Settling In

I’ve been here for nearly nine months now and I’ve most drastically just realized that I never really sit and do absolutely nothing. I guess I had several lazy days in the summer where I didn’t really acomplish much, but even those were filled with silly tastks like facebook that kept me even more bored than I would have been otherwise.

Only moments ago  I was reminded of the beauty of quietude. I am at home alone in the apartment. It is the first very cold week of the year and all of the electricity went off in our entire district. The typical reaction to such seems to be a minor panic and anamosity regarding all the things we could be accomplishing but are suddenly barred from taking part in. This evening I found myself genuinely pleased especially when I discovered that the computer I was working on and my cell phone were both about to die. It was as if the universe had goven me permission to take a rain check on participating in anything I am “supposed” to do. 

I poured some wine, lit a candle and covered the turtles to keep them fom getting cold. I’d spent about 10 minutes on the couch feeling quite tranquil and decided to grab this pen and paper when the lights came back on. I shut them off.

Workers' Rights

I like to think of myself as having a strong character, but not someone who stresses too much about small stuff. That said, I have a temper and when it gets tripped, it is very difficult to stuff Pandora back into the box. As you are probably guessing by now, this happened recently. Fortunately, I discovered that is task was not left to me alone.

Last Saturday, I completed my last day of work at ALTA language training center. The school is designed around fast paced extremely intensive English courses for wealthy business people. They wine them and dine them at the price of 2,000 Turkish Liras per 5 day course. It is our job as teachers to wait on, clean up after, babysit and oh yeah educate them. We spend 9 hours a day locked in the room with 2-6 students with no breaks. We eat together, play games together and even drink wine together in the evening (admittedly a nice perk). We literally do everthing but piss with the students. There is even a rule requiring that if someone wants to smoke, the entire class should join them on the balcony, which is actually a fire escape. Every non smokers dream: cramming into a crowded space in the sweltering Istanbul sun while your colleagues blow smoke in your face....Awesome. Despite the cynicism, I usually genuinely loved the students and we would leave the course with promises to remain in contact. The school on the other hand, it is probably aparent, I did not genuinely love.

In May I decided that I had been successfully indoctrinated into the world of ESL teaching and had gained enough experience to move on. I put in my required 2 months notice, which fortunately included a month which I had already taken off in order to teach online. My primary reason for leaving was that I did not trust the company. These suspicions would later be confirmed.

As I mentioned, last week marked the end of my employment with ALTA. I finished my classes on Saturday with a little remorse as the week had gone splendidly. I even managed to get 5/5 in every category from each student on the company generated survey. This theoretically meant that I would get a bonus for the week. I didn’t really expect the company would honor the bonus given that it was my last week and bonuses generally come with the following payment. And as I already mentioned, I don’t trust them. This didn’t stress me too much, moreso I was just happy that my students were so pleased with the course. That said, I quickly changed my laissez faire approach to toward payment after leaving the classroom.

The staff member on duty that evening, Pinar, was particularly rude trying to rush us through the 7 or 8 pages of paperwork that must be meticulously filled out and the 20 some odd documents that must be signed. She kept repeating, “Come on. Once upon a time I had a ticket to a concert.” When I had finally successfully gotten through the mound, she presented me with my payment envelope and asked me to sign for it. I did not sign this document as when I opened the envelope it was 125TL short of what my weekly pay should have been. When I asked why, she irritatedly shrugged and said, “I don’t know, you’d have to talk to Kadir for that. Just sign.” Kadir, the teachers’ coordinator, who is in charge of our pay had conveniently choosen to work at the other office that day. When I convinced Pinar that there was no way that I would sign, without getting paid in full, she dialed him up.

According to our broken conversation, the 125TL had been deducted from my pay based on the fact that a student had dropped from my class. The student in question had in fact dropped out of one of my class.......in March. This had taken place during my trial week with the company. He assured me that this was standard and that it was stated in the “Guidelines for Teachers” which he had given me before I began working. This was a lie.

At this point, I will briefly explain how the employment process works at ALTA. A teacher first goes through a week of observation; watching other teachers to learn the method. If they are deemed worthy, they are given a trial week, during which they are in charge of their own course. Teachers are hired based on their success as an effective educator during their trial week. Kadir didn’t seem to notice the paradox of my being hired in the first place and his claim that money should be withheld based on a theoretical failure during my trial week. My pride also forces me to notify my readers that all students who stayed in the course during the trial week rated me with all 4s or 5s in all categories on the survey and even included positive comments regarding my skills as a teacher. I’ll spare any further rantings on this topic, but it will suffice to point out that I was livid.

My anger was ever further fueled by the fact that the teachers’ coordinator speaks English terribly and he was apparently on a crowded street. We are all familiar with the obnoxious, “What? I can’t hear you. What? What did you say?” back and forth to oblivion. Its even worse when the person you are speaking with is theoretically your manager but speaks English with an accent and grammar of a 12 year old with downs syndrome. When I gave in to the fact that the phone call was futile I yelled 4 times successively louder trying to remain calm and speak clearly that I was hanging up....I’m not sure if he ever actually understood, but frankly at that point I didn’t care. After hanging up I wrote a note on the sheet stating that I had not received my pay in full and gave Pinar her precious signature and sent her off to her concert. Needless to say, this was not the last day of work experience that I had hoped for, but at least it was over.

