started work at around midnight and worked through till 8am. For the first few days on this schedule I wasn't feeling lagged but then I flew up to Idaho to see my bro and his fam and the lack of sleep is beginning to catch up with me. I can stay awake during the day, but my brain stays in this floaty state in which everything seems a bit surreal. Luckily not working on the weekends so got my first 2 almost full nights of sleep.

Spent the weekend in Twin Falls at my sister-in-law's parent's house. Adi went on her first 2 easter egg hunts. The first was a wild rampage of kids at a plant nursery. Though the kids were divided by age groups there really wasn't enough room so when the officiator yelled GO there was a stampede of kids and parents. I hopped up on a bench to get out of the way but wasn't able to get any good photos with the crowd.

This morning my bro and headed over to the actual Twin Falls (which is now actually only single falls because the other side has been dammed for hydropower) and then to Shoshone Falls, also used for hydropower but with open turbines. We took a short hike and of course because the hard way is always the funnest, did a bit of rock scrambling along the way. It was still cold enough for there to be some icicles hanging down from the cliffsides, though many had already melted.

If there was one thing I could change about living in Istanbul it would be the addition of open natural spaces (and I don't mean just city parks) where I could escape from the rat race, if just for a little while. I'm still in love with the outdoors even though I live in megalopolis, when I'm back in nature I realize how much I really miss it. It's in my bones. I can't feel fully myself without it.

Anyways, that was a tangent. I'm enjoying my little niece and just trying to squeeze the most out of every minute, cause who knows when I'll be back. Heading back down to Cali on Thursday, but up here will be skiing (or maybe trying boarding again) and shopping, shopping, shopping.

I am not a terrorist

2008-03-15T21:37:00.005+02:00

The following are excerpts from a poem and a letter by two young Kurdish students who attend a boarding school in the southeastern city of Muş in Turkey. The work originally appeared in a column by Bulent Korucu.

You know I am not a terrorist

That I am only aware of the pain associated with terror

This city, this country is mine; I am aware of it

Nobody may label me a terrorist; I am not a terrorist; I am aware of it.

People usually think we, the people of the East, are thieves and terrorists; but we are not terrorists. When I hear these remarks, I wilt like a flower; if we were terrorists, then why did we send our brothers to become soldiers in defense of this country. Is it possible to believe that we became thieves and terrorists while our brothers are fighting there to defend this country? Finally, please speak up if someone says the Anatolian people are terrorists because we are tired of hearing this.

Navigating the in-law waters

2008-03-10T13:16:00.005+02:00

Families are a package deal, so along with my Turkish husband, Evren, I got my Turkish mother-in-law, Gülcan. Of course I had heard all the stories, even from my best friend, and they all came down to one thing -- the relationship between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law can't be a good one. Yet I showed up two years ago ready to be the exception, after all when I had first visited before moving here we had gotten along great.

But then in the first week after my move, I realized that things were already gettin' strange. While I knew that many Turkish women, especially in her age range, were extreme clean freaks, her level of clean was something completely different. Our washing machine was going 24/7; when she ran out of clothes, she moved on to curtains (that already seemed quite clean to me), rugs, basically any textile that could fit in the washing machine. And if it couldn't fit in the machine then it was washed in the tub. I was relaxing with Ev at around 1am when Gül summoned me out to one of the balconies to help wash windows.

I wanted to understand where this behavior was coming from. I keep my house pretty clean by American standards, and I was feeling pretty insulted by that point. So I plied Ev for background info. He explained that she is O-C with cleaning and that she does this even at her friends' homes. I was over at one of her closest friend's homes in Bursa, Sevil Teyze (Auntie), when I found out that this was absolutely true. Sevil told me she does this pretty much everywhere she goes and as her friends, they've mostly given in to it.

Over the last few years I've learned more that has made me understand her better, and she has eased off the cleaning frenzy while visiting us, at least a bit. She is a naturally energetic, or more accurately a WIRED person that needs to be moving almost constantly. Added to that, she retired from her primary school teaching job when she was only 35 (don't wonder why the Turkish social security/retirement system is collapsing), so has had to occupy herself for almost 20 years now with. . .

