Fortunetellers and a very long bath

Apparently weird weather writing is my new habit. It is only 10 in the morning, but already the sky has gone from sparkly sunshine to clouds so dark the streetlights have popped on about three times. And don’t forget the thunder and lightening and occasional downpour. I’m too distracted by it to do much more than stare out my window. And maybe write.

It has been a fun-filled week. To start with last Saturday, Elena, Kim and I decided to have our fortunes read. If you are ever in Ankara with a hankering for some clairvoyance, here’s what to do:

Step 1: Go to Kizilay (an area of the city)

Step 2: Ask the cashier at the first newspaper stand you happen across where to find a fortuneteller

Step 3: Follow his directions

Step 4: If unsure of his directions, ask any security guard or police officer you walk by where to find The Fortuneteller

Step 5: If the original fortuneteller’s shop is closed, walk around the corner. Chances are there might be another.

This, at least, is what we did, and it worked well enough. The shop was maybe half the size of my apartment (read: tiny) with little more than a few dresses on display and a scattering of chairs. The woman was middle-aged with a kind demeanor, without any extraordinary qualities to speak of. Kim acted as our translator as we settled down, agreed on a price, and had our Tarot cards read. Now would probably be a good time to mention that none of us really believe in the hocus-pocus side of life; this was purely a “when in Turkey” activity. And yet, each of us had a WOW moment. Let me summarize.

With Elena, the lady said that she has a great interest in the Arab world, will get a high degree soon, and will live in many countries. Elena had a Fulbright in Morocco last year, will start an M.A. program at Harvard next year, and is not nearly ready to stay put in the US for a while yet. Check, check, and check.

With Kim, she said that her mother misses her a great deal, that she will stay in Turkey next year, and that she will do well on a big foreign exam she will take soon. While it may come as no surprise, Kim’s mom does indeed miss her a great deal at the moment (although I’m sure mine does too). Kim will stay here next year, and true enough, she is studying for the GRE at the moment.

I may have had the biggest wow moment of them all. I will go to law school, do very well and be successful in my job, and work for the government, possibly the White House. That is, more or less, the plan. I’ll be applying to schools this fall, but there is no way I want to be a courtroom lawyer. I have been saying human rights work with an NGO, but I would certainly have no objections to some government work. My fortune, of course, went on from here. I may have some money issues soon, I will move into a small but beautiful house, and, since romance cannot be sidelined when at a fortuneteller, I will have two lovers in my life and marry the second one, with whom I will have a boy and a girl. I can accept that. Elena got the shocker; she will get engaged next year.

After a week of “teaching,” discussing the Gaza flotilla with my students, and dinner parties, I went this weekend to Kizilcahamam with Elena, Kate, Kim, and one of Kim’s former students, Gokce. Kizilcahamam is a small town about an hour away, known for its baths and nature. We had a delicious lunch of local kofte (a bit like meatballs), salad, and bread with butter and honey, then took a short walk through a nature reserve where families were having intense picnics left and right. Hammocks abounded, grills were brimming with meat, and teapots held a central location at nearly every picnic table. After, we went to the hotel where Gokce and Kim would be spending the night (the rest of us wanted to just have a day trip) and used its hammam facilities. Because we were with guests, we didn’t pay a thing. We relaxed in the warm pools and splashed in the fountains, then Gokce gave us a little lesson in the fine art of the scrub-down. Usually you pay to have a woman who works at the hammam do this for you, but there were no workers here, and free is free. I should also add that Gokce knew what she was doing. After nearly two hours of scrubby bubbly time, it was time for three out of five of us to get our pruney selves back to Ankara. We grabbed some snacks and said goodbye to Kim and Gokce, returning home in a state of cleanliness formerly known only to Greek goddesses.

Just three days of teaching left! Next weekend will be my trip to Diyabakar, known unofficially as the Kurdish capital of Turkey. Just don’t tell a Turk that.

Cappadocia, Ahoy!

There is no better atmosphere for writing about a trip than with tea to sip and a thunderstorm for music. The weather seems to be on my side today, for I had amazing patches of clouds and sun for my morning run, and now it is just daring me to be productive within the confines of my apartment. To you, weather, I say no problem. I have a story to tell.