Akin and I had planned to go to our favorite restaurant and bar that evening to celebrate my last day of work. Sadly, I didn’t feel much like celebrating. Naturally I was happier than ever to be rid of the place, but my brain was running in loops. I was slowly putting together the big picture. Yes, ALTA had screwed me out of 125 TL, but that was only a drop in the bucket. The company keeps a salary custody from all employees of 1,500 TL, which is to be paid after they cease employment. I was now certain that they were going to come up with some excuse for keeping this. When I added all of the numbers together including the survey bonuses, the company owed me 2,005 TL and I was certain I would have to fight for it. Even though I was not in a celebratory mood, I definitely felt like a beer, so off we went.

We walked down to the restaurant, which has a great patio and is composed primarily of outdoor seating. We had been here many times before as it is a convenient meeting point and we had become good friends with one of the waiters. He would visit our house about once a week and we would go there for dinner with the same frequency. Something different happened on this night when we arrived at the restaurant. The owner of the restaurant invited us to sit with he and his friends in an area reserved for the affiliates of the establishment.

The worry on my face must have been obvious to everyone as both the owner of the restaurant and the owner of the building almost immediately asked Akin what was wrong with me. This was impressive because I had only met them each a couple of times and we didn’t share a common language. Akin conveyed the story of my afternoon while I fretted in my own little world. After the story was finished, the owner simply said, “Don’t let me forget this tomorrow.” About half an hour later, our friend, the waiter and cousin of the owner came and told Akin that I shouldn’t be worried, that the boys were going to get my money back.

Here I should provide you with some background. I live in an area of Istanbul called Besiktas, which is home to one of the biggest soccer teams in Turkey. As soccer, or football, is taken very seriously here, so are fan clubs. The individuals currently being discussed are the heads of the Besiktas fan group and the restaurant is a sort of base for them.This meant two things in my case. 1) They had a lot of connections. 2) They weren’t affraid of a little conflict. If anyone has seen Green Street Hooligans, you’ll have some idea of what I’m talking about.

Admittedly this made me a bit nervous. I didn’t want any drama, but I decided to trust them as I was completly on my own and they seemed to genuinely want to help. I needed some Turkish style influence. Honestly, I expected that they would forget my situation in a day or two anyway. I was wrong. The following day we stopped by the restaurant on the way home and plans were already in place to put pressure on ALTA. I was surprised with their interest in my situation and diligence to follow it up, but the building owner explained, “The money doesn’t matter and the amount isn’t important. You earned that money. We are very proud here and Besiktas center is a family. I understand your frustration, coming from the United States, but workers rights are not the same here. This is just how business is done in Turkey.”

Yesterday Akin went with one of the men to ALTA and argued my case. The company now knows that they will not get to keep my money without a fight. I don’t know how it will ultimately turn out but the situation has taught me a lesson about the importance of loyalty and community in Turkey. I am still furious that my employer would try to get away with such a blatant attempt at stealing from me, but even stonger is my appreciation for the individuals who looked out for me, despite our limited familiarity. They have made me feel more at home in Turkey and more protected than anything over the last 6 months.

Disparity in Turkish Education

I have several friends in Istanbul, who are educators of various kinds. One friend works in a public school which is run by the city. She is an English teacher, though her English is admittedly not that good. When I asked her about her work she explained to me that she mostly uses textbooks and that the children, 5th graders, will work independently correcting sentence structures and filling in missing vocabulary words. When I pointed out that this completely ignores the two most essential forms of the English language, speaking and listening, she giggled and said, “Those aren’t possible in my school.” Confused, I pushed the issue further. “What do you mean? How can you have an English class without speaking?” She responded, “I do speak to some, but most of them don’t hear me even when I do. I have classes of around 70 students. I mostly just try to keep them in their seats and prevent them from poking each other with pencils.”

Fortunately for some, there is an alternative. Private schools have become increasingly popular in Turkey and learning English has become a very important part of their agenda and a globalizing world. These schools strive insist on hiring native English speakers whose wages are generally 30-50% higher than their Turkish counterparts. I had the opportunity to visit one of these schools recently. I entered a building that looked like a wealthy plantation home through 20 ft freshly painted white colums. The entry closer resembled a Las Vegas hotel reception than a school with its marble floors, atmospheric lighting and molded ceiling. I was given a tour of the grounds which included a beautiful olympic sized swimming pool and gardens. The multimedia center included computers for each student which could be used for English listening labs. The staff included 9 English teachers, 4 of whom were native for a student body of 1000. Each teacher was issued their own laptop by the school and provided with ample working space in a shared office with plentiful supporting materials. I was also informed that each year the students would take a trip to a different country to suppliment their English education. Last year they had visited the European Parliment in Brussels.

I was absolutely dumbfounded at the stark contrast between the two situations that I had encountered. Even more so by the fact that the students coming from either institution were somehow expected to compete with one another in the future job market. It seemed nearly impossible that an average coming from the public sector could ever hope to work hard enough to compete with an average student who had had so much of an advantage, but it seems impossible that such a highbrow education could be made available to the masses without a drastic restructuring in the countries education system and the funding that it receives.

You know what sucks?

You know what sucks? Getting on a two hour flight after only having slept 2 hours the night before and discovering that your seat has no recline function. You know what sucks even more? When the person in front of you does have a recline function and uses it ambitiously. Naturally your reaction is to search harder as it couldn’t possibly be the case that theirs reclines and yours doesn’t. You know what sucks? Discovering that you were right the first time and after half an hour of searching, you don’t in fact have a recline function. You know what else sucks? Having a baby scream in pain during the entire flight because their ears won’t pop. You know what sucks even more? Having three of them. And finally, do you what makes you just giggle? Asking the stewardess if someone is sitting in the empty seats accross the aisle when she responds, “No, but there will be.” What the hell are we gonna do? Pick someone up on the way?