She came over last week and while the washing machine was still running quite a lot, it wasn't running at unreasonable hours that would make our neighbors consider doing voodoo on us. Oh yes, and the bleaching of the floors that used to go on (inciting asthma attacks in me) no longer happens, thankfully. She apparently saves that for the two elevators in her apartment building.

In an incident unrelated to cleaning that simply amused me after pissing me off briefly, she tried to plug an American adapter for my mp3 player directly into the universal power strip without the necessary converter to charge her cell phone (despite the fact that we had 4 Nokia chargers around the house that would've fit the bill perfectly). Result: the adapter blew and is now unusable, leaving my mp3 player powerless. The thought of being without music on the bus commute was almost unbearable, but then I'll be heading to the states in a week and will get to gift myself with an upgraded player.

Turks have two words for mother-in-law. One for if you don't like her -- kaynana (even sounds bad doesn't it) -- and one for if you do -- kayınvalide (rather unwieldly). But I haven't really used either, perhaps because of my dislike for such black and white labels. We are just navigating the waters of this relationship as best we can, quirks and all, trying to understand and be understood, trying to find our commonalities and accept our differences.

Pivotal moments

2008-03-04T17:33:00.004+02:00

On the bus to work this morning, a moment in my childhood that really changed my perspective came to mind, reminding me of the huge impact that words can have, especially on children. I was raised as a Seventh-day Adventist (SDA), a conservative Protestant religion that worships on Saturday rather than Sunday. I could expound but religion is not my point today.

I was 11 when this occurred and my father had died only a few months before. My family and I attended a medium-sized church called the Loma Linda Filipino SDA Church. One Saturday after services we were all waiting around for the church potluck to begin. The youth pastor approached me and pulled me aside, a bit suprising since he'd never spoken more than a greeting to me before. He then said in no uncertain words, "You're becoming a real recluse," adding a few more sentences along the same lines. I don't remember giving a response, just walking away in state of shock. Later that day (and many times after that) when I had some time to ponder the comment, I wondered how he could have said such a thing when he knew so little about me and when the one fact that he did know (since the funeral had been held at his church) was that my father had died recently and that I was a child in deep grieving. As well, even before his death, my difference as the only Black-Filipino besides my brother among the several hundred members had been keenly felt. I was a pretty quiet as a kid and this feeling of difference did nothing to help things.

This incident was the beginning of my questioning of organized religion. In my childhood mind I wondered how I could believe the things this man was preaching if he could be so thoughtless and blind on a personal level. Alhough this was a childhood simplification of the matter, it still led me down a path of questioning every aspect of religion and my own world view, and for that I am thankful.

Two more seats please

2008-03-03T18:37:00.005+02:00

This past weekend, Evren and I headed out to see the Turkish comedy "Recep İvedik." This movie has been sold out here since it came out and I was curious to see what kind of movie had gained such popularity. We got to the theater, found our seats (assigned instead of first-come first-serve) and watched as the seats quickly filled up. When the movie was about to start a couple came in walked up the far aisle, looked at their tickets and then started chatting with the another couple who were apparently in their seats. They found that they had been assigned the same seats -- the theater had double-booked (gee, and I thought it was only airlines that did this). An attendant appeared and the couple had some words with her. A few minutes later a male attendant came in lugging an oversized stuffed chair and placed it about half-way-up right smack in the aisle. He left and returned with another chair which he plopped down right next to it, fully blocking the aisle (earthquake, fire safety, no problem, stampede down the remaining aisle of course). Problem solved, gotta love this place.

Oh, the movie, typical slapstick comedy, bottle-shattering farts and all. Though I prefer dark comedies I did get a few laughs out of Recep. How can you not laugh at a giant, big-bellied man doing leg lifts in pink spandex or getting locked out of his hotel room wrapped in a towel with bubble bath foam all over his body. And anyways, one of the reasons I like Turkish comedies is that the dialogue is pretty light and easy to understand and its a pretty painless way to learn some more language.

They say it's your birthday!!

2008-02-24T17:01:00.002+02:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVREN ! ! !