Last weekend I was graced with a visit from my crazy Bryn Mawr friend, Sara. Sara was in the midst of traveling around Turkey with her mother, Anne, and family friend Chris (whose years of life experience were much closer in number to Anne’s than to Sara and myself). The three of them arrived in Ankara Friday afternoon and met me on campus with a rental car. Sara had come with enough gifts to make Santa blush: cooking magazines, books, running shoes, my favorite Dutch waffle cookies, and lots and lots of Gouda cheese. (Sara had stopped on her way over to visit her Dutch boyfriend in Amsterdam, thus all things Dutch.) After quite a bit of squealing and gift giving and organizing, we were off for Cappadocia, four hours east of Ankara, for a weekend of natural beauty and great company.

We arrived in Goreme, a backpacker paradise in the middle of Cappadocia, after dark. We were all rather tired and went on a brief stroll through the tiny town before going to bed in our cave hotel. Not all rooms were caves, but the one Sara and I shared was carved straight into the rock, leaving the atmosphere a little chilly and damp but, above all, quite intriguing.

Saturday morning we woke up for breakfast at the hotel, then set off for Avanos, another town a few kilometers down the road. On the way we stopped at a ceramics shop that was brimming with teenagers on a school trip. While the shop had some gorgeous pieces for sale, it only took about five minutes before girls were asking to take their picture with me. I obliged briefly before running for the door, Sara’s laughter at my heels.

Avanos was an interesting little place, full of ceramic shops and carpet dealers and little else to speak of. One carpet dealer in particular caught the attention of Anne and Chris. We went through the usual steps of tea and the pulling out and putting back of countless gorgeous carpets. The shop was owned by two brothers, only one of whom spoke English well. We oohed and aahed over the fine silk and embroidered wool in our typical babel of languages, and after some time Anne came very close to buying one. Instead, we decided it was time for lunch and, after some wandering, followed one of the brother’s advice to eat at a part-time lunch restaurant run by otherwise unemployed women. We ordered one of everything to share and were not disappointed. That was the best manti (think meat-filled ravioli covered in yogurt) that I have ever had.

After lunch, we walked over to Ikislar, a ceramics studio owned and run by twin brothers. The building was their home, their studio, and their store all wrapped into one. Only one twin was present, but he let us watch as he threw a pot and was astoundingly patient as we tried not to buy the entire store.

Eventually we moved on from Avanos to Urgup. On the way, we stopped at an open-air museum full of Cappadocia’s famous rock formations. These “fairy chimneys” resemble very tall, thin white mushrooms sticking up in the middle of nothing in particular. We climbed around and took lots of pictures before driving on.

By the time we got to Urgup we were a little tuckered out. We stumbled through a tiny museum before relaxing over some much needed Turkish coffee, but didn’t stay long at all before deciding to make our way back to Goreme, where we ate dinner and did a little shopping. I need to take a moment here to describe one shop in greater detail. Orantik Bazaar was a teeny tiny jewelry store filled to the brim with necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and rings, all hand-made using a crochet or lace-like technique. Manning the register was a young guy named Emre. Emre and I got to talking. Over coffee, he told us all about how his mother and aunt make everything in the shop and have just begun selling it overseas to shops in Paris. He was 21, and helping out because his mother had just had a baby girl. It was unclear if Emre ever planned to go back to school, but he had a knack for languages and an honest disposition that, if nothing else, made him a successful people person. After over an hour of pining over the jewelry and chatting with Emre, Sara and I finally picked out what I feel was a respectable number of pieces and tentatively made plans to come back the next day for nargile.

For Sunday, we decided to be true tourists. We paid for a small tour, along with six other (mostly older) people, to see some sights that are a bit more difficult to get a feel for without a guide. First up was an underground city. If memory serves, we went to Kaymakli, a maze of tunnels and rooms and foreboding staircases that lead eight stories under the earth. Early Christians used these cities to escape persecution, and lived in them up to two months at a time. Air vents provided fresh air, and underground wells ensured that invaders could not poison their water supply. I’m not sure how they dealt with what must have amounted to severe cases of Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I suppose it would have been marginally better than enslavement or death. Tough call though. The tunnels were generally quite low, requiring quite a bit of hunched walking and head bumping before suddenly happening upon a larger, sometimes even spacious room. While it was not sight for the claustrophobic (Chris sat this one out) or weak of quads (most members of our group were huffing and puffing on the way back up), it was an extraordinarily impressive taste of what people have engineered for the sake of survival.