Weekly Shopping List

1 lb spinach

1/2 lb purple basil

1 lb cucumbers

1 lb carrots

1/2 lb sweet red peppers

2 large eggplants

1 lb bananas

1 lb appricots 

2 lbs strawberries

1 lb dried figs

1 lb spiced corn nuts

1 lb salted peanuts

3 heads of fresh garlic

200 gr crushed red pepper

200 gr yellow curry powder

50 gr tumeric 

200 gr ground flax seed

1 lb black olives

1 lb goat cheese

6 free range eggs

Total: $35



Beşiktaş Market. Istanbul, Turkey

Attachments>Choose File>Choose>Attach

Open: ‘School Contact Master List’

Open: School's website

Review information

Open: Email

Click: ‘New Message’

Open: ‘Master Greeting’

Copy: ‘Master Greeting’

Back to E-mail

Paste: ‘Master Greeting’ 

Add School Name 

Subject: ‘Wynter Miller-Teacher Application Materials’

Open: ‘Master Cover Letter’

Add school name

Change specific data according to school

File>Print>Save as PDF

Change title to ‘Wynter Miller Cover Letter- [insert school name]’

Back to e-mail

Click: Attachments icon

Choose File > ‘Wynter Miller Cover Letter- [insert school name]’ > Choose > Attach

Choose File >  ‘Wynter Miller CV’ > Choose > Attach

Choose file > [insert whatever supplementary material they ask for] > Choose > Attach

Done

Double check

Insert school email address

Send

Back to ‘School Contact Master List’

Copy [insert school name] contact information

Delete [insert school name] contact information

Open: ‘Applications Submitted Master List’

Paste [insert school name] contact information to ‘Applications Submitted Master List’

Repeat 60 times

........For those of you who are wondering what I’ve been up to. Attach doesn’t even look like a word anymore.

Cold Nights without Lights

Akin’s mother has been visiting us in Istanbul for the last week. Having her here has been absolutely wonderful. She has helped us to get the flat into a civilized order, which has taken a load off of both Akin’s and my shoulders. We did not have time to do much in the flat before leaving for Mersin last week. When we did have time in the evenings we tried desperately to entertain ourselves away from the apartment. This was not because we hate house work- though naturally neither of us is particularly fond of it- but because it was freezing. The weather, which had been quite nice leading up to our move, suddenly took a turn for the worse during moving week. This unfortunate condition was further exemplified by the fact that we had not yet been able to surmount the obstacles before us in terms of bringing modern technology into our new home. Heating quickly became the most difficult of these tasks to complete. Because of the weather, it was our number one priority. Too bad we weren’t theirs.

Nearly everywhere I have lived in the past, the tenant is required to set up bills in their name upon entering a new home. Most places I have been, they do not shut off the utilities if there is a short interim time, but simply have you pay for it with your first bill. This is a sort of curtesy so that you do not find yourself unable to enjoy the excitement of a new flat due to a lack of utilities. As you have guessed from the first two paragraphs, this is not how it works in Istanbul. 

Fortunately, Akin was aware of this and instantly began checking off the ‘move in’ tasks the day after we signed a lease. While this may sound obvious in theory, it is certainly not simple in practice. Herein lies a grand difference between Turkey and the United States. In the USA, if someone wanted to set up electricity or gas or any other utility, they would likely pick up the phone, call the company and request that someone come and tun it on. If only.....oh, if only. 

In Turkey, you are required to actually physically visit the office for the particular utility, which you would like to set up. Because individual, private companies take care of each and because there is pretty much a monopoly on the market, you don’t really have much of a choice where to go. Further, there is absolutely no reason for these companies to be located near one another as, again, they are not affiliated. These companies also seem to see no reason to open multiple branches or to be centrally located. After all, its all Istanbul, right? And I presume real estate in central locations is quite expensive. This means that the individual is required to trek to these offices one at a time in order to set up an apartment. Public transportation for each of these adventures is likely cost you between $10-$20 and take at least two hours round trip.....probably more.

Now for the offices themselves. Briefly put, expect to wait anywhere from 1-2 hours and expect to have to come back at least once. Something will inevitably be wrong with at least one of the documents required for any given transaction or they won’t be able to locate your home and need you to get some obscure number off of the meter or contact your landlord about X. All of these things could of course be easily solved were one speaking with the kind agent over the telephone before trekking across the globe. 

Even after you have sorted everything in the office, you naturally aren’t done yet. As with anywhere in the world, you have to wait in your home, which is of course cold and dark at this point, for the technician. With gas in our unfortunate case, this took three attempts. The first attempt was on the morning following our visit to the office. The technician came promptly at 10:30 for the scheduled 10-12 slot. Unfortunately he turned  around almost immediately without turning on our gas and said that we would need a certificate stating that a particular pipe was clean. Apparently this information was buried somewhere in the 20 page booklet that they had given us the day before. I guess we missed that part. Naturally, this inspection was done by a separate company who couldn’t provide the service on the same day as our call. Given that it was a Friday, this was very disappointing news.