Happy Türkiye Anniversary to Me!

2008-02-22T22:32:00.005+02:00

Two years ago on this date my Turkish Airlines flight cruised into the Atatürk International Airport in Istanbul and though in quite a groggy state after over 17 hours of transit, my heart was pumping with the excitement of finally being back in Turkiye and starting my life with Ev. In these last few years I've experienced a little bit of everything, from treatment at a Turkish state hospital to my first dive off the coast of Marmaris. I took the language up, speedily got the basics, and then put it down in frustration, only to come back to it and slowly plug away, this time without putting so much pressure on myself. I've been on the good and bad side of my mother-in-law. I quickly learned to love and then just as quickly lost Ev's grandmother. I got to have my family over to see my life in Turkiye and to witness my marriage. I've been through three jobs and also experienced a period of joblessness. I've tried and loved a wide variety of Turkish dishes (except for the liver). I can even stomach the stomach. I received perfect vision from laser surgery in Istanbul after going my whole life with goggly glasses or annoying contacts. I've lived in three different flats, 2 in Bursa and our current in Istanbul. I've witnessed Islamic ritual sacrifice and the pulsing drums at 4am on Ramadan mornings. I've watched my life flash before my eyes on Istanbul freeways. I've learned the tricks of public transport. I've hurled myself down Uludag slopes on a snowboard for the first time and landed on my ass more than a dozen, ready to get up and do it all over again.

It's been a wild ride and I can only wonder what's next. Thank you, my dear Ev, for taking this journey with me; your love and laughter have gotten me through the toughest days and made the blissful days even brighter.

A rainbow of scarves

2008-02-11T18:46:00.001+02:00

This past Saturday Evren and I headed to the engagement ceremony/dinner for my friends/co-workers James and Rumeysa (hailing from Cali and Istanbul, respectively). They met last year here at Zaman -- where else, we pretty much all live at work. Anyways, when we got there none of the rest of the paper crew had shown up yet and as I scanned the room I quickly realized that I was the only adult woman without a headscarf and in a sleeveless gown. Funny how this doesn't really phase me anymore. I've become so used to being the odd-one-out in pretty much every situation that the oddness has become my normal. Finally the Zamanites showed up and we found a table together. Evren was visibly bored since he was seated across from one of our less talkative columnists and he's more used to somewhat livelier events. I started studying the many scarf styles to entertain myself, my eyes drawn toward one that looked like watercolor paint splashes in one corner and another that looked like a really intricate tattoo in another. Then I moved on to observing the tulip patterned ceiling and walls. This was my first engagement ceremony here in Turkey, although I've been to many weddings. J and R exchanged rings and R's father kissed her hand at one point. There was a full dinner and afterward a multi-tiered cake, appearing very much like a wedding cake.

Booked in, reverse culture shock

2008-02-04T20:47:00.000+02:00

I pledged to myself at the end of last year that I would finally make time to go see my first niece, Adilynn, who turned 1 this past Christmas Eve and whom I, sadly, have never met. This month I will have been in Turkey for two years, and in that time I've never traveled back to the States. I booked my ticket recently (and was rather pissed that the ticket went up 100 bucks in a week and kicking myself for not booking the previous week) for March.

When I think about visiting, I feel rather apprehensive. I remember how it was returning after more than two years living in The Gambia. I felt like a complete stranger in California. I'd lived without electricity, running water and pretty much all the other trappings of the Western world for that period and I found out that I was okay without those things. Of course, this is not quite the same. I have all the modern amenities here in Turkey; yet, I've also become quite accustomed to the way of life here. I feel very much anchored here and I know more about the PKK and Ergenekon than how the US presidential primaries are going.

It seems likely that by the time I start to get my bearings over there, I'll be heading for the headache that is LAX and on my way back here.