After an hour or so underground, we were ready for some fresh air. Ihlara Valley was just the place for a hike surrounded by sheer rock walls, a bubbling stream, literally weeping willow trees, and wild asparagus for a snack (to the consternation of our tour guide). Lunch lay at the end of our hike, and we were ravenous by the time we got there.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was yet to come. Selime Monastery is a rock outcropping riddled with caves that were sculpted into impressive rooms and living quarters. On the outside they look like nothing more than the bizarre rocks that pop up all over Cappadocia, but on the inside they more closely resemble the stony castle I visited at Palmyra than any cave. It was like an inside-out Petra; nothing much on the outside, but oddly stunning on the inside. One room had columns and false windows. Another, clearly the chapel, had an altar and frescos. I climbed and snapped photos left and right while Sara hid from the heinous wind. Much to my surprise, I was the last one back to the bus. Since when am I the straggler?

Our last stop on the tour was an onyx workshop and jewelry store, where we saw how onyx is carved and polished before being ushered into an expansive and quite expensive display of jewelry. Sara went to work trying on obnoxiously large rings and making the employees laugh at her absurdity. Something tells me they don’t usually get customers quite so willing to poke fun at their gaudy displays. My sense of propriety battled my desire to snap photos of Sara and join in the well-deserved mockery. I think they might have actually enjoyed Sara’s show, considering they wanted to meet up at the bar later that night.

We did not oblige, however, and instead paid one last visit to Emre at the jewelry store to let him know we were just plain too tuckered out to smoke any nargile. As we bought some postcards down the street, Sara got yet another taste of what it means to be in Turkey. The man at the shop, upon hearing that I was from Northern California, revealed that he went to U.C. Berkeley for both his B.A. and Ph.D. in business. This, of course, meant we had to have tea with him, which, of course, turned into an hour-long conversation about California and Turkey and the Middle East and the state of the world at large. I can’t say that I agreed with much of what he said (i.e., that everyone in Iran is happy with the religious rule of their government), but it was certainly an uncommon perspective. Eventually we made it to dinner with Anne and Chris, and Sara and I enjoyed a bottle of Cappadocia wine back in our cave room before crashing after a very long and exciting day.

Monday morning we drove back to Ankara, getting only a little lost along the way. We organized back in my apartment, got directions to the airport and lunch at the Real shopping center, and away they went, back to Istanbul for a Tuesday morning flight to Oregon. Thanks again, Sara and Anne and Chris, for such a wonderful trip! It’s true that good company can make any adventure a great deal more fun. I hope you all feel the same!

Now the thunder has stopped and my tea is gone, meaning it must be time to crack open that LSAT book that took seven weeks to get here. Life can’t be exciting all the time.

Cappadocia

I Dream of Cyprus

As Christa and I descended our plane and walked across the tarmac to the airport, our senses were immediately overcome with the sweet smell of damp grass and wildflowers. The desert-dryness of Ankara was replaced by a salty damp humidity that clung to our skin. Although it was night and we couldn’t see beyond the glowing lights of the arrivals gate, we were already suspicious that we had landed somewhere quite beautiful for our week off work.

We would soon discover how true this was, but first we had to come face to face with our tragic error. Following the advice of Hasan, a teacher Christa works with who is from Cyprus (and who will make a second appearance in this story later on), we had elected not to rent a car in advance. I had done a great deal of research on the subject and came very close to ignoring this advice. I knew that a car had to be rented in South Cyprus, the Greek side, in order for it to cross to North Cyprus, the Turkish side. A car from the north could not go south, and we needed to explore both sides. Hasan believed we could sort this out at the airport, which was, but of course, in North Cyprus. For the record: you cannot rent a car ANYWHERE in the north and take it south. Our plans to go straight to Paphos (on the southwest coast) for the night were smashed to smithereens. After several long conversations with the tourism counter and various taxi drivers, we headed to Lefkosia for the night and slept in the first of the budget hotels listed in Lonely Planet. After a restless night’s sleep, we awoke, ate a very pleasant breakfast at a street café, and continued our search for a car. It soon became apparent that everywhere was either closed for Easter, even though it was only Saturday, or they believed we were too young. We returned to our hotel, Tony’s, where the old man at the reception and his friend spent a solid thirty minutes calling car rental places for us, to no avail, despite his descriptions of us in Greek as something to the tune of “two beautiful American girls,” with consonants pleasantly spread out over lazy rolling vowels. It was time, as Christa put it, to problem solve. We had paid in advance for a hotel for two nights in Paphos. We were expected the following day at a hotel in Girne/Kyrnia in the north. We decided to give up on Paphos, spend a few hours in Lefkosia, and take a taxi to our hotel in the north for the night.