That evening, we had some furniture delivered to the house, which was thankfully done just after dusk. Thank God for my geeky camping gear fetish. The headlamp saved us as we still had no electricity to assist in the installation. When the task was completed we huddled together speechless in the corner of our empty living room with our backs agains the icy wall contemplating what to do next. Staying in a cold, dark flat without any amenities didn’t sound very attractive, but our options were limited. Akin’s uncle, with whom we had been staying, had moved earlier in the week and now live quite far away. In addition, he was not home and we had no idea when we would be able to get into his place to sleep. We had other friends, but none of them really had extra beds or couches for two.  More importantly, we were just plain sick of couch surfing. We were stuck in a catch 22.

As we were rueing our very existence with one solitary beam streaming from Akin’s forehead before us and cold plaster behind us, something very magical happened. We heard a loud crack and some heavy footsteps in the stairwell. It sounded rather menacing to be honest...especially given our state at the time. Then something even stranger happened. A faint golden glow appeared from behind us. We shot each other confused glances with heads cocked like a pup when you make a strange inhuman noise that it can’t comprehend. My first conclusion was that someone was coming through the stairwell and had turned on the those lights. Seemingly in unison however, we both realized that the true source of the glow was our own bedroom. We had light! It was 7:30 on a Friday night and the electric company had come through. I kid you not when I say that we leapt for joy.

From then on things began to pick up slowly but surely. That evening we procured an electric space heater that I had happened to see abandoned in Akin’s uncle’s previous flat to which we still had a key. Perhaps even more miraculously, on our way back from his uncle’s old apartment, we passed a man, who was selling pillows and blankets out of the back of his van. As it was now after 10 pm and the all of the shops were closed, this was a godsend. We loaded our booty into the back of a taxi and made our way back to the palace. These items got us through the following week, which was the time that it took to finally get our pipe inspected and the gas turned on.

One week later, we are back where the story started. We now have heat, water and electricity. We’ve purchased a refrigerator, stovetop, two beds and a washing machine. We’ve been given 5 carpets, dishes, pots and pans. Thanks to the help of Akin’s mother, the flat has been thoroughly cleaned and organized as much as possible in the given circumstances. Our suitcases have been transformed into quite hilarious, but effective closets and it is amazing all the various functions that an old stool, a small marble slab and a couple of pillows can serve.The only step left is setting up internet so that I can publish this post.

VISA DRAMA PART 2: NOT ENOUGH STICKERS TO GO AROUND

After spending an entire day failing to apply for a residence permit in Istanbul, we were at least armed with a web address that would theoretically provide us with needed information. Of course the website was only available in Turkish, which meant that once again Akin had to do the bulk of the work. I’m not sure how anyone without such an amazing and dedicated partner would ever weed their way through the process. I suspect that they would probably end up spending a lot of money.

When we logged onto the website and began the process of applying we learned that one must schedule an appointment at police headquarters--yes, that place again-- to turn it in. When we got to the part of the application for setting up the appointment we learned that the earliest appointment was March 17th. It was February 15th. May I point out that the Turkish Consulate’s website for the United States claims that residency permit applications must be turned in within 30 days of arriving in the country. This means that even if I had arrived in the country on that exact day and set up the appointment, I would only be granted an audience on the 30th day.....Here is where I began to panic and to think outside the box.

At this point, I would like to say thank you to all of my friends who welcomed me to their home countries when I thought that I might have to flee. You see, the 30 day deadline only applies to days actually spent in Turkey. According to this clause, I would be able to leave Turkey, hide out elsewhere and return right before my visa application appointment without exhausting the maximum number of days in the country. Not ideal, but it would have worked. 

Next option. We contacted the foreigner’s branch of the Mersin police department to see  about getting an appointment there. Akin’s family is from Mersin so we figured I could simply apply with their address. At this point we learned that it is only the Istanbul and Ankara offices that even require an appointment for turning in the application. This was great news as it meant that I could complete the process within the necessary time period without leaving the country. Unfortunately Mersin is about a 10 hour bus ride away so its basically like leaving the country. Fortunately there was even more good news to follow. We were then told that there wasn’t actually a 30 day cut off, rather, it is a suggestion that is, shall we say, strongly stated in order to encourage you not to put the process off. Even further, they told us that if we were to apply in Mersin we could complete the entire process within a week. This sounded too good to be true.

Next we contacted Turkey’s Foreign Ministry asking the same questions again. Initially the man answered, “Yes, the new law states that you can only receive one 90 day visa within 180 days.” When asked about my visa specifically, he said, “Oh, that won’t apply because the new law hasn’t been implemented yet. She will certainly be able to get another 90 day visa as she obtained the visa before the law was implemented.” We asked a few more specific questions and the general conclusion was that I would have no problem. He also confirmed that there was no 30 day deadline for the residency permit. 

I was feeling a lot more confident about the issue, especially after speaking with a German/Bulgarian couple who told us that they did not apply for their residency within 30 days, but were able to obtain it successfully. Nonetheless, there was still one question left to be answered. Why was I given the visa that corresponded to a law that didn’t yet technically exist? As I mentioned previously, Akin and I had been following blogs on the topic. In addition, we had been communicating with some other foreigners in Istanbul who were also attempting to sort heads from tails. After speaking with the foreign ministry we received a reply from a girl who had received the same visa that I had. She had noticed the change upon purchasing it at the airport and had asked why the visa had changed. They simply replied, “Oh, there is no change. We just ran out of the other stickers.” Man, I wish I would have asked that question.