The dancer

2008-01-31T21:49:00.000+02:00

My friend Ayhan is coming to visit this weekend from Ankara. It's been a long time since we've seen him. Ayhan is a professional dancer. He teaches ballet classes and also competes internationally. Last time he visited the three of us stayed up almost all night sharing favorites from our music collections and dancing the night away. Though I've never been to one of his classes, I imagine he must be a great teacher because he's the type of person that you don't feel at all self-conscious around. The fluidity of his movements draws you in, mesmerizes you. I remember when he and one of Evren's aunts got up at our wedding and danced. They took over the dance floor and had everyone's attention with their beautiful twirls and dips. (I had no idea Fatos Teyze was such a talented dancer).

Eurasian Marathon

2008-01-20T11:55:00.001+02:00

I'm putting this in writing so I won't back out. I am going to run the Eurasian Marathon this fall on Oct. 26. I haven't determined a time goal yet and am just starting to devise a training schedule.

I have only run one marathon previously, the LA Marathon in 2000. I was a senior in university at the time and decided on a whim only three months beforehand to do it. I remember the mariachi bands playing on the side of the road, everyone slipping on banana peels (poor judgement on whichever group had decided to hand those out to runners!), and most of all the pouring rain and cold temperatures. OK, this may not sound like a good time, but I loved it.

There's certainly a strong feeling of comraderie (esp. when you're all soaking wet and your shoes are making squidging noises as you run, not that I'm hoping it rains for the Eurasian), you get to run down the middle of the street and in this case across the Bosporus Bridge, all kinds of festivities are going on around you and people from all walks of life come out to cheer you on. But the draw for me is also in the journey, the hours of training put in from week to week. Before my first marathon I was taking 27 units and working part time, so working in my runs was a real task. Yet it worked because the runs were also major stress relief and became the part of my day that I looked forward to the most.

Fast forward to 2008, another packed schedule that now also includes relationship time, exercise and allergy induced asthma, and Devi in not-so-great winter shape. I'm ready to run! Anybody with me?

Remembering Hrant

2008-01-18T23:12:00.000+02:00

Tomorrow is the 1st anniversary of the death of Turkish-Armenian journalist Hrant Dink. Much controversy surrounds the investigation into his murder, which many, including Dink's family, say has been obstructed at every turn by police and the judicial system.

Instead of focusing on the controversy, I would like to remember the man. He was someone who promoted tolerance, dialogue and understanding among ethnic groups in Turkey. He was unafraid to voice his opinions on events in Turkish history, even if it meant being prosecuted under an archaic law, Article 301 of the Turkish constitution, multiple times. He recognized the progress that Turkey has made in human rights and tolerance of different groups, while also realizing that it has a long way to go in these areas.

I know that Dink's death was not in vain. His killing was a wake up call to many in this country and elsewhere, not just in realizing that dark forces are "out there," but in looking within and finding that it is also oneself harboring the hate and intolerance that can lead to such violence.

Where I'd rather be

2008-01-17T18:34:00.001+02:00

I've been restless lately. It seems that everyone I know has been traveling. My mom is on a trip to the Philippines and Singapore for a month. Even Evren is away this week in Barcelona, though his trip is for business. Nonetheless, what a great city to be in.

I shot this pic last summer while hiking the cliffsides of southern Crete. I remember the feeling of freedom of walking miles and miles without seeing another soul. The only sound was the crashing waves and when I walked slightly inland, I noticed the utter silence.

I need a change of scene. All this cement and pavement is getting to me. I need a break in the routine, the 6-day staring into a screen blandness of it all. I feel disconnected. I peruse the faces on the bus and they all look sad or angry and I know that I am them, getting by, slogging through the day.

First snowy day and a tribute to dad

2008-01-03T11:04:00.000+02:00

We finally have our first snow falling in Istanbul today. Snow still brings that childlike excitement bubbling up in me, as I'm sure most people who grew up in SoCal can relate to. I stick my tongue out to catch some flakes and wish for those rare snow days in my childhood, when we were all released from school to frolic in the white stuff.

Today is the 19th anniversary of my father's death. It seems so strange to think that I've lived more years without him than with him. While he was living, my father was my family ally. We understood each other and had the unvoiced labels of strong and silent. Though he died when I was only 11, he still had a major imprint on who I am today.

