Halloween and a Birthday

It’s been a relatively calm weekend, proceeded by a relatively calm week. I only had to teach two days this week due to university exams and our own form of teacher training. This, combined with the fact that I’m trying very hard to take some time off from running due to some heel issues, means I’ve had a lot of energy left over at the end of the day and not many outlets for it. This isn’t to say I haven’t been busy.

Friday night was our tribute to Halloween. We all decided to celebrate it a week early because we have Thursday and Friday off this coming week, which of course translates into “everyone will be traveling.” We collectively held a party of sorts in our apartment building, which involved a parade of ridiculous costumes done on the cheap. It is, after all, the end of the month, and the wallets are looking a little thin. I saw it as an opportunity to use up some creative juices, so my friend Joe and I switched clothes and went as each other. As it turned out, we are amazingly close in size. Even our shoes were shareable. All night long my friends kept taking second glances to decide who I was (the shorter of my friends; shoulders and up it was rather obvious). Joe was a little more obvious in his tank top and skinny jeans, but the effect was nevertheless fairly hilarious.

I actually had to wake up Saturday morning to run a little race on campus. I had plenty of second thoughts as I laced up my running shoes; after all, who runs the morning after Halloween? It’s just like those New Year’s runs. You see all those runners lined up, generally looking fresh and healthy, and just know that they didn’t have that fantastic of a New Year’s Eve. I did have a pretty decent Halloween, and jogging to the starting line was not the most comfortable 400 meters I’ve ever run. But it was only 2.5 kilometers. And there weren’t many women. And all finishers would receive a free t-shirt. The deal sealer, however, was hearing that the top three men and women would receive medals. In other words, I ran it, highly motivated and with an unhappy tummy, and managed to come in second for women, directly behind Aisha. Joe came in first for men, and between us and our other friends no Turks were on the winners podium for our age group. Maybe Americans aren’t so unfit after all…

Saturday night was spent at a traditional Turkish restaurant celebrating our friend Selami’s birthday. He is Turkish and has many, many friends, so the night was filled with good food and good company. Musicians wandered around from table to table, serenading any and all who were willing to smile and clap along. I enjoyed a plate of assorted and somewhat odd mezzes, and raki floated around the table as if it were water. Raki, if you’re not familiar with it, is the national alcohol of Turkey. It’s very similar to the Greek Ouzo and tastes strongly like anise. The proper way to drink it is to first pour the raki in a glass, then add water and an ice cube, a process which creates a cool and cloudy glassful of strong, if diluted, liquor. This is something I learned throughout the night, along with the fact that it has a way of making people very happy and very talkative. There was no shortage of conversations, not in English, Turkish, French, Spanish, or even Polish. Like I said, Selami has many friends.

Other than that, my weekend has been filled with a sudden surge in my Turkish language studies and travel research. I will be going to Van this next Thursday through Sunday, a town on the far east of Turkey known for its breakfasts, lake, and proximity to Iran. (Note: I promise to stay on this side of the border. Really, Mom.) Today I made a trip to the American Embassy to see about getting a second passport to go to Syria in January. After filling out additional paper work and paying $76 and 11 YTL, the many Turkish people working there told me it should arrive in ten days. Excellent.

One other highlight of the week has been the arrival of mandarin season. Satsuma mandarins. They are just as good as at home and very cheap. I think I ate around seven today alone. I’m beginning to think I could live off of mandarins and Turkish coffee alone, which I make every morning on my stove with my very own little Turkish coffee pot. Oh Turkey, you may drive me crazy with all your many meat dishes, but I do love your coffee and fruit. And desserts, of course.

Running from Asia to Europe

This weekend was dedicated to running. That might be a stretch of the truth, but running was certainly the excuse I used to take a train to Istanbul Friday night. The Istanbul Marathon was Sunday, and while I only ran the 15K, it was still the main incentive behind the trip.