VISA DRAMA PART 1: POLISISTAN

Last week while Akin was flipping through my passport he noticed that my current visa looks different than the visa that I was given when I visited Turkey last summer. Little did we know that this casual inspection would send us both into a frenzy that would involve a hours of aimless walking back and forth, a plethora of unanswered phone calls and countless frustration. All of this drama was was set off by the three words, “per 180 days”.

Both visas stated that the bearer was allowed to stay within Turkey for 90 days, but the aforementioned added statement was quite disconcerting. Before you think me an unprepared fool, I would like to assure you that I very thoroughly checked the parameters of a tourist visa before leaving the USA. All the information that I had seen suggested that after a 90 day period had passed an individual simply needed to leave the country for 3 days in order to renew the visa. These additional three words at the end of my visa seemed to suggest that this was not the case. Instead of three days, it appeared that one would be required to leave for three months before obtaining a new tourist visa.

Ideally, it would not matter whether I would be able to obtain a second tourist visa or not as I hope to find a job that will help me to obtain a residence/work permit but doing is a rather involved multi-step process. There are many schools in Turkey that are seeking native English speakers to teach students of various levels. Finding a job would not be problem, but finding a legal job is a bit of a different story. Many of the places hiring English teachers are not willing to put in the effort to fill out all of the paperwork for an actual work permit. These schools will generally take in any wandering hippie who is willing to sit around and chat with kids and live under the radar (yes, this is a hint to those of my friends who might be looking for an adventure). Legally however, in order to hire an English teacher, schools must ensure that all teachers are certified. This means that in order to work for an institution that will help me with a work visa, I first need to go through a certification process...A process that is taking much longer than I originally anticipated.

Needless to say the revelation that I may not be able to obtain another tourist visa for three months upped the stakes on the desire to finish my certification and get a job. This anxiety was even further perpetuated when I learned that if you wish to apply for residency (this does not include working privileges) you must do so within 30 days of arriving in Turkey. I learned this information on day 22 at 4:00 pm on a Friday.

On Monday Akin and I set out on our quest to establish my residency. We reasoned that if the new law would not allow me to get a second tourist visa and I was unable to find a job that would get me a work visa, it would be my only option. All information on the Turkish Consulate’s website as well as the American Embassy’s stated that an individual should do this at their local police department. This was our first stop.....Of course that would have been to easy. This is bureaucracy after all. We were sent to the Istanbul main police station--or should I say, police complex. 

Police headquarters was the size of a small village only with skyscrapers instead of hovels. We were kindly greeted before entering the premises by several officers going about their daily rituals with semi-automatic rifles. These may have been the only individuals in the entire place who actually were efficient at their job...intimidating the hell out of me.

After several levels of security checks we were allowed into Polisistan-they even had a hair dresser in the complex-we were sent to the ‘Foreigners’ Branch’. When we arrived at what seemed to be the correct building, floor and hall we asked the kind man at the ‘Information Desk’ where we ought to be. After looked at my passport it became apparent that he had no idea whatsoever the change in visas meant. When we asked who we ought to talk to he basically told us to ‘Fuck off’. Not such a kind man after all. We then wandered around the complex for a while trying to find where we ought to be, but according to everyone else at there, the original desk was unfortunately ‘where we ought to be’. 

Finally Akin literally just walked past one of the many barriers that were in place for crowd control-- and there were certainly crowds--and opened a random office door and quickly asked the woman behind the desk about my visa and passport before one of the other officers could shoo him away. The lady responded that one only needed to leave the country for 3 days and return in order to get a new tourist visa. 

I had spent the entire weekend researching what the changes were with the tourist visas. What I had learned was that the change did in fact mean that you could only stay in Turkey for a maximum of three months within a six month period, but that the implementation of the new law had been repeatedly delayed. Nowhere on the Turkish Consulate’s page was this mentioned. Rather, most of my information had come from a collection of travel blogs. I figured that my visa stating, “per 180 days,” was all the proof I needed. This woman’s response surprised and completely confused me. Was it possible that she didn’t eve know about the change.

Finally, just before leaving the complex, we were given a website where I could log on and obtain an application form for residency. Once again, this would prove more difficult than one would believe it ought to be...........to be continued

More Precious than an Alien

“People are strange when you’re a stranger....” I’ve had this song in the background of my mind quite a bit in the last couple of weeks. Now before I scare my mother or any other readers out there, I should say that I have yet to have any dramatic culture shocks which have threatened either my safety of my existential being. What I have had are a series of, for the most part, delightful and hilarious realizations of cultural distinction. That, and a lot of people staring at me.

First and foremost. I walk around speaking English. Lots of people here speak some English and there are many tourists at specific places within the city, but the majority of my time is not spent in these areas, which means....I stick out. This however is far from the only aspect of my existence that seems to turn heads.

Apparently it is quite strange for Turkish women to have short hair. I’ve actually taken to counting them. I’ve been here for 16 days and I’ve counted around 9. This cultural distinction admittedly makes me a bit self conscious. I should be careful to point out that this is not because I don’t like my hair or find it unstylish. In fact, the women I’ve seen here with short hair appear to be some of the most trendy in the city. Rather, as most travelers would understand, I don’t want to automatically be taken for a tourist and having a drastically different hairstyle lends itself to such assumptions.