When I was in my late teens, my mom found a travel journal of his and gave it to me. In reading through it, I discovered how much my father had loved traveling when he was younger and that we had taken road trips to many of the same places. It was surreal to read of his lightheadedness in the high elevations of Utah mountains in the exact area where I had spent my last summer working for the forest service and exploring the wilderness. Much of his earlier life was a mystery to me. He had had another wife before my mom who died of cancer when she was young. This must have been devastating for him, but that kind of thing hadn't crossed my mind when I was younger and there are so many questions I wish I had asked.

Thanks dad for teaching me to be strong, to stand up for myself and my rights, to not complain about the small things that don't really matter, to be decisive, to take the initiative while everyone else is standing around, to not worry so much about what others' think about me, to save money for a rainy day (which came in especially handy in '07), to find my own beliefs, to travel, live free and love deeply.

Missing someone you've lost, especially a parent, never ends. On special days, you can't help but wish that your loved one could be there with you. I wonder if my dad would've gotten up and danced at my Turkish wedding as he wasn't much of a dancer, if he would've like Evren, if he would be unhappy with our decision to live in Turkey. . .

Yasu to 2008

2008-01-01T16:23:00.000+02:00

Evren and I brought in the new year at a small Greek restaurant in Taksim called Yasu. This cosy establishment is on the 5th floor of the Tomer building. The first thing we noticed as we made our way there were the long line of police tanks by Taksim Square, which I found a bit excessive since the city's New Year's celebrations had been cancelled in Taksim. Upon entering Yasu, I noticed the Christmasy tinsel hanging from the ceiling along with Christmas ornaments, an example of the amusing fusion of Western holidays by Turks. The meal was excellent, with the main course being perfectly done turkey (making up for the turkey I didn't get at Thanksgiving) and a pilaf with chesnuts. Our table had a great view of the Bosporus and Sultanahmet and two different bands spangled the night with Turkish and Greek music. At midnight, I was able to see at least five different fireworks displays going off simultaneously.

After Yasu, we headed to Egemen's house on the Asian side of Istanbul. I was surprised at how open traffic was on the bridge. We arrived and were quickly met with tequila shots, which kept coming through the wee hours of the morning. Because I had started with white wine earlier and continued to drink beer in between shots, I thought I would be hurting today, not a good thing since I have to work. But surprise, I woke with a clear head, and of course, an exhausted body. So in one last toast, here's to 2008!

Emergency room trippin' (or why Christmas sucked this year)

2007-12-26T18:45:00.000+02:00

It all began on Christmas Eve. I called my brother to give my birthday wishes to his 1-year-old as well as holiday greetings. I could immediately tell from his voice that something was amiss. He has a morning radio show in the states and usually the high energy personality and voice befitting of one. But his voice this time sounded lower than usual and less self-assured. After I rattled off my holiday wishes, he asked a few questions about my life, then said, "I'm in the emergency room. I've been experiencing some heart pains." A long pause on both sides ensued, after which I battered him with questions and then he said he had to go.

Christmas day I was of course working at the paper. Since we were missing both our managing editor and one of our copy editors the work piled up quickly. My computer refused to let me log in to the editing program and IT spent around 2 hours trying to fix the probelem. Articles seemed more poorly written than usual. Everyone was getting fairly annoyed. We all ended up working later than usual. After work I raced down 2 hills to catch the 8:15 bus and just as I neared the bottom of the second I watched the bus pull away onto the highway, the driver not noticing my flailing arms and missing my telepathic message for him to stop. I decided to hop a bus going to the neighborhood next to mine which I had never taken before. I thought it would end up fairly close to my home near the end of the route, but it actually left me a couple miles away. Temperatures must have been hovering below freezing and I made my way home miserably in the dark, slowly losing feeling in my fingers.

I called Evren when I reached home around 10 but only got his message service. Eventually I fell soundly asleep. Early the next morning, Ev called, relating how he had slipped and fallen down the stairs at work and injured his back (which had seized up only days before). He had been taken to the emergency room in an ambulance, which was called by one of his workers since he couldn't move. Now he is drugged up on painkillers and facing some time in physical therapy.