Once the decision was made, we started having some fun. Lefkosia is the last split capital in the world and, indeed, a boarder control run under the surveillance of the UN cuts right through the center of the city. You can walk or drive across, depending on the boarder, but you have to get a stamp on a piece of paper every time. We were on the Greek side, and we stayed there for the day. The old city is extraordinarily pleasant. The main street is pedestrian only, paved with cobblestones and lined with orange tress and jasmine vines. It smelled wonderful. Cafes are everywhere you turn, as are amazing shops. It was the shops that soon became a problem, or an indulgence, for Christa and me. Christa enjoys the benefits of her credit card collection, and I hadn’t bought new clothes since November. We were like kids in a candy store. From makeup to shoes to styles I actually liked (no offense, Turkey), it was pure excitement. I’ll spare you the details and just say we both spent a lot on lovely things. My grandma would be proud. After, we ate lunch at a Lebanese restaurant next to our hotel (which will also reappear in the story later) and grabbed a very expensive taxi to our hotel in Kyrnia.

Our hotel was about 15-20 minutes outside of the city proper but well worth the commute. Unfortunately named LA Hotel, it had a beautiful view of the tree-covered mountains to the south and a private beach to the north. Our room was like an actual hotel room (after so many hostels!), clean, comfortable, and quiet. We were some of the only guests, so the manager shared some “Cypriot” (think Turkish) coffee with us and took us for a tour of the private beach and the two outdoor pools. It was gorgeous. Christa and I relaxed by the pool for a few hours, then took a dolmus to town for a stroll along the picturesque harbor while the sun dipped below the horizon. Eventually we settled for some wine at a street café and an early night back at the hotel.

But that was only Saturday! I better speed things up a bit or this is going to become a novel. Sunday was Easter, so we stayed put. We lazed about at the beach, drank some white wine we had bought the night before, and eventually went into town again for dinner at an adorable Italian restaurant. We sat on the second-story balcony, where we had an ideal view of the harbor and, better yet, the passersby. We followed this with some coffee at a café and another early night.

Monday was Rental Car: Take Two. Saturday, we had booked a rental car online to meet us in the city on Monday. We took a taxi to Lefkosia, and after waiting for thirty minutes, realized it was time to call. Turns out they had no rental cars for us. This, after receiving a confirmation email. We walked to all the rental car offices a second time with the same results, then returned to Tony’s, where the same old man greeted us. This time, another man walked over, middle-aged and stocky, and all but vowed to find us a rental car. Turns out he was the owner of Tony’s, as well as a second hotel on the same street, the Lebanese restaurant, and a souvenir shop. After a series of fruitless phone calls, he told us he was going to Larnaka that afternoon and could take us to the airport, where we would undoubtedly find a car. Desperate and worn down, we agreed. The catch was that he wasn’t leaving till 1:00 because he was waiting for someone to come to the hotel; it was only 11:00. He offered us tea at the Lebanese restaurant, so we sat and chatted and he and Christa smoked like chimneys. An hour passed. He bought us “Greek” coffee. We sat and chatted and they smoked. Despite his life story, I was getting antsy. He was Lebanese, had essentially traveled the world, and moved to Cyprus with his family when he was much younger. More tea, more coffee, 1:00 came and went without the mystery person arriving. Finally, at 2:00, she came, and we drove what was only 30 minutes to Larnaka. But before the airport, he wanted lunch, so we ate, of all things, Pizza Hut while staring at the beach. Finally, around 4:00, we drove to the airport, successfully found a rental car, and were off. It only took five hours. Don’t get me wrong, I was very grateful for all the help and free refreshments, I just wanted to be DOING things. Now, at long last, we were driving to Paphos at 5:00, with reservations and suitcases back at our hotel in the north.

While we had very little time there, Paphos was quite lovely. We parked our little Nisan Micra and walked along the harbor with all its cafes, then along the coast and all its wildflowers. The sun did its magic and we turned around for some dinner in town, then it was two plus hours back to Kyrnia.