I arrived in Istanbul around midnight Friday only to check into my hostel and sleep for seven hours. The hostel was actually a great deal, only 16 lira and two minutes from Istiklaal Street, the most lively street in the city. After a free breakfast at the hostel, a big group of us hunted down the shuttle that was to take us to the marathon expo, where we had to pick up our race numbers and goody bags. There was free food and entertainment (including dancing girls and a fire act), but it was really all about grabbing the goods and moving on to the big and beautiful city. I had already been to Istanbul once, so I skipped the Blue Mosque and the Haggia Sophia in favor of some leisurely café time with Steve, Aisha, Emma, Charlie, and Rom, a slightly imbalance former CSI who now teaches in Istanbul. We drank tea and chatted, then found a great little Thai noodle place, the likes of which are rarely seen in Ankara. By the time we finished, the weather had turned cold and cloudy, so a couple of us ran back to the hostel

for some sweaters and somehow lost the others in the process. We did, however, do an excellent job of exploring the city by foot. I have no idea how long we walked for, but we went all the way down Istiklaal to the Bospherous, across the bridge and into the Spice Bazaar, where giant crowds speaking every language imaginable were bartering for everything from actual spices to Turkish delight and tea sets. Miraculously, I didn’t buy anything, something I severely doubt will happen the next time I visit. I find that there are two ways to go when in a bazaar: either buy and bargain with ferocity (something I can do quite successfully but find extremely exhausting), or soak in the atmosphere. I chose the later, and after trying some excellent free samples of cheese and rose-flavored Turkish delight, we wove our way back out to the street and meandered back across the bridge. I should mention that the bridge is always covered in men with fishing lines drooping down into the Bospherous, and the fish they catch often seems to go directly to the grills of the vendors selling fish sandwiches next to the water. We wandered past the fishermen, back up a very large hill, and onto Istiklaal for some dinner. We hadn’t actually eaten at the Thai noodle place with the others, so we bought some pre-race food there and followed it up with some delicious desserts at a four-story restaurant full of temptation. I chose a baked rice pudding, a traditional and very delicious Turkish dessert, which has me salivating even as I write this. With our early morning in mind, we went to bed shortly thereafter.

Sunday was race day. I woke up at 6:25 to quickly get dressed and catch the shuttle to the starting line with Anika, Elena, and Charlie. It turned out that there was absolutely no need for us to have caught the earlier shuttle, for once we got to the starting line there was nothing for us to do but huddle under an underpass and hide from the rainy morning. I felt like a cold, wet hobo for nearly an hour. Steve and Rom were the only ones among us who were running the full marathon, and the rest of us were divided between the 15K and an 8K fun run. Steve had only trained sparingly, and Rom hadn’t trained at all. Needless to say, they were nervous. I was not. I did a little warm-up, took a few trips to the port-a-potties, and off we went, across the only bridge that goes from Asia to Europe on the only day it is open to pedestrians.

The view was beautiful, with the clouds adjusting themselves over the water and the Blue Mosque in the distance. The entire run was fairly amazing really. I’m beginning to think that the best way to get to know a city is to run a race through it. There weren’t many spectators and the aid stations left something to be desired, but for a 15K it worked well enough.

I finished at 1:16 (which earned me place number 38 among the women entrants) and met Joe, Aisha, and Charlie at the finish line. We waited around for the first marathoners to finish, which didn’t take too long at all, being as they finished in a little over two hours. They were all Ethiopian and absolutely amazing.

Feeling a little envious, we all walked over to a pastry shop for some post-race rewards. As we finished, it began raining again. Joe and Aisha needed to wait for Steve and Rom to finish, so we parted ways. However, all of the public transportation was closed for the race, and the bridge was closed to cars, so I had the privilege of walking back to the hostel in the rain while tired and hungry (I had no money) and wearing running clothes. I’m sure I quite the sight, especially once I put on the yellow poncho I was given at the finish line. My shower felt divine.

Once clean and dry, we met Maggie, Christa, and Natalie at a bar. They had only ran the 8K and were enjoying a round of mojitos from which I abstained. Somehow alcohol doesn’t sound so great after running nine miles. Their company was entertaining enough, and eventually the more sober among us peeled away in search of coffee and food. I shared a special potato dish with Natalie that is basically a form of Turkish fast food. The potato innards are mashed up and mixed with butter and cheese, put back in the skins, and topped off with the goodies of your choosing so that the entire dish looks like a massive pile of goo. I have no idea what Natalie chose for toppings, but it was good. By the time we finished and found Christa and Maggie again they were in a very happy place. I think they were at that bar for nearly five hours total. We all had to go back to Ankara that night, however, and Christa had bus reservations with Joe and Aisha, so she went looking for them while the rest of us met up with Selami, a Turkish friend and student at the university, as well as his girlfriend Elizabeth, an American who is teaching English in Istanbul this year. We smoked nargili and played backgammon until it was time to go. Our plan has been to take an overnight train back to Ankara, but there weren’t enough seats available. Fortunately, we were with two experts at the art of transportation between the two cities, and found a bus that got us back at 5am. I slept till noon.

Footbaaaaaaall!