Happy birthday Adi, from your guilty auntie

2007-12-24T17:51:00.000+02:00

Today is the 1st birthday of my one and only niece Adilynn, whom I have not yet had the privilege of meeting because I am a bad auntie. Adi had her first birthday bash a month earlier while my mom was visiting. She is already a bundle of activity and when I get to see her on video-conferencing visits over the computer, she is constantly waving her tiny fists and laughing at the funny images on the screen. I can't wait to meet her, and I've designated 2008 as the year of going to see Adi in the potato state no matter what.

Rams, ritual sacrifice and the jolly imam

2007-12-20T16:32:00.000+02:00

Today is the first day of the four-day Islamic holiday Eid al-Adha, known as Kurban Bayramı in Turkish and Feast of the Sacrifice in English. Yesterday, Evren and I took off for Kaynarca, a village a couple hours from Istanbul on the way to Edirne. We normally spend our bayrams in this village at his grandmother's house with his mom and other family -- this year cousin Musa and Aunt Şukran. I was especially looking forward to this bayram because Ev was going to sacrifice his first ram, at least I thought he was. I had only witnessed a few other sacrifices before today, and those were in The Gambia with my Peace Corps host family a few years ago.

Kaynarca was soooo much colder than Istanbul. Yesterday, Istanbul was hovering around 1 degree Celsius while Kaynarca felt as if it were -10 C or less. When we got to the house we quickly gravitated toward the wood-burning stove in the center of the living room. I got so toasty the metal of my jeans button was burning my belly. That evening we sat around and chatted, ate yummy börek, garlic that Ev's mom had pickled and fresh bread she had made. I was in carbolicious heaven.

The village imam showed up at the house, a jolly little man with big glasses and rosy cheeks. I guess I've always viewed imams as solemn men who pray a lot and read the Quran. This one, however, was constantly cracking jokes and seemed to have the energy of a cheerleader. It turned out that his sacrificing schedule was pretty booked up for the morning. However, since he had known Ev's family for a long time and since Ev's mom is a highly persuasive person, we soon had him convinced to come sacrifice our ram right after performing 8:30 prayers at the mosque and to bail on some other unsuspecting family that lived outside the village (sorry guys!).

After a night of little sleep due to an over-firm mattress and cold because Ev had unknowingly knocked the thickest comforter to the floor at some point in the night, I woke in the darkness to several gun shots. My half conscious brain thought, "Could shooting actually be another approved form of sacrifice?" I dismissed the idea and tried to fall back asleep. (Later finding out that shooting guns in the air is just another Turkish bayram tradition) A little while later I woke to Ev's snoring and then his mom came in to tell him the imam would be by soon.

I had planned to photograph the whole event but then Ev forgot my camera at his office so I was left to a camera phone. The ram seemed to know his end was near when the Imam approached him and made a few leaps to the rear of the garden in a desperate move to escape. There he was cornered by the imam and Ev, and they led him on his final walk to a center slab in the garden. Ev held him down while the imam tied a blindfold over the animal's eyes. The imam said prayers over the animal, something to the effect of thanks and praise to the creator of all creatures. And then with a very swift motion he slid the knife across the animal's neck. Blood immediately spurted toward the wall in a high arc, the sheep kicked, the blood continued in a steady stream, and then after several moments the ram was still. Everything was still. I glanced at Şukran Teyze, who had been looking in the opposite direction the entire time. We said nothing.

Despite the reason or circumstances, when the life of any creature is taken or lost before my eyes several notions of mortality hit me, but this one looms largest of all -- a life can be snuffed out so easily and in the blink of an eye.

I wonder what the imam thinks about when he is killing these animals. We can be fairly certain it's not always something pious. Does having death so frequently before him numb him to the process? Does it strike him as strange that directly after offering up a prayer of thanks to the creator of all things, he immediately ends the life of one of these creations?

Things that go rustle, crackle, crunch in the night

2007-12-12T18:46:00.000+02:00

I've been yawning since I got to work this morning and it's now closing in on 7 p.m. Are the articles I've been editing especially dull today, you might wonder. No, perhaps more tragic than usual (like the woman who died in her early 40s after receiving a blood transfusion several years ago that was tainted w/ HIV during birth, while her daughter also died of the virus a few years ago since she also received the blood in utero and her family's lawsuit faced rejection twice in Turkish courts over a 7-year period).