But first, some excitement. We had made it back to Kyrnia and were driving the stretch of road to our hotel. Driving in Cyprus is on the left side of the road, and Christa was doing a great job adjusting to this peculiarity. But perhaps she had reached her limits. Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps she just didn’t see the car parked on the side of the road. At any rate, from what I can gather, we bumped side mirrors and ours popped out. I’ll never be quite certain because, good Samaritans that we are, we kept driving. Our brand-new, unscratched Nisan Micra was already the worse for wear, seven hours after being in our care.

Our friends Kate and Caitlin had arrived Monday night but were already in bed by the time we got back. Tuesday morning at breakfast we caught them up on our little adventures before taking off for Troodos, a national forest in South Cyprus, where we would be spending the night. The drive took about two hours and involved not a few curvy twisty assenting mountain roads. We arrived at our Bed and Breakfast in Pedoulas, a tiny town in the area, in time for a late lunch. But this was really about exploring, not lounging. After lunch, we drove to Kykkos Monastery, about an hour away, known for its shimmering mosaics and detailed frescos. It didn’t disappoint. The highlight, for me, was perhaps the gift shop, which sold Cypriot wines and Commandaria, a special liquor made by the monastery itself. I made friends with the old man at the counter by practicing French with him. He recommended some wines to me, shared a taste of Commandaria, and gave me a free mini bottle in addition to the grownup bottle and wine I bought.

We drive back to the B&B to drop Caitlin off for a nap. I grabbed my running gear and Kate, Christa and I went in search of a trail. It wasn’t difficult to find one. It was a bit chilly at this point, but they allotted me an hour to run while they hiked, and run I did. I essentially ran halfway around a mountain and back. This meant that whenever I turned a corner I had a new view of Cyprus, often extending all the way to the coast. It was gorgeous. I felt like I would run into Athena or Aphrodite at any second; Mount Olympus, after all, was only a few miles away. I only wish I had had a camera. When I returned to our meeting place at the car, Kate and Christa were already there. It turned out they had been too cold and returned to the car almost immediately after I had started. Sorry!

We ate dinner at our B&B, which seemed to be one of the only places open in the whole of Troodos. Early to bed, early to rise, and a timely drive back to Lefkosia for a quick tour of a little church, some souvenir shopping and ice cream. Then some sun time back at the hotel, a nap, and an epic dinner with Hasan and his son Ozan.

If you thought that’s all I’d say about this dinner, you have another thing coming. They wanted to take us to a meyhane, which is a traditional Turkish restaurant that serves dozens of mezzes and has live traditional music, all for a set price. We met them around 8:30, to discover Ozan had brought two of his. While Ozan attends the same university we work at, his two friends study in Cyprus. There were eight of us in total, and I somehow was put at the end of the table with the three of them, who were all extraordinarily shy at first and spoke mainly Turkish. After some raki and red wine, thank goodness, everyone started to enjoy themselves. The music helped too. The mezzes were delicious and endless. By the time we left around 11:30, we were all stuffed to the gills. Hasan wouldn’t let us pay, despite our protests, and we returned to their apartment for some drinks and cards. As the clock struck midnight, I was sung the Turkish version of Happy Birthday.

Thursday, my birthday, we had plans to drive along the northern coast to the westernmost peninsula and Golden Beach. We got a little lost, but we got there. The water was beautiful, but the beach itself had a bit too much garbage for out taste. We didn’t stay long. Instead, we drove back along the coast in the direction of Kantara Castle. The views along the way were spectacular, and reminded me at times of Highway 101. We stopped at a gorgeous little beach with huge sandstone outcroppings for a photo shoot.

Back on the road, we drove up a very tall mountain to arrive at Kantara Castle. Built perhaps around 10 AD, today it is little more than stony ruins, but beautiful stony ruins covered in enough flora and fauna to make any pristine castle jealous. We climbed and explored and enjoyed a spectacular view of Cyprus. From the top, I could actually see the full extent of the very peninsula we had just driven up and down, and the ocean on both sides.

Eventually we got back in the Micra to finish our drive to Kyrnia. We ate a delicious Indian dinner for my birthday treat and went to bed early.