You might be thinking that I am simply paranoid and that people probably don’t notice my hair at all. When I am walking down the street in a crowd, I would imagine that you are correct, but when I comes to one on one communication, many Turkish individuals I encounter have had no qualms in pointing out the oddity. “What happened to your hair?”, “Why don’t you grow your hair?”, “Your hair would look good longer.”, and “You’re beautiful, but you should grow your hair.” are just a few of the responses I’ve received. If only I still had dreadlocks.

Next, cooking. Oh Goddess, cooking. Now here is a serious one. Those of you who read ‘Turk Gobegi’ have already heard me express my intimidation with food in Turkey. This is exponentially exacerbated when I comes to preparing food myself. 

If you know me in the states, you probably don’t know me as an extravagant cook, but hopefully as a competent one. Ok, yes, I verge on the realm of hippie, whole food junky who emphasizes nutrition over taste, but all in all I can usually be trusted not to disgust or harm you when I’m in the kitchen. Apparently this is not necessarily always the case here. 

Even when I think that I am preparing perfectly normal meals, I’ve had Turks recoil in fear and literally mutter, “That’s just not right.” Now if you’re wondering what I could have made, which brought about such a reaction, don’t worry. I wasn’t subjecting the poor folk to my famous spinach smoothies, as I understand that would be too much too soon. It was spaghetti. Plain old spaghetti noodles with sauce from a jar. Naturally I’d added my own spices, but for the most part it was pretty much what you’d expect other than one slightly unusual adaptation. I had added sauteed cubed chicken, eggplant and a variety of other vegetables in substitution  for ground beef. You be the judge. I won’t even mention the reaction when I made potato soup.

Sometimes its not even a specific thing that draws attention--at least as far as I can tell. Last week the cleaning lady came to the house. This was the third time that I have seen the woman so I would think that perhaps the novelty would have worn off, but instead it only got worse. No matter where I went in the flat, her eyes followed. I would greet her when I passed--in Turkish--and she would simply stare blankly without a smile. It wasn’t as though she was being mean. I don’t think this was the case at all. Rather, it was just, well, awkward. At one point, she literally tripped over a stool in the hall way because she refused to tear her gaze away from me as she turned a corner. Don’t worry, I didn’t laugh. At times like this, I’m slightly relieved that I don’t speak more Turkish as I would have even less of an idea what to say, but feel obligated nonetheless. 

Now all in all I should point out that I have found people overwhelmingly welcoming and receptive, but these few instances always leave me feeling a bit off kilter. I guess when I’m faced with such situations I’ll just keep going back to what Akin’s cousin, Sezai, said last July when I visited his family, “We have an American. That’s more precious than an alien.” 

Competent Me

I had a nice boost to my confidence on Friday night upon meeting an absolutely impressively unimpressive individual. 

I remember all to well a few months ago when I was trying to make the decision whether or not to come to Turkey. Pretty much everything in the no column was related to work. 1) I’d have to give up a job that I love and 2) I didn’t have a clue whether or not I’d be able to find something for myself once in Turkey. In the end I was able to keep my beloved job, though I certainly miss the actual classroom, and things are looking pretty optimistic regarding finding work here.

On Friday night Akin and I met a group of his English speaking friends. They were mostly Canadians, but there were a few Americans and a couple Turks. The common link was that they all taught English. I was quite excited to meet these individuals as I myself am hoping to eventually find a job teaching English here. I figured that I could pick their brains and perhaps get some tips on how to go about searching for work. Unfortunately, the bar we were visiting was a Gothesque locale and the music was quite loud-good, but loud. This meant that I was pretty much restricted to holding conversation with the girl directly next to me. 

This woman, not to be named, is the aforementioned ‘impressively unimpressive individual. I was quite eager going into the conversation as I’d learned that she was also from Middle America. She had an overly articulated hipster visage complete with 1950’s style print top, loose-clinging sweater, tight-rolled jeans, antiquesque cameo locket, large nerd glasses and Chuck Taylors to pull it all together. It looked good, but she soon proved to have an attitude just snobbish enough to go along with it.

Our encounter began with the usual pleasantries. I learned that she had come to Istanbul about a month and a half prior and that she was working at a grade school nearby. She was training to become the first grade English teacher when the current one went on maternity leave. I told her that I was hoping to also find some work teaching English in the future, but that I was in the process of getting certified to do so at the moment. From this moment on I learned more than one would expect in a short bar conversation about this spurious beatnik.

When I uttered the word certified she literally scoffed and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m not certified,” she said in a splendidly pretentious tone, “I’m highly illegal here. I don’t have a contract so I guess I could be fired at any moment, but I know crap about my school so they won’t fire me.” Quite impressive I thought to myself for the first time.

Because of the audacious nature of her presence in Turkey, she was in the country on a 90 day tourist visa-- the same as me. This wasn’t a problem for her she assured me, it simply meant that she had to leave the country for 10 days at the end of this time and obtain a new visa upon reentry. It just so happened that she and her boyfriend were leaving for a trip to Lebanon the next morning, which she claimed would accomplish this end. “Its not the most opportune time for me to leave given that my visa has only half run out, but whatever, I’ll get a new one and start over.” At this moment I pointed out, “You know that your current visa is good for reentry within the 90 day period, right? I’m not sure if they will want to give you a new one given that your old one is still valid.” “Oh.” she said, and changed the subject.