My sleepiness actually stems from being woken up multiple times over the last few nights due to Evren's sleep-eating disorder. This is an actual condition that he's had since childhood where he gets up and raids the kitchen at various times during the night, often with no memory of such activity in the morning. The condition gets worse (as in the frequency increases) during times of stress and Ev's been under a great deal of stress with his new company as of late.

Since I am a very light sleeper, I wake up practically every time he gets up, which last night was at least five times. When he was a child, his mother used to try locking the kitchen door, but he would still manage to break in somehow. Our kitchen doesn't have a lock on the door and even if it did I'm sure as a burly, over-6-foot male he would still get in. Our fridge isn't that stocked normally since we both usually eat at work or elsewhere, but he still manages to find things, even if they're strange combinations like chocolate spread and sucuk (Turkish sausage).

So until Ev's stress levels diminish, you'll just have to deal with droopy-eyed Devi.

Marathon Fridays (or the Energizer Bunny's batteries died 5 hours ago)

2007-12-07T22:15:00.000+02:00

I've been at work now for over 12 hours. At this point another caffeine injection really wouldn't do anything for me. I'm just too far gone. But somehow still editing away. Yes, it is possible to edit something on cruise control, just don't hold me responsible for the results. Each Friday we manage to complete the editing of the two editions for the weekend. Sometimes that means slogging until 2 and 3 in the morning, hopefully not tonight.

Virtual tag and no turkeys in Turkey

2007-12-04T17:43:00.000+02:00

It appears that I've been tagged by the Turkish Muse in a game of blog tag. So now I am supposed to reveal 7 silly things about myself that few people know.

Here are 7 dazzling Devi mysteries revealed:

1. I used to eat pomegranates morsel by morsel but since I moved to Turkey I devour entire sections of my favorite fruit.

2. I'm a Scrabble nerd.

3. I have difficulty rolling my "RRRR's" in Spanish.

4. I have never been able to snap with the fingers of my left hand.

5. "Fahrenheit 101" was one of my favorite books at age 7.

6. When I grow up, I want to be a star salsa dancer.

7. I love green chili and cheese tamales from LA (maybe from elsewhere, too, I just haven't tried those yet).

Now, I get to tag 5 more unsuspecting bloggers:

Prosecards from the Edge (of a Continent)

ohhhsweetturkey

Confessions of an Expat's Wife: small talks on everyday life

mikey in istanbul

Albtranslator

In belated news, we (some Californians, a Canadian and some Turks) had our late Thanksgiving celebration last week Thursday (we figured we would do it on Turkish time, a week late) at Ev's work villa. Unfortunately Fatoş was unable to acquire turkeys in time because of the big demand here for them before New Years so we had stuffed chickens instead (she was told turkeys have to be ordered 10 days ahead of time!) It was finally a chance for Evren to meet my friends from work after almost 3 months of not encountering each other. I ate plenty of sigara börek and dolma while Ev sliced up monstrous slices of the chickens for everyone. Afterward, we played scrabble on my newly acquired board, which cost a whopping YTL 75 here. Definitely should have had someone bring one over or even created my own, but I've just been missing my game too much to wait. Would post some pics, but unfortunately they might prove incriminating. . .

The wheels on the bus come to a screeching halt

2007-11-22T18:01:00.000+02:00

I slept late this morning, the down comforter and Ev's snuggle just too hard to break away from. I dressed quickly and ran out the door into the elevator, willing it to swish down the 9 floors just a little quicker than usual. I climbed the short hill to the frontage road, hoping to have just caught the bus. The woman waiting at the bus stop gave me a little more hope that I had made it in time. But as the minutes ticked by we both realized that we had missed it and would have to wait another half hour. The woman exclaimed in Turkish that it must have just come -- and gone. So we waited, both exasperated, with this less than encouraging start to our days. I considered hailing a taxi but then thought, why would I pay YTL 20 for a ride that costs less than YTL 2 on the bus? Finally the bus appeared and I felt like maybe my luck was changing as it was 10 minutes ahead of schedule (or should I say, this is Istanbul, what schedule?). Unfortunately it was one of the old rickety red buses instead of the nice modern green ones. This one was so noisy I could barely here the music from my headphones.