Friday we relaxed. It was a beach day, full of lounging and sunscreen and good books. The ocean was a bit too cold for me to get past mid-thigh, but everyone else went for a swim. We ate dinner at the same Italian restaurant as before, followed by drinks and free coffee and the company of Ozan once again. Kate bought me a much appreciated slice of birthday cheesecake to make the moment all the more perfect. While Kate and Caitlin were staying till Sunday, Christa and I had an early flight to catch Saturday, so we returned to the hotel in a timely fashion.

At 4:00 am, it was time to get going. Our flight was at 6:45, and we arrived back in Ankara around 8:00. I then napped for three hours back at my apartment. It was a fabulous, if expensive, vacation.

Not enough pictures for you? Here are 175 more!

Cyprus

Lazy Saturday

There is perhaps no better time to catch up on some long-postponed writing than the morning after a very bad haircut. After seven months of hesitation over putting my hair in the hands of a Turkish stylist, I took the leap yesterday. Christa, Natalie and I went after work to a place Christa has been before. There was only one man cutting hair, who Christa swore was absolutely fabulous. My turn came first. I tried to explain that I merely wanted a trim and some layers underneath to lighten the load, but I don’t think I was properly understood. Forty-five minutes later, I sat in the same chair with hair that went barely to my shoulders, layers worthy of a Christmas tree, and the real toper, curls. I tried not to panic as I looked in the mirror. The inevitable question of “do you like it?” fell on buzzing ears. The good news is that the stylist didn’t like it; he loved it. How witty. I think I’ll go buy some hats now.

That news aside, I have little to report. It’s a gorgeous Saturday morning, and I’m sitting in my sunny apartment sipping coffee as I write this. The March weather hasn’t quite made up its mind yet, so the warm(ish) weather today is a real treat, and I’ll be sure not to miss this opportunity to run in the not-so-muddy hills. I have been having trouble with my heel again lately, which puts a damper on my long runs, but I won’t bore you with the troubles of an injury befitting of an obese sixty-year-old. This, in fact, has been the main reason I haven’t written in so long: I fear I might bore you away. I haven’t gone on any trips, aside from a weekend in Istanbul, and my life in Ankara has just been routine. What is routine? Glad you asked.

I am teaching twenty hours a week again this course, which means I go to work Monday through Friday like any normal employee. I don’t necessarily stay very long, but I do go to work. We are almost done with course three now. I will have this group of students for just two more weeks, then I’ll be on to my next and final batch of students. The size of my classes varies from just four to seven students. This week I had one day where only two students came, which can either be fun time to chitchat or pure misery depending on the students. I was lucky this time, and spent two hours shooting the wind with two typical Turkish dudes. It is a true pleasure in each course to reach the point where students feel completely comfortable in the classroom. The students stop hesitating over their imperfect English and start to have fun, and I do as well. This also means I have more stories to share.

I was in a sticky situation when Congress passed a vote a week ago to officially dub the many Armenian deaths in 1915 genocide committed by Turkey. This is a very controversial subject in Turkey, so controversial that the Turkish ambassador was temporarily pulled from his post in Washington after the vote. When discussing it with my students, every single one agreed firstly that it was not genocide, and secondly that this would negatively affect political relations between America and Turkey. They then eventually asked me point-blank my opinion. For the record, I do consider this event genocide. In the classroom, I had the opportunity to practice my diplomatic skills while sidestepping the question and distracting them with new questions about the Turkish pop star arrested for using cocaine. It was interesting to hear their opinions, but not exactly easy to monitor the discussion.

Not even this, however, can hold a candle to the week I did a lesson plan on conspiracy theories. A word from the wise: never ask Turkish students who they think is responsible for September 11^th. They will almost all respond that it was either a plot devised by the Bush Administration, or that the government hired “the Jews” to act it out (they believe there were no Jewish workers in the World Trade Centers when they were attacked; they also believe the Jewish religion, the Jewish ethnicity, and Israeli citizenship are all one in the same). After a rather depressing week, I decided to take a break from their political perspectives and focus on the ever so important vocabulary involved when talking about celebrities.

On a lighter note, I had a very serious student tell me that he loved me this week. He then asked, “are you mad?” Moments like this one make me realize that I will never have all of the answers.