The conversation continued and she confided in me that the children in her class were idiots because they spoke to her in Turkish and just couldn’t comprehend that she didn’t understand them, and that she had absolutely no intent of learning ANY Turkish. After all she, “already spoke two languages and had no desire to pursue a third.” The children here were just dumb she had concluded, and it was just too much work teaching them despite the fact that she claimed to be well paid and got off at 3:00 every day. 

In the end, she had decided to stick with the job. It wasn’t that big of a deal, she told me, given that she wouldn’t be staying in Istanbul long. She had applied to grad school in England and was going to be a professor. I didn’t bother bursting her bubble regarding the roses along this path. 

Thus far it may seem as though I’m being overly harsh and nothing, but cynical. Perhaps this is correct, but I would like to close with telling you why I was absolutely delighted to meet this young woman. If this girl, who has absolutely no clue whatsoever and clearly has not desire to put forth any effort in order to pursue her goal, can find a well paid job teaching English in this city with no experience and no certification, the I should be golden!

TURK GÖBEGI

I find food to be a very intimidating in Turkey. Don’t get me wrong, the cuisine here includes some of the best I’ve had anywhere in the world. Food is taken very seriously and plays an important role in Turkish culture and it is something of which they are exceptionally proud. In addition, the frequency and quantity consumed is greater than I’ve encountered anywhere else in the world. All of this adds to the intimidation factor. 

Last weekend Akin, his uncle Hakan and I visited a couple of different relatives. First on the list was another uncle who lives on a quiet plot of land on the Anatolian side of Istanbul away from the hustle of the city center. I was very excited to spend some time around so much green and animals. I was told early in the morning that we would be going there for BBQ.

On our way to see Amca (Uncle) we stopped at a grocery store to pick up a few items for the evening. I was confused when Hakan also went into a restaurant across the street and beckoned us to follow. I figured he was a bit peckish and couldn’t wait until we got there to eat as it was quite some distance and it was getting on dinner time. When Akin asked if wanted something to eat, I grinned and reminded him that we were going to eat BBQ and that I was fine to wait until then. 

Akin understood the grin that went along with my answer. When I was here for three weeks last summer, I was constantly confiding privately in him, that I was having a difficult time dealing with the eating culture. Everywhere you go, people want to feed you and literally will not take no for an answer. This became wearing both psychologically and physiologically. I certainly was not going to start myself from behind by indulging in this superfluous food stop. 

As it turned out, Hakan was actually picking up the food that we would be eating at the farm. Fortunately he didn’t ask either I or Akin whether or not I’d like to eat and went ahead and picked up more than enough for all of us. As usual, it was çok güzel (lovely).

Our next stop was at a cousin of Akin’s home. We did not arrive here until somewhere around 9:00 and were only planning to have a few drinks with them, but I was not at all surprised to when I saw one of our hosts grilling on the porch. Shortly after our arrival Hakan yelled, “Wynter, Senin tabak!”. 

While I was busy trying to figure out what a tabak was, one of the hosts, Didem, came in and asked me, if I had eaten. I replied that I had eaten and wasn’t very hungry, but that it smelled very nice and I would love to try a small bit. Hakan had followed her into the room and upon hearing my reply he retorted, “You did not eat. When did you eat?” He was waving a plate in his hands, which I then learned was a tabak. 

I was very confused by Hakan’s accusation. At first I thought he was kidding and sort of coyly played along, but I soon figured out that it wasn’t a joke. My next guess was that it was somehow rude of us to have eaten before we came and that I should not have revealed this information to and simply ought to have shut up and eat eaten so as not to offend the hosts. Fortunately this was not the case and the truth was far more entertaining. 

It was Hakan who came to my rescue and inadvertently clarified both the current situation an important element of Turkish culture. He continued his address, “I was with you today. You ate six hours ago. You never ate supper. What did you eat?” Well, it had actually only been about two hours since we had eaten, somewhere around 6:00 pm, and he knew full well what I had eaten as he was the one who ordered it. This had seemed like perfectly logical supper time to me and what we had consumed was certainly enough for me to consider it a legitimate meal though it was not extravagant. 

At this point, I timidly replied that I had eaten three times that day including the kebab at the farm and that I felt that this was a sufficient amount. Didem then began to laugh and said, “That’s not enough. Its Saturday.” "Of course." I thought to myself, "How could I have forgotten this crucial piece of information. Its Saturday. What? What the hell does that matter.” Now I was really confused. “You have to eat at least four times on a Saturday,” Didem continued. 

At this point, a very important cultural lesson had been reaffirmed and I was left without a leg on which to stand. I appreciatively took my plate and headed into the dining room for one of the most delicious meals I have had since arriving here.

Passport

Moving is inherently a unique gauntlet. This is further perpetuated when the move is from one country to another. Not only are you faced with all of the bureaucratic and infrastructural tasks of ensuring that your transport from point A to point B will be executed effectively, but there are a whole host of of other dramas to be encountered such as the emotional stress of saying good bye to loved ones and the actual physical strain of tugging, pushing and pulling to move all of your worldly possessions. 

Of all these tasks, the most basic and yet the most important is keeping up to date with your passport. This nasty little bugger was the bane of my existence for a devilish two or three hours on the eve of my departure. To be honest, it is completely possible that the whole ordeal took less than half an hour, but in my mental state, it was eons. This is what I teach students in my philosophy class to refer to as ‘psychological time.’ 

After running around all day trying to accomplish the rest of the formal tasks on my ever growing list, I was exhausted. My parents and I had planned to work for a couple of hours cleaning up my old flat and playing a tormenting game of jigsaw to fit all of my accumulated crap in their basement and then to meet my grandparents and brother for a good bye dinner. Unfortunately we were never able to make it to dinner that evening as fate had a sick game to play on me. 