I sat in one of the backwards facing rows toward the rear of the bus. About 10 minutes later as we were entering the highway, one of the men sitting in the back row suddenly jumped from his seat. Then another followed suit. I noticed there was smoke rising from beneath their seats and also from the floor panels. The smoke was quickly filling the bus. Just as we were all looking at the driver, the bus came to a halt -- in the middle of the highway. We saw the bus driver hop off and head to the rear to check things out. When he walked up to the front and made a call we realized we wouldn't be going anywhere.

I sat watching the world pass by on the highway, listening to my music, which I could now hear clearly without the ratchety bus engine. I was kind of pleased because I now had an official excuse to be late for work. About 15 minutes into our stranding, two of the men who had been sitting in the back got out and went to speak to the driver. Their talk quickly turned into a shouting match which I couldn't hear through the glass but am sure had something to do with why no replacement bus had come yet. Forty minutes later the next bus on the route came by, already filled with passengers. It stopped behind us and we filed on, quickly realizing there was not one seat open. By this time I was thoroughly amused by the turns the day had taken so I continued listening to my music with a silly grin creeping up on face. Roll with it.

Out of touch or avoiding turkey in Turkey

2007-11-20T18:49:00.000+02:00

My co-workers and I were debating over whether Thanksgiving is next week or this week. Three of us were sure it was next week whereas one was sure it was this week. It went back and forth till J. finally googled it and found out he was right. Damn. Well, he's also the most recent addition to the editing group and has lived in the states a lot more recently than the rest of us.

I've never been a big fan of the holiday anyways. My family wasn't big on traditions. We would celebrate but never with the typical foods. For instance we might have sweet potatoes (yeah, kind of traditional) but then also have eggrolls, tamales, panset (a Filipino noodle dish) and a pineapple upside down cake for dessert. I used to hate pumpkin pie. I have a very vague memory of having thrown up after eating it when I was a kid, probably at someone else's house because I don't think it ever graced my family's Thanksgiving table.

In my freshmen year of college I wasn't able to head home for Thanksgiving. Luckily, my friend Jessica had decided to stay on campus too. We went to the store and bought a stack of pumpkin pies. Then we drove to the local penitentiary in Walla Walla and tried to give them away. The guards asked who we were there to visit and we told them we just wanted to give away some pies. They said the pies could be tainted or have weapons in them. We offered them to the guards and they of course turned them down. After that we decided to head to the mental institution and then farms with migrant workers to distribute the pies. Later we ended up going to a house where a woman we had never met showed us some belly dancing moves.

I don't know if we'll be celebrating this year. If we do, it will be sure to be another non-traditional event, complete with dolma biber (stuffed peppers), baklava and boza.

Finding balance

2007-11-18T16:51:00.000+02:00

Lately it seems the work scales have taken it, smacking the table with a resounding thuuump. Work has taken over both my and Evren's lives, and the pleasure/leisure side of the scale appears to be up in the air, completely empty. How do I find time to enjoy this city if I never really get to see it, outside of the two sides of the same old freeway every morning and night. I think I actually saw more of Istanbul while I was living in Bursa and would come over with Ev on the ferry periodically just to play. Maintaining our relationship has also taken a lot more effort with these schedules. The little stuff that keeps me connected to him, myself and friends becomes really important such as Ev going in search of the lone donut shop and bringing over a box for me and my co-workers as we slog through another Sunday at the paper; chatting with friends on msgr. during free moments; watching movies with Ev on late nights after work; even housework has become more enjoyable because it involves a change from work. I'm not sure what I can really change besides really maximizing fun on the one day I have off and just trying to keep my wits about me. Not having enough down time has really affected my moods. The normally even-keeled me has shifted into someone with rather extreme mood swings, with small things that wouldn't have bothered me before pushing me into anger. How do I find balance in this situation? How do I keep from falling over the cliffs of burnout?