Now with my training in diplomacy, journalism, and oh yeah, teaching nearly complete, I’m beginning to apply to jobs for next year. And what a task that is. Researching jobs alone takes up so much time that I have little motivation left to actually apply. My goal is to end up in DC next year with some fabulous position doing research for a human rights NGO or the Department of Justice. I have great pipedreams, I know. New York and Beirut are also on the drawing board. Regardless of what I’ll be doing in the fall, I’m now greatly looking forward to some time at home this summer. Auburn does have its appeal. Time with family and friends, runs in the canyon, breakfast at Katrina’s, bread pudding at Awful Annie’s, and, er, free groceries all sound pretty good right now. A job would be nice as well.

For now, it’s back to my coffee and job research with a run in the near future. Happy lazy Saturday everyone!

Syria and Lebanon

Syria and Lebanon, in brief:

-Free falafel, free sweets, free tea and free nargile

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Best dates in the world

-Beautiful ruins

-Some of the friendliest people I have ever met

-A modeling contract offer

-A new life trajectory

This trip was one for the history books. We left January 22^nd and returned February 1^st, ten days packed to the brim with adventure and new friends. I can’t possibly write it all here without turning my blog into a book, so I’ll try to focus on the highlights. A difficult task indeed, considering even the low points make good stories in retrospect.

Getting to Syria was a trial in patience. We took a bus from Ankara to the border, which took 9 long hours, then spent 6 hours at the border waiting for our visas. This is Syria’s little way of getting back at America for all the wrongs it has done to it. All other nationalities pass through in a matter of minutes, but Americans are made to wait anywhere from 2-12 hours, just because. As much as I did not enjoy my time sitting in a cold and drafty building, I can’t help but applaud Syria its small spiteful ploy. We arrived in Aleppo around dinnertime Saturday and checked into our hotel only to turn around and search for some falafel. Not only did we find some, but we weren’t allowed to pay for it. After, we wondered around the city some more and met Zacharias, the owner of a scarf shop in Al Jdeideh, a square near the Christian Quarter. Natalie and I had a grand time looking at shelf after shelf of scarves, and as we looked, we chatted and drank tea. We must have been in the shop for over an hour before we bought our finds. Zacharias pointed us in the direction of a good restaurant to smoke nargile, and we smoked and drank wine till it was time for bed.

The next day we spent exploring the Citadel, the Grand Mosque, and Aleppo’s marvelous covered souk. I bought surprisingly little at the souk but ate to my heart’s content. Anything edible we saw that we did not recognize we had to try, along with many splendid Syrian specialties. We ate hummus and foul, fresh juice, Syrian pancakes and delicious kunafeh (a creamy-cheesy pastry), and that’s only what I remember off the top of my head. I also bought some of the best dates I have ever tasted, small, soft, and super sweet. We walked to the Christian Quarter, had tea once again with Zacharias, and ate a delicious falafel dinner.

I have to skip ahead now to the next day, Monday, and our trip to Palmyra. It took about four hours to get to Palmyra from Aleppo by bus, with a stop in Homs in between. We arrived around 2:00 and made an arrangement with a driver to show us around the sights for the afternoon. We went up to the castle, situated on the top of a hill in all its crumbling glory. It was basically an endless maze of crumbling walls and small rooms with great views of the ruins below. After, we drove down to the ruins themselves, just in time for the sunset, which gave the many white pillars a beautiful orange glow. Natalie went for a camel ride while Charlie and I explored by foot. We only got back in the car when our hands were frozen by the icy wind and the sun was too low to take any more good pictures.

That night, we took a bus to Damascus. We arrived around dinnertime and without a place to stay. All the backpacker hotels were booked, but luck was on our side. A man in one of the hotels explained that he was an Arabic teacher for foreigners, and had a student flat nearby that we could stay in. For some reason I trusted this character, and I could not be happier that I did. It turned out it was his birthday, so we followed Hussam to drinks with some of his students at a local bar that was hosting a poetry reading, followed by falafel, shawerma, and fresh juice.

Tuesday morning we walked all around old Damascus. We went to Souk Al Hamadiyya, the enormous covered bazaar, ate cream-filled fried pancakes and pistachio ice cream, and went in Al Ummayed Mosque, built around 700 AD, where, while wearing an ugly full body robe, a man told me he loved me. Back outside, we stumbled upon my favorite street in the city. There were absolutely no foreigners aside from us, only Syrians buying food from all the many colorful vendors. We did likewise. A sweet seller gave us free pieces of a milky roll pastry. A man gave us a taste of his kunafeh off his plate. A father had his daughter pose for a picture with us. I would go back to Damascus just to buy my groceries on that street.