As is so often the case, I was the catalyst in the onslaught of my own torment. As my parents were working late and I couldn’t bear the thought of tackling the remainder of the apartment alone, I decided to go about my final pack job of items that had made the cut to come with me across the world. It was this task that led me to make an exceptionally disconcerting discovery. My first step in my final pack job was to make sure that I had all the absolutely essential items that I needed for my travels and life abroad. Things like, plane ticket, my computer, textbooks for the classes I will be teaching, money, credit cards and of course that Lord of all international travel, my passport........shit, my passport. 

Needless to say, it wasn’t in any of the ‘supposed to be’ places, which sent me into a frenzy. I knew that I had seen it recently, but recently for me meant within the last 3 months. Not good news, especially considering that I had spent the whole last week carefully packing away everything I own in the aforementioned jigsaw game. To make matters worst, I had no idea. Well, not exactly, I had lots of ideas, but none of them proved to be correct. To make matters worse, I was completely alone, which led to a feeling of utter desperation. At one point, I literally crawled in a ball on my bed and began to groan like a crazy person. 

After a long series of fruitless attempts to meditate on and channel my passport in order to learn of its whereabouts, I resorted to flat out desperate tearing through everything in sight. I wasn’t very efficient with this method either as I would constantly change my mind about where or what I wanted to search and basically ended up walking in aimless circles between my parents’ house and my flat. Fortunately, soon after this (though it still seemed forever in my mind) my parents returned home and joined in the effort. Whenever I had a spark of revelation, they would diligently finish sorting through whatever place I had designated while I abandoned it for further useless insight. 

None of my attempts to intuit my own brain for bits of information like, “Where would I think is a ‘safe’ place for things?” or “For what sort of things might I get my passport out?” I was not alone in these efforts. Everyone, it seemed was asking these questions not only of me, but of everyone who could possibly be involved. I had given several bags of clothing to some of my student and upon hearing my dilemma from a third party they began tearing through those items in hopes of discovering the rogue document. Everyone had their own theory. Dr. Mummert was convinced that Kali had eaten it upon learning that she would not be accompanying me to Istanbul. My father claimed, that he only hoped not to be the one to find it so as to avoid accusations of being the perpetrator. 

In the end, however it was my father proved to be the victor of the eve. As I was still running in circles, my parents set themselves to the task of simply opening every box that I had painstakingly packed throughout the last week, removing every item and replacing in in hopes of finding the blasted thing. IT WORKED! After who knows how long-remember, psychological time-my mom yelled, “Look at this.” They wouldn’t tell me if they found the damned thing, which was partially annoying, but I figure that had to be the only explanation as anything else would just be cruel torment and my mother is not cruel.

When I returned to the basement, my father was crouched over a box, whose electronic contents had been spread all around him. In the middle was my printer/copier/scanner. I had never effectively set up this wonder machine for most of its proclaimed functions. When I reached him, my father lifted the lid of the exclusive all in one office assistant to reveal my passport neatly lined up in the corner for some sort of documenting purpose. At this point, I remembered the fateful day when I scanned a copy of this Lord of documents for a job application. Not willing to stop there, I became greedy and determined to also make a paper copy. While the scanning function worked like a charm, I was never able to coax it to copy and my poor passport remained abandoned on the glass for several months until it was packed away and sealed in a box, who knew when to be resurrected again.

What did I learn from this whole debacle? 1)DON’T WAIT UNTIL THE NIGHT BEFORE YOU LEAVE TO FIND YOUR PASSPORT, especially if you’re ‘sure’ you know where it is. If you’re wrong, you’ll be left with nothing. 2) When you lose something important, GET HELP. Other people are so much calmer and pragmatic in a frantic search. And 3) There really is some sort of psychological deficiency in teachers, which predisposes them to laose things in a copy machine 

Jetlag

I don’t understand jetlag math. It is currently 6:00 am. I have been begrudgingly up for an hour. Last night the same thing happened. After playing on my computer in the middle of the night in a finally successful attempt to wear myself down, I fell asleep around 6:30. After loosing so much of my ever precious slumber time, I gave Akin the death stare when he woke me up this morning. 

I wanted nothing more than to argue as to why I ought to be able to sleep as long as I wanted until his words actually created meaning in my half fried brain, “Babe, get up. Its 1:00.” One? What the hell? Are you serious? I slept until one? That’s just ridiculous. My frustration with the fact that I had missed half the day was only equaled by my frustration that I was now left with no leg on which to stand in the argument as I to why I ought to be left alone in my slumber. 

What I don’t understand is the numbers. As I understand it jetlag is a failure to adapt to a new time zone. Your body is accustomed to your home time zone and refuses to take the rhythm of the new location. So what the hell is my body doing? 

Turkey is an 8 hour time difference from Missouri.This means that when I am waking up at 5:00 in the morning, my body theoretically thinks that it is 9:00 pm. What kind of time is that to wake up. Its closer to time to go to bed than it is to wake up. I suppose it makes sense for me to be groggy in the morning (or at 1:00 in the afternoon), but not for me to be bright eyed and busy tailed right now. Its just plain annoying. 

Well, morning prayer is going  off now so I guess I will have to take solace in knowing that I’m not the only person up bright and early on this lovely Monday morning.