The other day one of my friends here mentioned that he has yet to have a bad day in Turkey. This strikes me as both impossibly bizarre and true. I have had uncomfortable moments, boring classes, and many long and stuffy bus rides, but no bad days. Some random act of kindness or delicious new dessert always succeeds any unenjoyable moments and, more often than not, my memories of the day all end up fantastically happy.

Take Sunday for example. A big group of us bought tickets to a professional soccer game between to Turkish teams, Ankaragucu and Galatasaray, who are apparently archrivals in the world of Turkish soccer. We went into the city early for some lunch and good conversation at a sports bar, then took cabs over to the stadium. It didn’t take but a moment to realize how extremely in the minority I was. As I stood there with my friends, all I could see on all sides were thousands of men decked out in all things soccer: oodles of hats and team scarves and jerseys, as well as a general sea of blue and gold in support of the Ankara team. To get into the stadium, we pushed our way first through a gate where we quickly waved our tickets at police officers, then found our seating block and stood in line for a solid hour and a half as everyone got padded down by security. While ninety minutes is a long time, it passed relatively quickly thanks to the general feeling of excitement that surrounded us. The lowest point of the entire day was when one of my friends felt the repercussions of what we think must have been food poisoning from the night before (caution: don’t eat the mussels they sell on the streets!). Standing in a long line in a crowded and noisy area is no time to feel lightheaded. But after a lot of sitting and several trips to the bathroom, things were looking good enough to get through security and to our seats. The game itself was pathetic for the entire first half, full of wild shots and poor plays, but the fans kept us extremely entertained. The super-fan section was right behind the goal, which was not where we sat, but we had an excellent view of them. They had a cheer for what seemed like every possible situation, and sang it out in a loud wave of manly unison. They had great gestures as well, including arm flapping, scarf waving, head bobbing, and jazz hands. My favorite was when they appeared to be bowing down in worship, arms extended towards the field. By the time the second half rolled around, the game was heating up enough that the wild fans were no longer the main attraction. Our team scored with about fifteen minutes remaining, at which point the riot police who had been patrolling the sides in higher and higher numbers throughout the game seemed to multiply. About five minutes later, our team scored again, and once more nearly two minutes after that! The stadium went wild. The small section of fans for Galatasaray, the visiting team, were on the brink of a true riot. As soon as the game ended and Ankaragucu had clearly won, the Galatasary fans started tearing apart the stadium. The riot police rushed in, helmets on, as stadium seats went flying down towards the field. It was an excellent display of sports fanaticism. They have another game in the city in November and tickets are only around $3. Can’t wait!

To back track a bit, Saturday was another fun-filled day. I went back to Ulus, this time with Charlie, Natalie, and Joe, two short of the same group I went to Antalya with three weeks ago. We did some grocery shopping in the food bazaar, and I bought some excellent white cheese, dates, pomegranates, and some little citrus fruits that are green on the outside, orange on the inside, and taste roughly like a tangerine. Delicious, and all much cheaper than the grocery store. We also went back up to a bazaar that sells everything from clothes to bedding to kitchen supplies, where Natalie bought a scarf and the rest of us got stared at shamelessly. I think we were on our feet from 2:00 to 6:00, and by the time we got back to the apartments we were both exhausted and quite happy with our bounties of fruits and new foods. The true topper, however, came when we met up with some Turkish friends that night who told us quite ardently that we should never go to Ulus. Ulus is certainly a more conservative, poorer pocket of Ankara, but it in no way felt unsafe. This makes me wonder if either we missed something quite vital, or if our friends are in fact quite classist and sheltered. The later strikes me as more likely, being as one of them mentioned that he comes from one of the ten richest families in Ankara and invited us to join the yacht team (I have no idea where one would take a boat in the middle of Turkey). At any rate, our day was wonderful and free of any pick pocketing or stabbing. And my strange little citrus fruits are delicious.

Tomorrow is another six hours of struggle in the classroom. Tuesdays are always difficult to accept, like being forced to eat sauerkraut after an amazing chocolate cake. It is, however, the trade off, and it’s never actually as bad as I expect. I’m learning to focus more on the individual personalities that spice up each class rather than pounding through the lesson plan, which makes it more fun for both me and the students. Last week I had one day where I had too much time at the end of class, so we just talked about idioms for ten minutes. Several of my favorite Turkish idioms include “Don’t mistake a flea for a camel,” in place of our mountains and molehills, and “When walking through the woods, call the bear Uncle until you cross the bridge,” an elongated version of “Don’t burn any bridges.” As long as they’re talking, I’m satisfied. Although coffee is rather important as well.