We had read somewhere that there was camel kebab to be found in the city. This was high up on Charlie’s priority list, and so our hunt began. It took a long walk and a lot of asking for directions in Arabic on my part, but we found it. It was actually delicious, well spiced and slightly salty, but I wanted hummus for my dinner, so our next stop was a small restaurant nearby. I found hummus, some of the best baba ghanoush I have ever tasted, and was given free foul and tea. Later that night we met up with Hussam for tea, juice, and backgammon at a beautiful traditional Arabic house converted into a restaurant, followed by drinks back at his other flat with some of his students.

We spent Wednesday in Damascus as well, but this time the priority was buying jewelry in the bazaar, which I can say was quite successful. The day was thereafter spent walking around and enjoying a beautiful sunset over the city from the top of a large hill. Once again, we returned to Hussam’s for drinks. If I want to study Arabic in Damascus, I now have a connection that will help me find a place to stay, somewhere to work teaching English, and an offer to tutor Iraqi refugees. Summer, perhaps?

Thursday we were off to Beirut, a three hour car ride from Damascus (thank goodness leaving Syria is easier than getting in). We stayed in a part of the city called Hamra, which is extremely central and a ten minute walk from the American University in Beirut. It wasn’t a hotel, but rather (don’t look Mom) the apartment of a guy we contacted through Couchsurfing. Evan and his roommate Fuad are graduate students at AUB in Middle East studies, and their third roommate, Vivien, is a French exchange student. We could not have had better hosts. That night, Evan took us to watch the sunset over Pigeon Rocks with his friends and fellow AUB students Charlie and Jake, and we all met up later for drinks and some Beirut nightlife.

Although we didn’t get to bed till the wee hours of Friday morning, Evan was ready to take us to see the sights the next day. We took a bus to Harissa, famous for a gondola which runs up a mountain to a beautiful statue. From the top we could see what felt like half of the Lebanese coast. Next up was another bus ride to Byblos, where we walked around the Crusader Castle and ruins, then watched the sunset from a pier. While taking pictures, a random man offered me a modeling contract, reinforcing just how much I stick out in this corner of the world. We had a dinner of mezzes at a restaurant on the water, then returned to the apartment for much needed naps. Natalie, Charlie, and Evan went out again with the others, but I just didn’t have the stamina for it. I spent the evening instead discussing Lebanon and Syria with Vivien and was in bed by 1:00am, early by comparison only.

Saturday was our last full day, and spent it wandering Beirut proper. We walked along the corniche to downtown, where all the buildings are either brand new or hollow shells from bombs in years past. We entered the French area of the city and found a wonderful bakery full of pastries and artisan breads where I bought a much missed almond croissant. We had arranged to meet another Couchsurfing character at 3:30, and right on the dot, he drove up in a very new, very fancy Range Rover. His name was Philippe, and he works as a financial consultant in Beirut. He has only actually lived in the city for 8 years, having been born in Switzerland to a French mother and Lebanese father. He spent most of his life moving country to country for his dad’s work as a UN ambassador, but now at age 23, is happy to stay in Beirut. He chauffeured us around the city for the afternoon and took us to a wonderful ice cream shop near his own apartment. The shopkeeper and the shop owner were one in the same, and the little old man gave us generous samples of his handful of flavors as he explained that he made it all from fresh ingredients and seasonal fresh fruit. Philippe’s friend, Aristotle, and brother, William, came and met us at the shop while I savored my cone of almond and pistachio.

Philippe dropped us off at Evan’s apartment with plans to meet up later. We spent some relaxing hours enjoying each other’s company, then went to find Philippe and his friend Laure at a bar in the French district. It was another fun and sleepless night, and we didn’t wake up till noon the next day. We had planned to leave around then, but somehow just didn’t manage to get out the door till 5. First we had to go to the grocery store, full of its many missed magical American foods, and the cupcake shop I had been dreaming of for weeks prior. There was also the fact that we simply didn’t want to leave. But leave we did, and 29 hours later we found ourselves sleep deprived and back in Ankara.

New plan for next year: Arabic in Damascus for the summer. Beirut in the fall. Research a UN internship (or contact Philippe’s father). Take the GRE and apply to the AUB Middle East Studies master’s program for the following semester. Is that so crazy? We’ll just see what happens with those law school applications.

For another 200 pictures, view them here:

Syria and Lebanon